Page 53 of The Romance Adventure

“Coming out of your mouth, that sounds worse than ridiculous. Like an insult. Like seeing something gorgeous would make your eyes burn. You should come watch the sunset with me tonight. Now that’ll be gorgeous.”

“It’s barely past sunrise. Plus, we have work to do.”

“Oh, right. The resort.” She spins in a circle, getting her bearings, points, then thinks better of it. We’re on the sand that blew onto the road. Isla loses her footing. I reach for her.

“That’s not a good idea. I might start liking it.” Her cheeks tint pink, suggesting she already does.

“Am I really grumpy and uptight?”

“The manatee in the harbor has better manners than you.”

Maybe I should do something about that.

From her tote bag, Isla pulls out a clipboard, legal paper, and a camera. We spend the entire day combing every inch of the resort, taking photographs, and creating lists of what needs to be done.

Everything.

“This is tedious,” I mutter.

“Then how do you suppose we make this work?”

“Next time, we’ll bring lunch and have a picnic.”

She tucks her chin in surprise. “I like the sound of that. It’s delightful. Lovely. Pleasant.”

“Not words you’d associate with me?” I wager a guess.

Her secret smile answers the question. “It’s almost dinner time.”

“Even better. Meet me at Hidden Hammock Beach in an hour,” I say and start for the gate.

I’m playing with fire here. Isla, the kind of woman whose favorite color is sunshine—morning, midday, evening—is dangerous, and gorgeous, especially for a shades of grumpy and gloomy kind of guy, but maybe that’s changing. Good thing we’re surrounded by water.

Isla

CHAPTER 13

My wardrobe options are limited because I left Charleston in such a rush, so I sneak over to the main house and into Bean’s closet. Mr. Edmonton is back, but he mostly stays in his room while he continues to recover.

After trying on three different sundresses, I settle on a pale yellow one with an off-white stitching design along the hem. It’s more my sister’s style than mine, but it’s clean, it fits, and it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard to make this a date.

I’ve gotten used to Royal’s quiet yet commanding presence. He’s not the kind of guy to put neon paint on a wall. I bet his apartment in Manhattan is monotone and manly. Probably dark wood and stone surfaces.

But there’s something about him that I can’t resist. It’s not that I want to dig deeper until I find something sparkly or soft inside of him. It’s not that I want him to change for me, not really. I mean, he could stand to loosen up a little and maybe smile more.

It’s more that he’s a counterbalance to my chaos. Calm and logical to my, well, me. You might say it’s an opposites attract romance situation.

Or perhaps he plans to poison me so I can’t conduct my duties as the executress and oversee the repair of the Driftwood Resort.

As I slide on my sandals and head outside, I guess I’m feeling like living on the edge tonight. A pleasant breeze blows from the water as I scoot past Beans & Books, intending to sneak by undetected. Until I know what this is between Royal and me, I don’t want to have to try to explain anything to my sister. She’s not the biggest fan of the McGregors, which I’ll also have to ask her about later. There are the obvious factors in that they’re loud, large, and grumpy at times, but she takes special umbrage with them and I’d like to know why. Perhaps it has something to do with Mr. Edmonton. She’s been in and out of his room all day, making sure he has everything he needs and that he’s okay.

The screen door opens behind me and Bean calls, “Isla, where are you going? Why are you wearing my dress?”

I wave over my shoulder and say, “I’m out of clothing. I owe you shoes and a dress now. We’ll talk later.”

Picking up my pace, I cross the street and cut past the Plundering Pelican before the road opens up with vegetation on both sides. Hidden Hammock Beach is a secluded hideaway beyond the cypress and palm trees.

I follow the path until I spot a man seated on a blanket and leaning on a hamper basket while gazing out to sea. The waves lap softly to shore and a seagull makes a pleasant trill overhead. It’s a picture-perfect paintable scene except for one thing: I’m not in it.