Charlie is gone.

It comes to me as I slowly finish waking up, my muscles aching in the sweetest way. Did I dream what happened last night? No. Dreams don’t ache. Not like this.

When I roll over, there it is—the imprint of his head on the pillow. He was here, but when he got up, he tugged the covers across his side of the bed and pressed them closer to me. How…ridiculously cute.

But where did he go?

I don’t see the note until I’ve already gotten out of bed and made my way to the bathroom and back. I swipe my tongue along the minty toothpaste flavor coating my teeth as I pick up the note. It’s been written on a page torn from the resort notepad, folded in half once, and my name is scrawled on the front.

Not Josephine. Josie.

My face heats up at the sight of it. I vaguely remember giving him permission to call me that when I was on the verge of drifting off to sleep last night. It makes me feel all gooey and warm inside, like the first time I got a Valentine’s Day card from a boy that wasn’t one of the obligatory ones. 

The note reads, Running. Coffee. Back soon. —C

I rub my thumb over the page, and that makes me think of the notepad I was writing on last night.

I had been scribbling notes on another resort insignia notepad before he showed up at my bungalow, and the heat in my cheeks changes to shame. I don’t want Charlie to know that I’m here because I have to come up with a new plan for my life. It’s embarrassing to be looking for a job at this point. Plus, there’s Rolly on top of that. If I was him, I’d think—

I turn on my heel and sprint out into the living area of the bungalow to search for the notepad. Everything is gleaming in here, sparkling white in the morning sun, and for a second I don’t see it. My heart stops. Did he already find it, read what I was writing, and take off on me? It could have happened after he wrote his note. A man like Charlie—cool, powerful, in control—doesn’t want a woman who’s a flaming wreck. I already look enough like one of those without adding on the drawbacks of being unemployed or lacking other suitable life prospects.

Defeated, I lift up my laptop…and there it is, flat against the table. I don’t remember shoving it under the laptop, but it definitely looks like it’s been there all along. 

Thank God.

I clutch it to my chest and give it a little kiss.

There’s a knock at the door to the bungalow at that moment, and on instinct, I shove the notepad between the cushions on the sofa, my heart pounding wildly. This is hardly illicit, but here I am with bright red cheeks, running to answer the door like I have something to hide.

I smooth down my hair in a last-minute bid to not look so guilty, and then pull the door open, already smiling, realizing too late that I didn’t get dressed, so if it’s anyone other than Charlie…

Shit. It could be someone other than Charlie.

“Oh—” I try to close the door at the same time that I see him.

He catches it with his elbow, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. ”Good. You’re awake.”

“I’m—yeah, I’m up.” I step back into the bungalow, suddenly aware, excruciatingly aware, of the way my camisole is tugged to one side and I have nothing on below it but the lacy panties I pulled on in the middle of the night. I hate sleeping naked. It’s not so bad next to Charlie, but even so…

In the light of day, last night seems a little weird. A little awkward. Like maybe we were too desperate to do that—and by “do that,” I mean fuck each other senseless—and it might have been a mistake. But I shove down the doubt because he’s following me into the bungalow. He’s wearing nothing but athletic shorts and a pair of running shoes, and he looks like an angel fallen from heaven.

Actually, I think an angel fallen from heaven might not measure up to the Charlie Cash who’s standing here in front of me right now, the lightest sheen of sweat dancing on his skin, his hair adorably tousled, holding two coffee cups from the resort’s café in his hands. He looks down at them, the door swinging shut behind him. “I got us some coffee.”

He must be feeling it, too—the way things are charged between us. He’s holding himself back, I can tell. I feel shy. Strange. 

Like always, I overcompensate.

I cross my arms over my chest and jut one hip out to the side. “Do you even know how I take my coffee?”

He looks up at me, his blue eyes glimmering, and hesitates before he jokes. “I know how you take something else of mine.”

His words have me trembling with a hot flush of pleasure down my back, one that was magnified a thousand times last night. I have to bite my lip to keep from tumbling directly back into the bedroom. No words come to mind, so instead I settle for a nervous laugh, which makes him pull back a little bit more. He takes his eyes off me to look out the window past my shoulder. I jerk my chin at the cups. “So what did you get?”

He raises one eyebrow. “Coffee.” There’s that grin again. “One’s black, and one has cream and sugar. You can pick.”

“Oh, cream and sugar, a hundred percent,” I say, darting forward, hand flying out before I can stop myself. 

“Whoa, not so fast,” Charlie says, the hint of laughter in his voice. “These are for our walk.”

“Our walk…back to the bedroom?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and now that they’re out, Charlie’s eyebrows are practically floating above us on the ceiling. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost a growl. “Our walk…” He steps closer to me, and I get a whiff of his scent, still clean somehow. My heart leaps and bangs against my ribs. Closer and closer he comes until his lips are almost touching mine. I can’t catch my breath. “…on the beach,” he whispers, and then plants a kiss on my temple.

Tame.

Like we’ve been married fifty years, and all the desire has burned out.

I raise my hand to my temple like he burned me, trying to ignore the heat pooling between my legs, the live-wire feeling that’s taking over because he’s nearby. “You are an awful tease. I kind of—”

“Hate me a little?” He cocks his head over his shoulder. “Come on. Before this gets cold.”

“I’m getting cold,” I say, lifting my chin, and head pointedly toward the bedroom.

He doesn’t follow me. “Are you getting clothes?” The sound of his voice still comes from where he’s standing near the door of the bungalow.

“You’re infuriating.” If he’s not coming in here now, I guess I will get clothes. I whip off the camisole and pull on a bra and tank, followed by a pair of shorts. When I get back to the door, Charlie is waiting with an expression that’s halfway between a scowl and a grin.

“Welcome to my life,” he says, and heads out the door.