Page 31

“Oh. Good. Now I just need to find the bag with my laptop in it,” he says as he leans his head back on the seat.

I pat the briefcase on his lap. “It’s right here, Monty.” Shaking my head, I tell him, “You’re not a fun drunk. You’re a lost one.”

“Lost one what?” he asks.

“Nothing, just try to sober up a little. Six glasses may have been about four too many.”

“I never drink like that,” he whispers. “Don’t tell my mom I’m drunk.”

“Of course not.” I won’t have to tell her since she’ll probably figure it out after about two seconds of talking to her strait-laced son.

“Alright, folks, the next stop is the Solara Resort. I’m your driver, Manny. If you have any questions, feel free to ask,” the man says as he climbs into the driver seat.

“Don’t let me forget to tip him. I owe him for finding my luggage,” Monty says.

“Right,” I agree with a smile as I take in the greenery outside the window.

“I wish you weren’t so pretty,” he says.

When I glance over at him, I find Monty staring at me. “Why is that?” I ask, my heart racing a little at his unexpected compliment.

Reaching up, he wraps his finger around one of the curls framing my face.

“Because it’s so hard to look away,” he says as he releases my curl, then, “You always take care of me. And everyone else. Who takes care of you, Kindling?”

My cheeks warm as I face forward again, telling myself that he’s just practicing being a doting fiancé, and I meet the driver’s amused gaze.

“Are you two here on your honeymoon?” he asks.

“Oh, no. We’re just here for the weekend for a tour, to see about having our wedding at the resort.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“I’m also meeting his mother for the first time, so he drank a little too much on the plane.”

“You kept handing me glasses!” Monty protests. “There was more alcohol than orange juice in those things.”

“Two is your max from here on out,” I agree. “Now, are you going to be okay for lunch? We’re supposed to meet your mom and her husband at the Veranda Café and we’re already running a few minutes late.”

“I can drop you off at the restaurant and have your luggage delivered to your room,” Manny offers.

“That would be great,” I tell him. “We’re in one of the bungalows.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I know the one,” he replies with a grin. “We’ll have your luggage dropped off before you finish your lunch.”

“Awesome, thank you.” Turning to Monty, I find him still staring at me adoringly, almost smiling. “Hopefully getting some food in you will sober you up.”

“Seeing my mom and her new husband will do that,” he grumbles, the previous goofy expression disappearing like it never existed

“You don’t like your stepfather?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I don’t really know him. My mom loves him, so…”

“So, you’ll tolerate him for her?”

“Yeah. Shit,” he mutters, cursing which is unusual for him.

“What?” I ask.