“Liza Beaumont is your aunt?” This from the other man—bronze hair, hazel eyes, wearing a black T-shirt with a pair of dark jeans, and from his belt hung a deputy badge.
“This is Kyle Hueston, local law,” Jensen said. “He’s married to Emma, but she’s not here right now. She’ll be back in a bit.”
“And I’m Claire—Jensen’s wife,” said the brunette, sliding off the stool. She too looked familiar. “I’ll bet Stuart is getting worried about you. Maybe we should call him.”
“You know Stuart?”
Claire picked up the phone. “I used to work at Pierre’s. Stuart’s like a dad to me. I was the one who talked him into delivery service.” She grimaced. “Sorry.”
“I blamed Grace.”
“You should.” She laughed, and finally Raina placed them. Darek’s best man, Jensen, and Ivy’s friend Claire.
Her mistakes surrounded her on all sides.
She toed off her shoes, left them by Casper’s at the entrance, then padded across the wood floor to the double windows to stare out at the view.
“Dinner is served,” Casper said. “Raina, you want some?”
She turned and found Casper smiling at her, nothing of mockery in his expression. She glanced at the pizza. Not a perfect cheese recovery, but he’d managed to cover the slices sufficiently.
He handed her a plate and winked.
“No, I shouldn’t—”
“Yeah, you should.” Claire had hung up. “Stuart said to take the rest of the night off. And he asked if you needed help getting out. I told him we could handle it.”
They could?
Deputy Kyle nudged a stool from the counter.
Okay. Raina slid onto the stool, accepted the pizza.
Casper set a glass of soda in front of her. Then he lifted his own. “Welcome to the first meeting of the Evergreen dragon boat team.”
The what? But even as Casper looked at her, an eyebrow raised, a grin on his face she might call teasing, she found herself reaching for her glass. Lifting it. Tapping it to Claire’s, Jensen’s, Kyle’s, and Casper’s.
“To teamwork and the championship,” Casper exclaimed. “Huzzah!”
“Huzzah!” she echoed as one with her new compatriots.
CLEARLY HER TREK OUT TO SEA had scared Max more than he wanted to admit. Aloud, at least, because Grace wouldn’t soon forget the panic in his eyes or the way he crushed her to himself when they’d returned to shore.
His heart nearly pounded through his rib cage, right into her ear. Right into her heart.
But then he’d released her from his embrace, and for a long while there, the big chill had settled between them. As if . . . as if . . .
As if all her neediness had disgusted him.
See, she knew it would only be a matter of time. The chivalry would wear off and in its wake would be a sort of sad shake of his head and a disentanglement from the girl who took too much effort.
A part of her wanted to offer to return the swim buddy pass. In fact, in a way, she felt sorry for him. Saddled with Owen’s sister. She could admit that might have added to his sudden cold front. And maybe he’d saved her from the awkward moment when he realized she wanted more.
Or that she had wanted more. Sort of. Maybe entertained the idea.
What was a gal supposed to do when a muscled, tall, and devastatingly handsome hockey player pulled her into his arms?
She liked him. Way, way too much because she’d obviously read into things. Into his attention, his laughter. Read into the twinkle in his eyes.
So she’d taken a step back, reined in that messy neediness, and remembered her boundaries. They would be swim buddies. Culinary vacation teammates.
Max, it seemed, got the message. Somehow, she’d brought him back, and although flirty Max was gone, chivalrous Max managed to hang on. He hadn’t quite kept his promise about surfing, but he’d taken her for a drive into the mountains in the center of the island, and yesterday he’d wandered Honolulu with her and helped her purchase a Hawaiian dress.
Today, however, rain pinged on the roof of the kitchen, and she guessed she might have to pick up a book from the resort bookstore. She swallowed down the taste of disappointment. Really, the poor man should have one day away from her.
Because he seemed almost miserable.
Worse, he’d turned into a bit of a wreck in the kitchen. Yesterday, while she diligently massaged her ahi tuna, he’d nearly cut his finger off.
And today . . . “Argh, I have lumps!” he said as if he had just missed a goal.
Grace glanced over from where she was making haupia, a sort of coconut pudding, on the stove. From outside, the cool breezes of the rain tempered the steam of the kitchen. Still, she longed for her swimsuit instead of her chef’s armor.