Page 59 of Late Nights & Love Lines
He frowns at my answer but takes me at my word and leads me away from the party that’s starting to wind down.
Were they all waiting for him to fetch me?
“It looked like you were having fun with the girls,” he says, breaking our silence as we walk along the shore.
“Well, they’re very pushy and sneakily kind. They’re the kind of people you never intend to befriend and before you know it, you’re a bridesmaid.”
His eyes crinkle with a secret, but he says nothing.
“Did you put them up to this? Oh my God. Did you coerce them into hanging out with me and tricking me into helping plan something for the camp kids next week? That’s so embarrassing, Sebastian. You can’t force people to befriend me.”
The hand still holding mine spins me, and I dizzily crash into his chest.
“There was no coercion, sweetheart.” Oh lord. Please don’t call me that. “They like you, and it appears that you like them. Is it so hard to believe that you might have made a few friends?”
“That’s not, I didn’t?—”
“You’re easy to like.” He presses a gentle kiss on my forehead, and everything I’ve ever said about not being a girly girl or wanting romance shrivels up and dies because at this moment, I want him to give me all of those kisses that turn my insides into molten lava.
“You’re also incredibly intelligent and have a way with kids, so I’m sure they understand that you’re a great benefit to whatever it is they’re planning. I’m also sure they realize you’re an asset as much as a friend. You have a lot to offer people, Rowan. You just have to allow them to see it.”
Keeping our hands clasped together, he tugs me along beside him as we pass the house on our left. It’s a tactic to keep me from responding, and it’s for the best because my mind is a muddled mess of woulda, coulda, shouldas.
Would I be able to maintain a friendship?
Could I even form real friendships?
Should I try for…more?
“Breathe, Rowan. None of this is a trick. I swear the sound of your mind racing could scare off an entire ocean of creatures.”
“It doesn’t seem to be scaring you off,” I mutter.
His thick, velvety laughter skims down my body, heating my skin to uncomfortable temperatures.
“Not much scares me anymore, sweetheart.”
I have to put a stop to this. He can’t use those endearments with me. I’m leaving in a couple of weeks.
Before I can open my mouth to tell him so, the beach curves inward, creating a little cove. On the beach ahead of us is a blanket, a picnic basket, and gas torches lighting our way.
The wordsI’m leavingcurl up in my throat and kick at my neck until it’s so swollen air can barely pass through.
“Don’t freak out,” he says, physically pulling me forward now. “It’s only so we can have some time to talk, in private.”
We reach the blanket, and he kicks off his flip-flops, then sits down and leans back on his hands as he scans my body in a slow perusal that tickles my skin and causes the flutters in my belly to ricochet off each other.
And I am totally fucking freaking out.
“I agreed to a dance.” The words are stilted and thick.
“We’ll dance,” he promises, holding up a small Bose speaker, then he pats the blanket beside him.
“Seb…”
“I love when you call me that.”
With one sentence of praise, my shoulders drop, and I give in. I’ve never felt so weak yet so emboldened as I do when I’m next to this man. Lowering myself to the sand, I kick my legs out beside his.
