Page 23 of Royal Agenda

“Sorry.” Grace waved at them. “Do you need a towel?” She offered hers. Their lunch had been sprayed as well, but she wasn’t sure how to help with that.

Virginia shook her head. “It’s just a little water.”

Harry stood and offered her a hand. “Come on. Let’s take the picnic basket back to Cocoa and eat in the dining room.” They began packing up.

“Stephán, you splashed them,” Grace said low. Apologizing was the least he could do.

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s the beach. Water happens.” He rubbed his chest and legs off.

Technically, he was right. But Harry and Virginia weren’t dressed for swimming. When he didn’t make a move to help them, her shoulders came up to her ears. That was so not cool.

She used her towel to ring out her hair as she tried to come up with something else to talk about. Touching her hair always brought up thoughts of Ryker and his vibrant green eyes. She’d fallen asleep thinking about him the last couple of nights. She’d also spent way too much time trying to catch sight of him whenever Grandma hauled her over to The Palms’ main building for a class. So far this week they’d done two knitting classes, a seated weights class that actually made her thighs burn, an art class, and a cooking class with Cocoa that was a whole lot of fun. The pastry chef had a sense of humor and she got along with the residents as if they were her close friends.

“I can’t believe how long my hair grew over the last six months,” she finally said just to have something to fill the uncomfortable silence.

Stephán laid back and closed his eyes. “It’s cool. Long hair makes you look young.”

“I am young.” She laid out the towel.

“You’re practically middle-aged. Me too.” He shrugged, his eyes still closed.

Grace scowled. She was in her twenties. How was that close to middle aged?

Harry and Virginia left, carrying the basket between them. Grace sighed. She liked the people here. They were warm and friendly . . . and funny. Twice now she’d been caught off guard by a hilarious comment and ended up holding her side as she laughed with Betty, an octogenarian, in art class.

She sat down, ready to let the sun dry her suit before going to lunch and Stephán jumped to his feet. “Let’s grab something on the pier.”

“O-kay.” She stood back up and put on her coverup. She was mostly dry and it wasn’t the first time she’d hung out in a wet swimsuit.

Stephán picked up his board, flinging sand all over her towel. She cried out in surprise.

Stephan turned to her. “It’s just a little sand, right?”

“Why don’t we stash the boards at Grandma’s?” She glanced in the direction of the pier. It was a fifteen minute walk and Grandma’s was only twenty yards away.

“Nah. If we leave them, we have to come back before getting in the water.” Without waiting for their reply, or for Grace to join him, he started off.

She had half a mind to go back to the bungalow, drop the board, and shower. Let him eat alone. Something had gotten into him today. She drew in a breath. Everyone was allowed to have an off day.

“Grace! You coming?” Stephán called, his hand cupped around his mouth.

“Yes!” she called back. Grace gathered up the board she’d borrowed from him. When she was five feet away, he turned and continued walking, leaving her to trail behind or hurry to catch up. Annoyed, she slowed down even more. He could wait for her when he got to the snack shack.

Instead of stopping at the snack stand, he continued on to La Parisian Brasserie. Leaning his board against the wall, he reached for the door, motioning for her to go first.

She stopped in her tracks. “I’d rather have a slice of pizza—if you don’t mind.” She liked French food—loved it in fact; but she didn’t appreciate him assuming she would buy him lunch at the most expensive place on the pier. Especially since he’d cheated to win their race and hadn’t bought a meal since they came to the Cove.

Wait, was that right?

She bought burgers. She paid for groceries. She’s ordered take out. Yep, he’d freeloaded off her for days. Instead of waiting for his response, she turned and went back to the Italian place.

He came to stand beside her in line. “You sure? They make a mean lobster roll.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

“I’m sure.” She smiled innocently.

“Okay. I mean, you’re the one who always wants to eat healthy. I thought you’d freak out over the calories.” He pinched her side as if calculating her percent body fat.

Grace opened her mouth to argue the point and then paused for a moment. She did try to eat healthy, but she never forced that on anyone else. Also, she didn’t ever freak out over calories and pinching her–even slightly implying that she had put on weight–was just plain rude. “That must have been someone else,” she told him right as they stepped up to the window to order.

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