Page 21 of Sand in My Boots

Cameron stands on the other side of the door. He looks edible, even through the distorted, tiny lens. Energy pulses through me, so much I forget I’m wearing only a robe and throw the door open. He’s wearing a different pair of cargo shorts—navy blue this time—and a T-shirt with the resort’s logo splashed across his broad chest. The yellow and orange hues complement the blue of his shorts.

Weird association, Juli.

“Um, I don’t think I texted you yet?” My voice pitches up on the last word, posing what I know to be true as a question.

He holds up a brown bag. “I brought breakfast. And coffee.” I was too busy ogling the colors of his attire, I totally missed the contents of his hands.

Forgetting all manners, I reach out and take the coffee. He’s not holding it out to offer it to me, but does that stop me? No. No, it does not. And I don’t stop there. Nope, I immediately take a sip and moan the instant the flavor hits my tongue.

Strong.

Dark roast.

Black.

Which I usually detest, but damn is it satisfying.

“Yep. This is what I need right now.” I take another sip before deciding it needs some sort of cream. “Wish I had some milk or cream.”

With his now free hand, Cameron pushes the door open wider, sneaking past on my right, into my room. “Sugar, cream, milk, and some non-dairy options if those tickle your fancy.”

At first, I’m not sure what this list of ingredients means, but when I shut the door and turn around to face the room, he’s sitting at the table, digging all kinds of containers out of the bag.

“Make yourself at home,” I mumble. To be honest, I can’t understand why. I don’t mind him being here. Especially because he brought me coffee and, from the looks of it, food. My brain still a bit fueled by last night’s alcohol, it’s too much to unpack right now.

“Sit, Jude. Have breakfast with me.” His eyes skim up and down once. “Nice outfit. If I had known we were going cazh, I would have worn my sweats.”

“Shower. Robe. Knock. Coffee,” I sputter.

Cameron’s face lights up in amusement. “Oh, a game. I like it.” He rubs his hands together before exclaiming, “Things you need to do to get ready to go out.”

Laughter bubbles up from inside, and I can’t keep it contained. “You’re funny,” I finally admit after a few minutes, once I’ve composed myself.

“Haven’t changed much. Humor is still at a teenage level some days.” My stomach growls from lack of food, a perfect segue for him to command, “Sit. Eat. Enjoy.”

With a quirked brow, I wonder, “Am I a dog?”

“Not in any way. But unless your stomach grumbles all the time, I’d assume you’re hungry.” He doesn’t even think about the answer, nor look up at me when he says it.

“Famished.” I sit across from him, tightening the tie on my robe. I didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled to my chest more than once.

There are containers of French toast, waffles, fruit, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and a lone cinnamon roll. My eyes get stuck there.

“I already ate. It’s all for you.”

My head picks up at Cameron’s voice. Then I slowly survey the food again. In no way can I eat all of this, let alone half of it.

Like a sixth sense, he alludes, “You don’t have to eat it all, Jude. I didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for or what you’d prefer for breakfast. Be sure to fill me in, and next time I’ll bring that.”

Again, it’s all too much to unpack, but my brain attempts to process it.

It begins with him bringing me breakfast, all different choices, because he wasn’t sure what I liked. This alone sets my heart soaring. But my mind gets tripped up on the “next time.”

“I like pancakes.” It’s meant to be a joke, but I realize it’s the wrong thing to say when he does his own inspection of the plates, and his expression falters.

“The one thing I didn’t bring.” He goes to stand, but my hand on his stops him.

I smile, hoping it eases some of the missed joke. “I’m kidding. This was so sweet of you. And I’m really eyeing the cinnamon roll.” Cameron’s eyes blink swiftly, almost as if he can’t tell if I’m being honest or not.