Page 49 of Plotting Summer

The tone of his ‘nothing’ speaks volumes, and I can feel the heat congregating in my cheeks. With how I’m hugging the edge of the pathway and dodging plant branches for the sake of distance, he must have guessed his uncanny effect over me.

“Noah Belacourt is a good guy, isn’t he?” His smile is casual, but his eyes are searching mine, and suddenly, I understand his real question—what do I think of Noah Belacourt? Or more specifically, why was I acting like a twitterpated pre-teen in his presence? Though I’m not exactly sure why it matters.

“It’s Noah Belacourt,” I say as if that’s some kind of defense. “I was just a little star struck.”

Tristan laughs. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

I scowl at him, pushing a small palm frond out of my path. “I’m not used to celebrity sightings, let alone two back-to-back. Three if you include Senator Brooks.” Which I don’t. “You’re lucky I was functioning at all.”

He grins. “Fair enough.”

A couple probably around our age moseys past us. The man’s arm is draped over the woman’s shoulder, and he’s whispering something into her ear, her dark brown curls concealing his face. She looks up and giggles at him, then her gaze meets mine. We share a smile before the man begins to whisper again.

When I look back at Tristan, our eyes meet. “What are you thinking?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

He glances over his shoulder, then steps closer. “The way you were watching that couple,” he whispers. “It’s like I could see the wheels in your head turning.”

Heat prickles my cheeks, but I know it’s an opportunity to let him get a glimpse of my imagination at work. “I was just thinking about what brought them together. What their story is.”

He grins as if he knew that’s what I would say. “And?”

I glance behind us one more time, assessing the couple again. “I think they were co-workers, vying for the same promotion. He tried to ruin her chances by doing something awful—probably swapped her printed resume for one that listed her greatest accomplishment as owning an exaggerated number of cats and highlighted that her lifelong ambition was to start a party service where she dresses up as a curly green-haired clown people endearingly refer to as Madame Broccoli.”

Amusement is written in every part of his face. “Madame Broccoli?”

I shrug. “It feels like something he’d do. And it wasn’t until halfway through the interview that she discovered his interference, but instead of outing him, she decided to get even, which led to the most epic office prank war ever. It ended with them both locked all night in a utility closet where they were finally forced to face the undeniable attraction between them. They understandably got fired but started their own company together, and now they’re here on their honeymoon. It's been a big year for them.”

Tristan is laughing. “Did you just come up with all of that right now?”

“It’s what my brain does—thinks up stories for people.”

“What’s my fictionalized story?”

Oh heavens! I have a plethora of stories to share about him, but doing so is completely out of the question because my default mode for fictionalized Tristan is that he ends up with me. Period. Exclamation point. “It’s trickier when I know the person in real life.”

He looks slightly disappointed, but it’s only a matter of time until he’ll have the option to read a fictionalized love story about us in real life. The thought makes my stomach churn.

“I haven’t seen your parents since I’ve been back,” I say, ready for a subject change. “How are they?”

“Great. Actually, they both mentioned on Sunday that they’d love to see you.” His gaze flicks to me. “I hope it’s okay, but since they’re planning on being at the swim party tomorrow night, I told them they’d see you there.”

Joy and Mark are the absolute sweetest, despite what Virginia Sawyer thinks about them. I get that they aren’t perfect, but after Grandpa died, Mark became a regular at Grandma’s house, helping to fix leaking faucets and running toilets and securing places on the outside where critters could get in. And Joy is literally the kindest with her big hugs and inviting smile that she passed on to both of her boys. “Of course. I’d love to see them.”

We start up the weaving path to the villa again, and Tristan’s so close to me, I’m all kinds of aware. He reaches past me to unlock the door, and we step through. In the silence of the empty room, neither of us seems sure how to proceed.

“So … what do you want to do?” Tristan asks. “Would you prefer to keep our reservation or order in room service and eat it on the patio? Maybe take a swim?”

I shrug like my insides aren’t vibrating at the very mention of the second option. “You tell me. You’re the one planning it.” And despite all reason, I’m willing him to say that we should order in room service.

He scans the room, his eyes pausing briefly on the bed, before looking back at me. There’s indecision in his expression. “It might be smart to just keep the reservation.”

My stomach drops, but I nod my head like that’s exactly what I want to do. “Yeah. That’s definitely the best option.” I take a step back, gesturing to the bathroom. “We’d better start getting ready, then. Do you want to shower first?”

His gaze is still on me, as if he’s attempting to decipher my response, but then he shakes his head. “No, you go ahead.”

“I’m guessing it’ll take me longer, so I really don’t mind waiting if you want to go.”