Bryce and Savanny are already waiting. I see the teenager waiting in the lounge chair with a towel when Flint lowers me down on the one next to him.
“Everything okay, Valerie?” Bryce asks, jumping up to help drape a towel over my shoulders.
Of course the boy’s a total chip off the block in the sweetness department.
He’s guaranteed to ruin some pretty girl someday.
“I’m fine,” I assure them, feeling embarrassed by causing such a scare. “Thanks for the towel. And the ride.”
I glance at Flint as he grins. “Just as long as you’re not wolfing down more crap sandwiches. Think you’ve had plenty of those lately.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “Nope. New diet.”
“She’s just worn out from all that’s happened,” Flint tells Bryce. Shaking his head, he says, “My bad. I should’ve known better than to push it. Only been a few days since Cash said to take it easy.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I had fun. I’ll live and learn.” I hope so, anyway.
It’s not like I can just blurt out the truth. How I maybe short-circuited because he turned me on like a Christmas tree. Who knew a girl could OD on blue eyes and muscles built to shame an angry god?
So I shake my head. “Please, guys, don’t worry too much. I just—”
“You just sit and rest,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “I’ll work on supper so you can eat and turn in early.”
That actually sounds lovely.
But jeez. All this attention, everybody treating me like I’m made of glass, makes me more embarrassed.
“Really, Flint, don’t stress. I’m still in one piece. I didn’t get eaten up by a shark or anything, see?” I pinch myself for dramatic effect, hoping the phony, exaggerated grin on my face sends a message.
“I’ll stay out here with her, Dad,” Bryce says. “So will Savanny.”
As if on cue, my little monster rubs his slick fur against my foot, staring at me with those huge eyes. His whiskers twitch as he lets out a shrill mew!
Just great. Even my own cat looks like he’s worried I might drop down dead.
Flint reaches down to stroke Savanny’s head, then ruffles Bryce’s hair on the way up.
“Thanks, boys.” Then he looks at me. “You want something to drink? I brewed up a fresh pitcher of that mango stuff I know you like.”
Before I can respond, Bryce goes sprinting for the door. “I’ll get it!”
Still flustered, I fold my arms.
“Didn’t we learn anything back there? Two against one isn’t fair,” I say, putting on my best fake pout.
He grins, and my heart does a somersault. He’s so good-looking it’s surreal. Even when he’s fresh out of the sea, his hair still a short mess blown by water and wind, he could be any red-blooded woman’s man-sicle on a hot Hawaiian day.
Ugh. His first wife must’ve been certifiably insane to ever let him get away.
If things were different, I sure wouldn’t.
Right now, though, jumping in bed with a strange man I thought I was married to is as far away from what I need as the moon from the earth. What kind of man wants a woman who can’t remember last month, anyway?
Bryce returns shortly with a glass of that decadent mango tea while Flint heads inside to cook. I heave out the air in my lungs, smile at Bryce, and take the drink.
He sits down on the chair next to me, petting Savanny, who jumps up beside him. We start chatting about all the things he’s read about cats on the internet. He tells me he plans to do a science paper on it when school starts again.
Ten minutes in, I wonder if the boy’s heading for a career in feline zoology. He’s a little Bryce-opedia and, I have to admit, pretty interesting.
I’m amazed he remembers so much from reading a few articles and watching YouTube.
He’s a smart boy, a kind one, and I thoroughly enjoy visiting with him. We’re still talking when Flint comes outside and tells us he’s got dinner on the table.
Okay, fine. So I’ll admit it.
I’m a very lucky woman, staying at the Chateau Calum, amnesia and all. The company certainly couldn’t be better. Or the accommodations.
It’s the best place a girl could hope to unwind while she’s got pissed off hitmen hot on her trail.
The conversation continues inside. We chow down on this scrumptious chicken with a Hawaiian barbecue glaze over it, plenty of sauteed veggies, and some garlic rice on the side.
My own appetite surprises me. I’m fit to pop open by the time I drain another glass of water and get up from the table, thanking Flint for the tenth time.
I help clean the kitchen—something I insist I’m healthy enough to do—and we retire to the living room where we watch a movie. They watch it, technically.
I can’t say what it’s even about because I’m spending more time watching them. Bryce curls up in the leather recliner with his legs up and Savanny purring on his lap. The furball trades places halfway through the film for my familiar warmth. Flint lounges on the sofa, on the other end of it from me.