4. I Told You So
I TOLD YOU SO
SAWYER
Juliet’s by the gazebo, chatting with a surfer-looking woman with tan skin and beads in her hair. My sister can make friends with anyone. My other sister, Rachel, is the same way. Me? Not so much. But that’s okay. I’m not trying to win friends at this point in my life.
I briefly contemplate telling Chloe I’ll be right back so I can say good night, but Juliet is training her laser vision on me from across the lawn and smirking in an I told you so manner.
Clearly, she doesn’t need formalities. I tip my forehead in her direction, keeping an arm wrapped around Chloe’s towel as we head for the exit.
In the distance, the woman with the Mastiff is waving goodbye, looking remorseful.
I give a nod, then I open the first gate, then the second.
“Your sister approved of your early exit?” Chloe asks.
“You saw that?”
“She’s not exactly subtle,” the wet woman replies.
“Truer words,” I say, shutting the gate behind us. As we wander down the path toward the street, Chloe tosses a glance back at the dog park.
“So let me get this straight. Your sister is your wingwoman. The bartender wished you good luck—”
“You saw that too?” I blink. Does she have eagle eyes?
Chloe shrugs. “I notice little things. It’s kind of what I do.”
That could mean a million things, but instead of asking the obvious What is your line of work? question, I wait. She’s clearly going somewhere.
“Which raises the question, Sawyer,” she continues, her eyes sparkling with playful accusation. “Did you pay off that Mastiff to knock me into the lake so we could make a great escape sooner?”
I laugh again. Dangerous habit. One I shouldn’t let stick. I school my expression as we near my car. “What can I say? I was determined to get the hell out of there.” I pause. “With you.”
Her gaze drifts down to the cotton clinging to her legs and stomach. “News flash: it worked.”
“It did,” I agree, then stop at my car. I click the key fob, unlocking it. But Chloe shoots me a worried look.
“Are you sure you want me to sit in your nice, pretty car?”
“It’s a car, Chloe. It’ll survive,” I say.
A smile drifts across her pretty lips like that was the perfect answer. I bet she dated a prick who loved his car more than her. Asshole. I reach for the towel and spread it across the passenger seat. “After you,” I say.
“Thank you,” she says and settles in. I shut her door, then head around to the driver’s side, trying not to get too far ahead of myself, even though my mind is already making some seriously spicy leaps.
Once we’re both in, I turn on the engine and ask, “Where to?”
“The Resort,” she says, as if it tastes like sugar. “I’ve always wanted to stay there.”
“What do you know—I’ve been staying a few blocks away at The Luxe.”
“Oh.” She pauses, weighing that. “You’re not from here?” Her tone shifts a little, like maybe she’d rather I wasn’t local.
“I am. But I just sold my house. Been staying in a hotel.” I glance over at her. “Let’s get you to yours.”
I don’t want to be presumptuous. Her priority is probably washing lake water out of her hair, not lingering with the guy who saw her dress go see-through.
When we arrive at The Resort, I valet the car and walk her inside. At the very least, I can make sure she gets checked in.
As we pass through the sleek, upscale lobby, her sneakers squeaking on the gleaming black tiles, she’s quiet.
Not awkward quiet—more like deep-in-thought quiet.
That crease in her forehead says as much.
I hate to let this night end, but I’m not going to push her right now.
Before we reach the front desk lined with vases of dahlias, she spins around, stopping in front of a modern waterfall structure, facing me as streams sluice elegantly behind her.
“Let me buy you a drink. As a thank-you. For the towel and the car and the gallantry. And for saving my purse.”
I let out a low whistle. “Damn, I do sound pretty awesome,” I say.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, buddy,” she shoots back, but from the smile turning her lips and the gleam in her eyes, she’s clearly enjoying herself.
The feeling’s mutual, and I’m glad it didn’t take her long to ask me for a drink. Still, I hold up my hands. “I’ll be staying in my lane. Happily waiting at the bar for you. But here’s the thing.”
“Yeah?”
I lean a little closer, and that cinnamon-y scent is all gone, but it doesn’t matter. Even smelling like a lake, she smells incredible. “I’ll be buying you that drink.”
She grins. “You don’t mind waiting till I shower?”
“Nope. Since your shower is pretty much all I’ll be thinking about.”
Her eyes go wide, and she practically runs to the front desk. But then, before she gets there, she whirls back around, regret flickering in her expression. She’s fingering the hem of her wet dress. “I didn’t think this all the way through. Sometimes I’m a little impulsive.”
I’m not impulsive. I’m the opposite. And I’m also a man who recognizes an opportunity when it’s handed to him. “Go check in. I’ll take care of it.”
With a carefree shrug, she returns to the desk while I head straight to the hotel gift shop I spotted when we walked in, grateful it’s still open in the evening.
But even if the hotel didn’t have one, I’d google the nearest boutique so fast and find her something to wear.
Earlier tonight I wasn’t in the mood, but now I know exactly what I want for the rest of the evening.
To keep erasing the day.
Wait, make it these last several months of untangling my life from my ex’s.
Nothing is going to stand in my way now—definitely not clothes.
I scan the shop quickly. It has everything a traveler might want, even a bikini, which Chloe might need.
I flick through them and pick one. Next, I spot a light-blue sundress that looks perfect for her, and I grab that too.
I snag some slides that look like they’ll fit her.
Toss in a polo for me too. Then swipe my phone and thank the clerk.
When I meet Chloe back in the lobby, I hand her a bag with the shoes, the bikini, and the dress. “Just a little something.”
“And the gallantry keeps on coming,” she says, then lifts my wrist and eyes my watch. I shouldn’t like it so much—the way she curls her fingers around me. But I do. Oh hell, do I. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes,” she says.
“I’ll be the guy at the end of the bar,” I say.
Her lips twitch in a grin. “See you soon…at the end of the bar.”
With the bag swinging in her hand, she strides toward the bank of elevators, head held high even with her shoes squeaking on the floor and her dress sticking to her.
With the memory of her touch lingering on my arm, I head to the men’s room, wash my hands, strip off my damp shirt, and tug on the polo.
After I ask the valet to toss the other shirt in my car, I pop around the corner into a drugstore, then go straight to the hotel bar to wait for a woman who is very much worth waiting for.
This is so much better than stressing over my to-do list alone. I guess my sister was right—that I needed some fun.
Well, universe, let’s see what you’ve got.