BY THE TIME Max touched down in LAX on his first leg to Hawaii, he’d formed a game plan: find Grace Christiansen and set some ground rules. Like, he’d be glad to make sure she got to class the first day, but he wasn’t her tour guide. Wasn’t her entertainment. Wasn’t her date.
No hanky-panky. Jace’s words still burned in his ears. As if he’d fool around with Owen Christiansen’s sister. Or anyone.
He wasn’t that stupid, wasn’t that heartless.
He liked having fun, but not at the expense of everyone’s future.
Max hitched his carry-on messenger bag over his shoulder. He’d packed it full of culinary magazines and a political thriller. Just in case the movie on the next flight was something lame, like a Marvel Comics remake. Better to nose into his reading material and set his playlist on a loop for the hop over the ocean.
Vacation started now, regardless of the ball and chain Jace had hooked him up with. Which he planned to shake off as soon as his guilt would allow.
After all, he did owe Owen. The thought never drifted far from his mind, not once over the past five months, so Jace really didn’t need to throw it in his face. Still, it didn’t mean Max had to saddle himself with some needy tourist for three weeks. The only three weeks where he forgot his life, escaped his tomorrows.
Max stopped at a Starbucks and picked up a latte, then headed to the gate.
He found the waiting area jammed with travelers. People rested their feet on their carry-on bags, some chowing down McChickens, a few standbys checking their flight status. He leaned against a pole and surveyed the group, looking for someone who might resemble Eden, Jace’s pretty fiancée. It might have been helpful if Jace had texted a picture along with the flight number —conveniently the same as Max’s.
Eden had blonde hair and knew how to carry herself. In fact, in a way, she scared him. It had taken all his courage to call her from the hospital the night of Owen’s accident. So if Grace was anything like Eden, she’d be uptight and a little scary. The perfect travel companion.
Or maybe she was the opposite —easygoing, almost reckless. Irresponsible.
That might be worse.
Well, he wasn’t going to let Grace Christiansen destroy his vacation, regardless of her persona. He wouldn’t be a jerk; he’d just introduce himself and remind her that, although they might be cooking together, the camaraderie ended there. He had a full agenda of surfing, parasailing, snorkeling, hiking, and beach bumming scheduled.
Alone. It was just better that way.
He spied a girl leaning against the wall. Short blonde hair, pretty, wearing green cargo pants, hiking sandals, a tie-dyed scarf around her hair. Maybe in her midtwenties. She seemed put together, in a crunchy-granola kind of way. He knew Grace was a couple years younger than Eden and worked as a chef . . .
Could be her.
He walked closer, just to do a drive-by, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
She looked up, away from him, but he caught the glint of something silver. He risked it and waited for her to look back.
A lip ring protruded from her bottom lip. It seemed unlikely for Grace, of the conservative Christiansen family.
He kept moving, glancing at the passengers, his gaze lingering on anyone who might look his age. His eyes fell on a woman sitting at the end of the row, her mouth tight, her blonde hair in a neat ponytail, bangs tucked behind her ears. She wore a jean jacket, a pink shirt underneath, and a pair of white jeans with fancy strappy heels. He guessed her to be an LA girl, maybe heading to Hawaii for a summer break. She crossed her legs, her arms folded, and watched foot traffic as if annoyed.
Apparently sitting with the masses was beneath her. Imagine sitting next to that for six hours.
“Excuse me, but are you sitting there?” A woman with brown hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing low-cut jeans, a red-striped T-shirt, and a pair of Converse tennis shoes, smiled at him. She held an iPod, the buds connected to her ears.
Max looked behind him and realized he had stopped in front of one of the only vacant seats in the area. “No.”
“Do you mind?”
He moved, and she sat down. Dropped her carry-on on the floor with a thud. He’d bet the bank this was Grace. Pretty, put together, even surprisingly friendly. Jace had mentioned she was fun.
“That looks heavy.”
“It is. Books. I hate flying, so I like to distract myself.” She glanced up at him. Smiled. She didn’t look so terrible. Even seemed to be the kind of person who might be just fine on her own, once he settled her in.
Please, please —“I know this sounds strange, but is your name Grace?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
Too bad. “Okay, thanks.”
Max checked his watch and moved to the check-in line the moment they called the flight. Oh, well —the flight was full, and who knew but she’d latch on to him right away. He should probably delay any meeting or suggestion he wanted to hang out.
Better yet, what if she didn’t even need him? What if Jace was overreacting?
He’d put money on that last supposition. Jace did have an overactive protector gene. It was what had made him good at his position as team captain. And enforcer.
Max pulled up the boarding pass on his phone and waved it over the scanner at the flight check-in, then headed down the Jetway, greeting the flight attendant before climbing into his seat. Shoot, he’d wanted an exit row. Or better yet, first class, but he’d opted out of an upgraded ticket in hopes that his flight would bump him up.
He took the window seat, then pulled out a culinary magazine and shoved his bag beneath the seat in front of him.
One by one, passengers filed in past him. He watched them out of the corner of his eye, wondering, calculating. Lip ring girl bumped past, headed toward the back. He spied the brunette a couple rows ahead, climbing into her middle seat.
He plugged in his earbuds and turned on his music. Rascal Flatts came on and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back.
Movement in the seat next to him made him open one eye. Super. Preppy LA girl landed next to him. She’d shoved her bag, a canvas backpack, under the seat in front of her and now folded her hands on her lap, looking straight ahead.
By the set of her jaw, he’d guess she had no intention of making polite seat conversation.
Perfect. No, really, perfect. He could escape into his personal entertainment without guilt.
It was the movement of her hands that caught his attention just as he closed his eyes. They shook.
He glanced at her posture out of his peripheral vision. Stiff. Even . . . holding herself together. This wasn’t the relaxed annoyance of a frequent traveler.
And her lips were moving. He turned off his music and pulled out one earbud.
Yes, talking. Quietly, as if only to herself. “This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea.”
He might agree. “Um, are you okay?”
She startled and looked at him. She had blue eyes, so blue that for a moment, he had the sense of falling. In fact, up close she didn’t look quite as snooty. Maybe it was the way her lipstick smudged, just a little, around her mouth, or the coffee stain on her shirt as if she’d stirred the creamer in too vigorously.
She looked away. “Yeah. I’m fine.” But her hands continued to shake on her lap.
He had the weird urge to clasp her grip in his. Instead he said, “You don’t look okay.”
That came out wrong, because she looked at him again, a sort of horror on her face. “Really?”
“I mean, of course, you look fine. But . . . nervous, maybe.”
“Oh.” She nodded, started a smile, but it vanished before it took root. “Yeah. I . . . don’t fly very much. And this is a long flight —over the ocean, no less. I hate flying. Did I mention that? I hate flying. I mean, it’s not like I’ve flown so much as to create a severe aversion to it, but just the concept, you know? Big metal plane in the sky, water below, nothing in between? I’m thinking the entire thing doesn’t make sense.”
“Not if you put it like that. But it’s pure physics and —”
“Don’t tell me. I’m going with magic and a lot of prayer to keep us in the sky here.”
“Okay.” Again, he had the strangest urge to hold her hand. Or distract her. “While you’re praying, maybe you could pray that guy up there doesn’t take his shoes off.” He gestured to the man across the aisle in front of them, who had already leaned his seat back against regulations and pulled out an eye mask and a pair of noise-canceling headphones.
She looked at Max again, this time with quiet fear in her expression. “Why?”
“Because he looks the type to get that comfortable, and my guess is that he’s been on a business trip for a few days and hasn’t washed those socks.”
This produced a tiny smile. “Really?”
“I hope not, but . . . And count your blessings because you could be sitting back there.”
She turned her head.
She jumped. But cut her voice low. “Why not?”
“Because that poor mother will have everyone staring at her in about twenty minutes when we take off and the baby in her arms erupts into screaming.”
“Screaming.”
“And wailing. But here’s the good news. As long as you behave yourself, I promise not to take off my shoes or burst into tears. So I’d say, as far as flights go, you’re pretty blessed already.”
A second smile and this time it stuck. “You’re sort of funny, Mr. 9A.”
“Thank you, 9B. Now please tell me you brought some reading material because it’s a long flight to the beautiful islands of Hawaii.”
She winced.
“Okay, how about I let you do my crossword if you promise to leave me at least three blanks at the end?” He handed her his culinary magazine.
“Seriously?”
“I’m just that chivalrous.”
“Agreed.” She took the magazine and his proffered pen. “You don’t mind?”
“Well, I was going to offer to hold your hand, but it might get awkward and a little sweaty, so maybe the crossword is the right fit.”
She laughed then, something sweet, like the sound of a puck swishing into a goal, fast and bright and clean.
Again, Max had the sensation of falling, and he actually wrapped his hand around the arm of his chair.
“I’ll go with the crossword puzzle,” she said, still smiling.
“Good selection, ma’am.” He put his earbuds back in. Turned on his music to drown out the pounding of his heart. Good grief, he acted like he’d never spoken to a woman before.
Or maybe just not a woman he didn’t, deep down, want to get rid of.
And he’d handed her his crossword puzzle, effectively shutting off more conversation as she bent over and tried to fill in the blanks. He rolled a couple one-liners through his head, trying to figure out how to retrieve the moment.
Or maybe not. Because then what? He’d enjoy her company, maybe share some laughs, and they’d part ways.
Although, wasn’t that exactly what he needed? A no-strings, easy, six-hour friendship where he got to be the guy on a plane and nothing else?
He pulled out his earbuds. “Let’s start with one down.”
Grace just might make it all the way to Hawaii without getting sick. Thankfully, her Dramamine seemed to be holding because so far she’d only experienced one rush of heat, one thickening of her throat and urge to grab the vomit bag in her seat pocket. And that had been on the first flight, before she touched down at LAX.
She’d only nearly turned around and bought a ticket for home. Only sort of considered it.
Only played the painful conversation of defeat through her head five or six times before she finally found her gate.
If she never flew again, it would be too soon.
Until.
Until the man in the seat next to her turned out to be a gentleman. She’d seen him touring the gate area like a stalker and sized him up then. A big guy, with wide, sculpted shoulders, dark hair trimmed short —military style —and brown eyes that matched the hard-edged look. With his coral necklace, the casual black-and-white jersey shirt, and a pair of faded jeans, she pegged him as a soldier on leave, maybe even Special Forces, a man escaping his high-stress world. He walked with a cool, detached swagger that suggested he knew just how the girls looked at him.
Or maybe he reminded her of a cowboy, minus the boots because he wore flip-flops, appropriate for their destination.
She ignored him after that, trying to keep an eye out for Max Sharpe in case he might be taking the same flight she was across the ocean. She imagined he might have long hair, sport a beard like Owen did during hockey season. Although the season had ended for the Blue Ox a month ago.
She didn’t know whether to anticipate annoyance or expectation from Max. Didn’t want to consider it. The first thing she’d do when she arrived was let the poor guy off the hook. She didn’t need a babysitter. A tour guide.
She was twenty-five years old. She could travel to Hawaii and back by herself. Really.
“One down, c’mon.”
She looked over at 9A. He’d surprised her when he leaned forward, leaving behind the brooding soldier and joking with her about the passengers.
“‘Stop, at sea.’ Five letters.”
He stared at it, frowning. Up close, she noticed that while he might have shaved this morning, he wore an end-of-the-day stubble, something that turned him a little dangerous. And he smelled good. A sort of clean cotton–meets–cologne freshness despite the trapped airplane air.
She glanced up at him, startled.
“Ahoy, matey. Avast!” He grinned at her, nodded at the crossword.
“Oh, right,” she said and tried not to giggle as she wrote it in. But see, she was making friends already. Maybe she’d make more at the culinary school. She didn’t need Max Sharpe. Not at all.
“Two down is ‘General on Chinese menus,’” she read.
“That’s easy —Tso.”
“Sow?”
“T-S-O.”
“Right. I should have thought of that. We don’t have Chinese takeout where I live.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s a small town. We don’t even have pizza delivery.”
He put his hand over his heart as if in pain. “I’m so very sorry.”
“It’s okay. I work at a pizza place, so I bring it home.”
“Your family must love you.”
She lifted a shoulder. “One across. ‘Water ring, not gold.’”
He counted the letters. “Atoll.”
“A what?”
“Atoll. It’s a ring-shaped coral reef that encircles a lagoon.”
“Wow. You’re a fount of crossword information.”
He had beautiful eyes. She noticed that, too, when he looked at her and grinned. Crystalline brown, with green at the center, and just staring at them turned her insides all warm.
Or maybe that was the plane jerking through turbulence.
“Oh no.” She pressed a hand to her stomach.
“Don’t worry; it’ll pass.”
Grace hoped so.
“I don’t travel well. On planes or boats or —I get terribly sick.” When she reached for the airsickness bag, he pulled back, his face white. “Sorry.”
“No, that’s okay.” He reached up to hit his call button, but she stopped him.
“Please, don’t. I’ll be okay. I just need to hold the bag.”
“Right.” He gave her a smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes.
“This is a disaster. I knew it would be. I shouldn’t have come on this stupid trip.” She handed him the crossword puzzle. “Thank you, but I think I’m just going to sit here and try not to regret my life.”
“Ah, c’mon. It’s Hawaii. You’ll be fine when you get there.”
“No, trust me on this. It’s only going to get worse. Like I said, I don’t travel well —I never have. When I go someplace by myself, it’s always a disaster. I have a terrible time, or I get sick . . . I think I’m just one of those people who should never leave home.”
He gave a chuckle and she glanced at him.
“It’s not funny. I’m serious. Last time I left home, I got snowed in on the side of the highway. And before that, I visited my sister and got food poisoning from this little Thai place she took me to.”
“I love Thai food.”
“Me too! That’s what made it worse. The fact is, I can’t leave home without it turning into a fiasco, and I hate it. I like my small-town life; I don’t need more.” She should have figured that out instead of letting an impulse lead her down dark —and turbulent —roads.
She closed her eyes, leaned back into the seat, breathing. And now she’d made a fool of herself in front of this nice soldier who probably traveled all over the world.
She opened her eyes to find him cracking open a bottle of water. She took it and noticed her hands shaking.
He twisted the air nozzle, let the air blow over her. She gulped it in, then took a sip of water.
“I’m so sorry. It’s . . . I guess I’m nervous. It’s not just the flying. Or the fact that I know I’m going to have a terrible time. I’m supposed to meet someone in Hawaii. My sister set me up, and the more I think about it, the worse I feel.”
“You have a blind date in Hawaii?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” She pressed the bottle to her forehead and wished it were cold. “I should have said no to the entire thing. But I can’t seem to say the word. It’s like it’s right there on my lips, and yet —nope, it doesn’t come out.” She shook her head. “And then there’s my mom, with her green smoothies and ‘live outside the box’ encouragement. What if I like the box? She can’t accept that. I mean, from the time I was a little kid, I was telling her, ‘Mom, I like living at home.’ But she couldn’t believe me. There I am, ten years old, and she’s signing me up for camp, hoping I might love it.”
“Camp?”
“Oh yeah. My brother and sister attended, so it must be great, right? I spent the entire week with a stomachache, without a swim buddy, crying myself to sleep.”
“I take it you just went the one time.”
“No. She made me go again. And again. Until finally they refused to take me. I think the camp director must have called my mother, told her what a fiasco I was.”
“I doubt —”
“Trust me on this.”
He wore a look of concern that suddenly stilled the whirring in her stomach and cooled the hot flush against her skin. Something about him . . . maybe it was just the freedom of talking to a stranger on a plane . . . but he had a calm, decidedly easy aura about him that allowed her to breathe.
Thank You, Lord, for not putting me next to a jerk.
“The problem is, I’m not sure if my mom is right or if it’s just my inability to say no, to stand up for myself. See, I’ve lived at home my entire life, and everyone seems to think there is more for me, but . . . I don’t know. Maybe.” She looked at him. “Have you ever felt like there was something more for you, but it seemed just out of reach? Like, you know you want it, but somehow, you’re also scared to reach for it? What if, after all this effort, it turns out to be a joke? Or worse —horrible? What if you take the big leap and —?”
“And you fall. And get hurt.” His voice emerged small, even tremulous, as if yes, he understood.
“Then you’re back where you started, only worse because now you know it’s not worth it.”
He had stopped smiling, now considered her. “Yeah,” he said softly.
“That’s what this trip is. Reaching out against my better judgment. And I have this awful feeling I’m going to fall, hard. I’m going to regret getting on this plane.”
“Please don’t say that so loud.”
“Sorry.”
He stared at her a long moment, those magical brown eyes holding hers, and she had the uncanny feeling that he might do something crazy like take her hand. But he didn’t, just finally took a long breath and smiled. It had the effect of yanking her out of the abyss she seemed to be hurtling toward, his voice kind and even enthusiastic.
“Listen, Hawaii is a blast. There’s so much to do. Surfing and snorkeling, parasailing and cliff-diving and turtle watching and beaches . . . not to mention Pearl Harbor and the history of Hawaii. You’re going to have a great time. If you didn’t already have a travel companion, I’d show you around myself.”
“Really?” Oh, she sounded eager. Too eager. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, Travel companion? What travel companion?
“Yeah. I’d take you to this restaurant overlooking Waikiki Beach, and we’d watch the bodysurfers as we ate fish tacos. We’d climb Diamond Head and see the crater, take pictures of the view of Honolulu. Watch the surf break. We’d drive up to the shrimp shacks on the North Shore of the island and then go watch the real surfers on the big waves. On the way home, we’d see if the turtles were still basking on the beaches, maybe take in a sunset.”
She rested a hand on her stomach, but the roil inside had started to subside.
“I’d take you to Pearl Harbor —and to the monument, tour the submarine parked there —and then we’d hit a fresh sushi place for some tuna rolls.”
“I’ve never had sushi.”
“Oh, you’ll love it. It’s . . . Well, you have to promise me to have sushi at least once during your stay.”
“I . . . Yeah. Maybe.”
“That’s not a promise.”
She tried to give him a smile. “You’re very sweet, 9A. But I don’t know how much free time I’ll have.”
He sighed. “I get it. This guy might want you all to himself.”
She laughed. “No . . . it’s not that kind of . . . meeting. He’s just doing my sister a favor. And I’m absolutely mortified. It’s like they recruited him to babysit me. I don’t need babysitting. In fact, I’m not actually there for a vacation. It’s more of a . . . Well, my sister set it up. She wants me to cater her wedding, and she thinks that somehow I’ll be inspired.”
His smile had vanished, and he seemed to go all stiff, a frown creasing his face. “Um . . . why are you going to Hawaii?”
“I’m attending a culinary school. Three weeks of learning to cook. It was a gift from my family.”
Her eyes fell on the magazine in his grip. On the cover, a picture of succulent pasta with summer squash and mushrooms. Then her gaze moved to the bag at his feet, bearing the familiar blue logo of the St. Paul Blue Ox.
Oh no. She saw him then, in her mind’s eye, with long brown hair, a beard. A helmet.
Please —“Um . . .”
But he beat her to it. “Is your name Grace Christiansen?”
It was then her stomach decided to clench, roll, and expel the tuna sandwich she’d eaten between flights at LAX.
Oh, how she wanted to say no.
Casper Christiansen had never been the jealous type. He experienced not a hint of envy when big brother, Darek, motored off to Montana to fight fires. Or when Eden moved to the big city of Minneapolis to attend college. He didn’t even begrudge Grace her trip to Hawaii.
But seeing Owen pack his motorcycle lit an unfamiliar, searing burn inside Casper. It had grown from an ember to a full-out blaze by the time he’d set down his drill, climbed off the half-finished deck of cabin eight, and stalked up the sawdust path to the parking lot.
“Seriously?”
He couldn’t quite manage more than that as Owen looked up with what appeared to be sincere surprise on his face.
“What?”
Now Casper found his voice. “You’re leaving? Do you see how much work we have to get done this summer?” He gestured to the twelve cabins, some finished, others with only a frame outlining their future. “You’re going to leave Darek and me to finish this alone?”
Owen had the audacity to lift a shoulder. “I’m not a builder.”
“Oh, but you’re a firefighter?”
Owen shoved a canvas bag into one of his saddlebags. “I guess so.”
Casper couldn’t quite get his head around this new, dark version of his younger brother that had appeared a week ago for Darek and Ivy’s wedding. Owen, it seemed, hadn’t shaved since the wedding, his beard sparse with reddish highlights. He wore a blue bandanna on his head, his blond hair curling from the back. That, added to his leather jacket, and Casper suspected he might be going for a tough-guy aura.
He knew the truth. “Bro, I know losing hockey’s been rough on you, but consider Mom and Dad. They’re trying to get this place put back together —”
“It’s a lost cause.” Owen turned to him, his eyes cool.
Nope, Casper didn’t recognize him in the least.
“Who’s going to want to vacation in this moonscape? Mom and Dad are fooling themselves to think they can rescue this place. Throw it in, Casp. You’re only feeding the lie.”
Owen turned back, finished strapping the saddlebag. “You should leave too, before this place sucks you in and you can’t break free.”
“It’s not about breaking free, Owen. I have things I want to do too. But it’s about responsibility and helping Mom and Dad rebuild.”
“Listen, Mom and Dad understand —”
“You think they understand why you came home plastered a couple days ago? And let’s not even speculate where you were the night Ivy and Darek got married because I’m pretty sure we won’t like where it lands us.”
Owen’s jaw tightened. “That’s my business.”
“Not when you live in this town. Not when you’re a Christiansen. People are watching, Owen, and guess what, Mom is too. You really hurt her —”
“Leave Mom out of it.”
“No, I won’t. Because they built something here, and you’re walking away from it and humiliating her in the process.”
Owen rounded on him. “Yeah, well, I want my own destiny. My own identity. I don’t want this.” He gestured past Casper to what remained of Evergreen Resort, the still-charred framing of the garage, the cracked and ashy picnic shelter foundation. “I’m leaving, and I’m sorry if Mom gets hurt in the process, but I have to live my own life.” He turned his back to Casper.
Casper just barely stopped himself from reaching out, from grabbing Owen back.
Stay calm.
He put as much older and wiser brother into his tone as he could muster. “I promised Darek I’d stick around this summer, help him keep Evergreen on the map. I was counting on you to help us. It’s not just rebuilding —it’s helping people remember we’re not licked. It’s about PR, like the annual dragon boat races. We still have a boat in this year’s race, and we need you.”
Owen let out a laugh, something almost angry. “What, did Darek tell you that?”
In fact, he had. Casper turned his hat around, let the brim shade his eyes. “He asked me to organize it this year. I was counting on you to paddle. We didn’t even enter last year, with the fire consuming the county, and we have a comeback story waiting for us. Have you totally forgotten our three years as champions? C’mon —it’ll be the Christiansen brothers, paddling home to victory.”
He tried to interject memory in his voice, the golden snapshot of him and Darek and Owen crossing the finish line so many years ago, paddles held high.
Yeah, that day he’d felt invincible.
Owen stared at him a long time. Then he laughed. “What happened to you, Casper? You were the one most likely to strike it rich. I used to think you were so cool —a pirate searching for lost treasure. Now you’re just . . . Yeah, I’m not sure what you are. A handyman?”
A fist closed around Casper’s heart, the memory vanishing.
Owen threw his leg over his bike, grabbed his helmet. “Tell Darek that his pals on the Jude County Hotshots say hi.” He started the bike, revved it, then put down his visor.
He raised two fingers a second before he took off out of the driveway.
Casper stood there in the cloud of gravel dust, hating the grit of Owen’s words, how it settled deep.
And did nothing to douse the burning inside.
He blew out a breath and turned to head back to the cabin, then opted for the long dock that led to the water. With his mother in town with Tiger, Dad painting inside one of the cabins, and Amelia gone photographing a wedding, the place seemed so lonely.
As if in confirmation, the wind hushed through the trees and a loon called, mourning across the lake. He sat on the end of the dock, unlacing his work boots. He dipped his feet into the cool, sun-dappled water. The refreshment eased the hot spots, the calluses.
You were the one most likely to strike it rich.
What was he doing here? Casper leaned back on his hands, lifted his face to the sun. He knew the answer —at least why he’d come home. And why he’d stayed.
But . . .
He worked out the square of paper from his back pocket. Unfolded it and smoothed it. Reread it in the sunlight.
Footsteps on the dock, and he didn’t have a chance to put the printed e-mail away before a shadow crossed over him.
“I saw Owen leaving as I drove in.” Amelia sat down next to him, cross-legged. “I wanted to show him the family shots I got at the wedding. I had them printed.” She handed him an envelope.
He opened it. Pulled out an eight-by-ten of the entire family, all grouped around Darek and Ivy. Yeah, they looked happy, grinning as they assembled on the boulders along Lake Superior. His parents clasped hands, so much love in their pose.
Not a hint of the struggles of the past year, with the resort, with Owen.
And within himself. He gave the picture back to Amelia.
“What are you reading?”
“Nothing.”
She took the paper from his hand. He didn’t look at her, didn’t want to invite comment.
“Cool. You should do it.” She handed the paper back to him. “But where is Roatán?”
Casper wasn’t sure why, but his stomach tightened at her encouragement. “It’s a little island off Honduras. The lore is that pirates used to bury their treasures there.”
“Which is why your buddy Duncan invited you on the dig. Underwater exploration? Isn’t that your specialty in your major? Are you going to go?”
“I don’t know. It’s . . . There’s a lot to do here.”
“The dig doesn’t start until August. You should go. Are you kidding me —five months in the Caribbean? And you’ll probably earn credits for your degree.”
Like that mattered. He schooled his voice. “I don’t know. We have more cabins to build, and I promised Darek I’d run this year’s dragon boat for him. We gotta keep the Evergreen spirit alive until we reopen.”
“I love the dragon boat festival, but do we have enough for a team?” She flipped through the photos.
“We lost Owen, but we gain Ivy. And there’s Dad and Mom, and Nathan Decker and his family, and some others who said they might be up for it.”
“You’ll figure it out. You always find a way.” She got up, shaded her eyes. “By the way, Darek didn’t rope you into anything. We both know you’re his secret weapon.”
“Why’s that?” He couldn’t help it —he raised his arm and flexed. “It’s the guns, isn’t it?”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “No, silly. It’s because he can count on you to show up. We all can. Think about it. Darek and Owen are bookends —dark and unpredictable. But you’re the poster boy for the Christiansen family.”
Oh, what she didn’t know. He sighed but pasted on a smile.
“I gotta get ready to go. I’m meeting a potential client in town.”
He waved his hand as she headed down the dock.
The poster boy.
He stared at the e-mail invitation. Folded it. Threw it into the water.