Sand in My Boots

Chapter 1

Juli

“We’ve landed. It’s our turn to exit the plane.” The older woman next to me, who was prepared to talk my ear off during the flight until I feigned sleep in the first ten minutes, smiles with a friendly grin. She motions her hand, making sure I understand what she’s told me.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” The seatbelt unfastened, I stand up, careful not to hit my head. Though her expression remains pleasant, she seems to be in a rush. I step into the aisle. “Here, you go ahead. I’ve got to gather my stuff.”

It’s a lie. I already organized all my belongings when the plane began its descent.

She’s thrilled to move past me, though it’s slow because she’s old and on the heavier side, so she has to squeeze herself out between the seats.

She pauses a moment, almost to catch her breath, before looking up at the overhead bin.

Before I can offer my assistance—if that’s indeed what she’s waiting for—a gentleman my dad’s age jumps into action.

Saved from having to help, I scoot back into my row and wait while he assists her with her luggage. Once she’s started down the aisle, I swipe my suitcase from the overhead bin and make my way to the front of the plane.

I’m relieved we’re here. Though the hour flight wasn’t long, it was a little bumpy and unsettling.

Or maybe it’s me who’s unsettled.

“Thanks for flying with us today. Have a great afternoon.” The pilot looks harried. I bet he’s glad to be on solid ground. Like I said, it wasn’t the smoothest ride.

“Thanks for managing to fly us safely,” I mumble as I pass, continuing on my journey to my final destination. Bypassing baggage claim, I follow the signs to arrivals to locate my pre-arranged ride.

While I’m looking forward to this week away, the wedding of a good friend, and seeing my brother after way too long, I’m not sure I’m ready to see him yet. And knowing Cameron Fairbanks is co-owner and recreation director at Whispering Tide Resort, I’m thinking I can’t avoid him the entire time.

The minute my college friend Erica mentioned she was getting married on one of Charleston’s barrier islands, I knew she’d chosen Whispering Tide.

Who wouldn’t? It’s gorgeous. Five-star accommodations, world-renowned food, a beautiful on-site wedding venue, right on the beach.

Are there other resorts in the area to get married?

No doubt, but hands-down, Whispering Tide is the nicest. The most elegant.

The one my brother, Preston, also happens to be a co-owner of.

For all I know, he could own over half the resort by now.

If memory serves, there are four owners in total—Preston, Cameron, and two other guys Preston roped into going into business with him. I’ve yet to meet them.

All of my information about the resort comes from pictures Preston sends and the website.

My sister Elisa and I planned to go for opening weekend three years ago, but I ended up with the flu the morning we were supposed to leave, and because our parents had already left, she was the lucky one who got to stay behind and take care of me.

Good thing I was pretty much out of it, since Elisa isn’t the “take care of sick people” type.

I’m super stoked to surprise Preston because I didn’t tell him I was coming.

He’d pretend to make time for me but really wouldn’t.

With me there, on his turf, I won’t rest until I get at least a dinner with him.

On him, of course. It’s only reasonable.

My smile deepens at the thought of sitting at the table with him, enjoying an entire meal with the man I haven’t seen in a while.

Success and Preston Langley go hand-in-hand.

He’s crazy successful and rich—takes after our grandparents in that regard—but the man doesn’t know how not to work.

To take a break. To, god forbid, take a day off.

He hasn’t been home to Georgia in years, not since Whispering Tide opened, but it was probably years before that.

For as long as I haven’t seen Preston, it’s been longer since I’ve seen Cameron.

Cameron Fairbanks, the boy of my teenage fantasies. The one who stayed with us for a week a few summers of my youth. The one who thought of me only as his friend’s younger sibling. Except for the one time . . .

I shake my head, letting go of the memories of the summers he visited. Cameron crosses my mind only during the summer months. Otherwise, the idea of him is locked up tight in a box in the recesses of my brain. Under a lock with a lost key.

My eyes scan the Charleston airport, noting the stark differences between Atlanta and this one.

Other than college and vacations with Mom and Dad when I was a kid, I travel little by plane.

Once Elisa joined our family, traveling was limited.

For reasons only because she was a tough baby and toddler, and vacations with her weren’t relaxing in the slightest. I’d like to say she’s changed, considering she’s always taking off, jet-setting here and there all over the globe, but she travels alone.

Extracting my sunglasses from my backpack, I slip them over my eyes the minute I step outside into the mid-August, sultry eighty-degree heat.

Though the temperature isn’t much different from Georgia, it seems more stifling, the humidity thick like a blanket with the proximity to the ocean.

Thankfully, I spot a sign with my last name, and I scurry over.

“I’m Juli Langley.” I hold out my hand to shake the driver’s extended one.

“Juli.” His Jamaican accent is thick. “I drive you to resort.” After a quick shake, he pops open the trunk of the car. “You take seat in car. I take your bag.” He’s already reaching for the handle of my suitcase before I know what’s happening.

Rather than stand on the curb awkwardly, I open the back door of the town car, a blast of crisp, cool air hitting my face, a direct contrast to the oppressive air.

The cool leather of the seat radiates through my leggings as I slide along, pulling my backpack next to me.

The door shutting makes me jump slightly.

Why am I so twitchy?

Cameron Fairbanks.

For a minute, I close my eyes, allowing myself to remember the boy of my youth.

The way his spring green eyes often studied me, looking beyond the surface of what I portrayed to the world.

The sound of his laugh, deep and from the gut.

The way he always got me to see the fun in everything, but not in a bad way.

That wasn’t Cameron’s nature. He liked to joke and laugh, even at himself when the mood called for it.

He differed from the boys I grew up with, and not only because he was a Northerner and didn’t come from wealth.

I wonder what he looks like now.

The thought of the man he is now opens my eyes.

“We go now. Buckle up.”

The driver’s reminder forces me to obey. It’s not until he speeds away do I realize there’s more than one meaning to his message.

Nearly an hour later, we’re pulling up to the front of the Whispering Tide resort. The palm trees sway in the slight breeze, and my white knuckles on the door handle finally loosen. Too busy being awed by the beauty in view, I temporarily forget the nerves of seeing Cameron.

The building before me is casual but elegant, reminiscent of a grand seaside mansion surrounded on both sides by four-story buildings. The exterior combines upscale finishes of brick and other stones.

“Pretty place, this one. You go to wedding?”

“Yeah, a friend is getting married later this week. I’ve only seen pictures, but man, they do not do it justice.” The ambience oozes wealth but in the Southern’s welcoming way. It’s a dichotomy in parallels.

The car pulls up to the porte cochere, rounding the big circular entryway at a slow pace. Much slower than the rest of the ride. It’s like the driver knows what the rules are here without being told. Or maybe he’s been here before and knows the rules.

Does it matter, Juli? You have more pressing matters at hand than to worry about a driver you’ll never see again.

The car parked and idling, the driver—maybe I should have at least asked his name—hops out. The opening of the trunk sounds behind me, but my vision is too busy focusing on the attraction in front of me.

What’s odd is it’s not like I haven’t traveled to places like this before. We did, when I was a kid. Then, I certainly didn’t appreciate the value or the splendor of a resort like this. But clearly Preston did. No way can you own a place this impressive without good taste.

“Wow.” The word slips out as my door opens. Again, the warm air surrounds me, but it’s not stifling here. Almost as if it wouldn’t dare to upset the guests.

On the sidewalk, my attention draws to Erica exiting through the front doors of the resort. Her left hand drops from her fiancé’s and her pace picks up.

“Juli! You made it. Just in time for lunch. Come on.” Her feet stop six feet away from me, and she motions me forward, her fiancé, Jonah, standing off to the side behind her.

“I’ll take my leave now. Please enjoy your stay.” The driver scoots away, his door slamming, the engine revving before I realize I didn’t tip him.

“Wait,” I call out. “A tip.”

Erica grabs the handle of my rolling suitcase. “Taken care of. How was your flight?”

The town car putters out of the driveway slowly, and I shift my gaze back to my friend. “Fine. Bumpy. Glad it’s over.” Erica wastes no time wrapping me up in a hug, her signature floral and citrus scent from Chanel Coco Mademoiselle perfume wafting around us.

“I’m so glad you’re here a few days early. We’re going to have so much fun this week.”

I don’t want to rain on her parade, but I’m not sure how much time we’ll be spending together. She’ll be busy with wedding things, and I’ve got plans to sit by the pool, mai tai in hand, and do nothing but read while working on my tan.

And tracking down my brother for at least one meal.

“Preston rushed past us yesterday. He hasn’t changed much, has he?”

I chuckle. “No, not really. But I can see why he never leaves this place.”

“And you balked at me for wanting to get married here. As if there was any other place on my list for a destination wedding.” Her head bobs with her giggle.

I could name a few other than Charleston, South Carolina, but I bite my tongue. Radiance beams off her, an excited glow I’ve never witnessed on my friend before.

She doesn’t know a thing about Cameron, and if all goes well, maybe she never will.

She’ll be consumed with wedding stuff, and I’ll be avoiding any kind of recreation the resort offers by visiting the different pools.

Surely the recreation director has better things to do than hang out by any of the three pools, right?

The thought flitters across my mind no sooner than a familiar tingle springs to life at the back of my neck. I don’t need to turn around to confirm.

I’ve been here for all of five minutes.

Seems like Operation Avoid Cameron Fairbanks is already a bust.