Page 86 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

But it’s like a frozen dessert, and I suck down almost half before a brain freeze makes me pause in the sand, groaning. “That’s it. You get the rest.”

But Van sets both drinks down on a table near some lounge chairs. He takes my hand, tugging me toward the water. When he slides his hand out of mine, a surge of disappointment rises. At least until he wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. I rest my head against his chest, breathing in his sharp, masculine scent.

We reach the damp, packed sand and start along it. A little shorebird out past his bedtime zips ahead of us, chasing the waves in and running back out.

Van gives me the side closest to the ocean, and the water rushes over my feet and up my ankles, then recedes so it can do so again. It’s cold, but invigorating.

I’m going to miss this when we’re back in the mountains. I wish I could scrunch up North Carolina like an accordion so Harvest Hollow could keep it’s charming mountains but also not be such a long drive to the Outer Banks or other beaches.

I lean into Van, also wishing we had the technology to bottle up moments like this, revisiting them whenever we’d like to. The reality of tomorrow being our last night hangs heavy over me.

I’m going to miss this. Miss him.

You don’t have to miss him, I remind myself.You just need to admit what you want and see if he wants the same thing.

Ithinkhe does. But it’s hard to imagine this man with the larger-than-life personality and the very busy and very public job wanting the same thing. Wanting me.

There’s attraction, sure, but would Van want more with me? Even thinking it makes me feel like the pick-me girl—like I’m somehow different from all the other girls before.

But he introduced himself as Robbie. I’m not sure why my brain circles back to this fact. Maybe because of his sisters? Who also seemed shocked when he said he was on vacation with me. So … maybe this is something real for him too.

I struggle to picture this easy banter, this physical closeness at home in Harvest Hollow. It’s hard. And I definitely have trouble imagining the conversation with my dad in which I explain how I fell in love with a man I barely met in less than a week. I know there are people who have this kind of story, or even a faster love at first sight kind of relationship. But it has to be so rare.

And it sounds … impossible. Improbable. Imagined.

I curl my hand around Van’s back, sliding it up his untucked polo shirt until my palm finds his warm skin. We walk in silence, the water rushing over our feet, then back out.

Everything seems heightened. The stars, brighter. The crash of waves, deeper. Van’s muscles rippling under my hand as he walks. The sense of loss knowing we leave tomorrow, weightier.

“Permission to speak freely?” Van asks after a moment.

I hesitate. “Yes?”

“Don’t sound so sure, Mills.”

“It’s just … usually people are about to say something rude when they ask that. You know like, don’t take this the wrong way but I hate your face.”

“You hate my face?”

I poke him in the ribs and he laughs. “No, dummy. It was an example.”

“So, you admit youlikemy face?”

A littletoomuch.

“How about we get back to what you were going to say originally. Permission granted, by the way. Speak freely.”

Van is quiet for so long I forget he wanted to say anything at all. Then I get nervous again about whatever he wanted to say.

“Well?” I ask. “Are you going to speak freely or not?”

His fingertips trail over my arm, making me shiver. Even my legs feel shaky.

“This has been the best few days I can remember,” he says finally, voice gruff, and I trip over an uneven place in the sand.

Or maybe I tripped over his words, because they’re not at all what I expected. He steadies me, his hand warm and strong on my shoulder. He pulls me closer, sliding his hand down to the curve of my hip.

“Seriously?” I ask.

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