Page 71 of Sand in My Boots

“Who died?” Zane asks the question. I think. It could be Silas.

When no one answers, I remove my head from my phone.

Preston points to me. “You. Zane wants to know why you look like someone stole the last beer.”

I school my features, not needing to give them anything to tease me about. Although it’s not like some of them wouldn’t deserve the same riling lately.

“Nothing’s up. What’s on today’s agenda?”

Preston snaps his fingers, thinking he has it all figured out. I’m glad he thinks he does, because I sure don’t. “She left.”

“Who’s she?” Zane wonders.

“Juliana.”

“Your sister was here?” Silas’s attention bounces back and forth, trying to follow the conversation.

“She came for a wedding. It seems she left with something more. Something you want to share with the class?”

I can’t tell if Preston’s mad. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The week happened, and it’s over now. If he wants to punch me for defiling his little sister, so be it. It can’t hurt any more than my heart already does. Heck, the physical pain will actually hurt less.

“Nothing to talk about. It ended when she left. We’re friends now.” The more I say it aloud, the more it will sink in, right?

“She certainly didn’t look like being friends agreed with her.”

Do not read into his comment.

Get the attention off you.

Do not engage.

For once, I actually listen to my inner self.

“How’s the new chef working out for The Drift?”

Zane takes the bait, word-vomiting about the new chef he hired. The one I could tease him about, except I don’t have the energy to do that, even if I wanted to.

From there, the meeting gets underway with each of us addressing our parts of the resort. I give a rundown of the week’s activities and what events I’m planning for the next few months.

Preston goes through the financial report. We’re heading into the slow season, but this summer was busier than the past two summers. All good news for Whispering Tide.

Silas is next with his spiel about marketing ideas, things he’s going to try to bring in more guests this winter, as well as how general operations are going.

When all is said and done, I race out like a bat outta hell. I grab my packed bag from my office, barely acknowledging Keoni on my way out the front door to my car. Once out of sight of the building, I heave in gulping breaths.

In. Hold. Out.

In. Hold. Out.

Repeat.

I need a reprieve, a pardon from the memories wreaking havoc on me. The problem is, it’s not coming soon.

If at all.

My watch alerts me to an incoming call.

PRESTON. Should have known he wouldn’t let me escape unscathed.