Page 116 of Wicked Pickle

I go still at her name. “How do you know her?”

“She was your date at the wedding, you dummy. And, well …”

She trails off in a way that makes me sit up.

“Well, what?”

“She drove us out here.”

I look around. “Is she here?”

“She went to get us some water bottles. We stopped before we got here for drinks and supplies, but Caden went through his before we arrived.”

My mouth goes dry. Symphony is here?

Greta squeezes my hand. “She said that if you didn’t want to see her, she’d leave the water somewhere, and I could go get it. She was the one who told me about the R&R. Of course, I knew what you meant.”

I scan the beach. There’s a hut selling drinks a few hundred yards away.

And I spot her. She sits at a picnic table beside it, looking terribly out of place in a full-on corporate suit, three water bottles in front of her.

I can barely swallow around the lump in my throat.

Her hair is almost white in the sun. She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

I stand up. “I’ll go get them.”

Greta crosses an arm over her face. “I thought you might.”

The shouts of children playing and the roar of the ocean fade away completely as I tromp across the beach, kicking sand in my wake.

I know the moment she looks up and sees me because her mouth falls open. Yeah, I probably look different after two weeks of nonstop sun. My hair is lighter. My skin darker. Plus, we’ve been working out twice a day, getting ready for another tour.

As she grows closer, I take in all the ways she’s changed. Her hair is swept up more elegantly. She has on chunky jewelry. Her neckline is high. The skirt is long. A pair of modest, easy walking heels rest on the bench next to her.

I pause a couple of feet away and gesture to the opposite seat. “This one taken?”

She shakes her head. She’s not as saucy as she was, maybe a touch uncertain. Poised, though. Whatever’s got her wearingthis getup has made her more confident. That’s good. I’m glad for her.

I sit down, bracing my forearms on the table. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

She glances around the beach. “There’s lots of eye candy here.”

I get her implication. She thinks I’ve probably banged every babe in a bikini. It hasn’t even crossed my mind.

“The only flavor I’m interested in is yours.”

And there it is again. Like no time has passed. Like nothing has changed. The need for her roars up like I never left.

But I did. And I can see how it’s affected her in the way she clasps her hands together, how her eyes won’t rest on me. They flit away to take in anything else.

She clears her throat. “I’m sorry you got arrested. Is the Leaky Skull really a lost cause?”

“Yeah. We were doomed as soon as we made moves to make improvements. They never wanted us there. They certainly didn’t want us trying to expand, put down roots.”

“You mean the permit department?”

“Mostly. But a lot of the law enforcement see our customers as a scourge.”

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