Gemma could make out a huge front deck, with multiple options for seating, including loungers and club chairs. Down on the sand was a circular canopied daybed and, as Gemma imagined curlingup there with her laptop and a cold drink, she decided this would do nicely. Very nicely indeed.
Oh, who was she kidding. This was already the nicest place she’d ever stayed, and that included vacations where Alan shelled out for the sort of fancy hotels that always made her feel underdressed.
Then they stepped inside, and Gemma whistled. This wasn’t fancier than those five-star hotels, but it was definitely more her style. Cozy and casual, with an emphasis on comfort. In front of her was a full kitchen with stainless steel appliances. To her right sprawled a living room with a couch, two recliners, and huge windows. There was even a fireplace, in case nights got nippy.
“Wow,” she said.
“Is this okay?” Mason said, his eyes dark with genuine worry.
“Did you miss the ‘wow’?” she said.
“Yeah, but… we should have specified a living room separate from the kitchen, so you can have privacy for writing. And from here, I see what looks like three doors—two bedrooms and one bath. You probably want your own bathroom.”
She smiled at him. “We’ve already shared a bathroom, even if I didn’t ask permission first. This is fine. As for the living room, I have noise-canceling headphones.”
His eyes widened. “Shit! No, you don’t, because you weren’t the one who packed. I didn’t think of that. You can use mine.”
“I actually do have my headphones. They’re always in my laptop bag.” She hefted it. “I’m set.” She stepped forward. “Is that a bar?”
She walked over to the small bar between the kitchen and living room. Someone had left fresh fruit and bottles of liquor on the counter, and when she opened the fridge, it had mixers and ice.
She rubbed her hands. “Can I make you something?”
He smiled. “That’s right. You were a bartender.”
“Thebestbartender, if I do say so myself.” She pulled out glasses. “I know we should be responsible and unpack first, but I’m starting with a drink on that deck. Join me?”
“Right after I get the perishables in the fridge.”
Mere hours ago, Gemma had given this vacation up for lost. Now she was on a lounge chair, listening to the lapping of the ocean and the chirp of night birds as she stared into a sky full of stars. While sipping a mai tai. Did it get better than that?
The glass door whispered open behind her.
“Snacks?” Mason said as he came out.
Okay, it could get better.
Mason walked around her carrying a tray. He’d finally changed out of his travel clothes, and he was wearing shorts and a tank top, with his feet bare. The shorts afforded Gemma her first look at his thighs, which… damn, were they worth the wait. Thick and muscled and pretty much exactly as she’d imagined.
Yep, her night had definitely gotten better.
It was like one of those divorcée dreams, where you ditch the toxic hubby and have a hot guy in a tank and shorts serving you snacks on a tropical beach.
“No?” Mason said.
She gave a little jump and realized he was still holding out the tray. He’d cut up fruit and added cheese, nuts, and little spirals of what looked like thin fried dough, dusted with sugar.
“Manicotti,” he said. “My grandmother insisted on sending a care package.”
“Manicotti?”
He waved at the fried dough. “It’s mostly for Purim, but I like it.”
Gemma laughed. “Okay, now I feel clueless. I kept seeing manicotti on the dessert menu at Nonna Jean’s and thinking it was someone’s idea of a joke. Those look delicious.” She took one and a piece of cheese. “Thank you.”
He set the tray on a table between them and stretched out on the lounge chair beside hers.
When he picked up his mojito, she said, “I went light on the alcohol. I know it’s not your thing, and if you ever want your drinks booze-free, just say so.”
