“Well, that’s a damn shame.” He spread a waterproof tarp on the sand before unfolding their camp chairs and blankets.
She eyed the set-up warily. “Looks like you’re expecting a storm.”
“Just want you to be comfortable.” He unpacked a folding shovel and inclined his head toward the truck. “Shall we set up for dinner? There’s a camp table in the back.”
Soon, he had a fire crackling and a satisfied smile on his face as Gemma oohed and aahed over their picnic. Call him a caveman, but he loved providing for her.
“What’s in the foil packets? They smell so good.”
“Quesadillas from the Salty Dog Saloon—smoked gouda with wild mushrooms, and blackened shrimp with bacon and avocado. There’s salad in the Tupperware.”
She nuzzled his neck. “You are totally spoiling me, you know.”
Her delicate touch sparked a squadron of fireflies in his belly. “I aim to please.”
He helped her set the table, then popped the cork on a chilled Columbia Valley Pinot Gris. He wasn’t much of a wine guy himself, but she’d mentioned loving this stuff, and he was determined to impress her.
They settled into their chairs, bundled up in blankets, and feasted on delicious food and glorious color as the sun sank toward the horizon, which flushed a delicate pink before flaring into orange and magenta, its colors mirrored where the sea slicked the sand.
The blazing sky heightened the roses in Gemma’s cheeks and illuminated her changeable eyes, sea green tonight in the magical glow of sunset and firelight. She pushed her plate aside and reached for his hand. “Jesse, this is spectacular. Thank you.”
Time for a gamble. He twisted to face her. “Is it beautiful enough to hold your interest?”
She held his gaze for a long, silent moment. Seagulls cried and tap-danced toward their campsite, hoping for morsels. The surf whooshed in and out, Mother Earth’s soft breath. Jesse chewed his lip and prayed.
Finally, Gemma ducked her head and chuckled. “You and me. What an unlikely pair, eh?”
He wove his fingers through hers. “I think we make an excellent pair.”
Her thumb rubbed circles on his palm, a move that would normally soothe him. Not enough to loosen his wire-taut nerves now when everything depended on overcoming her urge to wander.
Her gaze shifted out to sea. “Tell me about your future, Jesse.”
“Well, I’m hoping you’ll be in it.”
She dropped her hand and wrapped her arms around her bent knees, still focused on the sunset as if she couldn’t bear to miss a moment of its beauty. That was his Gemma, soaking up every experience like a sponge, always hungry for new sensations, new experiences. Who was he kidding? No beach or sunset or meal or orgasm would ever be enough to hold her here.
In that case, he might as well be truthful. Intuitive as she was, she’d see through lies designed to persuade her. “Okay,” he began, “I’d like to have a family of my own. I’m already thirty-six, so I’d better not wait too much longer.” He huffed a humorless chuckle. “Guess guys have a biological clock too. But first, I need a partner, one who supports me and challenges me. One who won’t let me get too stodgy.”
Gemma faced him at last with a cute scowl. “Who says you’re stodgy?”
“My last girlfriend.”
Her frown relaxed, and she rested her cheek on her knees. “I was wondering if you’d ever tell me about her. A teacher, wasn’t she?”
Of course Gemma would’ve heard all about it in a town this small. “Yeah. She was like you in some ways. Easily bored. I was good enough to pass the time while she was stuck in Trappers Cove—though I never realized she felt stuck here. She seemed happy with the town, her job, me. Then one day, out of the blue, she got an offer from a private school in Seattle. I didn’t even know she’d applied.” He sighed into the twilight sky. “And that was that. Guess she had—what did you call it? Itchy feet.” The longer he spoke, the more his stomach hollowed out. It was only a matter of time until Gemma grew bored and moved on too.
Her hand closed over his, warm and soft. “Well, shame on her for treating you that way. Karma’s going to bite her ass one day.”
Desperation squirmed under his skin. Turning his body to face her, he enfolded her hand in both of his. “Zora warned me about you, Gemma, but I could no more resist you than I could stop breathing. You’re gonna mash my heart to a pulp, aren’t you?”
She recoiled. “No. Of course not. I care about you, Jesse, and—wait, Zora warned you?”
“She said our star signs are incompatible.”
Gemma’s eyes narrowed and her chin firmed. “That’s bullshit. We’re not helpless puppets, Jesse. We control our own destinies.”
“What about your itchy feet?”
