Page 93 of Love Me Tomorrow

The pet carrier. Pablo. The fact that I agreed to this outing in the first place.

I stare at the selection of paddleboards propped up against the shed that belongs to City Park’s Watersports. There are blue paddleboards and red paddleboards and even a pink one, but really, the only thing to say is: “Of all the crazy things to do in N’Orleans,thisis what you decided on?”

Beside me, Owen links his bulky, tattooed arms over his hard chest.Damn the man for being so good-looking.It’s incredibly unfair, honestly.

Looking a little too smug for my liking, he bumps his hip with mine. “Just lookin’ to get you out of your comfort zone, sweetheart.”

“Do you not remember our conversation about me lacking all athletic abilities?”

“Oh, I remember.”

“You’re evil, you know that?” I toe one of the paddleboards with my shoe and it slips out of sync with the rest. “I’m going to wipe out, which means that there’s a good chance Pablo and I are both going to drown before the day is over.” I pause, feeling my cat resettling himself in the backpack. “Wait, is this all part of your grand plan for vengeance? Pablo tries to steal one of your nuts and you decide that—”

“Anddd, I’m gonna stop you right there.” Stepping behind me, Owen slips his thumbs under the padded straps. His beard tickles my cheek as he leans in close, his presence solid and warm at my back. “You know, maybe this cat thing isn’t so bad. Look how close I can get to you without him trying to—how’d you put it?—steal one of mynuts.”

“Are you making fun of me?” I ask, just barely resisting the urge to relax into his chest. “Because if so, I take exception.”

“You really, really should. This pet carrier is a goddamn eyesore.”

The backpack stirs, like Pablo has taken exception to Owen’s close proximity. “It’s fashionable,” I protest weakly.

“Rose, you look like you’ve got the planetarium on speed dial. Tell me, is your idea of a fun Friday night cuddling with the antichrist while watchingAncient Aliens?”

I snort under my breath. “Nothing wrong with outer space, Harvey. A dream of mine has always been to see the Northern Lights.”

“My eyes might make it a bit difficult to see all that,” he murmurs, one hand falling to my hip and squeezing, “but I’m down to make the trip with you . . . if that’s ever up for consideration.”

Giddiness slips through me at the prospect of us vacationing together someday. I think of us strolling through the airport, luggage rolling beside us, as we grin at each other. I think of him curled behind me in some hotel bed, his arm looped around my waist, my body cradled by his. And then I let myself visualize the moment when we’re standing beneath a foreign sky, our fingers intertwined, our heads tipped back as we wait for the aurora borealis.

My eyes might make it a bit difficult to see all that.

Instant regret slams into me. Dammit, dammit,dammit.

Feeling my stomach lurch, I turn my head, just far enough so I can glance up at his face. His features are relaxed, as though he’s unbothered by my obvious faux paus, but still . . . Guilt sits heavy, like curdled milk, in my stomach. “The Northern Lights are green and purple. Oh, God, Owen, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think—”

He cut me off with a kiss to the top of my head. “It’s an experience I wouldn’t want to miss. I’d get to see your face when you look up at the sky—it’s enough for me.”

My lips feel parched. Seeking reprieve, I run my tongue along the roof of my mouth. It doesn’t help. Probably cosmic karma for speaking without consideration first. “You . . . you are a good man, Owen Harvey.”

“That good, huh?”

“Don’t let the compliment go to your head.”

“Definitely too late for that.” I feel his hot breath on the back of my neck, just as the pressure of the backpack straps eases off my shoulders. Whirling around, I watch in surprise as he gently slings the pet carrier across his back. When he catches me openly staring, slack-jawed, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t make this out to be more than it is. Chances are, you’re gonna wipe out. We can’t have Pablo going down with you.”

“You’re bonding,” I whisper dramatically, going so far as to press my palm to my heart. “I can’t believe this is really happening.”

Owen’s mouth twists in a frown. “We arenotbonding.”

“It warms my heart. It really, really does.”

“Rose,” he mutters, in warning.

“Wait!” I throw up a hand. “I need a picture. Don’t move!”

“Savannah, if you take your phone out, I can’t be held responsible for what I—”

Hands looped around the backpack straps, a scowl tugging at his lips, that baseball cap on his head—Owen looks flustered and irritated, and with Pablo glaring at me from his little space-capsule window, I snap a picture of them both. What a pair. For real, a total match made in heaven.

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