One Moment in Time by Lauren Barnholdt Page A

were going to hook up.”
    He looks me up and down, his eyes lingering over my body, almost like he’s deciding what to do with me. But it’s not in a lecherous, gross kind of way. It’s more like he’s amused. “Were you?” he asks.
    â€œWas I what?”
    â€œHoping we were going to hook up.”
    â€œNo,” I say, even though I obviously kind of was. Otherwise, what’s the point of leaving with him? Going out to eat with a stranger is a lot less exciting than going to make out somewhere.
    â€œThen let’s go eat.”
    â€œOkay,” I say, equal parts disappointed and relieved. A nice warm breeze hits my skin as I start to follow Abram down the main street of the key. The vibe outside has changed from when I was on the beach earlier—there are still plenty of kids and families, but now instead of wearing swimsuits and carrying inner tubes, they’re dressed in khaki shirts and polo shirts, their hair damp from the shower, their faces red from a day in the sun.
    Abram heads for a restaurant a few blocks down on the corner, called Hub Baja Grill, and leads me right up to the hostess stand.
    â€œHey, Jenna,” he says to the girl working there. She has gorgeous long blond hair, and she’s wearing a white, empire-waist maxi-dress with a twisty gold belt.
    â€œHey, Abram.” She smiles. “Your usual table?”
    â€œPerfect.”
    She leads us to an outside table that’s situated with a view of the street, just far enough away from the guy playing banjo in the corner so that we can enjoy the music without it being so loud we can’t talk. Jenna sets menus down infront of us and then turns and heads back toward the hostess stand. I watch as she goes, admiring the way her long blond hair is pulled back in a loose braid. She has the whole casual, sexy beach look down perfectly. I wonder if Abram knows her just from coming here, or if she’s one of his many conquests.
    â€œSo you’re a regular here?” I ask.
    Abram shrugs. He’s leaning forward in his chair, so close that his knee brushes against mine under the table. Our bare skin touches, and I flush. His skin is warm, and his legs feel strong. “I’m kind of a regular everywhere.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I open the menu. It’s on the small side, but everything looks amazing and very islandy—fresh-sounding seafood dishes, nachos with homemade guacamole and mango salsa, organic strawberry margaritas, and a yummy-looking tropical fruit salad.
    â€œJust that I grew up on the island,” Abram says. “So everyone kind of knows me.”
    â€œEspecially pretty hostesses,” I say before I can stop myself.
    â€œJenna?” He smiles. “You’re jealous of Jenna?”
    â€œNo,” I say haughtily. “I’m not jealous of anyone.” The truth is, I am kind of jealous of her. Not because of anything she’s done, or even because I think she’s that pretty (which I do), but because she has a familiarity with Abram. Whichis so stupid—why should I be jealous of her knowing Abram better than I do? I should be happy I don’t know Abram that well. It makes hooking up with him more of a crazy thing to do.
    Although are we even going to hook up now? Did I ruin my chance by insisting he take me out to dinner first? Am I overthinking everything? Why am I overthinking everything? Just relax, Quinn. You’re breezy. You’re in the moment. You’re winging it.
    â€œGood,” Abram says, “because there’s no reason to be jealous of Jenna. I’ve known her since I was a little kid. She’s like my sister.”
    â€œGood,” I say. “Because I’m not. Jealous, I mean.”
    â€œGood.”
    â€œGood.” I turn back to the menu, wondering what I should order. I’m starving—by the time I stumbled on Paige and Celia in the lobby, the pizza they’d ordered was