Page 14 of The Rehoboth Retreat
“White, if you don’t mind. I’m a Chardonnay kind of guy.”
As I waited at the outdoor bar for my glass of wine, I soaked it all in—the salt air, the hum of conversations, the sweet clink of glassware, and flirtation. It felt…indulgentin the best way.
I chatted more with Grayson and Brody, who were very lively. In just a matter of thirty minutes, I realized my glass was now empty. Usually, I’d stick to one glass of wine, but why not live a little? This was supposed to be a vacation. I should bend the rules, even just a little.
“I’m going to grab another glass. Be back in a jiffy,” I informed them as I went to the bar line.
And then, just as I was basking in that warm fuzziness, it happened.
A man—tall, tanned, and oozing self-importance—cut right in front of me in line.
I blinked. “Excuse me, I believe I’m next.”
He turned slowly, smirking, and gave me thekind of once-over usually reserved for steaks at a butcher shop.
“Oh? Do you not know who I am?”
“Should I?” I asked.
He stepped closer, the smug practically dripping off him. “Hudson Knight. Actor. Probably seen me shirtless in a few too many movies. Come back to my place, and I’ll rock your world, Pantone Princess.”
I stared, mouth slightly open. “Did you seriously just say that out loud?”
He shrugged, completely unfazed. “Why not? You look like the type who needs a little chaos in that perfectly monogrammed life.”
I scoffed. “I’m a professional organizer and food blogger, not a…contestantin your personal reality show.”
“That explains the air of lavender-scented control. I bet even your sock drawer has a seating chart.”
“Better than whatever dumpster fire you call a personality.” I shot back.
He laughed, loud and unabashed. “Oh, you’ve got spunk, Alphabet Boy. That’s what I’ll call you. Alphabet Boy. Everything of yours is probably color-coded and stacked or organized alphabetically. Am I right?”
“Charming,” I said flatly. “Let me know when your personality catches up to your biceps.”
“Ooooh, that’s good,” he said, mock clapping. “I’m writing that one down.”
“Try a pen and paper instead of whatever shady tattoo artist did your tribal armband.”
“This ink is a fan favorite,” he stated.
“So was MySpace. Doesn’t mean we need to bring it back,” I replied.
The bartender, trying not to laugh, slid my Chardonnay across the bar.
“Enjoy your evening,” I said, collecting my drink with a nod and pivoting away.
"Okay Alphabet Boy! Call me if you ever want to organizemydrawers!”
“Only if I can throw everything out,” I quipped over my shoulder.
I returned to Grayson and Brody, who were both halfway through their drinks, and fully leaned into a collective gasp.
“Was that… was thatHudson Knight?!” Brody asked, eyes wide.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I replied.
Grayson’s eyes went wide. “He’s a total trainwreck, but, like… in a hot way. Didn’t he just break up with Jackson Pierce?”
