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I have to open the attachment on my laptop, which means I have to get it from Jack. He must still have it.
It’s still so early. Is he up yet?
My stomach curls with nerves at the thought of seeing him this early in the morning. The sun has barely peeked up over the horizon line.
What if I wake him by knocking, and he answers the door all sleepy-eyed, with bed-head hair? What if his voice is adorably croaky, and he’s got bare feet or a bare chest?
What will I do if I knock on his bungalow door, and he answers, and I get a whiff of his terrible, awful, amazingly wonderful pheromones?
Ack.
I’m being stupid, thinking like a woman who spent too long pondering her empty bed back in New Hampshire.
Right now, I have to think like a Sales Manager.
My bed has nothing to do with this.
I yank my hair back off my face and twist it into a tight bun. Back in the bedroom, I pull on fresh clothes. In the bathroom, I splash cool water on my face and ignore my makeup bag.
I walk out the door into brisk, very early morning island air. The sun hasn’t yet burned off the fine haze of moisture. The cool mist rests on my cheeks.
It’s like walking through a cloud. I pass through lush foliage and palm fronds to his door.
This must be his bungalow. He mentioned yesterday that he and his brother’s family are staying in Yellow Coral, and this is the only yellow one around.
The bungalow looks quiet. At least, I can’t see any movement inside.
There’s a pair of leather sandals—Jack’s, I’m pretty sure— kicked haphazardly off to the side of the door.
I hesitate there, with my fist raised to knock. It’s not even seven o’clock yet. I’m for sure going to wake Jack up, and probably his brother, sister-in-law, and those two sweet girls I’ve seen around, too.
I can’t wake them all up because I selfishly need my laptop… Can I?
It was probably my fault for mixing up the bags, anyway.
I shouldn’t be here.
I’ll text him about the mix-up, and we can make the swap later.
I’m about to turn, but the sight of the door stops me. It’s not closed all the way. An inch gap separates the dark wood from the turquoise-painted frame.
I can see into Jack’s bungalow…
I poke my face up to the gap and am relieved when I spot the black strap of my computer bag near a white couch.
There it is.
Right there.
I could make the swap without waking anyone up…
Carefully, I push the door open and step inside.
Chapter 16
Hazel
My sandals pad over the polished bamboo flooring, nice and quiet. I make it to my computer bag.
