Better Than Chocolate (Sweet Somethings Book 1) by J. Lynn Rowan Page B
Authors: J. Lynn Rowan
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conference over the main course. Ryan’s eyes light up, his gestures growing animated, as he talks about the lessons in urban management when historic districts are at play. We get into the nitty-gritty details of some of the sites the conference attendees have to deal with, and while the civil engineering aspect is beyond me, I revel in sharing the history as we dig two spoons into a chocolate-free dessert. We’re both a little euphoric when the waiter brings the bill, and we argue over whether to charge the meal to my room or put it on his corporate card.
“Let me,” he says, actually plucking my key card out of my hand. “I asked you to dinner, it’s my treat. Well, the firm’s treat. You get the idea.”
“You paid for lunch and the forbidden chocolate ice cream,” I protest.
“Which we’ll work off with a walk on the beach.” The waiter returns with Ryan’s credit card. He signs the bill and stands, holding one hand out to me. “There might be steps. I’m ready to prop you up.”
Chapter 7
One Side of the Story, Sort Of
I manage to navigate the pool deck and terrace in my high heels, but before heading out onto the beach, we stash our shoes, Ryan’s socks, and my clutch purse in one of the complimentary lockers near the changing rooms. After we acquire our reentry armbands, Ryan rolls his pant legs up to his knees and his sleeves to his elbows, then we venture out.
Though almost two hours have passed since sundown, the sand still radiates heat from the day onto the soles of our feet. We turn left and meander between the resort fences and the surf, lights from the hotels shifting in the water and providing just enough illumination to show our path. I twist my hair and hold it over one shoulder in an attempt to keep it subdued in the land breeze, and Ryan shoves his hands deep in his pockets. We plod along in silence for a while.
“Will you be okay flying by yourself tomorrow?” he finally asks. The hotel lights cast fleeting highlights on his cheekbones. His eyebrows are lowered again, and his jaw looks stiff, like he’s clenching his teeth.
I slide my bare feet through the sand. “Yeah. It’s only like a thirty-minute flight.”
“But it’s a puddle jumper. Turboprop.”
Great. “I guess I’ll have to introduce myself to my seatmate and apologize in advance.”
He steers me around a gelatinous mass on the tideline that looks a little like a jellyfish. “I don’t have any meetings until one tomorrow. I can go with you to the airport.”
Frowning, I gaze out at the stars winking above the ocean as clouds dissipate. A full moon hangs in the sky, halfway between the horizon and its zenith, its silver light washing over the beach. “You don’t need to.”
His hand trails down my arm, brushing my fingers before he lets go. There’s been a lot of lingering contact the past couple days, as if he’s trying to reassure himself, and me, that we still have a connection. He’s always been a little touchy-feely with me, less so since he and Sadie got serious and hardly at all after they got engaged. Sadie’s not the touchy-feely sort.
“Maybe I want to.” He sounds lost. “Maybe I’d rather ask you to stay here.”
I grab his sleeve and pull him to a stop. “Stay here?”
“Maybe I don’t want you to go to St. Croix. Wouldn’t it be better if, I don’t know, you stayed here for the next week? We can go sightseeing, drink rum on the beach, just hang out.” He shrugs. “You know. Like we used to. Before.”
Before he and Sadie became an item. Even after they got together, there was never any question over Ryan and me hanging out. Best friends don’t put those conditions on each other. Still, it wasn’t quite the same.
But he’s asking me to choose between him and Sadie now, and I can’t do it. “I’m committed to going. Sadie’s expecting me, I can’t let her down.”
He rubs one hand over his face, heaving a breath. “I know. Maid of honor. That’s you in a
“Let me,” he says, actually plucking my key card out of my hand. “I asked you to dinner, it’s my treat. Well, the firm’s treat. You get the idea.”
“You paid for lunch and the forbidden chocolate ice cream,” I protest.
“Which we’ll work off with a walk on the beach.” The waiter returns with Ryan’s credit card. He signs the bill and stands, holding one hand out to me. “There might be steps. I’m ready to prop you up.”
Chapter 7
One Side of the Story, Sort Of
I manage to navigate the pool deck and terrace in my high heels, but before heading out onto the beach, we stash our shoes, Ryan’s socks, and my clutch purse in one of the complimentary lockers near the changing rooms. After we acquire our reentry armbands, Ryan rolls his pant legs up to his knees and his sleeves to his elbows, then we venture out.
Though almost two hours have passed since sundown, the sand still radiates heat from the day onto the soles of our feet. We turn left and meander between the resort fences and the surf, lights from the hotels shifting in the water and providing just enough illumination to show our path. I twist my hair and hold it over one shoulder in an attempt to keep it subdued in the land breeze, and Ryan shoves his hands deep in his pockets. We plod along in silence for a while.
“Will you be okay flying by yourself tomorrow?” he finally asks. The hotel lights cast fleeting highlights on his cheekbones. His eyebrows are lowered again, and his jaw looks stiff, like he’s clenching his teeth.
I slide my bare feet through the sand. “Yeah. It’s only like a thirty-minute flight.”
“But it’s a puddle jumper. Turboprop.”
Great. “I guess I’ll have to introduce myself to my seatmate and apologize in advance.”
He steers me around a gelatinous mass on the tideline that looks a little like a jellyfish. “I don’t have any meetings until one tomorrow. I can go with you to the airport.”
Frowning, I gaze out at the stars winking above the ocean as clouds dissipate. A full moon hangs in the sky, halfway between the horizon and its zenith, its silver light washing over the beach. “You don’t need to.”
His hand trails down my arm, brushing my fingers before he lets go. There’s been a lot of lingering contact the past couple days, as if he’s trying to reassure himself, and me, that we still have a connection. He’s always been a little touchy-feely with me, less so since he and Sadie got serious and hardly at all after they got engaged. Sadie’s not the touchy-feely sort.
“Maybe I want to.” He sounds lost. “Maybe I’d rather ask you to stay here.”
I grab his sleeve and pull him to a stop. “Stay here?”
“Maybe I don’t want you to go to St. Croix. Wouldn’t it be better if, I don’t know, you stayed here for the next week? We can go sightseeing, drink rum on the beach, just hang out.” He shrugs. “You know. Like we used to. Before.”
Before he and Sadie became an item. Even after they got together, there was never any question over Ryan and me hanging out. Best friends don’t put those conditions on each other. Still, it wasn’t quite the same.
But he’s asking me to choose between him and Sadie now, and I can’t do it. “I’m committed to going. Sadie’s expecting me, I can’t let her down.”
He rubs one hand over his face, heaving a breath. “I know. Maid of honor. That’s you in a
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