Page 106 of The Vacation Mix-Up
Smiling, I lay back and thread my hands beneath my head. “Night.”
chapter seventeen
RILES
When I wake up the following morning, I’m a bowl of emotional cereal: some flakes of humiliation, a sprinkle here and there of rapture and delight, and a rather large splash of disconsolate milk. One minute, I’m coping, then the next I’m somewhat thriving, and after that I’m completely overcome with sadness. Not to mention Riley is burrowing underneath my skin, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. I don’t normally allow burrowers, especially those who burrow for a short-term residency. Nor do I allow myself to be a rebound, one-night stand.
He says he isn’t about that either, but I’m not convinced. It hasn’t been long since his marriage of fifteen years crumbled to pieces, and he’s probably as emotionally confused as I am but for different reasons. How could he not be?
But my God, his burrowing is hard to obstruct. Not only is he sweetly and annoyingly persistent, but having someone show concern, humility, and interest while I’m at my lowest point is irrefutably comforting. A comfort I can’t help but selfishly cling to.
A comfort that could do more harm than good.
“It’s soggy,” he says, snapping me from my thoughts.
I look up at him. “What?”
He gestures to my bowl. “Your cereal. It’s soggy. Please tell me you’re not a weirdo who prefers their cereal swampy.”
I push my bowl aside. “No, not particularly.”
“Well, you might want to get some more and eat it without stirring a hundred times over.”
“I’m not hungry anyway.”
“Riles,” he says, his piece of bacon midway to his mouth. “You need to eat something.”
I lift my mug of caffeinated bliss. “I am.”
“Something solid. Something substantial. We’ll be up and down corridors and stairs today during the ship tour. Coffee ain’t gonna cut it.”
Rolling my eyes, I brush him off. “I’ll be fine.”
“Here,” he says, offering me what’s left of his bagel. “Have this.”
“No. It’s yours.”
“If you’re worried about boy germs, then sorry, sweetheart, you’ve already got mine.”
I narrow my gaze on him, snatch the bagel, and shove it into my mouth, mumbling, “Happy?”
“For now.” He licks his knife, his stupid, crinkly eyes sparkling with amusement, and if I didn’t like them as much as I do, I’d look away, ignoring their existence. But I do like them, a lot. They’re like a shining light on a foggy night.
“You want to kiss me again, don’t you?”
Blinking, I divert my gaze from his stupid eyes and arrogant smirk, then launch my napkin at him before standing and pushing my chair back. “In your dreams.”
“That’s funny,” he says, following after me. “Because last night, in my dream, your lips were?—”
“Riley! Stop joking around.”
“Okay, okay.” He falls into step beside me. “No more kiss jokes.”
“Good. Because you’re already at three, and it’s not even midday.”
“Only three?” He huffs. “I thought I racked up more.”
Sighing my frustration, I dodge other passengers juggling bowls and plates of food from the buffet, one child in particular not watching where he’s walking, instead licking the maple syrup off his waffle.
