Our second dinner at the resort is a much more casual do—everyone sitting around patio tables by the outdoor grill, where the chef is frying up a spread of burgers that leaves my mouth watering after my afternoon workout of sorts. Brooke is back from her family outing, leaning against Trevor blissfully as he plays with her hair, her freckles already darker from the sun she’s getting. Maggie is debating the merits of buttercream icing versus ganache with unexpected foodie Colin, and Lulu has draped herself on Brad’s arm while he straight-facedly answers her “fitness” questions. There’s been no sign of Will since I put on that show for him by the waterfall, which means even I’m pretty relaxed.

So naturally, just as the servers start bringing the burgers around, my phone buzzes.

I slip into the lobby. “What’s wrong, Kenneth?”

“Ruby, I think I really screwed up.” My sixteen-year-old hip-hopper of growing social media fame looks awfully tough when he’s posturing for his audience, but right now his hangdog voice sounds all kid.

Uh oh. I draw in a breath and sit down on the nearest bench, imagining all the sorts of trouble Kenneth Romano—stage name Kenneth the Krunk—might have gotten into. Mouthed off at someone who’s actually as tough as he wishes he was? Committed a petty crime for the LOLZ? Rap battle to the death?

Okay, probably not that last one, at least.

“What happened?” I say. “Tell me the whole thing.”

“Well, I was out with a bunch of the guys at this place that has karaoke,” Kenneth says. “We were just goofing around. I saw that Harlan Everett song, ‘The One For Me’—you know it?”

“Yeah.” Harlan Everett is the sappiest new country singer to ever sap, which is probably why his songs keep blowing up the charts. I’m not sure where this is heading now.

“Well, I actually kind of . . . like his stuff. So I thought I’d sing that one just as a joke. But I ended up getting really into it. And then after, my friend Darryl started laughing about how he’d recorded the whole thing, saying he’s going to put it up on YouTube to show everyone I’m really just a wuss! You can’t let him do that, Ruby.”

I press my palm to my forehead. This is the big emergency? But, to be fair, I can see why he’s concerned about his image.

After a little more talk, I determine that Kenneth isn’t all that sure his “friend” Darryl really would try to mess up his career like that, but better safe than sorry. So I’m left spending the next several minutes hashing out the situation with Kenneth’s parents, followed by a couple dozen more trying to reach the family lawyer, who’s probably busy eating his dinner, or, failing that, someone, anyone, at his firm.

I’m sitting there listening to hold music drone on and debating throwing in the towel—but I’ve already spent this much time on it, surely I’ll have it all sorted out sometime before the second coming?—when Will comes strolling over.

“Hey,” he says. “I thought you might be getting hungry in here.”

The plate he sets on the bench beside me holds a burger and a heap of home fries. My stomach gurgles.

“You didn’t have to,” I say quickly. “I’m going to be done here any minute now. Everything’s under control.”

Will’s eyebrows arch, but his tone is gentle. “Don’t put on the ‘I don’t need anyone but myself’ act with me, Ruby. I know you. You take care of your client, and let me do a little to take care of you. No guests are going to starve on my watch.”

I can’t help watching him amble off. The second he’s out of view, I start inhaling fries. But my mind is still lingering over his comment.

I know you.

It might have been in retort to what I said before my striptease-in-reverse this afternoon. It feels like a callback to something further back, though—all the way back to our college days, and a conversation with him in the pub one night.

“Everyone thinks I’m such a ball-buster,” I had burst out, and he chuckled.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is, sometimes,” I said, poking my glass. “I mean, it can be great being all captain-y in-charge, kicking ass and taking names. But it’s also kind of tiring. And one-note. Even you said I was like Captain Janeway. Sometimes I want to be more like, I don’t know, Counselor Troi. All soft and warm and taking care of people and their feelings. People like a Deanna Troi better than a Janeway.”

I didn’t in a million years think anyone, least of all Will, would agree I’d make a good ship’s counselor, full of soothing vibes. But he just nudged his shoulder against mine.

“So be Troi with me,” he said. “We can take care of each other all right, I think.”

Did that conversation stick with him over all these years? I never figured it meant half as much to him as it did to me, thinking he could see me that way, even though it gave me a warm mushy feeling whenever he winked at me and called me “Troi” afterward. And that was before The Letter Incident.

I look down at the hamburger. It was a sweet gesture, but why did he make it? Does he think it makes up for how he shredded my feelings? I have no idea what game we’re even playing anymore.

* * *

Ten minutes later, one teenage hip-hopper can sleep easier, and I’ve managed to wolf down half of the burger as well as the rest of the fries. I stuff my phone in my purse and get up. What’s going to look worse at this point: walking back onto the patio where everyone’s probably just finishing up, or rejoining them at the ballroom Brooke told me we’re scheduled to head next, where I can stealthily merge back into the crowd?

“How can it be that a lovely woman like you is having dinner over here by yourself?” asks a smooth voice with the fluid vowels of a Spanish accent.

The man walking over from the other end of the lobby is such a sight to behold that I don’t mind the interruption at all. Thick black hair swept back from his chiseled face, deep brown eyes, and a leanly muscled body he carries with a leopard-like grace. Um, yes please, I’ll take some of that. He’s dressed up more than most of the guests I’ve seen—sleek black shoes, trimly pressed slacks and suit jacket over a collared linen shirt—but he doesn’t have the deferential air most of the staff give off. Intriguing.

I’m suddenly very glad I decided to slip on this sundress when I got out of my hiking clothes. It doesn’t have quite the same caliber of magic as my teal halter, but it shows off my assets a lot better than a sweaty tee.

“Unfortunately I’ve been all work and no play so far this evening,” I say.

A glint lights in those soulful eyes. “That’s a shame. Perhaps we can change that.”

I grin. I can’t go running off on Brooke’s plans, but I’ve got a little time. I was starting to forget how fun it could be to flirt with a guy who has no history of breaking your heart.

“What did you have in mind?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

The guy steps closer. And then, speak of the devil, my heartbreaker of yore comes striding up to us. I tense, and I think the new guy notices, because his gaze darts from me to Will in the second before Will reaches us.

“Is there a problem here?” Will says, looking between the two of us. His tone is all solicitous host, but there’s restrained aggression in his stance.

“No,” I say, managing to suppress the urge to roll my eyes at him. Why would he think there was? “I was just having a very pleasant conversation with . . .” I raise an eyebrow at my new “friend.”

The guy smiles in that slightly crooked way I’ve always been a sucker for. “Vincente. It has indeed been a pleasure making your acquaintance.” He’s looking only at me.

Will’s eyes narrow, just a tad, but enough for me to notice. Wait, is he . . . jealous?

Well, who am I not to make the most of this unexpected gift? I touch Vincente’s forearm with a winning smile right back at him. “Yes, I think you were just about to give me some tips on how a girl might have some fun around here.”

“You didn’t have your fill this afternoon?” Will says, with an edge under the teasing.

“How can a woman this exquisite ever enjoy herself too much?” Vincente puts in.

“I like the way you think,” I say. “Tell me more.”

Will clears his throat. “I think Brooke and Trevor are expecting everyone over in the ballroom now.”

Damn. Well, it was a blast while it lasted. I’m about to step away from Vincente when he makes an exclamation of approval and offers me his elbow.

“You’re heading to the ballroom? It so happens I am too. Perhaps you could show me the way.”

Will blinks, looking momentarily, marvelously at a loss now that his gambit has backfired. “Ruby,” he starts, but I don’t get to find out where he’s going with that, because Miss Chic & Elegant glides up to his side at that moment.

“Will,” she says in an equally elegant voice, “I’m sorry, but I need those approvals taken care of.”

His mouth flattens. “It can’t wait, Helene?”

“He just called again.”

“All right.” He shoots me a look that seems to pointedly exclude Vincente. “I’ll see you at the ballroom.”

A promise and a threat wrapped up together. Even with this handsome arm candy at my side, a little shiver runs through me that isn’t exactly unpleasant.

“I think the recreation building is this way,” I say to Vincente, recalling the resort map I studied this morning. We amble out across the now-vacated patio, along a path through the vegetation set with polished slabs of limestone and dotted with solar lanterns only just gleaming on as evening deepens. His firm bicep flexes against my fingers as he moves. I focus on that sensation rather than the territorial gleam in Will’s gaze when he saw us together.

“It’s a lovely night for dancing,” Vincente says.

“Are you going to be joining us?” I say. Maybe he’s one of Trevor’s friends, late arriving. I’m not sure exactly what Brooke has planned. She was all hush-hush when I asked.

“I believe I am,” he says. “I hope at least some of that time with you.”

“Hmmm. I might need a little time to warm up. Dancing isn’t really my forte.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that.” He gives me a look up and down that really does chase Will from my mind, for a few seconds at least.

We climb the cedar steps to the recreation building, and I let go of Vincente’s arm, a little regretfully. I don’t want to give the impression I’m some sort of clinger. Brooke claps her hands together as we step through the main doors. It takes me a second to realize it’s my companion she’s focused on, not me.

“All right!” she says. “We’ve got a special treat for you all, so you’ll be able to tear up the dance floor in style during the reception. Get ready for tango class! This is Vincente Flores, the man who’ll be showing you how it’s done.”