This is not a date, she thought. But I still blew out my hair and curled the ends into perfect ringlets.
If she had been meeting the real Philip Ryder—not that he existed beyond the Fated for Love site—she would have spent time on her make-up too.
“And I wouldn’t be lugging juice across the sand,” she muttered. Glancing down, she picked her way around another large patch of seaweed. The large rocks stood about fifteen feet from her. The town had moved the boulders in years ago to prevent the waves from taking out the seawall during a storm.
Where was he?
She scanned the smooth sand at the foot of the rocks. Either someone had taken the time to clear the seaweed or the water had washed it away. The latter seemed unlikely given the debris left behind by the recent high tide on the rest of the beach.
She reached the base of the rocks. Another raindrop fell in front of her. She followed the droplet’s path. Then her lips parted, and her eyes widened. More raindrops fell, all landing in letters drawn in the packed sand.
“Magic this way,” she whispered. An arrow that resembled a strange moat without a castle pointed down the coast. If she kept walking, she would reach a private stretch of beach. Of course, the state owned everything to the high-water line. She wouldn’t be trespassing if she continued on, even if she went farther and reached the Breakers’ Hotel property.
She followed the arrow. Five steps forward and she saw more letters.
“Sweet,” she read.
The rain continued to come in fits and starts as she approached the next word. The storm would be there soon, and when it arrived, the rain would wash the writing away.
“Strong,” she said before moving to the next word. “Daring.”
“That’s how I see you, Lucy.”
Her gaze snapped from the sand to Jared. He’d stripped off his tailored jacket, but otherwise he looked like he belonged behind his desk. His black dress shoes sank into the sand, and she could see pieces of seaweed on his suit pants. Sure, he’d rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, but he hadn’t bothered changing before he’d knelt in the sand and written these words.
“You lied to me, Jared.” A plump, warm raindrop landed on her nose, and she wiped it away. “First you stalked me with juice, and then you lied to me.”
“I wanted to get your attention.” He smiled as he spoke.
She blinked. Where was the groveling? The apology for deceiving her?
“And now you’re sorry?” She cradled the juice pack in her arms.
“That I got your attention?” He shook his head, still grinning as if this was all a joke. “That we had an honest conversation? No, I’m not sorry.”
“I thought you were someone else,” she said flatly.
“No, Lucy.” He stepped forward and raised his hand to her face. His palm cradled her cheek. “For the first time, you saw me.”
“A liar.” Her gaze locked with his playful, blue eyes.
“A man willing to go to crazy lengths for a date with you.” He dropped his hands from her cheek. He reached for the juice boxes hugged tightly against her chest. Gradually, she released her hold on the mixed berry packs. He carried them over to a large, black blanket that looked like it belonged in his expensive mansion, draped over the bed fit for the billionaire, not playing beach towel. “Let’s eat the tacos before they get cold, and you can tell me how you discovered the truth.”
“After all I’ve been through,” she said, her voice rising. “You expect me to sit down with a person who used a fake profile?”
“Just because you didn’t trust you ex—”
“You lied to me,” she ground out. This wasn’t about her former fiancé. For the first time in months, this wasn’t about her ex. “You lied.”
“I did.” He lowered down to the blanket. He stretched his legs our in front of him and began to unpack The Taco Bar to-go bag. “Now you need to decide if you can live with that.”
The groveling is so not happening.
She watched as he unwrapped a soft shell taco. She didn’t want Jared Mitchell on his knees, begging her forgiveness. She’d heard empty apologies before.
And she could live with the deception. She wouldn’t be standing on the beach in near darkness, with a storm looming off the coast if she couldn’t. He’d fought for her attention, damn it. Her former fiancé had lied to her. Her ex had broken her trust and fractured her heart.
Then he’d walked away as if she had never been worth fighting for in the first place. And the worst part of the whole mess? She’d seen the signs long before he cheated on her. They’d been engaged for over a year, but he never could set a date. It was as if a fiancée was something he liked to have waiting for him at home, not unlike a couch or a comfortable bed. Not something anyone would fight to keep.