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She’s probably already had a few glorious dreams of rainbows, smiley frogs, and cute poufy dogs in the time I’ve been killing myself trying to make the stupid flight.
“There is that,” I admit. “Anyway, I can just avoid him the whole time. Shouldn’t be that hard.”
“I’m sorry about last night, too,” Josie says. “But if you had just talked to Antoine—”
“I much preferred my sleep, thanks,” I reply. “What sleep I got, anyway. Jesus, I try to do the right thing for once, and look. It blows up in my face.”
“At least you...” Josie’s clearly searching here. “Still have your self-respect?”
“Hardly,” I grumble. “I almost texted the lumberjack before calling you.”
“You didn’t,” Josie gasps, hand flying to her mouth.
“I didn’t actually do it,” I clarify, “which is a good thing for me, I guess. But, you want to know the stupid part? I don’t even want to talk to him.”
Josie, to her credit, doesn’t ask me who I do want to talk to.
“Would it be the worst thing,” she says, “if you and Emerson were, you know, on neutral ground?”
I sigh, then roll my eyes at myself. I’m starting to feel like a Regency romance heroine with all the sighing and brooding I’ve been doing lately. Not that I’m exactly a Care Bear of joy and all things smiley back at home, either.
“Of course not,” I admit. “I just don’t think it’s possible. Or safe.”
“Fair,” Josie says. “And at least I’m here, suffering with you?”
“True,” I point out with the beginnings of a smile. “But thanks for the offer. Sierra offered to come visit too, but she’s going on her honeymoon tomorrow, so I vetoed the hell out of that.”
“To Thailand,” Josie says on a sigh. “That girl has all the luck. Too bad we love her.”
“Too bad, indeed,” I say.
A knock sounds on her door. Josie answers it while I frown.
That had better not be who I’m worrying it is.
But it’s just a concierge with some complimentary vanilla and chocolate cupcakes. Guess this island really has its cupcake game down.
“Yay!” Jose says with a happy bite of a chocolatey one, then sighs. “Guess we’ll have to get Mom to look after Horatio and Maude, right?”
“True,” I say.
“At least now you don’t have to worry about me using your beloved antique cast-iron pan because I always screw it up.” Her button nose scrunches in derision. “Jesus, Wynona, when did you become such a crotchety old woman?”
“Since forever?” I shoot back. “Don’t you remember how when we were five, I’d hound you not to wear your shoes inside, even when our parents weren’t there? And how for most of winter, I’d sit around under an afghan, drinking tea and knitting while the rest of you were out there tobogganing?”
Josie chuckles.
“Speaking of crotchety old women,” I say, “I pretty much reamed out Emerson at the airport and in the taxi, even though he offered to pay for my new ticket.”
“He did what?” Josie says.
“Don’t,” I grumble.
“I didn’t say anything!” she protests. Her strawberry blonde ponytail bobs angrily while her oversized rubber duck pajamas ruffle a bit.
“You were going to,” I say. “Anyway, maybe I was a bit of a bitch. But this whole situation is a bitch. A major mindfuck. I just want to be home watching some Cary Grant movie and—”
Another knock on the door
“Listen,” Josie says, opening it, “We appreciate all this free food, but we’d really rather not... oh.”
She swivels to give me a horrified smile. “Oh, Wynona?”
Seeing who’s there, I quickly head out and tell Josie, “Five minutes.”
Although if it’s up to me, this will take less than two.
“Bye!” she sing-songs. “Talk later.”
“Hey,” Emerson says.
He looks handsome enough in a fitted blue T-shirt and jeans that talking to him for more than a minute probably isn’t a good idea.
I cross my arms over my chest. “What do you want?”
His smile is neutral. “You wouldn’t consider a sequel to our truce? Truce two?”
“Truce two,” I reply flatly.
Emerson pauses for a few seconds, probably waiting for my unimpressed stare to lose its edge. It doesn’t.
He turns away.
I should let him go.
On the spot, I can think of four different reasons I should—it will give me time to think over what I should do, I can use the time to read and calm down, he smells too good for it to be safe for me to be around him, I’m still attracted to him—and I’m sure there are about fifty more I could come up with if I had the time.
But I can’t.
“Wait,” I say.
He pauses.
“I’m sorry about before,” I say, “blaming you for everything when it was my own fault I missed the flight. I was just frazzled. I’ve never missed a plane before, and...” I glare at him suspiciously. “Why are you smiling?”
His smile is rueful. “I just never thought you’d apologize. You seemed so sure of yourself, that I was in the wrong.”
