“Tell me you’ve thought about hurricanes with those giant-ass windows.” His smile slipped.

I scoffed. “Turn your husband around, Sam.”

“Watch this,” she told him as she turned him to face the now-closed windows.

I pressed the bottom button on the remote and was immediately rewarded with a whirring sound. The room fell dark as the metal shutters descended, finally locking into place just below the deck level.

“Now that is sexy,” Grayson remarked.

“European rolling shutters,” I said loud enough for him to hear me, then pressed the button again and watched as the shutters rose, drenching the room with light.

Sam beamed at the laptop, and I looked away, giving my attention to my book.

“I take that back,” Grayson said. “You’re the sexy one. God, I miss you, baby.”

“I miss you, too,” she answered quietly, her voice tinged with sadness.

I looked at the words on the page but didn’t read them. What if this was the last time she got to talk to him? What if his helicopter crashed just like Will’s had?

“Do me one favor?” Sam asked as she settled onto the other end of the couch.

“Anything,” he promised.

My heart ached, but I shook it off. Did I want a love like that? Yes. But was I jealous of what they were going through right now to make it work? Hell no.

“Tell Morgan to forgive Mr. Hottie-Coast-Guard-Rescue-Pilot next door?” she asked her husband sweetly.

My head popped up, and I gave her a good glare. She blatantly ignored me.

“Hell no. I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

“I knew I loved you for a reason, Grayson,” I called over to him.

Sam rolled her eyes. “Fine, at least tell her that she has to talk to him,” she said, turning her head and aiming those last words right at me. “That man has left her a piece of sea glass on the doorstep every single day since she told him off. Every. Day. At least hear his side of the story.”

My eyes drifted to the small pile on the side table. Six pieces in all.

“I know all the story I need to,” I retorted, trying to focus on the letters that filled the page. “He flies a glorified version of the same damned helicopter as Will. End of story.”

“If he’s a Blackhawk guy, you tell her to run,” Grayson teased. “If she’s going to fall for a pilot, at least make sure he flies a real bird.”

“It’s a Jayhawk,” I fired back before I could stop myself. Funny what you could learn on Google.

Sam sent me a knowing smile, and I glared for good measure.

“If you cared enough to look his shit up, then it’s not the end of the story,” Grayson remarked.