I nod. “Just the way I said it? That’s how it went down.”
I start seriously reconsidering my no-dating-tourists rule. It’s a stupid rule. And it’s more like a guideline. And maybe I’m a rebel. I imagine for a moment just how great he might look not in a suit.
I feel my cheeks heat and remember he is still staring at me. Only now there is an irresistible smirk on his face with his lips curled up ever so slightly and that crinkle around his eyes.
That last part is important because not only is it endearing, but according to my one psychology class in college, it indicates that the smile is genuine and not fake.
What the hell is happening to my inner monologue, anyway? It’s not just my body betraying me now. I’m starting to feel a pull toward the handsome stranger. And somehow it feels as easy and natural as the tide.
Right on cue, Abigail reappears behind the bar. “How are my two favorite customers doing?” She reaches for a shelf behind her and turns back with a full box of gorgeous looking foil wrapped chocolates and sets them on the counter. “The bar’s emptying out, so I’m going to let each of you pick a free chocolate.”
Jellybean looks excited. He reads the logo on the foil. “Scrumptious Chocolates. I’ve never heard of them, are they good?”
“The best,” Abigail answers, “they’re a local legend. You have to try one.”
I shoot Abigail a severe look while Jellybean’s attention is turned, but she only smiles back at me and winks.
“It doesn’t matter which you choose, they’re all amazing,” she tells Jellybean.
Now it looks like he’s the one doing calc three in his head trying to decide which one to pick.
“What are the round ones?” he asks.
“Caramel,” Abigail and I answer at the same time. Then I shake my head and grab a triangle.
Jellybean chooses the round one. “What’s in the triangle?” He asks.
“Truffle,” I answer.
“I guess you’ve had these before,” he says to me as he takes a bite. He chews, he tastes, he savors. Then his face breaks out into a broad smile. “Wow. This chocolate is amazing. You say it’s a local company?”
“Yep,” Abigail answers.
Jellybean looks from Abigail to me suspiciously. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“You’re not,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Abigail.
“So, Coconut, what do you do when you’re not ogling coconut monkeys?” he asks, smartly changing the topic of conversation.
“I’m a pastry chef.”
“No kidding.”
“True story,” I answer him, wondering why he thinks it’s interesting. How many people really masquerade as pastry chefs? “Thanks for the drinks,” I say, setting down my glass.
“Wait,” he says, pulling out his wallet. “Since I’ve already been outed as a tourist and you’re a local, why don’t you show me around?”
I have to admit, he’s smooth. The dimple even comes out again. Then he flashes the smile.
Oh my, what’s a girl to do? Let me think. Should I walk home and watch television in my apartment alone, or show a handsome stranger around?
“I don’t know,” I say. “Rules are rules.”
“Hold on, you said you don’t date tourists. Technically speaking, it would be more of a tour than a date. And you’d be doing me a favor.”
He and Abigail both stare at me. “What do you think, Abigail? Did you get a break-my-rule kind of tip?”
“Oh yeah,” Abigail smirks, holding up the receipt. “He definitely gets my vote.”
“Okay, then. I guess I’m just a rebel. And it’s a beautiful night for a tour.”
Abigail smiles and claps her hands together. Then she turns away from us and rummages in a drawer somewhere back behind the bar. A moment later she pulls out a huge chopping knife. Her expression has become a scowl in Jellybean’s direction. “If you harm a hair on her head, I swear this knife will be the focus of your murder trial. Got it?”
Jellybean’s eyes get wide again, and then he puts both hands in the air. “That won’t be necessary. And thanks for the chocolate.”
“You’re welcome,” Abigail says. “Have fun you two.”
Chapter Four
Kaylee
“Are your friends always like that?” he asks as soon as we clear the thatch roof of the bar and head away from the light of the flickering tiki torches and toward the beach.
“No, they’re usually way worse. She likes you.”
“Are you sure?” he asks. “There was a whole thing with the knife just now.”
I laugh. “Pretty sure. Although I wouldn’t test her if I were you. Her hobby is knife throwing. She’s pretty badass.”
“You’re just screwing with me now,” he says, following as I lead him across the sand and toward the lightly breaking waves under the half-lit moon.
“Never.”
“Why does it look like you’re leading us into the ocean?” he asks. “When I asked for a tour, I didn’t mean of the Atlantic. I meant of the hotel grounds. Specifically, the Royal St. Tropic.”
“I know,” I tell him. “But all the tours I give start here.” I stand at the spot where the sand still has a wet sheen, but not all the way to where the waves lap at the shore.
He joins me, standing tall. Taller than I thought he was when he was sitting at the bar.
“Really? And how many tours have you done?”
“This is the first. I told you, I’m a pastry chef, not a tour guide. Now pay attention, there’s going to be a quiz.”
For a quick second, his expression turns to panic.
“Just kidding,” I turn and walk with him further north, past the several hotels between the Beaky Tiki and the Royal St. Tropic.
He recognizes his hotel and points. “Hey, isn’t that it, right there?”
“Yup,” I answer. “Keep walking.”
He gives me a surprised look. I can tell even in the relative darkness.
It almost makes me laugh out loud. It’s clear that he’s used to being in charge. “Do you trust me?” I ask. “I mean, isn’t the point of a vacation to let go and have a little fun? Besides, you’re on island
