pink similar to her dress.
Not bad for ten minutes.
“Hi, y’all.” Dylan banged on her living room window and peered in, his take on the American accent just awful. And he continued, “I’m fixin’ to go to the beach. Ya’ll coming with us?”
She raced to the door and flung it open. “That’s so bad, but I don’t care. Now strip and let’s get to it.”
“Good morning.” He beamed. “I see you’re left in the same predicament I am in.”
“Oh?”
“Hungry for more. I propose a holiday romance.”
She gulped and struggled for breath. “Romance?”
“Oh, Chantilly, breathe. It could be fun. We’ll sex it up, we’ll dine, and I’ll be your tour guide and—”
“But there will be no actual romance, right?”
He nodded. “Affirmative.”
“How about vacation friends with benefits? That sounds better.”
“Deal. Let’s get a move on. I’ve got breakfast ordered at a place I know you’ll love.”
She side-eyed him. “You seem different this morning.” Had his simple mention of romance switched up the way she saw him? Or had he changed the way he wore his hair?
“ Na .”
“Yes. Did you do something to your hair?”
He grabbed her. “No, all dressed to impress today. Didn’t wanna scare the town folk. Now come on.”
“There’s something else.”
He rubbed his chin. “No, I’m still me.”
“There, that’s it.” She couldn’t believe it. He’d shaved off his beard.
“What?” He threw his arms up and shrugged.
She gasped and swept a touch across his cheek. “So smooth.”
“ Ia .” He grinned, revealing adorable dimples and a striking strong jawline.
“But I could get used to this, too,” she said, brushing his smooth skin with her palms.
“Good, Miss America approves.” He winked. “Shall we go?”
“Let’s. So, where are we going?”
“Barmouth for a complete beach, food, and shopping experience. And if you’re a good girl….”
“Yes?”
“We can play the penny slots, too.”
“Not what I was hoping for, but okay. Penny slots it is.”
Chapter Thirteen
They strolled white sands, admired glorious mountainous views, and shopped for shoes. He’d been patient the whole time. Barmouth was the most darling seaside town.
The day had been the sort of day she’d enjoy with her girlfriends. Not once had she paused to remember she was with a Welshman whom she loved to hate and who’d made her toes curl as she came two nights earlier.
They had breakfast at the Carousal Café; the C was missing from the name on the sign, making it Arousal. Their special for the day was sizzling banger sandwiches, which Zoe took pictures of. She knew Rachel would get a kick out of the double entendre.
When they’d eaten, Dylan drove them to the top of a hill with views of the beach and the entire village. Whitewashed homes dotted the ocean-side hills, and little fishing boats floated. Hues of yellow and greens intertwined and made distant grassy fields surreal, like something from a painting. And the watercolor blues of the sky and ocean were a melting pot of shimmering reflections of the bright summer sun.
“How about a glass of wine?” He pulled a bottle from the trunk, and a picnic basket and blanket.
“Is there anything you haven’t thought of Dyl?”
“Dunno. But I thought your writer mind would appreciate the simple, isolated scene and simple romantic gesture.”
“Sounds lovely, but let’s not use the R word.”
“ Ia , okay.” He spread out the red-checkered blanket and patted the material. “Come join me on the romance-free zone. Sit. Relax. Enjoy.”
“That I can do.”
He uncorked the bottle and poured the deep red fluid into a plastic wine glass. “I’ve got cheese and crackers, too.”
“You know me so well already.”
He grinned and handed her the drink. “I try.”
They ate and drank, and an awkward silence settled between them. She didn’t know where to look or what to say. Without sex on the table, their
Not bad for ten minutes.
“Hi, y’all.” Dylan banged on her living room window and peered in, his take on the American accent just awful. And he continued, “I’m fixin’ to go to the beach. Ya’ll coming with us?”
She raced to the door and flung it open. “That’s so bad, but I don’t care. Now strip and let’s get to it.”
“Good morning.” He beamed. “I see you’re left in the same predicament I am in.”
“Oh?”
“Hungry for more. I propose a holiday romance.”
She gulped and struggled for breath. “Romance?”
“Oh, Chantilly, breathe. It could be fun. We’ll sex it up, we’ll dine, and I’ll be your tour guide and—”
“But there will be no actual romance, right?”
He nodded. “Affirmative.”
“How about vacation friends with benefits? That sounds better.”
“Deal. Let’s get a move on. I’ve got breakfast ordered at a place I know you’ll love.”
She side-eyed him. “You seem different this morning.” Had his simple mention of romance switched up the way she saw him? Or had he changed the way he wore his hair?
“ Na .”
“Yes. Did you do something to your hair?”
He grabbed her. “No, all dressed to impress today. Didn’t wanna scare the town folk. Now come on.”
“There’s something else.”
He rubbed his chin. “No, I’m still me.”
“There, that’s it.” She couldn’t believe it. He’d shaved off his beard.
“What?” He threw his arms up and shrugged.
She gasped and swept a touch across his cheek. “So smooth.”
“ Ia .” He grinned, revealing adorable dimples and a striking strong jawline.
“But I could get used to this, too,” she said, brushing his smooth skin with her palms.
“Good, Miss America approves.” He winked. “Shall we go?”
“Let’s. So, where are we going?”
“Barmouth for a complete beach, food, and shopping experience. And if you’re a good girl….”
“Yes?”
“We can play the penny slots, too.”
“Not what I was hoping for, but okay. Penny slots it is.”
Chapter Thirteen
They strolled white sands, admired glorious mountainous views, and shopped for shoes. He’d been patient the whole time. Barmouth was the most darling seaside town.
The day had been the sort of day she’d enjoy with her girlfriends. Not once had she paused to remember she was with a Welshman whom she loved to hate and who’d made her toes curl as she came two nights earlier.
They had breakfast at the Carousal Café; the C was missing from the name on the sign, making it Arousal. Their special for the day was sizzling banger sandwiches, which Zoe took pictures of. She knew Rachel would get a kick out of the double entendre.
When they’d eaten, Dylan drove them to the top of a hill with views of the beach and the entire village. Whitewashed homes dotted the ocean-side hills, and little fishing boats floated. Hues of yellow and greens intertwined and made distant grassy fields surreal, like something from a painting. And the watercolor blues of the sky and ocean were a melting pot of shimmering reflections of the bright summer sun.
“How about a glass of wine?” He pulled a bottle from the trunk, and a picnic basket and blanket.
“Is there anything you haven’t thought of Dyl?”
“Dunno. But I thought your writer mind would appreciate the simple, isolated scene and simple romantic gesture.”
“Sounds lovely, but let’s not use the R word.”
“ Ia , okay.” He spread out the red-checkered blanket and patted the material. “Come join me on the romance-free zone. Sit. Relax. Enjoy.”
“That I can do.”
He uncorked the bottle and poured the deep red fluid into a plastic wine glass. “I’ve got cheese and crackers, too.”
“You know me so well already.”
He grinned and handed her the drink. “I try.”
They ate and drank, and an awkward silence settled between them. She didn’t know where to look or what to say. Without sex on the table, their
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