Page 202 of Banter & Blushes

Briella blinks, her lips parting in surprise. “Reid . . .”

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” I say, voice steady even though my pulse is anything but. “I’ve tried not to be. I didn’t want to risk our friendship. But this week? Pretending you’re not something more to me? It’s driving me crazy.”

She stares at me, eyes wide. The music behind us fades into a dull murmur.

“You . . . you really mean that?” she whispers.

I lean forward. “Every second of this trip, I’ve wished it was real. The mix-ups, the ‘Mr. and Mrs. Bennett’ comments, sharing a room, the—everything. I didn’t want to correct anyone because my heart wanted it to be true.”

The waves whisper behind us. The candles flicker between us.

Then she lets out a soft breath. “I didn’t want to correct them either.”

Hope flares so fast it makes me dizzy. “You didn’t?”

She shakes her head, her eyes glistening. “Because I want it to be real too.”

I reach across the table, and this time I don’t hesitate. My fingers find hers, and she laces them with mine like she’s been waiting her whole life to do it.

“So, let’s make it real,” I say, holding my breath.

She looks at our entwined hands and nods. “We’re really doing this,” she whispers, wonder in her voice.

I smile. “We’re really doing this.”

And somewhere behind us, the ocean crashes gently against the shore while string lights glow like stars above our heads. People laugh softly at nearby tables. Glasses clink. Someone starts a quiet rendition ofCan’t Help Falling in Love.

And I can’t help thinking,I already have.

CHAPTER 9

BRIELLA

Our last full day on the island feels like a dream.

There’s no rush. No packed itinerary. Just a quiet agreement between us to soak in every second, like we both know we’ll be pressing this day into memory for the rest of our lives.

After a delicious breakfast at the resort, we head over to the Hilo Farmers Market and wander through the aisles of the open-air space, ducking in and out of booths filled with locally made jewelry, art, and everything in between. Everything smells like roasted coconut and sea salt and sun-warmed fruit.

I buy a seashell bracelet from a local artist—a delicate band of white and pink shells strung on braided cord. Reid picks out a jar of pineapple jam for his mom, and eyes a beautiful sunset painting over the black sand beach. Unfortunately shipping things from the island is pricey, so he decides against buying it. “If only I could pack that in my suitcase,” he says.

We continue on, stopping at every stand, our hands entwined the whole time, almost as though we’re afraid to let go and lose this connection. The morning is normal. Easy. The kind of day couples probably have all the time.

And, we’re finally a couple.

Every time Reid squeezes my hand or leans in to show me something interesting he sees, my heart flutters like it’s trying to memorize what it feels like to be his girlfriend.

“I’m never going to be able to eat mainland pineapple again,” he says after sampling a fresh slice from a vendor. His eyes are closed like he’s having a full-on spiritual experience.

I laugh. “Same.I’m ruined.”

“Worth it,” he says, and when he looks at me, I get the feeling he’s not talking about the fruit at all.

It’s the kind of look that makes the world tip sideways for a second.

We grab lunch from a brightly painted food truck parked at the edge of a little cliffside pull-off. The sign says “The Surfside Shack,” and the menu is amazing—fish tacos with mango salsa, pulled pork sandwiches dripping with barbecue sauce, sweet potato fries with a sprinkle of sea salt.

We each order a plate and take it to a shaded picnic table under a wide, swaying palm tree. The ocean stretches out in front of us, the waves gently crashing at the shoreline, the breeze soft and warm as it ruffles my dress and sends Reid’s napkin skittering off the table.

---