“I just need you to get me some water, pull up a beach chair, and play The Beach Boys on your Bluetooth speaker.”
I nod, almost giving in to the instinct to lean forward to press a kiss to his lips.
Instead, I cross my arms over my stomach. “Okay.”
When I try to turn away, he loops a hand through my elbow, draws me in closer, and kisses me passionately. He nibbles my lower lip and groans, the vibration reverberating through me.
“You’re a distraction. No wonder this project is behind schedule.” He sighs before releasing me.
I blush, backing away to grab his water and my chair so I can watch him work. Hopefully, the Bees will come back with mimosas to soothe my anxious nerves.
At least he’s not mad about the utterly destroyed budget.
By early afternoon, the old deck has been fully removed. It took a while, and they had to use a chain saw to cut away the palm tree and the bigger posts. Javier and Dayton discussed how he should’ve cemented the structure into the earth so that it was hurricane-proof, and he agreed to do that, moving forward with the new one.
The rest of Coconut Beach pulled together to clear most of the debris on the roads. The beaches will take longer to clear, and the mayor scheduled a bonfire for next week so we could burn all the trees that fell.
After taking a shower, Dayton comes outside to where I’m sweeping up the walkway on the side of the house, where the tree branches and old deck wood left a trail of splintered wood and palm leaves.
He grabs the broom from me. I hold on, trying not to let him take it.
“Dayton,” I complain, “you’ve been working all day.”
“I’ve built up quite the appetite that old grapes aren’t goingto fill. I think I’ll have another steak dinner at the Grand Palm tonight.”
I finally release the broom. He starts sweeping the pathway clear. My stomach flutters at what he’s implying, but I still want him to ask.
“Hope you have fun with that,” I finally say.
He grins, looking up at me. He’s so handsome when he smiles; it nearly takes my breath away. With his dark hair and the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw, combined with the burning image in my brain of his sweaty muscles working in the sun all day, I nearly melt.
“Would you like to join me for dinner?”
I have to bite my lip to keep myself from letting him know how much I wanted him to ask. I wait a few seconds to answer.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally say, attempting to sound disinterested.
“Great. I hope to see you at eight.” He puts the broom down and walks up to me, pecking my cheek with a kiss.
When I walk into the waterfront restaurant at the Grand Palm, Dayton is already seated at a table on the balcony. He’s wearing a loose linen button-down in a pastel-green color. His hair is styled in messy waves, and he’s so incredibly good-looking that I have to remind myself to breathe. I pause at the entrance near the host stand, attempting to swallow over the lump in my throat.
The Grand Palm is the nicest resort in town. It has high ceilings, modern wood accents, lush greenery inside, and tallpalm trees visible through the open balcony. Soft romantic music plays as the lanterns on the wall flicker.
I watch Dayton lift a glass of white wine to his lips, staring out over the dark water.
It’s eight twenty. I’m late because I kept changing my hair and my clothes. Nothing felt suitable to wear for a date with my long-term enemy/stepbrother/hookup buddy at a fancy restaurant. This is the type of place people eat at to celebrate ten-year wedding anniversaries or birthdays that end in zeros.
I finally called Juniper, on the brink of tears. She convinced me that nothing in my closet would suffice, so I had to run over to the Coral Moon Boutique and scour their racks for a suitable option. Thankfully, they were open despite the storm and had a gorgeous pink satin spaghetti-strap dress that wasn’t too tight, but hugged me in all the right places. It brushes along my ankles. My hair is in spiral waves down my back, where the dress dips to expose my spine.
As I weave through the other guests toward the table, Dayton finally turns and sees me. I don’t know what expression I was expecting to see cross his features, but the way his lips part and his eyes trail over my frame heats my skin. He pulls out my chair.
He thought I was standing him up again.
“You sure know how to make an entrance,” he says as I sit.
“Didn’t expect me to show?”
“I wasn’t sure.” He takes his seat, signaling for the waiter.