I nodded at him, dumbfounded. I’m not sure what I expected when he invited me on a picnic, but somehow, this wasn’t it. Shaking one of the plastic sealed containers at him, I said, “I thought size mattered! These are for kids!”

“Babe, I got us covered. I have three of each kind.”

I tipped my head, not sure how to even reply to that kind of logic.

“Plus, I brought us dessert. Hold on, you’ll like this.” Rising up on his knees to dig through the cooler, West put the fruit and Lunchables between us, tossing one of the apples to General Beauregard, who happily set to gnawing on it a few feet away from us. After placing some bottles of water on the striped towel, he extracted a familiar looking green-and-white box from the cooler, and my breath caught. “Krispy Kreme original glazed. Bought fresh this morning.”

My eyes crinkled in the corners, and I bit my lip, trying to contain my laughter. He displayed the box like a model on The Price is Right.

“Come on, admit it. I did good.”

“The doughnuts might make up for the Lunchables,” I conceded.

“Hey, when was the last time you had one? I’m telling you, whoever invented these things was a fucking genius. Meat, cheese, and crackers, all packaged together. What’s not to love?”

He seemed genuinely thrilled. I poked my tongue in my cheek and picked up a package, staring at it. “They make pepperoni ones now?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Yup, with mozzarella. Fancy, right?”

I blew out a breath and gave in to the laughter. “Very.”

Peeling back the plastic wrapper, I assembled my mini cracker stacks. I would never admit it to him, but they were a lot better than I remembered. West worked his way through one of each variety and then pointed to the apples. He’d bought two of each color. I picked up a Golden Delicious and took a bite.

After snagging the other red one, he whistled. General Beauregard perked his ears in our direction, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his original apple long gone. Panting, the dog lay next to West and wagged his tail. West pulled his arm back, and General Beauregard leapt to his feet, instantly alert. Throwing the apple high in the air, West yelled “Catch!” as the hound crouched low. As the apple began its descent, the dog jumped, the fruit easily snatched out of the air, his ears spread like wings steering him in for the landing. Regaining his footing, he adjusted his grip on the prize, working his jaw, and shook his head with the fruit clenched between his jowls. Then he settled onto the edge of the oversized towel, holding the apple between his paws, and began crunching on it.

“He likes the red ones the best.”

I wrinkled my brow. “How in the world do you know that?”

“I know. Me and General Beauregard, we talk about these things, man-to-man. I take care of him, and he’s a chick magnet for me. We have this partnership all worked out. He gets paid in food, I get paid in pu—” West broke off in a coughing fit.

“Right,” I said.

West ducked his head and smiled, a dimple showing in his cheek. “He caught your attention, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, ’cause I thought he was abandoned. And he looked sad.”

“He always looks sad. It’s the big ears. I told you, size matters. And looks are deceiving. That dog has the best life ever.”

“I figured that was you.”

“Me? Why would you think I have the best life ever?”

“You live at the beach—”

“So do you,” West interrupted.

“You fish and bartend for a living.”

“Okay, yeah, that part’s pretty awesome.”

“You live with your brother.”

“I live with my best friend, just like you. He just happens to be my brother too, the fortunate bastard.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re close with your family.”

“Mm, you’re partly right. I’m close my siblings and my grandparents.”

“Not your parents?”

West hesitated, tilting his head. “You really want to hear about this?”

I shrugged. “Isn’t this what people do on dates? Get to know each other? You were the one who insisted on taking me out today. So talk.”

West sighed and shifted on the towel, lying back until his head was in my lap. “If we’re going to have a therapy session, I’m going to get in the proper position,” he joked, looking up.

I followed his gaze. Wispy cirrus clouds painted the sky with their pale brushstrokes.

I reclined back onto one of my hands and ran my fingers through his hair with the other. He leaned into my touch, and I repeated the motion, lightly scraping my nails against his scalp. He groaned.

“Keep that up, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Family history. Social security number. Where I hid the body.”

I paused, stilling my hand, and he squinted up at me. “Kidding.”

“You better be.”

Settling back against me again and closing his eyes, West took a deep breath before he started. “Okay, so, my parents. There’s not much to tell. Appearances are everything to them because they have money. And I wanted to please them, so I tried to fit the mold. Went to the right school, followed my stepdad into the family business — do you know who my parents are?”

I shook my head.

“Montgomery Golf? No? The company has a couple of different sides to it. From golf course design and management to golf clubs and golf accessories. It’s a rich man’s game, and my parents like to look the part. Picture catered parties and symphony halls and charity balls and — really, just about any excuse to gossip about the other rich assholes, but with better food and better clothes than most people. Don’t get me wrong, some of the men run companies, but a lot of them, like my father, are the heads of boards, and it’s the managers who do the real work.”

My mouth twisted. “So you grew up with money, and your parents liked nice things. I’m not seeing the problem here, West.”

He let out a dark chuckle. “I didn’t at first, either. I spent years going to pointless meetings, shaking the right hands, networking with the power players. And why? I hated it. It just took me awhile to realize that was okay. I didn’t have to take over the company one day. I could be myself, and that was enough.”

“What made you figure it out?” My fingers were still sifting through West’s short hair.

“Wyatt,” he said, a smile drifting over his face. “Every time I’d come down to visit him and his stupid beach bar, it was obvious how happy he was. Like, he loved getting up every morning and living his life here. I wanted that. That simple fucking everyday happiness.”

“So… what happened?”

“I figured he had the right idea and followed him. Told my parents, packed up my shit, and left Chicago and all that phony ass kissing behind. Decided to grow up and be a man and make my own money, not live off my parents’ hand-outs. Bought a boat. Figured out a way to make money with it. End of story.”

I studied him. The relaxed lines of his body as he sprawled across the towel. His strong jawline. His long fingers resting on his sculpted abs. His citrus and salt scent.

“It’s that simple?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it is. I love being on the water and the challenge of trying to catch the biggest fish. Finding a way to make other dudes pay for the gas and bait was genius. My friends are here. I own part of a fucking bar. Life’s pretty damn perfect if you ask me.”

“Do you miss it? The wealth and the perks that came with it?”

He dropped his head back to study me. Reaching up, he pulled my sunglasses off my face, looking me right in the eyes. “Nothing was genuine. How can you appreciate something — I mean, really, truly appreciate something you’ve never had to work for — something that’s just handed to you — something you don’t create or build or earn yourself?” He paused, and his blue-gray eyes moved over my face before locking on mine again, his gaze intense. “I wanted something that’s mine. Mine and nobody else’s.”

The air crackled between us, the slap of the water against the side of the boat sharply staccato. The humidity was tangible, pulled away by an errant breeze before settling back around our shoulders, urging us to give in to the heat building between us. A seagull floated overhead before diving into the water in search of its own lunch.

I let out a shaky breath and swallowed hard.

“Is that such a crazy dream?” he asked, his voice rough.

I traced his eyebrows, smoothing the furrows from his forehead. “No. It doesn’t sound crazy at all.”

West’s lips twitched, and he shifted off my lap to sit up and face me. “Enough of this serious bullshit. You want any of this watermelon before I eat it? I could only fit three slices.”

I rolled my eyes at the subject change. “Yeah, I’ll take one.”

West split the seedless fruit between us and took a big bite of one of his slices, a dribble of juice snaking a path down his chin.

“Know why I packed watermelon?”

I swallowed a mouthful, feeling some drip down my own chin. “Why?”

“’Cause of your shampoo. I looked in your shower. You always smell like watermelon, and now I find myself buying one every time I’m at the damn grocery store.”

I bit my lip to keep my smile contained. “You don’t like watermelon?”

He waited until I met his eyes. “It’s quickly becoming my favorite.”

I flushed and tried to change the subject. “Favorite color?”

“Blue. Really? You want to know this shit?”

I shrugged. “You said you wanted to get to know each other better.”

“Fine. Morning or night person?”

“Night. Pancakes or waffles?”

“Pancakes. Chocolate or vanilla?”