Page 84 of Resorting to Romance

I tell them how Brad showed up, how my knee-jerk instinct was to protect Mila, how I blurted out that I was the boyfriend, and how we thought we’d just fake it with him—only him. I fill them in on the way this first lie gave birth to hundreds of others. And then I ask their forgiveness for not being honest with them in the first place.

They easily forgive me. I’m not sure I would if the shoe were on the other foot, but I’m infinitely grateful they aren’t mad. I couldn’t take it right now. If anything, they’re amused, as if seeing me all twisted up over a woman is better than catching a sold-out comedy show at the resort.

When I’m finished, Bodhi and Kalaine stare at me again.

“Fake dating. You two are faking?” Kalaine asks, even though we’ve just gone over the whole story at length and in detail.

“Yeah.”

“You aren’t faking,” Bodhi clarifies.

“I’m not. Not anymore.”

“And I don’t think she is either,” Kala says. “You should see the way she looks at you. And the way she leans in whenever you put your arm around her. I know Mila. She’s not like that with anyone.”

“She’s dead set on waiting until Noah’s out of the house before she even entertains the thought of trying to date or of allowing romance into her life.”

“Dead set?” Bodhi asks, and when I nod definitively, he lets out a low whistle.

“Go to her,” Kala says.

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Go now. As a friend. She trusts you, Kai. And today was too big for her to have to process alone. Mila does so much on her own. I don’t think she should have to face this without the support of someone who cares for her the way you do.”

I’m up and out of my chair before Kala even says,the way you do.

“Go get your girl …” Bodhi repeats what he said on the beach and I smile back at him.

I call Mila on my way out the door.

“Hey,” I say when she answers. “What are you doing?”

“Honestly?”

“Well, yeah. I was going to ask how you are, but I think I know, so I went with, ‘What are you doing?’ So … tell me.”

Mila laughs and a tightness I hadn’t even acknowledged unfurls in my chest. I climb into the golf cart.

“I’m sitting on the floor of my walk-in pantry with a tupperware of cookies on my lap.”

I think she takes a bite because I can hear her chewing.

“Why are you on the floor? Did you fall?”

I depress the gas pedal a little harder, but face it, this is a golf cart. I’m probably pushing fifteen miles an hour tops. I look like Gru’s assistant, Doctor Nefario, going mach speeds that resemble a slug on vacation.

“No, Kai. I didn’t fall. I’m in a therapy session. Cookie therapy.”

“Ahhh.” I smile. “Sounds like the right move after the day you introduce your ex-husband to Noah.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you ever eat ice cream with your cookies?”

“Of course. I’m not a heathen.”

I smile again. Man. This woman.

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