Page 15 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

Wes needs to be getting on too, but he heads in my direction instead. “Look, Moll,” he says, grabbing my arm and tugging me toward him. His voice is low, like he doesn’t want to be overheard. “Don’t…you know.Tryanything. With Beckett, I mean.”

My jaw drops as I gape at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, of course I am,” he says impatiently. “I don’t like this. I don’t like leaving you two here. I know you’ve got a thing for him. And he’s obviously my best friend. But Beckett is not the man for you, Moll. He’s terrible with women and socializing, and he has a lot of baggage—”

“Get out of here,” I say, whacking him on the arm. I’m not sure why I’m suddenly so irritated; he’s not saying anything I don’t already know. “Go.” I swallow, trying to ignore my cheeks heating. “Nothing is going to happen.” I can’t believe he’s known this entire time that I like his best friend. Maybe I was more obvious than I let on.

Wes’s eyes search my face from behind his square-rimmed glasses, and then he gives me a nod. I turn away when I see him approach Beckett; I don’t want to know what he says, and if it turns out he’s warning his best friend away from me, I’ll die of mortification. I’d just as soon remain ignorant.

A few seconds later, Wes bounds away from Beckett and me, leaping into the speedboat with all the ease of a tall man.

“Carl says you’ll have a blast!” my mom yells from the boat just before the engine revs to life.

“Carl can suck it,” I mutter, waving at her. My irritation is directed more at her than at the situation, but I’m still feeling sour all the same.

There’s a snort of laughter from behind me, and I whirl around, surprised. I stumble back a few steps when I see how close Beckett is, tripping and falling flat on my bum. The wet sand soaks my shorts right through; when I stand up there will probably be two perfect cheek imprints left behind, including the stitched outline of my back pockets.

“How old were you when you learned how to walk?” Beckett says, looking at me with raised brows. He puts his hands on his hips. “And do you think it’s safe to say you still haven’t mastered that life skill?”

Rude.

“I can walk just fine,” I say. I stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to offer his hand to help me up, but he doesn’t. He just keeps those hands on his hips.

“Fine,” I huff to myself, because what’s with this guy? “I don’t need help.”

And it’s mostly true. I do manage to get back up. There’s some awkward body-contorting that goes into it, since I get overly ambitious and try to wipe the sand off my bum while in the process of standing, but overall it goes just fine.

So there, Beckett Donovan.

I spend about thirty seconds staring at the little speck on the horizon that is my family speeding away, and during that time I do a quick analysis of the situation—because it requires some analyzing.

Maybe I should be excited, getting this time with Beckett. And those feelings might come in a little bit. But right now I’m still feeling the buzz of embarrassment and irritation that arose from being strong-armed into staying behind. I hate being put on the spot, and I hate that I can never seem to say no to my mom. Maybe most of all, I hate that I’m such a clear imposition to Beckett. There’s nothing worse than being where you’re not wanted, and my mom has forced me into that situation. It’s humiliating.

Because I didn’t expect to have a handful of hours alone with my lifelong unrequited love. But with the way Beckett has been looking at me…well, I’m not overly hopeful. I wanted to become friends with him. But is it worth it to put in the effort to be charming? Ischarmingeven in my wheelhouse?

The adrenaline is pumping through my veins, partly because I’m flustered, partly because I’m embarrassed. It’s the embarrassed half of these feelings that convinces me: charmingisn’tin my wheelhouse. Not today, anyway. And I’ve been waiting for this opportunity too long to fill it with regret by attempting to flirt and then striking out.

I never expected anything to happen with Beckett. That much hasn’t changed, even though I suddenly find myself with some unexpected one-on-one time. So I’m not going to start sucking up to him now.

Which is perfect, because I have feelings about this situation.

I turn to Beckett, putting my hands on my hips in a mirror of his pose. “Why didn’t you tell my mom no?” I demand. “You don’t want to be here with me. You should’ve said no.”

Beckett’s stupidly perfect jaw drops as he looks at me. “Me?” he says incredulously. “What aboutyou?You didn’t fight it either.”

“Yeah, because she never listens to me,” I say. “But she probably would have listened to you.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t argue with your mom. I’m not family. She doesn’t have to forgive me if she gets mad. She can just hold a grudge forever.”

An unexpected pang of sadness twinges somewhere around my solar plexus, and I rub the spot uncomfortably. Is that really what he thinks? How do I even respond to that?

“Of course you’re family,” I say, because I don’t know what else to offer. It’s true, anyway. Then I glance around. The beach stretches away from us in both directions, and the water is lapping invitingly at the sand. I take a deep breath and give Beckett my full attention. “Look. You don’t want to show me around, and I don’t want to impose. Should we just hang out on the beach until it’s time to go back to the main island? I think I’d prefer that.”

“I—yeah,” he says finally, sighing. “That’s good.” He still looks way pricklier than he needs to, though, not quite meeting my eye, his hands shoved into his swim trunk pockets. And he was always a little standoffish, even when we were growing up, but it never felt personal before.

Now, though, it seems different. And I’m left wondering if I’ve done something to offend him. But as much as I try, I can’t come up with anything. I’ve just been my normal self. Is Normal Molly offensive? I don’tthinkshe’s offensive. She maybe refers to herself in third person sometimes, but she’s far from contentious.

Maybe he just thinks I’m annoying. He wouldn’t be the first.

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