She took a breath. “Good night, Dakota.”
“Good night, Jayden.”
She turned and headed out of the restaurant before she could close the distance between them and . . . what? Kiss him?
Please. She was just tired.
The path to the cabins was gravel and crushed shell, slick with rain but lit by small solar lights that had somehow survived the storm. The air smelled of frangipani and wet earth, rich and tropical. In the darkness, a bird called—the sound exotic and unfamiliar.
The cabins themselves were scattered up the hillside—dark wood and white walls, louvered shutters over the windows, little porches with rattan furniture. In better weather, they would have been charming. Even now, battered by wind and rain, there was something appealing about them. Shelter. Safety. A place to hide from the storm.
Cabin seven was tucked into a grove of palms, black lava rocks lining the stepping-stone path to the door. The building was modern rustic—dark wooden slats, floor-to-ceiling windows, a small deck with wicker furniture. Tropical plants crowded the entrance, leaves dripping with rain, their broad fronds brushing the wooden railing.
The key fit smoothly into the lock. She pushed the door open, stepped inside?—
The cabin was beautiful. Warm light from a bedside lamp cast golden shadows across polished wood floors. The windows looked out into the darkness, rain streaming down the glass. A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. The room was actually two spaces—a sitting room with a loveseat and a couple wicker chairs, separated by a bamboo screen, and a bedroom, dominated by a king-sized bed, draped in white linen.
And on that bed sat two bags.
She froze.
One, of course, was hers. The black over-the-shoulder satchel.
The other, a black messenger bag, with a tag.
It read Rivers, D.
“What—”
The door was still open behind her. She heard footsteps on the porch. Turned to find Dakota standing in the doorway, his own key in his hand, confusion written across his face.
“I think there’s been a—” He stopped. Looked at the bag on the bed. Looked at her. Looked at the key in his hand.
“Same key,” she said slowly. “They gave us the same key.”
He held his up. The number seven was stamped into the brass.
She pulled hers from her pocket. Seven.
“I’ll go back to the front desk,” he said. “Sort it out.”
“It’s midnight. In a tropical storm. And they said they were full up.”
“Then I’ll sleep on a bench somewhere.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The words came out before she could stop them. “It’s a big cabin. There’s probably a couch or—” She looked around. One bed. One very large, very inviting bed. A small love seat by the window that might fit a child comfortably. “Okay, there’s not a couch. But we’re adults. We survived a near-death experience together. We can share a room for one night.”
Dakota’s jaw tightened. “Jayden?—”
“I’m not kicking you out into a storm. End of discussion.” She picked up the bag—his bag—and set it on the floor. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the . . .” She looked at the love seat again. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Not happening.”
“Then we’ll flip a coin.”
“Or, like you said, we could both be adults and share the bed.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “It’s big enough. Stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine. We’ve already held hands through a near-crash landing. I think we can manage a mattress.”
Her face went hot. “Fine.”
