Page 81 of Writing Mr. Wrong

The woman’s fingers tapped over a keyboard. “Would isolation bother either of you? A private villa that isn’t close to restaurants and such? I see here that you planned to make your own meals.”

“Isolation is fine,” Gemma said when Mason’s glance lobbed this question her way. “Oh, and if the villa was owned by locals, that would be a big bonus.”

“Understood. I have a few options, but I might not be able to secure one in time to get your approval before you fly out. Is that acceptable? Taking all this into consideration, may I choose a place while you’re en route?”

“That’s fine,” Gemma said. “Thank you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

MASON

Mason was very aware of their time together ticking away. By the time they reached the new place—if they got one—it would be dark. He’d been so pleased with himself for flying back last night to squeeze an extra day into their trip, and they’d lost it to this fuckup.

There was also another problem, which had required a text to his coach.

Mason:Can’t make it back until game day

Mason:It’s a shit show here. They completely fucked up the travel arrangements

Mason:I was booked to fly out for the evening before the game, but we had to stay somewhere else, and they can’t fly us out until the next morning

Mason:I will make the game, though. Guaranteed

When a reply didn’t come, he presumed that meant it was fine.

Then, as they were settling onto the charter boat, he realized hehad a missed call from his coach. He motioned to Gemma that he needed to make a call inside the cabin. Only, when he got there, he saw that he’d already lost signal. He checked his messages. Nothing.

Well, if it was urgent, he’d have gotten a “Call me back now” message.

As he pocketed his phone, he looked out the cabin window. Gemma stood at the bow like one of those wooden mermaids on old ships, leaning into the wind, her hair whipping. She’d changed into an outfit from their new luggage, a tank top and denim shorts. As the boat roared along, mist had already soaked the tank, fabric clinging to her body. Water glistened on her arms. He could only see her from the back, but he knew she was smiling.

He was getting a second chance with Gemma Stanton.

That’s what this trip was about. Yes, he meant it when he said he wanted those lessons, because he wanted to do better for her. And he absolutely meant it when he promised time for her to write. That was part of showing her what he could be—a partner who understood his high-flying career wasn’t the only important one.

He might not have planned the trip himself, but from here on out, it was all about giving Gemma what she needed. Proving he could be theguyshe needed.

He’d lost her once, and he wasn’t doing it again.

Lost her? Or thrown her away?

He’d fumbled the puck. He’d seen it right there and, instead of gently stickhandling it to the net, he’d turned and skated away, as fast as he could.

Why? Even thinking the question made panic rise up and his defenses slam down.

Don’t look over there. Look here, at everything you’ve accomplished. Look at your trophies. Look at your fan groups. Look at your condo and your bank portfolio. Look at Nonna Jean’s and Nonna. You did good there. Made your grandmother’s dream come true. Whew. Focus on that. The other stuff doesn’t count.

Except it did. It really did.

Gemma turned from the bow then, and shewassmiling, hair blowing in her face, green eyes dancing.

He tucked the doubts into his pocket. He’d figure this out. He’d figure itallout. He smiled back and headed to join her on the deck.

GEMMA

Their destination was indeed going to be a surprise. Such a surprise, in fact, that they weren’t quite sure what it was evenafterthey arrived, because it was already pitch dark. All they knew is that it was an island. They had the sole villa on a private island. Well, she had said “isolated” was fine.

They reached the dock, and the crew helped them unload and then carried their bags up to the villa. Gemma and Mason let the crew go on ahead as they enjoyed an incredible walk along a solar-lit path, hearing only the lap of water and the crunch of sand underfoot. Soon the crew was heading back to the boat. Mason tipped them as they passed, and then they were alone.

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