Page 48 of Cajuns. Love. Curves.

I’m shaking my head, trying to make sense of his words. “I don’t—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel this, too. Because I know you do.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“Okay,” he takes a few steps closer, and finally, he pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head. “Then what were you going to say?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think.”

“Then forget what to think. What do you feel?”

“Forget what I think? Do you have any idea how hard that is for me to do? To not think about how this could go wrong? About all the ways this could end badly for me? For us? Even when you’re not deployed, you’re stationed in Coronado, halfway across the country from me. And you’re—”

I just gesture at him, inanely trying to sum up the general awesomeness of everything about him. He’s a SEAL. He’s practically a superhero.

I can tell how badly I’m doing it all, because that stern, serious expression of his has morphed into a downright scowl. “I’m what?”

“You’re…” —and I still don’t know how to describe it. How to put it into words— “You’re you. You’re larger than life.”

“And you still haven’t told me how you feel.”

“About what?” I know I’m deflecting, trying to put off the answer, because maybe if I can refine the question enough, the answer will come to me.

“About us. About me.”

Okay, nope. It didn’t help at all. That’s a very specific question. And I still don’t know the answer.

As if he knows I’m stumbling, he answers for me.

“I know how I feel. I love you.”

“Nick, you’re a good guy. If you say you think you love me, then I’m sure that’s what you think you feel. But I don’t know how to trust that that’s real. Tripp said he loved me. We made plans for our future. We talked about whether we wanted kids and what kind of dog breeds we liked. And then that all blew up in my face.”

“You don’t believe I love you?”

“I believe you believe it. But that doesn’t mean it’s real. That doesn’t mean it will last. You’re my brother’s best friend. You already have holidays with my parents. Of course, you’ve convinced yourself you’re in love with me. That doesn’t mean any of this is real. That doesn’t mean it’s gonna last.”

“I’m not Tripp.” He gives me another one of those long, hard looks. The kind I can’t decipher. Even though his sunglasses are off, I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“I went into this thinking it was going to be a vacation fling. I don’t know how to wrap my brain around it being anything else. I’m sorry.”

“So that’s it?”

I don’t know what to say in response to that, which is probably for the best, since he doesn’t give me a chance to reply. He turns and stalks off in the opposite direction. A moment later, he’s running down the beach. Looking like he belongs in this amazing perfect tropical location. Just so far removed from my everyday life.

Part of me wants to run after him, to make sense of all of this craziness. But who am I kidding? He’s used to jogging on the beach. Last time I went jogging, it was at an air-conditioned indoor racetrack in the gym.

So instead, I do the only thing I can think to do; I go get myself another cup of coffee, and then I make the long slow walk back to my cabin at the very end of the beach.

chaptertwenty-three

Text conversationsbetween Nick and Cassie after email just wasn’t enough…

Nick: Just heard the news about Wade. God, I’m so sorry.

Cassie: Thanks. We’re all just glad he made it out alive. Not everyone was so lucky.

Nick: How’s he taking it?

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