I catch the sound of a footstep and snap my head toward the rear of the bus. Mrs. Wainwright stands in the aisle, one hand on the back of a seat for balance. Her hair is mussed, but her eyes are bright.

  “Mrs. Wainwright?” I choke on surprise and chagrin. “Where did you come from?”

  “Right here.” She waves to the seat beside her. “Buses always put me to sleep. And then your conversation was so cute, I thought, who’s going to notice an old lady napping?”

  “Okaaaay.” Where to even start to . . . explain? Apologize?

  She takes the decision away from me. “It’s obvious you two have it bad, but you don’t know how to let the other know, so you’re acting all weird. You should tell her you want to see her in California.”

  “But I don’t,” I insist.

  She tuts, and I feel five years old. “You won’t help matters by lying to me or to yourself. You just need to sort things out in your relationship.”

  “Mrs. Wainwright, I’m afraid you have the wrong impression. We’re not in a relationship. We’re just having a . . .”

  Her penciled eyebrows arch. “A vacation fling?”

  I wince at how that sounds, especially from someone who looks like my grade-school librarian. “It’s a tropical tryst between two adults without expectations. And it ended. Amicably.”

  She gives me a long, pitying you poor, deluded man kind of look.

  “I wouldn’t count on any of that. That woman is your girlfriend-to-be.” She leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “Just a heads-up, dear. I’m pretty sure she knows the ‘work meeting’ is a load of horse apples.”

  Then she pats my hand and goes off to view the waterfall.

  16

  Skyler

  “Welcome to the Coconut Café.” The hostess smiles at me from near the restaurant door. “How many in your party?”

  After a year, you’d think I’d be used to this, but it stings a little more today than it should. “This is my party. Party of one. Happy to dine alone.”

  The young woman’s smile widens just a tad. “Wonderful. Would you like a table outside? There’s a fantastic view of the water.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  One last night to enjoy the ocean vista.

  The hostess leads me to a table on the patio, offering me the menu. “A server will be by shortly. Enjoy!”

  What’s not to enjoy? There’s a breeze and a view and tropical scents in the air.

  The server appears beside the table. “Hey there. Can I get you anything while you wait for your—”

  “My phone,” I say, cutting him off with a smile. “I’m having dinner with my phone.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry. My apologies.”

  I wave them away. “It’s fine. Truly.” I came here on a single-versary. One last night having dinner for one is more than fine—it’s good.

  Yup. I am all good.

  “Would you like a Coconut Mai Tai? It’s quite excellent with the edamame appetizer.”

  “Why not?” I’m just living on the edge tonight. “When in Rome, as they say.”

  He thanks me for my order and leaves, and I take out my phone and open a text.

  Skyler: Hey. Want to have appetizers with me?

  * * *

  Katie: How sweet of you to ask. How were the sea turtles?

  * * *

  Skyler: We saw waterfalls instead. Look.

  I share the pictures I took this morning, which she exclaims over in unironic emojis. As my drink and appetizer arrive, I snap a selfie holding the mai tai. A year ago, I would have thought that was sad or brave, but now, holding up my phone while I toast myself amid the tables full of couples and friends, I feel good. This is me.

  Katie: Beautiful. *chef’s kiss*

  * * *

  Skyler: Thanks. I’ve really enjoyed my adventure. Even the surfing. Shhh, don’t tell anyone, but I might try it again.

  * * *

  Katie: Aha! I knew it. So, was it the bikini? Was it magic?

  * * *

  Skyler: I think I was just ready for a change.

  * * *

  Katie: I’m not surprised. Do you feel any different?

  * * *

  Skyler: I do. I never would have tried some of these things before. I wouldn’t want to LIVE on an island. But I’m glad I came here . . . even if the tropical tryst didn’t last. It lasted exactly long enough.

  * * *

  Katie: Seems to me like you’ve been getting out of your comfort zone for a whole year. You focused on you. You poured your energy into your business and your friendships and health. This trip wasn’t to prove anything, but to celebrate all that.

  * * *

  Skyler: You know, I think you’re right. And when I see Caleb tomorrow, I’m going to say thanks and move on.

  The waiter approaches me and my electronic date deferentially and asks, “Was everything to your liking?”

  I nod, thinking beyond the meal to what’s ahead. “Thanks. Everything was exactly what I wanted. And what I needed.”

  17

  Caleb

  “Whoa. You look like hell,” Brady comments from the doorway as I slump in my chair.

  “Thanks,” I grumble. “I didn’t sleep much.”

  “No shit.” He approaches with exaggerated caution and puts a cup of coffee in front of me. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I fucked up everything yesterday.” At his panicked look, I clarify, “With Skyler.”

  “Awkward.”

  “No shit,” I echo.

  “Listen, mixing work with pleasure is never easy. Let me cover for you. Get some rest. Go sleep in a hammock or read a book on the porch.”

  It’s tempting. I don’t want to avoid Skyler. I want to avoid seeing her hide her hurt with distance.

  “I should do the final day.”

  “Nope. Overruled.” He grabs his tablet and checks the tour’s details, then pauses to look at me full-on. “And listen. Maybe have a longer think about this woman and your rules. Maybe she is worth breaking them for.”

  I stare at him agape. “You’re a sleep-deprivation illusion, aren’t you? Where is yesterday’s Brady?”

  “Right here.” He fusses with the screen some more. “I still think mixing business with pleasure is a bad idea. But I’m not you. And you want to know the best thing about owning your own business?”

  “Surf breaks at noon?” I ask, but my voice doesn’t hold its usual enthusiasm.

  “No,” Brady replies. “It’s that you get to make the rules, and you get to change them if they no longer suit.”

  Change the rules?

  Change them so dating a customer . . . might indeed work?

  “Now, this pathetic moody funk of yours will infect the passengers, and that’s bad business too. So, I’m kicking you out of here for the day. Goodbye. Shoo. Farewell. Aloha.”

  He’s dead right—kicking me out is a very good idea.

  18

  Skyler

  Caleb isn’t here, and I don’t know how I feel about that.

  Rather, I do.

  Disappointed. Confused.

  But I’m not sure what that means in relation to my resolve from last night.

  Mrs. Wainwright and I cross the beach—this one rockier than the ones marked for swimming. “Look!” she says, and we stop. “There’s one sunbathing on a rock.”

  I smile at the sight of the turtle. “It’s funny because you don’t think a turtle sunbathing is something you ever want to see in your life, then you see it, and all you can think is ‘How did I ever live without seeing a turtle sunbathing?’”

  The older woman absolutely beams at me. “Yes! That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “That turtle is actually known as Don Juan,” says Brady, Caleb’s sub. He introduced himself to us all on the bus.

  I look from the turtle to the guide, skeptical. “Don Juan. Is that so?”

  “I call BS,” adds Mrs. Wainwright.

  Brady raises his left hand, the right one over his heart. “Swear. He’s fathered, I kid you not, one hundred baby turtles.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Huh. Single-handedly doing his part to un-endanger the species.”

  “It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it,” Brady says.

  We watch a while longer, looking to spot another.

  “Oh!” I gasp, and point at the waves. “Look! A baby turtle swimming!”

  We watch it as long as we can and all sigh happily. “I officially declare turtles the coolest ever.”

  Mrs. Wainwright says, “I second it.”

  “Third it,” adds Brady.

  I glance at my companions and then back out to the water. “Also, at the risk of being cheesy and TMI with strangers, this is exactly what I needed to be doing today. Does that make sense?”

  “It’s not TMI,” Mrs. Wainwright decrees. “It makes perfect sense, and it’s just as I expected.”

  “What?” I glance at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  Brady interrupts, clearing his throat. “If you ladies will excuse me for a second . . .”

  Then, Brady walks away.

  19

  Caleb

  I don’t lounge in a hammock.

  Or chill out as I watch the waves.

  Instead, I swim. And as I push through the ocean, I think.

  About the last few days.

  About the past.

  About rules.

  I think about all the walls I’ve erected. The boundaries I’ve set in place to protect my business.

  But really, to protect me.

  To protect my heart.

  Trouble is, they didn’t truly work. My heart’s already in this. Crazy thought, but so it goes. A few days with Skyler and I already know—I want more days with her.

  I want flights, I want planning, I want the big if.

  I want to know if she thinks we can be more than a fling, since I’m pretty sure we can be a whole lot more.

  When I get out of the ocean, I dry off, and head for my Jeep, driving toward another swath of beach. After I cut the engine, I make my way quickly along the sand, as my phone flashes with Brady’s name. I answer right away, but before I can get out a hi, he says, “Dude. You’re a dumbass if you let this woman leave. End of argument.”

  That’s quite an about face. “Who is this? What are you doing with Brady’s phone?”

  “Don’t listen to the stuff I said before. She’s cool. She loves turtles, and she’s chatting with this other woman, and she gets along with everyone, and . . . she loves turtles,” he says, sounding enchanted for me.

  I feel enchanted too. With Skyler.

  “Told you she was great. I spent the morning going for a swim in the ocean, and all I could think was how foolish it would be to let her get on that plane without telling her something I just realized,” I say, sparks of excitement whipping through me as I picture Skyler, as I imagine reconnecting with her.

  Telling her what’s on my heart and mind.

  “You better get here soon, since we’re almost done.”

  I grin as I walk past rock and sand, around a curve on the beach. “Good thing I’m walking toward her now.”

  Actually, it feels like a great thing.

  20

  Skyler

  I look for Brady, but he’s gone. When did he leave? I didn’t notice him take off.

  But I can’t miss the man walking toward me across the sand.

  Caleb.

  “Hey,” he says when he reaches me. “Can we talk for a moment?” He glances at Mrs. Wainwright, then back at me, gesturing over to a rocky outcropping. “Maybe over there where it’s a little more private?”

  I think the older woman snorts, but I’m too curious about what Caleb has to say to do anything but agree to his suggestion.

  We stroll away from the others without talking—not until he stops to face me.

  “Skyler,” he says seriously. “I have a confession. I didn’t have a meeting last night.”

  I laugh in surprise. “I figured that out.”

  His rueful expression is endearing on his handsome face. “I was a little freaked out by how much I wanted to see you again,” he admits. “And then I had a realization while I was in the ocean earlier.”

  “I hear time in the ocean can be as useful as time with a life coach.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “This was definitely a life-coachy moment. And here it is—sunset kisses are one of the best things, but only if they lead to more than a tropical tryst.”

  I am . . . cautiously intrigued. “Is that so? What sort of more did you have in mind?”

  “The sort of more that says it might be a challenge to date someone in San Francisco when you live in San Diego. It’ll definitely take effort, and meticulous scheduling. It requires planning, and planes. But . . .”

  He doesn’t finish, and I don’t know how he’ll complete the sentence, only how I want him to. “But what, Caleb? Is this another if?”

  “No.” He’s confident. Certain. “There are no ifs. No ifs at all.

  No ifs at all.” He slides his arms around my waist. “If you think about it, all that planning will be a lot like snorkeling.”

  I arch a questioning brow. “Dating me is like snorkeling?”

  “Yes, as in, worth it.” His hands curl around the small of my back, tugging me closer. “Was snorkeling worth it?”

  “Snorkeling was the perfect way to spend a day. Sort of like watching sunbathing turtles.”

  “Ah, so you’re saying dating me is sort of like spying a sunbathing turtle.”

  I smile, a little teasing, a little inviting. “I can’t think of a higher compliment.”

  “In that case, Skyler, would you like to continue this tropical tryst? Maybe turn it into something more? Because I really hope you’ll break your man-batical for me.”

  I shake my head. “I would, Caleb, but I can’t. I’m not on a man-batical anymore. I broke it with you, and I’m one hundred percent fine with that. I want to see where this takes us.”

  “Let’s see if it takes us into a stateside steady zone.”

  And steady zones need kissing. So I lift my face to his and plant a kiss on those yummy lips. A warm Hawaii kiss that makes my toes curl and my chest flip. He moans softly as I slide against him. Smiling, I tug him a little closer, savoring his reaction and getting a little more lost in his kiss.

  A familiar voice interrupts from a few yards down the beach. We break apart.

  “Oh, how romantic!” cries Mrs. Wainwright, clasping her hands in front of her. “I know you’re busy—sorry, not sorry—but I just have to say something to Caleb.”

  “What’s that, Mrs. Wainwright?” he asks politely.

  She thrusts her arms in the air, dancing a victory jig. “Called it! I told you she was your girlfriend-to-be.”

  “Actually,” he says, still with his arms around me, “I’m hoping she wants to be my girlfriend right now.”

  And I do, so I say, “Unless Don Juan makes a better offer, I’m game.”

  Epilogue

  Skyler

  * * *

  Months Later

  * * *

  Katie kicks me out of her town car at the San Francisco airport.

  Well, lovingly kicks me out.

  “Go, go, go,” she urges. “I’ve got a yoga class, and you’ve got your man to see.”

  I slide out of the back seat. “Thanks for the lift.”

  “What are friends for?” I throw my arms around her in a quick hug, then I stare at her engagement ring when I let go. “And we’re dress shopping soon.”

  She beams. “I can’t wait. I’m over the moon to marry him,” she says of the guy she met a few months ago. One whirlwind engagement later, and here she is—almost hitched.

  “And I can’t wait to be your bridesmaid,” I say.

  “Go have a fabulous weekend,” she says.

  I take off, knowing I will, grateful, too, for all her support and friendship.

  Glad I can give the same back to her.

  I could make my way to the San Diego airport’s pickup zone with my eyes closed. I wheel my suitcase behind me just as a car pulls over to the curb. The door opens, and the ruggedly handsome driver gets out.

  “Need a lift?” Caleb asks with a grin.

  “Sure. Can you take me to this guy’s house? I have a tryst with him in, oh, about twenty minutes.”

  “I bet I can get you to his house in fifteen,” he says, taking my bag and adding with a cheeky grin, “I’m highly motivated.”

  This I could do on autopilot too—getting in the car, clicking my seat belt. But I wouldn’t want to miss what comes next.

  Caleb reaches over the console and cups my cheek, his eyes loving, his voice gentle. “Hi. Missed you.”

  “Missed you too,” I say softly, leaning into his touch. “So much.”

  “Good to see you. For the—what is it now? The twentieth time in six months?”

  “Yes, but who’s counting?”

  He runs his fingers through my hair. “Evidently, me.”

  The car behind us honks impatiently.

  “All right,” Caleb grouses at the other driver. “Keep your shirt on.” I giggle, and we exchange smiles. “That’s my cue to get you home.”

  He puts his hands on the wheel, but before he puts the car in gear, he pauses. “You know, if this were your home too, I wouldn’t have to keep counting your visits.”