Page 36 of Just One Summer with the Grumpy

He watched me, as if trying to solve a puzzle that was missing pieces. His probing expression only urged me on.

“Like in New York,” I said, “I’m a small person in a big place. Here, I’m in a small place, so I feel bigger. Like I matter more here.” The words sounded ridiculous even to my ears. I clamped my mouth shut, reminding myself that this man was my boss. He didn’t need to know the inner workings of my mind.

He turned his gaze back to the road, where the occasional tiny supply truck or scooter rode by. “Once, you asked me why I chose this island. It’s because here, thousands of miles from home, I found myself.” He fixed a stare on me, watching carefully for my reaction.

I nodded, feeling the truth of it. “That’s the perfect description. I see why you come here every chance you get. If I were you, I’d never leave.”

“That’s always a temptation. But I go to New York because some things are better done in person.”

“Like firing money-stealing wedding planners,” I said.And finding replacements who almost get knocked out cold during a game they’ve played since age twelve.

“Precisely. As much as I’d love to let the company go, it’s keeping the island running right now. Too many people depend on that resort and its weddings for their livelihood.”

I took him in, this rare vulnerability that he never showed anyone else, and felt honored to see it. “I hope the islanders know how much you love them.”

He nodded. “They’ve given me far more than I could ever give them.”

I drew myself taller. “There’s only one thing your island is missing.”

“Oh?”

“A library.”

Surprise crossed his face, then disappeared into the Chase vault as quickly as it had come. “I’ve been working on that, actually. What kind of books do you recommend we stock it with?”

“Thrillers. Horror. And books about…fate.”

“Fate,” he repeated, as if trying to understand.

“You know, stories about how the universe is both intricate and simple. Stories that communicate the depth of the human experience. Not light and fluffy but deep and gritty and all-consuming, the kind you can’t put down, and then when you finish, it’s rendered you completely unable to do anything else because it stays with you. The kind of book that makes you feel you and the author were meant to connect in this way, and the story fills a hole in your soul that you didn’t know existed.”

Oh my gosh, Daphne. Bring it down a notch.

“And stories about sloths,” I added. “Because they’re cute.”

He said nothing for a long while, and I mentally kicked myself for rambling on. If he hadn’t made a library a priority already, the guy probably didn’t even read. Why had I gone on and on about my love for books with a man who was only making conversation?

“I’ll be on the lookout for a book like that,” he said, motioning to the left. We stepped behind a building to a small square where a shed stood prominently in the middle, surrounded by carefully-placed barrels. A tiny restaurant, I realized, the size of a food truck with a smattering of cafe lights on top. A sign in the window read CASA DE MARIANELA. I could barely read the sign at all because of the long line of people.

Chase was taking me to lunch? Or did he intend to pick up food for the rest of the staff? Although that much food would be hard to transport on a motorcycle.

“It has to be a thirty-minute wait,” I pointed out, but he completely ignored me as he strode toward the window.

The woman on the other side spotted him, smiled, and called something behind her. By the time we reached the window, she had an entire tray of food ready. Not a bag for a bunch of people, but a tray for two. For us.

“Mi favorita,” Chase said when he reached the window, making the woman grin. Then he leaned over and whispered something to her. She nodded, her smile widening, and wrote something down.

“Gracias, Marianela,” he finally called, striding toward me with the tray in his hands.

She gave a little curtsy and replied in broken English. “Anything for you, Chase.”

Of course—he had his own rules here. Chase got what he wanted, when he wanted it. Including lunch with his wedding planner and fake girlfriend, apparently.

My heart kicked up a notch.

He stopped at a barrel that apparently doubled as a table, and set the tray down. “I had them put the toppings on the side. I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

The food already looked incredible. “Spice in whatever form I can get it.”

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