Page 32 of Me and Mr. Just Right

“What are you singing?” he asked her.

“Just another made-up song,” she told him. “I can’t get over how incredible it is out here.” She tipped her head toward the sky, and the sun kissed her smooth skin. “Do you get used to it?”

“I haven’t yet. I hope I never do.”

They walked side by side along the beach, their hands brushing occasionally but neither of them moving away to prevent it. He needed to stop this. She lived in Nashville. Had just gone through a huge breakup. And this wasn’t him—the longing and the jealousy and the stomach swirling and the intense desire to take her hand firmly in his—and see how her mouth tasted next.

Being near her had put him in some sort of haze, and he struggled to blink through it. Well, struggled towantto blink through it, and not just sink into it like he might a thick fog.

“I can’t figure it out,” she said. Her hand brushed his again, and he nearly groaned.

“What?”

“If it’s this island that’s magical …” She paused—another hand brush—and her gaze met his. “Or if it’s you.”

He swallowed hard.

“You three, I mean,” she added hurriedly. “You too, but—Forget I said anything.”

He laughed. “I can’t forget it. I’m magic; no take backs.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “You know what I meant.”

He decided to stop teasing her. Hadn’t he just been thinking how incredible this island was? Magic was the exact right word to describe it. “Yeah, I do.”

“Whatever it is, I never want it to stop,” she murmured so quietly, he wondered if he was supposed to hear it. Their hands collided again, and this time he gave in to the urge to slide his fingers between hers. He was gratified when her fingers clasped his back.

“Me neither,” he said, just as quietly.

Chapter 15

Haydnwhistled“LongestTime”as he got dressed in the bathroom, realizing how light and happy he felt. He never felt this happy in the morning, especially not before breakfast.

But all the loneliness he’d been grappling with for the last several months had fled, and in its place was a sense of belonging. Being on the island with his brothers was restorative. And being with Lia? Confusing, unnecessarily distracting, a bad idea. But also intoxicating, exhilarating, heady. And the side of him that craved sunlight over stormy days was winning.

He walked out of the bathroom with an extra skip to his step and was met with a face-full of pillow. The pillow fell to his feet, revealing a bed-headed, scowling Jules in the dim hall light. “No. Whistling.” He went back to his bedroom and slammed his door shut.

“Seconded!” Bennett called from behind his closed door as if they were around a board table considering a proposal on the agenda.

They’d stayed up until past one in the morning, snacking and laughing and talking, and their plan had been to sleep late. But Haydn’s ability to sleep in was suffering thanks to sleeping on a couch. And when he’d awoken, his first thought had been of Lia’s smooth palm pressed into his.

Forget going back to sleep. Forget hating mornings. A day he got to wake up and see Lia was good day.

The door to Haydn’s room—Lia’s room?—was open, and she sat cross-legged on the bed, writing in a notebook. She wore a pair of rumpled red-and-black plaid pajama shorts and a black tank top. His heart skittered right over its next beat, seeing her look so comfortable in his bed. She didn’t have makeup on, and she’d braided her hair into two loose braids that were slung over her slender, tan shoulders.

“Did my whistling wake you too?”

She glanced up at him, and then closed her notebook and set it on the tousled blanket. “I’ll wake up to Billy Joel any day.” She patted the bed beside her and tucked her feet beneath her to give him more space to sit.

The room had never seemed as small as it did when he sat on his bed next to Lia. He’d also never been so grateful that he’d opted for the full size. Especially as Lia’s folded knees brushed against his arm, causing him to catch his breath. “Maybe I whistle ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’ tomorrow.”

She snickered, and he joined in, but they both stopped abruptly when Jules banged on the wall in warning.

“I think he’s worse than me before breakfast.” He swallowed hard as she leaned a little bit closer. Probably to hear him better, but his heart didn’t seem to care.

“You’re not so bad,” she whispered back. “In fact, I like you before breakfast.”

“Huh. I like you before breakfast too. And all times of the day, come to think of it.”

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