Page 23 of Official

“I’m not.” He holds his hands up. “I love strong women, but that’s not the conversation we’re having. I didn’t offer because I don’t think you’re capable. I offered to be nice.”

“I’m still carrying the bag,” I insist, but it’s more out of stubbornness than anything. After the stink I just made, it’d be weirder to accept his offer than it is to hoist the bags over my shoulders and carry them myself.

“Suit yourself,” he says as he grabs the coffees and follows me into the hall.

As we walk, the taupe carpet and sparse paintings along the wall of the hall transform into sleek cream tiles of the lobby floor. The space itself conforms to minimalist décor, but it’s vibrant too with the orange rug. A round table at its center serves as the focal point, and on top is a bouquet of unique and pointed flowers in a large, clear vase. When we checked in, the man at the front desk told us the flowers are called bird of paradise and that they’re typical on the island, although not so average in appearance.

The middle of most of the flowers reach out like a bird’s beak between orange-and-red petals as if it’s emerging from fire, tall and proud. I’ve seen plenty of them in Southern California, but here, the bouquet seems bolder and stronger. I love walking through the lobby just to stare at them and draw strength from them myself.

I take one last breath of cool air as we step through the wide doors, the heat immediately covering us like a weighted blanket.

As we continue toward the beach, Xander leans over to try and peer inside one of the bags hanging on my arm. “What’s for breakfast?”

I pat the tote. “Kale. Egg whites, which we should eat quickly before they get cold. Pineapple and orange slices too.”

He blinks at me. “What else?”

“That’s it.”

He twists his lips like I just told him I have a fungal infection waiting for him inside.

“What? It’s a healthy breakfast to get us energized and ready for the day.”

“You ordered a salad last night when there was lobster and literally any other option. At lunch, you order pretty much the same thing too.” He grimaces more deeply than if I’d shoved the salad in his face.

“I’m having seafood pasta later.”

“Don’t you preach about balance? This sounds like restriction, aka madness.” He tilts his head and turns, leading us toward the beach.

“Iamall for balance, and it’s what I genuinely believe is best. But I’ve cheated a lot since we left my condo—remember the drive-thru on the way to the airport? I haven’t had fast food in ages.”

“And you loved it, right?”

“Of course. It was delicious and worth the stomachache I had afterward, but if I had biscuits and fried chicken every morning, it wouldn’t be cheating or balance. I can’t have carbs on carbs on carbs for every meal, or I wouldn’t do what I do.”

“You’re on vacation, though.” He holds one coffee out toward the ocean as if I’d forgotten. How could I?

I smile right about the time my toes hit the sand.

The sun is still rising, and the beach lies sleepily under the shadow cast overhead. A few people seem to have the same idea as us—a picnic with the scenic sunrise over the water. Most of the tourists haven’t set up their chairs, tents, or speakers yet, and it’s quiet and peaceful at the moment.

Aside from Xander’s chatter, that is.

“Our vacation has no end date as of right now,” I point out. “So, I can’t cheat every day for two weeks, a month, or however long we decide to stay. That’s the balance part. I’m having carbs today, but I’m holding off tomorrow. Which reminds me, feel free to join me on my runs.”

He scoffs like I offended his mother. “I don’t run on vacation.”

When we find a spot to set up camp and he removes his shirt, my gaze falls to his abs, each one like it’s carved out of stone. Turning around, he flashes me with the contours of his back, the ridges and grooves like the mountains on this island.

Men.

They can eat all the pizza in the world, exercise a few times a month, and are good to go. Especially guys in their late twenties like Xander.

Metabolism is a fickle bitch.

“We’ve been here almost a week and haven’t discussed our plan, not that I’m in any hurry to leave this place.” I uncover the egg whites and grab the plastic cutlery room service left me. “My parents are on me to come back for my dad’s birthday in a couple weeks, but she said I can’t have any cake. She calls it my punishment for taking off without driving Reggie to the vet. Little does she know, I’m happy not to eat cake. It’s not my favorite dessert, and if I’m going to eat sweets, I’m going to make the calories count with ice cream or a cheesecake slice the size of my head.”

He lets out a loud laugh that jolts me, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. Over the last few days, I’ve come to revel in his laugh. It’s carefree and makes me want to cover myself in it like a blanket.

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