Outside on the circular drive the next morning, Ava took a deep breath. The soft breeze continued, carrying the scent of the ocean and blowing away Ava’s earlier foul mood. It didn’t matter that she and Grant were at odds again—she was here, on the last day of the vacation of a lifetime.
And she was determined to enjoy herself.
Grant Porter be damned.
So today, she was spending the day away from the resort, and as far away from Grant as she could get. So she had pulled out the guidebook she had bought and charged an excursion to the eighteenth-century fort to her emergency credit card.
This is an emergency. I desperately need to get away from Grant.
More than that, she needed to escape the idea that she could have ended up with him—that this could have been more than a vacation fling, if only she could find a way around needing to stay in Necessity.
But I can’t.
Scanning the placards held by the drivers standing by the excursion shuttle vans, Ava finally spotted one that read Jordan Party.
“Jordan, party of one,” she muttered to herself, grinning a little darkly.
Flashing a smile at the driver as he opened the door for her, Ava slid into the back seat of the resort’s shuttle van. “There you go, miss,” the driver said, his soft accent containing hints of the island patois she had been hearing ever since she stepped off the plane several days ago. “I’ll be coming back in a minute, and then we’ll go.” His dark brown eyes sparkled at her as he turned away, leaving the sliding van door open to catch the breeze.
With a shrug, she applied herself to the guidebook, double-checking her marks in it, the stars next to all the things she had wanted to see while she was there.
The armory. The old fort. St. John’s, with its stores and markets. 365 beaches.
Okay. So she hadn’t had time for everything. But she had one last chance to sightsee.
And avoiding Grant as much as I can.
The van rocked, and Ava glanced up, planning to ask the shuttle driver to tell her a little more about the history of the West Indies.
The words died in her throat.
“Hey, Ava.” Grant nodded at her as he moved toward the back of the shuttle.
So much for avoiding Grant.
Of course he’s coming on the tour, too. That’s the kind of luck I have.
And now he was sitting behind her, staring a hole in the back of her head.
It’s clear he can’t stand me.
She blinked back tears.
She had spent most of the night fantasizing about how she might behave when they met up again.
Sometimes she envisioned Grant dumbstruck by the sight of her in the mini dress.
Other times, she imagined herself giving him the cold shoulder as she swept past him the next time she saw him in Necessity.
And every so often as the night wore on and she found herself still unable to sleep, she allowed herself to dream of a scenario that ended with them together, kissing, touching…
They were silly, childish daydreams. She knew that. And she didn’t expect any of them to really come true.
For one thing, not a single one involved him refusing to sit next to her on a tour bus while she stewed in her own misery and tried to keep from crying.
She rubbed her temples, then went back to watching the brightly painted buildings of St. John’s slide by her, until the city ran out and all that was left was rolling countryside.
Leaning her forehead against the glass, she stared out across the landscape as far as she could, hoping for another glimpse of the ocean. When it finally came, the early morning sunshine glinted off the ocean like diamonds flashing, dazzling her eyes.
Instead of soothing her, as she had expected, the sight simply gave her a headache, and she closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she would head home.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
But with Grant on the tour with her, Ava feared she was going to end up saying something, and get hurt.
Again.
Well. So much for avoiding Ava.
Grant had stooped to climb into the van, choosing to turn sideways and scoot to the back row rather than share a bench seat with Ava. He knew she wouldn’t want him that close to her, anyway.
As he took his seat behind her, Grant regarded the back of her head.
Should I say something?
Or should I let her start the conversation? If, of course, there’s supposed to be a conversation at all.
Now, Grant tried to focus on the tour. He caught a glimpse of the old British fort at the top of the hill, and craned his neck to see more.
Nice spot for a fortification. Easy to defend, hard to attack. Good line of sight to the bay below.
The stones seemed more weathered than a building from the eighteenth century ought to be. Compared to, say, the Alamo, this fort was practically decrepit. Then again, Grant was used to the older buildings in the western United States. The sea air probably ate away at the stones here.
He pulled his attention away from the fort and examined the rest of their surroundings.
I wish I knew how to ask Ava to come with me.
But he knew she would say no. Better to say nothing, even when he couldn’t stand to see her sad.