Page 85 of Resorting to Romance

“Well, I happened to have seen a container of Handel’s Graham Central Station and another of Tin Lizzie in the backup freezer the other day. What’s your poison?”

“Here? At the inn?”

“Yep. And I can come dish some up for you. You don’t even need to stand up. You can stay sequestered with your cookies. I’ll just dish you up a bowl and bring it to you.”

“Kai?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you offering to travel across an entire island to serve me Handel’s ice cream?”

“I guess I am. Yeah. That’s what friends do on days like this.”

“Friends. Yeah. That’s what we are, huh?”

“Mila, you’ll always be my friend.” The word doesn’t even begin to encompass what she is, but I know she needs a friend, and I’m determined to be that for her tonight. “I’ll always care when you have crap days. You don’t have to huddle in your pantry alone.”

“You’ll huddle in my pantry with me?” She giggles.

“If that’s what you want? We can make a blanket fort and hang out like I do with Noah when it rains.”

“You’re the best.”

“So … that’s a yes?”

“Yes. And it’s a yes to both flavors. I think I need to do a taste test.”

“You definitely do.”

“Oh, and Kai?”

“Yeah? What’s up, Hot Dog?”

“Stop it with that nickname.”

“You love it. You know you secretly love it.”

Mila’s still for a beat. Then she says, “Be quiet when you come through the front doors. Actually, come around back. I have this guest here from Scotland. He’s up all hours as it is. I don’t want to alert him to the fact that I’m awake and in the kitchen.”

The idea of Mila in a house with a Scotsman after dark puts afire under me. I’m sure she’s safe. She has a lock on the hallway leading to the wing of the house where she and Noah sleep. She has neighbors right next door and across the street, and they all look out for her. Besides, her guests have to submit their personal details and pass a screening from a company she hires online before a reservation is finalized. Most people coming to Marbella are as harmless as the residents of the island.

Still, I don’t like her being alone with a man—let alone some guy in a skirt with bagpipes and a brogue. Women love that stuff. All a guy has to do is stand in a field wearing plaid, speaking in a half-intelligible accent and his Instagram account goes viral. Add in a highland coo and the dude’s practically a celebrity. “’Ere’s me wee coo. Doncha luhv ‘er?”

“Kai?” Mila says.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for faking. I don’t know how I would have gotten through today without you by my side.”

I’m not faking. I’m falling, and I can’t stop myself. I may as well have stepped off a cliff. All my thoughts and emotions point north to Mila’s Place, like a compass needle, vibrating in the direction of its home. She’s my true north. And I’m a ship at sea recalibrating my course according to the magnetic pull she has on me.

TWENTY-FOUR

Mila

Be careful who you pretend to be.

You might forget who you are.

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