Chapter 6
chapter six
Wendy
Iknock before I can talk myself out of it. The bag is tucked into my arms as I listen for footsteps. When I hear nothing, I set the bag on the floor so he’ll see it when he returns. As I’m folding the brown paper closed, the door opens. Carter looks down at me with his hand on the frame.
“What a surprise.”
He’s wearing khaki shorts and a white button-up that’s open. The fabric moves with the breeze. His hair is damp, and I focus very hard on his eyes, not allowing mine to wander down his body again.
“Your tequila.” I pick it up and offer it to him. “And chocolate. And change.”
He takes it and pulls out the Clase Azul Gold first, turning the bottle in his hand. His eyebrows lift. “I’ve had this before. It’s great.”
“Of course you have.”
“Looks like you got the best for the best.” The corner of his mouth lifts.
The balcony glows behind him. The string lights are wrapped around the rafters and the overhang. Warm light splashes into the room.
“Have a drink with me. You look like you’ve had a day.”
“That’s one way to put it. But I shouldn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
The breeze pulls his shirt open another inch. I should go downstairs and go to bed.
“Tempting.”
He takes a step back, allowing me space to enter, then sets the bottle on the desk and pulls out two shot glasses. I step inside and close the door behind me. The room feels so much smaller than it did this morning. I’ve never experienced the B&B like this.
The balcony in this light is different. Two chairs face the ocean with a small table between them.
Below us, the beach is dark, except for the white edges of waves rolling in.
Music from Cocktails & Chaos thumps in the distance, and the air has a coolness underneath that only comes after sunset or in the winter.
Carter hands me a shot with salt on the rim and a lime wedge balanced on the edge.
“You had garnishes?” I ask incredulously.
“Tequila requires it. I walked to the grocery store earlier so I would be prepared when you arrived.”
I lift my glass but narrow my eyes. “To being your personal shopper when you’re more than capable of doing it yourself. The limes and salt are proof.”
“Cheers to that. Love a smart-ass,” he says, clinking his shot glass against mine. Salt falls from the rim onto the floor, but he’s not bothered by it.
We slam them back, and it goes down smoothly.
“This stuff is dangerous,” he says.
“The best things usually are.”
“Play a game with me,” he offers, moving through the open doors of the balcony.
He sits in one of the chairs and pats it. I grab the bottle of tequila and follow him.
“Give me the rules,” I say, sitting, facing him, allowing my curiosity to get the best of me.
“It’s called Consequences. Answer a question honestly or take the shot. Then it’s your turn to do the asking.”
“If that’s the case, we might finish this bottle tonight.”
“Potentially.” He leans back. “Are you in?”
I stare out at the water, contemplating what I should do. Then I swear I hear Fallon’s words from earlier today repeating in my head.
I glance over at him. “Sure. I’ll play your silly little game.”
He pours us both new shots. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-three. And you?”
“Forty-one.”
“Really?” I whistle, hating that older men are my kryptonite. They’re always more mature, and they tend to have their shit together. “Over forty. Wow. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
He chuckles. “Flattering. Did you grow up here?”
“Born and raised. Left for California to get my master’s degree. Had a cushy job that paid well and did that for years. I returned home a month ago.” I take a sip and let the liquid sit on my tongue. “Where do you live?”
“New York. The city has always been home.”
I nod. “New York explains a lot.”
“Yeah? Like what?” He doesn’t seem offended.
“Does that count as a question?”
“Yes,” he tells me.
“Your entire demeanor is very … New York. Important. I don’t know how to describe it. You carry yourself differently. Now, it’s my turn. I want something juicy. What’s the most trouble you’ve ever been in?”
He drinks without hesitating and gives me no answer.
“That bad?”
“Some things you couldn’t waterboard out of me.” He refills his glass. “Same question.”
“I went skinny-dipping in the ocean with my boyfriend when I was seventeen. We left our clothes on the beach, and someone stole them while we were in the water. We had to walk back to the B&B naked at two in the morning. I knocked on my grandma’s door, dripping wet, with nothing but my hands to cover myself.
She opened it, looked me up and down, and shook her head. ”
“And then?”
“She told on me and got me grounded for the entire summer. And my punishment was housekeeping duties for a month at the B&B. She still randomly mentions it.”
“What a little rebel.” He grins, and it’s a real one, dimples and all.
“Worst date?” I say.
“Oh, easy. A woman took me to a couples meditation retreat. It was three hours of us sitting on a rubber doughnut cushion, facing each other, in a room full of strangers.”
“Three hours?”
“I lasted forty minutes. Then I had a fake emergency.”
I’m laughing hard, and the tequila isn’t helping. “Asshole.”
“I’m not proud of it.” He looks like a completely different man than the one who checked in two days ago. “Now yours.”
“I made the mistake of mentioning I loved to hike in my bio on a dating app once. This guy picked me up for what I expected to be a scenic walk with a picnic and a view. It was ten miles through the mountains with elevation changes. He packed tuna for both of us. By mile six, I had blisters on the backs of both my feet, and I was bleeding. It was awful.”
He drops his head back against the chair. “The audacity.”
“There was no mayo. We ate dry white bread and dry-ass tuna. It was torture.”
The sound of his chuckle mixes with the waves below.
“Are you seeing anyone?” I ask. The alcohol makes me too brave.
His eyes move back to mine, and then he picks up the shot glass.
“Oh, you’re not going to answer?”
A smirk crosses his face, and he drinks.
I stand. “If you’re married, I can’t hang out with you. It’s disrespectful to your wife.”
He tilts his head. “Okay? I’ve been polite and on my best behavior. There is no harm in having a conversation.”
“I’m not that girl. I wouldn’t want my husband drinking with someone as cute as me at this hour.” I keep my voice calm to overcompensate for how tipsy I am. “If I find out you’re in a committed relationship, I will track her down and tell her everything she—”
I move toward the door, and when my hand grabs the handle, his laughter stops me.
“There is no girlfriend or wife. I’m married to my job, which is the main reason why I’m here. I’m being forced to have a peaceful vacation because I haven’t taken a break in seven years.”
I return to the balcony. “Was that so hard?”
“Somewhat.” He offers me the bottle. “But I’d appreciate it if you kept it between us. Don’t want to give the … what did you call them? The birds? Any ammo.”
“It’s the Bees because they are busy-as-fuck bees who get in everyone’s business on the island.”
“Call them whatever you want. The more people who believe I’m not available, the better. If anyone knows I’m available, well, let me just say, women tend to flock to me.”
I sit down next to him. “You say it like it’s a burden.”
“It is. The past two days have been nice without any of that.”
I instantly feel guilty for semi-flirting with him. This morning, I was drawing lines in the sand, and it seems like, tonight, he is.
We drink, and the tequila tastes smoother with every shot. Somewhere on the beach below, a group of people laughs. The string lights sway in the crosswind and throw shadows across his face. I cross my legs and my ankles.
“What about you?” he finally asks. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Not officially.” I shake my head.
“Does that make you sad?”
I drink this time because I don’t want to talk about it.
His face softens, and I hate that I’ve already shown weakness.
“How about some chocolate?” He grabs the bars and opens all five.
“We can’t eat all that,” I tell him.
“Live a little. It won’t go to waste,” he says.
He breaks off two pieces of the raspberry bar and holds one out to me.
I lean forward and take it from his fingers with my mouth.
His gaze locks on mine, and neither of us moves.
The milk chocolate is rich, and the raspberry sweetness takes over.
I close my eyes because it’s almost too much at once with the tequila and the salt air and the way he’s watching me with sparkling blue eyes.
“How was it?” His voice is lower.
“Exactly how I remember,” I say with a smile.
He breaks off a piece for himself. His tongue catches a smear of chocolate from his bottom lip, and I look at the ocean because staring at his mouth is a bad idea.
“You put off this spoiled only-child energy,” I say because the conversation needs to move to a safer place.
I break off a piece of the caramel fudge bar and hold it up between my fingers.
“Wrong. I’m the oldest. I have three siblings.”
“Wow.”
A second passes before he leans forward and takes the chocolate from my fingers with his lips. They lightly suck on my fingertips, and my hand stays frozen in the air as he sits back.
“But I’m very spoiled,” he says. “I always get what I want.”
“I believe you.”
We keep passing the bottle and chocolate between us.
For over an hour, we talk about nothing and everything.
I share fun stories about Coconut Beach, and he tells me about a restaurant he tried in New York that only serves seven courses and doesn’t have a menu.
I share how I once convinced Josie that I had a mermaid as a pen pal.
Our laughter gets louder as the bottle becomes lighter.
The thumps from Cocktails & Chaos shift to something slower.
When my eyes get tired, I pull my phone out and see it’s past midnight. Hours have passed, and I didn’t even notice. “I should go. I have to be up early.”
“Thanks for hanging out.”
“Thanks for the invite.” When I stand, the balcony tilts. “I might’ve had too much.”
He’s up and beside me before I can blink, his hand on my elbow to steady me. “Need me to walk you home?”
“Appreciate the offer, but I think I can manage the stairs. I’m on the second floor. My door is the first one on the right.”
“So, we’re roommates?” he asks with a smirk.
“Not quite, Banks. Don’t push your luck.”
We’re standing close—too close. His hand is still on my elbow, and I can smell the tequila and chocolate on his breath. For a fraction of a second, his gaze drops to my mouth, causing my lips to part.
His thumb rubs against my arm, barely moving, and the spot where he’s touching me is the only thing I can think about.
The wind pushes my hair across my face. Carter reaches up to tuck it behind my ear.
His warm fingers trail down to my jaw and stop.
I hold my breath, and his hand drops to his side.
“We should do this again sometime,” he says.
“Maybe. But I have a feeling we shouldn’t,” I whisper and take a step back.
Air fills the space that wasn’t there a second ago.
“I hope I can change your mind.” He walks through the room and opens the door for me. “Good night, Wendy Winslow.”
“Night, Carter Banks.”
He stands at the door and watches me leave, wearing a smoldering gaze. “You sure you don’t need an escort?”
“Pfft. Positive.” I glance over my shoulder at him as I grab the railing to the stairs.
My skin is flushed, and my legs are unsteady. Not sure I can even blame the tequila for how dizzy he makes me.
When I’m back in my room, I lean against the door and close my eyes. Every part of me is humming, and tomorrow at seven, I have to walk into that room and pretend his touch doesn’t affect me.
I need to avoid him, but I can’t.