“I know. She mentioned that.”
Grace looked at him, startled. “You remember?”
He remembered everything. Like how he’d had to practically force her into the competition, using exactly that reason. And how she’d stared at him with those huge, beautiful blue eyes in the elevator, just like she did now, and it nearly made him crazy with wanting to kiss her.
Which only made him think about the curve of her against him as the moonlight settled around them on the beach and the soft sound she made, deep in her throat, when she kissed him.
And that only brought back how amazing she smelled, the ocean wind and the plumeria flowers embedded in her skin, her buttery-smooth skin that tasted like coconut oil and salt and—
He blew out a breath. “Yeah, I remember.”
“But the thing is, we had to move the wedding up, and she’s actually in the wedding, so . . .”
“She needs your help,” Eden said.
“What—no, I don’t!” This from Grace.
Even Max frowned. “Why not?”
“Because . . . uh . . . you’ve got hockey, right?”
“Not until after the wedding.” What was he doing? A voice in the back of his head shouted at him to agree with her.
“Exactly. And Max took the same class you did—learned the same techniques. He can help you with everything. You’ll be a team again!” Eden looked at Jace as if this was part of a devious plan coming together.
Grace sank her head into her hand. Her shoulders sagged a little, and Max realized he had to help her. It was only six weeks, and then he’d be training, on the road, and able to break free of this power she seemed to have over him. This way she possessed of making him want more, believe more, hope more.
She was like Hawaii—she caught him up in a world where he forgot about his future and made him live right now.
“Yes.” He heard himself say it before his heart caught up. “Yes, of course I’ll help. I make a great sous-chef.”
He searched for Grace’s eyes, longing for the spark, that way she had of making everything all better.
Please.
Grace looked up at him and took a breath, wariness in her expression.
Oh no.
“Fine. But I’m going to clearly mark all the seasonings.” Then she winked.
This might be the best six weeks of his life.
TONIGHT RAINA WOULD PURGE Owen and her mistakes from her life.
Tonight, under the spray of stars, she would dance with Casper and forget her past.
Raina stood in front of the mirror, fixing her hair into a messy bun for the third time. Maybe she should leave it down. Casper seemed to like it down. He was always playing with her long braid or twining escaping tendrils around his fingers.
She let it fall over her shoulders.
In fact, he seemed to like her. He laughed at her pitiful jokes and found her eyes in a crowd, like when he was talking to the team or stopped by Pierre’s just when she got off shift.
And he’d kissed her. Sweetly, as if she was someone he cherished.
She’d chosen Paradise Beach last week, suggested the ride on the motorcycle for exactly the reason of erasing Owen from her memories.
She tried not to compare Casper to Owen, but the sense of magic with Owen couldn’t touch how Casper made her feel. Not on the edge of herself, falling over into danger, but safe. As if her feelings—not his—mattered.
Sadly, Owen still lodged like a burr in her mind. But today she’d walk in the opening parade of the dragon boat competition with Casper, side by side, his first mate. Like she belonged there.
“Knock, knock.” Liza stood at her open door, leaning against the jamb, holding a cup of coffee. “You look adorable.”
Raina felt a little silly in her black workout pants and the long, oversize team T-shirt. But she’d added a scarf around her neck and a pair of pink Converse tennis shoes. “We’re marching in the parade.”
“And then you’re going out with Casper, I’d guess.”
Raina felt a flush on her skin. “He’s really nice. A gentleman. I promise. I don’t think he’s the love-’em-and-leave-’em type.”
“I hope so.” Liza lifted her mug. “I’m glad to be wrong. Just keep ahold of your heart, honey. Only one person can give you the love you really want, and it’s not Casper.”
“Let me guess . . . ‘Jesus loves me; this I know.’”
“It’s not just a song.”
“I know, Aunt Liza. But sometimes Jesus feels too far away. I’d prefer a human’s—a man’s—hug.” Raina picked up her backpack, hung the strings over her shoulders. Fought a wave of nausea. For the second day in a row, she’d woken with an upset stomach. Maybe she should eat more before going to bed, but she hadn’t had an appetite.