I didn’t understand why my mere presence had suddenly made Xavier act so damn uptight. He’d so very thoughtfully bought me sketchbooks and even gave me a book he thought I’d be interested in. But then in the same breath, he’d acted like I was to be avoided at all costs. Days ago at the beach, we’d talked, and I felt as though we were actually starting to become friends, but today he’d leave the room if I walked into it rather than be alone with me. Up on the deck in the middle of the night he’d shared intimate parts of his past. I had too. Then suddenly he’d barked at me to get lost. A pervasive feeling of discomfort plagued me as if I’d misstepped, but not sure how to fix it. And I couldn’t forget the touch that night in Dauphine’s room. Maybe it had been by accident, and now he felt awkward about it. Though I was now beginning to think I’d imagined it.

Having a few hours to myself when we got back, I decided to head down to my cabin.

I dialed Meredith’s number. I had to talk to someone about what was going on. I felt like I was going crazy.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Meredith answered on the third ring. “Is everything all right?” Her voice was sleep-infused.

“Yes, yeah,” I responded to Meredith’s sleepy greeting. “Wait, Why? What time is it there?”

“Let me peel an eyelid open and I’ll tell you.” There was a snuffle. “Ugh. It’s ten.”

“Can’t believe you’re still sleeping, but sorry I woke you. It’s five in the afternoon here.”

“It’s Saturday,” she grumbled. “And I got trampled by Moscow Mules last night.”

“Nothing that a bit of Polish water and tomato juice won’t cure.” I grinned, thinking of Meredith’s drive for the perfect Bloody Mary. “Hope you picked up some more Tabasco. You were out last time I checked.”

“Yes, goober. Life doesn’t just stop when you’re not here.”

I laughed. “Oh, I thought I was indispensable. Hey, on the subject, I saw an Instagram post from Skull Creek boathouse in Hilton Head that had a whole spicy deep-fried soft-shell crab perched on a Bloody Mary. You need a road trip. It’s only two hours away.”

“I’m not driving two hours for a Bloody Mary,” she griped.

I lay back on the bed and swiveled so I could have my feet up the cabin wall. “I’d drive you two hours for a perfect Bloody Mary. I love you that much.”

“You would. If you had a driver’s license. Gah. I miss your face.”

“Me too.”

“So … how’s it going?” she asked.