Page 263 of Banter & Blushes

Or at least, it was.

The faintclick-click-clickof a camera shutter cuts through the stillness, and I freeze mid-sip. My stomach does a weird little flip, and I glance around, half-hoping it’s just my imagination. But then I hear it again, louder this time, and my heart sinks.

I squint toward the dunes, where the tall grass sways lazily in the breeze, and at first, I don’t see anything unusual. The beach is nearly empty this early, the only movement a jogger in the distance and a pelican gliding low over the water. But then, just above the crest of the nearest dune, I spot the unmistakable glint of a camera lens.

My stomach twists.

“Winston,” I whisper, nudging him lightly with my foot. He lifts his head with a sleepy snort, blinking up at me like I’ve rudely interrupted his beauty rest. “Don’t look now, but I think we’ve been made.”

He yawns, entirely unbothered, and flops back down with a huff. Clearly, he’s not concerned.

But I am.

I stand, clutching my coffee like it might offer some kind of protection, and try to act natural as I step back inside the bar. My pulse is racing, and I can feel the warmth creeping up my neck. It’s not like I’ve done anything embarrassing. I wasn’t caught mid-yawn or tripping over my own feet or anything. But still, the idea of someone snapping pictures of me—me—feels intrusive in a way I can’t quite describe.

As soon as the door swings shut behind me, I lean against it and let out a slow breath. The Clever Lime is quiet, the morning sunlight slanting in through the windows and catching on the bottles lined up behind the bar. Everything feels normal inside, like the world outside hasn’t just tilted slightly off its axis.

I set my coffee on the counter and try to ignore it, the way I ignore most practical advice. I’ve got chairs to unstack, citrus to slice, and apparently, a very famous boyfriend to accidentally soft-launch.

The Clever Lime usually smells like salt, lemon, and a little bit of spilled beer in the corners. Today it smells like anxiety and lavender shampoo, because I washed my hair twice. Not for any particular reason. Just… you know. Hygiene.

I’m halfway through reorganizing the cocktail napkins when I hear a voice behind me.

“Hey. Is it too early for a mango smoothie and existential conversation?”

I glance over my shoulder to find Keigan leaning on the doorframe, sunglasses pushed up on his head, a reusable cup in hand that I definitely don’t remember giving him.

I don’t question how he even got in here.

I gesture at the bar. “I don’t remember installing a smoothie bar.”

“It’s a suggestion. You could expand. Innovate. Be a trailblazer in tropical beverage fusion.”

“You mean steal business from Katie’s Juice Hut and have her chase me through town with her organic flip-flops? Hard pass.”

Keigan walks behind the counter like he owns the place and perches on a stool, his knee brushing mine as he does.

“So,” he says, picking up a lemon wedge and inspecting it like he’s never seen fruit before. “You’re still speaking to me. I’m taking that as a good sign.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be speaking to you?”

He shrugs, not meeting my eye. “Sometimes people get weird after kissing.”

“Weird like… you burst into spontaneous monologues about the cosmos? Or weird like you suddenly appear out of nowhere and order mango smoothies at a dive bar?”

He gives a grin so quick and crooked it could derail a train. “Touché.”

He’s halfway through pouring himself a cup of coffee when I decide to just rip off the Band-Aid. “By the way, there are photographers outside.”

He freezes, the coffee pot hovering mid-pour, and then slowly sets it down. “Photographers? Like, with cameras?”

“Yes. They’re by the dunes.”

His expression shifts, the easy grin fading into something more serious. “How many?”

“I don’t know. Two? Maybe three?” I shrug, trying to sound casual even though my heart is still doing its best impression of a hummingbird. “They were taking pictures of me, but I’m guessing you’re the main attraction.”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a groan and rubs the back of his neck. “I was hoping this wouldn’t happen.”

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