Page 71 of Worth the Trip

That was all.

No joke.

No invitation spoken aloud.

Just a hand beside mine.

I looked down at it.

Then at him.

His attention remained on the water.

I placed my hand in his.

His fingers closed around mine.

Warm.

Steady.

Simple.

My pulse behaved as if none of those words applied.

We continued walking.

He didn’t squeeze my hand every thirty seconds to call attention to the fact that he had it. Didn’t lift it to his mouth and turn the moment into something bigger than I was ready for.

He held it.

That was enough.

By the time the horizon had gone coral, our footprints had disappeared behind us beneath the incoming tide.

Landon looked at his watch.

“Dinner waiting.” I sighed. “That sounded disappointed.”

“I was enjoying this.”

“Good.” He gave my hand one squeeze. “We can come back.”

Something about the casual certainty of we warmed me more than it should have.

I let him lead me toward our shoes.

Night had begun settling over the marina by the time Landon walked me toward the yacht.

I stopped.

“Dinner is on a boat?”

“Yacht.”

“That’s a boat with generational wealth.”

He laughed. “Come on.”