Page 27 of Until Then

Wonton nips at my toes, startling me. “I better go to bed,” Iblurt out, throwing my thumb over my shoulder toward the guest room.

He nods, stuffing his hands into the jeans he didn’t change out of when he came home. “Good night, Izzy.”

Once we’ve gone our separate ways, I dive into bed and burrow under the covers. On the other side of the quilt, Wonton scratches at the fabric before he circles and plops himself down.

After I’ve composed myself a bit, I respond to a text from Finneas, then plug my phone in to charge.

That’s when the master bathroom shower kicks on.

Eyes squeezed shut, I curse myself silently.

This might be the worst thing imaginable. Derrick, a few feet away. Naked. Wet.

With a shaky hand, I snatch my phone off the nightstand, navigate to the white noise app, and tap on the whale sounds.

Calm. Soothing. Nature.

But also water.

Water like Derrick’s currently standing under.

I clutch the pillow from the other side of the bed and cover my face. Then I scream into it.

8

DERRICK

With a sigh,I honk for a third time.

I’m a patient man, but after twenty minutes, that patience is slipping. Izzy swore she’d be right out, so I loaded up. Yet here I sit, still waiting.

The front door opens, but before I can exhale in relief, she’s sticking her hand out and waggling one finger in the air.

I cover my face with my hands to stifle my annoyance.

I thought I was doing a good thing when I offered to take her out on the boat, but if she can’t even make it out the door on time, I can’t imagine the day will go well.

Finally, the door opens again, and she descends the front steps with a tote bag so big slung over her shoulder that I have to wonder if she’s hiding a toddler in there.

I can’t help but survey her, taking in the teeny tiny jeanshorts and the loose sweater falling off her shoulder that reveals a pair of thin straps tied around the back of her neck.

Bright yellow flip-flops slap against the brick walkway as she makes her way to the truck.

She hops in wearing a cheery smile, like she hasn’t made me wait out here for nearly half an hour.

I arch a brow as she puts the tote bag between her feet. “Do you have everything?”

She twists her lips in thought. “ChapStick, sunscreen”—she ticks the two items off while reaching for the seat belt—“a book, iPad, cell phone, magazine, snacks.” With a click of the buckle, she nods once. “Yep, that’s everything. What about you? You look…” She takes me in, then shifts in her seat and peers into the back seat. “Unprepared.”

“All I need is my hat.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder to the fishing hat on the bench seat.

Lips lifting in amusement, Izzy shakes her head. “Such a simple man. Just a hat. Would you like a round of applause for your lack of needs?”

“Your sarcasm is unappreciated,” I gripe as I put the truck in reverse.

Izzy laughs, the sound bright, airy. But quickly, she sobers and asks, “Do you mind if I roll down the window?”

“Go for it.”

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