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“Sure. Can I taste yours?”
His eyes gleam. Did my words sound sexual this time?
“Please.” He gestures at his blackened pasta. “Enjoy.”
I stab my fork into his food, and it turns out to be even better than mine.
Or so I think.
He claims that he likes my dish more.
“How about we swap?” I ask.
He agrees, so I grab his plate and give him mine. On a lark, I swap our identical waters too, and my reward is his smile.
Only after it’s all done do I realize that this is something a married couple would do, not whatever we are to each other.
“You know,” Evan says. “If I had known you’d get this obsessed with the treasure map, I wouldn’t have involved you in the hunt.”
Oh. “Am I bad company?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that. You’re on vacation, but I don’t think you’ve done any relaxing today.”
I consider this as I chew my pasta. “The truth is,” I say after I swallow, “solving puzzles is equivalent to a spa day for me.”
And that’s the truth, just not the whole truth—which is that I’ve been laser focused on the treasure map to distract myself from Evan. I don’t want to pay attention to how sweet he is, showing me all the sights. And how he’s so hot that all the female tourists—and some male ones too—gawk at him everywhere we go.
To put it another way, he’s correct. Despite the fun, I’m tenser than I was back in New York. Which really blows because relaxing was at the top of my to-do list—and not just for myself, but also for Jolene and Dorothy, who invested money for me to do that one simple task.
That settles it. From this moment on, I’ll fucking chill out.
I stick another bite of heavenly pasta into my mouth and chew it slowly, mindfully, contemplating the local ingredients the chef used.
Nope. As good as the food is, it’s not cutting it. Something stronger is required, like chocolate, or cheese, or Evan’s tongue on my clit.
“Would you like a drink?” the waitress asks suddenly, and it’s like an answer to my unsaid prayer.
You can say all the negative things about alcohol until the cows come home from the beach, but there’s one thing it’s very good at: taking the edge off.
Chapter Twelve
Evan
Ten seconds earlier
“The truth is,” Brooklyn says, “solving puzzles is equivalent to a spa day for me.”
I stare at her, my heart pounding faster. It’s as if she’s spoken my thoughts. Though I’m not a huge fan of spas, this is the most fun I’ve had in years, and I’ve been to St. Augustine a million times before.
Shit. What am I thinking? She’s a tourist. She’s transient. And even if she were local, she seems like the type of person who’d want a family one day, which is not something I can give her.
“Would you like a drink?” the waitress asks, startling me.
I expect Brooklyn to refuse, but she nods overeagerly. “I saw a cocktail with rum on the menu earlier.” Turning to me, she guiltily adds, “This town seems to be pirate-themed, so…”
“I know which drink you mean,” the waitress says approvingly.
Why did I assume Brooklyn doesn’t drink alcohol? No idea, but I can’t let her drink alone.
