Page 6 of The Twelve-Hour Rule
Then, in perfect comedic timing, she loses her balance, stumbles on the dance floor, and goes down in a heap of sequins and sand. The group howls with enough laughter that a few of the party attendants are now taking notice.
I press my fingers to my temples. “And that’s my cue.”
He leans in just enough for me to hear him over the noise. “It was nice meeting you, Sol.”
I glance at him, bottle tucked under my arm, and shake my head. “Don’t get used to it. It’s my last night.”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe—but then that fucking crooked smile returns. “Then I’m glad I got lucky.”
I don’t dignify that with an answer. I just turn and head for the chaos that is my friends, already rehearsing how I’m going to herd them back to the room before someone breaks a bone.
CHAPTER 4
BEN
“I thoughtit was your last night, Sunshine.”
She stops mid-stride in the center of the hotel’s lobby, towel slung over her shoulder, brown sunglasses pushed up in her hair. The sunlight hits her from behind, catching the stray curls escaping the bun at the nape of her neck, and for a second I forget what I was going to say.
I’m already two cups of coffee in this morning, having woken up too early and doom-scrolled my phone for what felt like hours while the sun came up. I should’ve gone for a walk on the beach like any normal person on vacation, but instead I sat on the bed, half-watching muted resorts TV, because somehow being outside by myself felt lonelier than staying in.
Now here she is, cutting across the lobby like she owns it, and before my brain can catch up, my mouth is running.
“It was,” she says flatly as she turns toward me. Her eyes flicker with recognition, then she rolls them. I think I hallucinate a small quirk of her lips, but it could be the caffeine making me see things.
And I don’t blame her. If she is, in fact, smiling, it’s definitely at my expense. I’m standing here in a long-sleeve rash guard, board shorts, and—judging by the tight itch across my cheeks—probably streaks of white zinc sunscreen my sister forced on me. My flight from Dallas to New York City was delayed due to weather, so I’d asked her to stop by the drugstore and grab a few essentials I still needed. “Perfect for sensitive skin,” she’d said while slipping it into my bag the night before leaving for this trip. She wasn’t wrong, but it doesn’t exactly scream effortlessly cool.
“You changed your mind?” I say, trying to sound casual but I know my nosy is coming out.
“About what?”
“Leaving.” I nod toward the tour guide standing just at the end of the lobby in the direction of the beach. “Pretty sure you said last night was it. And your friends were definitely partying like it was the last night here.”
“I did say that, yes.” She adjusts the towel on her shoulder. “Then I signed up for a dive.”
“Spontaneous,” I say, impressed. “I like it.”
“It’s not a personality trait,” she deadpans.
God, she’s quick. Sharp edges that slice clean, no hesitation. I kind of dig it.
I fall into step beside her before I’ve even decided if I should. Up close, she’s about my height—taller than I expected, with fine-lined tattoos scattered around her arms: birds, flowers, maybe stars. The kind of art that could mean something or nothing at all. Freckles scatter across her nose, catching the morning light. There’s a softness to her shape, a quiet confidence in the way she moves that makes her look entirely at ease in her own skin. “Funny coincidence. I’m signed up too.”
She side-eyes me, skeptical. “You dive?”
“Snorkel,” I admit. “The lightweight version. Less gear, less risk of me embarrassing myself.”
Her mouth twitches, but she bites it back, like smiling at me would cost too much.
“Figures,” she says.
“What does that mean?”
She walks around a group of people and out into the sunlight, and I follow, instantly sweating. “You don’t seem like the type who likes to be underwater and quiet.”
I laugh. “You’re not wrong. Silence and I don’t always get along.”
“Shocking,” she mutters, but I catch the faintest lift at the corner of her mouth. This time, it’s not a hallucination.
