Page 16 of Izzy and Her Off-Limits Love

“That’s right!” she says, her expression growing animated. “Because I loved the idea of doing good, but not so much the grants or bookkeeping or staffing.”

“You just wanted to save the turtles,” I say with a smile.

“I did. Still do, actually. Or, notjustthe turtles. I’m spending a lot more time thinking about humans these days.”

Izzy looks like she wants to say more but needs a little prompting, so I lean forward, elbows on the table. “Do you have any specific areas of interest?”

“I’ve been thinking about how many women are out there, especially single moms, who don’t have the kind of support you and I had with family. Savannah has some neat programs providing shelter or food or clothing, but nothing dealing with the whole situation. I’d love to start something to help women learn and develop the necessary skill sets and qualifications to rise above the poverty line, even if they’re doing double duty as moms. So, it would need to also help with kids and education to break the cycle.”

She stops suddenly, cheeks flushing a little like she just realized how much she said in almost one breath.

But there’s no need to be self-conscious. Watching Izzy talk about something so passionately unlocks something inside me. I love that she hasn’t given up on her dream. I also love that she’s working, trying to learn, when I know for a fact Uncle Ben, who owns Oakley Island and a million other properties all over the world, would invest in whatever she asked him to invest in, same as he did with me. He’s the main investor behind Make Change, something I only agreed to after Uncle Jake, a lawyer, assured me over and over again the agreement was fair and equitable and competitive and not just Benedict doing a favor for his nephew.

Izzy could start tomorrow if she wanted, and Ben would give her all the help she asked for. Our whole family would. Benedictis the one with ridiculous amounts of money and a big heart, but the whole crew would support Izzy’s endeavors, start to finish.

“Anyway,” she says. “That’s a long-term dream. I hoped my job at The Whitmire Group would do a little more to prepare me, but so far, I’m just kind of an office bot, living out my days in a cube. Working with you has been the highlight of my job so far, if that tells you anything.”

“Is that because of the work?” I ask, heart thumping as I follow a flirty, risky line of questioning. “Or the company?”

Izzy’s mouth drops like she can’t believe I just asked that either, but she quickly recovers with a smile I can feel all the way in the soles of my feet.

“I guess you’ll have to wait until your evaluation to find out.”

“Oh, I’m going to have an evaluation now?”

“It’s policy. Any outside contractors get evaluated by those working closely with them. For quality control purposes.”

Though I’m positive Izzy is making this up on the fly, she’s pretty convincing. “Well, then. Guess I better be on my best behavior.”

The waiter interrupts with our bill, the forced smile on his face saying he’d really love for us to wrap this up and leave so he can clean up his last table. I quickly pull out my credit card. Izzy looks like she’s going to protest, and I shake my head. “I’ve got it, Iz.”

“Thank you,” she says. “But wait—I got a little sidetracked. What do the turtles and my nonprofit dreams have to do with your business?”

“It was actually that conversation about the turtles that planted the seeds for Make Change.”

Her eyebrows go up. “For real?”

I nod. “A lot of people who have the passion to start a nonprofit don’t always have a brain for numbers. Make Changeis meant for them. To make the bookkeeping side as accessible and user friendly as possible.”

Izzy grins at me, but once again, our waiter returns with impeccable timing to return my card. I slide my wallet into my pocket, then stand, holding out a hand to Izzy. She takes it, and I gently tug her to her feet. I’d love to link our fingers together, to walk out of this restaurant feeling like this was a real date. But I don’t know where her head’s at, so I let her hand drop as we walk toward the door.

“So,” she says, “you’re saying you wrote an entire accounting software because you have zero confidence in my ability to understand numbers?”

I pause. “What? No! That’s not…” My words trail off when I see her grin.

“I’m kidding,” she says, her voice soft. “That’s actually really amazing. I honestly can’t believe you even remember that conversation.”

What I don’t tell her is that lately, I’ve been replaying alotof our old conversations. Ever since last Christmas, it’s hard not to look back and wonder what opportunities I missed.

What if I hadn’t been so logical? What if I didn’t worry about the distance and had let myself really consider Izzy as more than a close friend?

What if I’d kept in touch better?

“I can practically hear your big brain thinking,” Izzy says, nudging my shoulder as we reach my car. “What’s going on in there?”

I can’t tell her. Not yet. Though we have tons of shared history, if I have any hope of something romantic, it will mean building something new. And I want it to have a sure, strong foundation. Rushing things or confessing how much I’d like to kiss her right now would not be in line with that.

Also, we’re in a parking lot, and I’m pretty sure I just saw a rat dart behind a building. Not the place for a confession of feelings or a first kiss.

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