Chapter 29
chapter twenty-nine
Dyson
Iwake up to sunlight flooding the room because the house is mostly glass.
Wendy is sleeping beside me, one leg kicked out from the sheets. Dark, wavy hair is everywhere. The ocean view looks like the screensaver I have on one of my travel laptops. I reach for my phone and see it’s just after eight.
I haven’t slept past seven in a decade. My body doesn’t allow it. I have a circadian rhythm that runs like a Swiss watch, no matter the time zone. And yet I just slept for ten hours in a glass box on stilts because everything feels right in my life.
Downstairs, pans clang, and the smell of bacon drifts up through the open staircase.
Fuck. I forgot I booked the chef for breakfast.
“Wendy,” I whisper, kissing her shoulder. “Time to wake up, sweetheart.”
She makes a sound.
“Chef Armand is downstairs, and we have a glass house full of his staff.”
One eye opens. “What?”
“Slipped my mind.”
Both of her eyes pop open. She sits up, and the sheet falls, and she grabs it against her chest and looks at me.
“Don’t worry about it. They’ve seen much worse. Trust me. But we should probably go downstairs to be respectful of their time.”
She launches out of bed and digs through her overnight bag, pulling on a sundress so fast that she gets her arm stuck in the neck hole. I watch her fight the fabric for three seconds before I help untangle her with a chuckle.
“Stop laughing,” she says, glancing down at my cock. “I wish I had time for that.”
“Later. I promise.” I pull on shorts and a T-shirt as she moves to the bathroom.
“Oh wow! The glass frosts when you lock the door.”
She’s adorable.
Ten minutes later, we walk downstairs, looking like two people who scrambled to get dressed. I have no shame though. Chef Armand doesn’t blink. He’s in the outdoor kitchen with a full spread of crepes, bacon, fresh fruit, pastries, and a pan of eggs that smells like brown butter and herbs.
“Good morning, Mr. Banks. Good morning, Ms. Winslow,” he says, folding a crepe with the precision of a surgeon. “Coffee is ready. Juice is freshly squeezed.”
“Morning. Thank you.”
“Good morning,” Wendy says, smoothing her hair with both hands. “This smells amazing. Thank you so much.”
Chef Armand gives her a smile. “It’s been a pleasure.”
Two coffees are given to us, exactly how Wendy likes to drink hers, and we sit at the deck table, inhaling the sea air. Today, the water is pale blue and calm. A pelican dives about fifty yards out and comes up with breakfast.
Today is August 2. Tomorrow, my reservation at the B most are by the fire now. I reach for the jug of Slap Yo Mama when Mia steps up beside me.
“Hey, Dyson.” She’s calm in a way that tells me she’s been waiting for this all night.
“Hey, Mia.”
She smirks.
“Heard you were the reason photos of Wendy and me are all over the fucking internet.”
“Technically, I didn’t post them. But I did know you were hiding something. It was obvious the day you walked into the B&B, wearing that watch. Real conspicuous.” She takes a sip from her cup. “Just a little sleuthing is all it took. You should’ve really considered not using your real last name.”
“Thanks for the pointers. But it was never an issue until you.”
“You’re welcome. Now you don’t have to hide.”
“That wasn’t your call to make,” I say.
“Maybe not. But when you’re in public, you can be recorded or photographed by anyone.
” Mia turns and glances at Wendy, who’s smiling so wide.
“She has the truth now. The B&B is booked through December, and you were slow dancing at a bonfire like you were the main characters in a fucking romance novel. So”—she finishes her drink—“I helped,” she says proudly.
I study her. “This could’ve been a disaster.”
“Sure. But I believed you’d do the right thing.” Mia sets her empty cup on the table. “You owe me, Banks.”
“Yeah?”
“You know you do, and I will absolutely be cashing in on that, Mr. Billionaire.”
I chuckle. “You’d better be glad I like you.”
“It’s because I have the best book recs.” She nods once and walks back to the guy she’s with. He puts his arm around her without hesitation. I process how I got outplayed by a woman who loves to give me shit with zero remorse.
I find the empty cups with our names on them and fill them.
She takes hers and reads my face. “What?”
“This is Slap Yo Mama. Careful.”
“Shit, Carter—I mean, Dyson. Ugh.”
“Call me whatever you want, babe.”
Wendy looks across the fire at Mia, who raises her cup in a casual toast. Wendy shakes her head, but the corner of her mouth lifts. “What did she say?”
“Basically, don’t be in public if you don’t want photos posted. She didn’t give a fuck about what she did,” I say with a laugh. “Josie was a pawn and had no idea.”
Wendy shakes her head. “I’ll deal with Mia later. Tonight is ours.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me back toward the music.
We sway to the music until the fire burns low. Someone rebuilds it, and we keep going.
Around eleven, Mia and Luke disappear down the beach without a goodbye.
Summer is asleep on Dayton’s shoulder, and he hasn’t moved in forty-five minutes—because shifting would mean acknowledging he gives a damn.
Fallon and Travis are chatting on a blanket near the water.
Cal is mumbling something to Silvie, who’s laughing her ass off.
Wendy yawns.
“Ready?” I ask. “We’ve had a long day.”
She looks up at me. The firelight makes her face glow. “One more song.”
I hold her through the entire three minutes.
When the song ends, she takes my hand, and we walk the beach path back to the B&B. A taco-shaped moon hangs over the water. Behind us, the bonfire shrinks to an orange glow. The music fades until it’s just bass.
“Tonight was perfect,” she says. “Thanks for going.”
“Was a lot of fun.” I lift my arm, pulling her in close to me as we walk the rest of the way.
Inside, the lobby is dark, other than the seashell lamp in the corner.
We climb the stairs to the Sandcastle Room.
She turns in the doorway and presses her face against my chest and holds on. “Sleep with me in my bed?”
“There’s no place I’d rather be.”
We undress and climb between the sheets, tipsy and spent from our long day. She rolls onto her side, and I pull her against me. My face presses into her hair, and I breathe in coconut shampoo and a hint of smoke from the bonfire.
Wendy falls asleep before me. Her breathing slows, and her body relaxes against me.
Just as I close my eyes, my phone vibrates on the nightstand. I carefully reach for it, not wanting to wake her. The screen glows in the dark room.
Reese
Flight confirmed for tomorrow. Everything else is arranged per your instructions. Good luck, Dyson.
I stare at the screen. The cursor blinks in the reply field. Wendy shifts against me in her sleep. I lock the phone and set it face down on the nightstand.
Tomorrow, everything changes.