What Janie Wants by Rhenna Morgan

I’ll grant you it’s a double standard. But I guarantee you some of the people at church would deem me a cradle robber.”
    The horizon shifted and her hair slanted across her face as Zade flipped her to her back on the trampoline. “Cradle robber, huh?”
    Pedro’s voice floated from behind the raised partition shielding them from view. “Five minutes to shore, señor .”
    Zade studied her a moment, a wicked glint in his eye, then tugged his T-shirt free of the beach bag. He tossed it to her and stuffed her bikini top where the shirt had been. “Then maybe we need to go back to the resort and do some things that would shock them for reasons that have nothing to do with age.”

Five days into her vacation and probably ten pounds heavier, Janie plucked the last bite of the best lobster she’d ever eaten off the tiny tabletop grill and dunked it in a bowl of drawn butter. “You weren’t kidding with the food. Thank God I brought mostly sundresses. I won’t fit into my shorts by the time I head home.”
    “ You can’t come to Fifth Avenue and not eat at La Parrilla. I think it flies in the face of tourist law.” Zade rested an arm on the wrought iron balcony rail overlooking the busy street below. No cars were allowed, but tourists strolled thick up and down the many storefronts with everything from cheesy T-shirts to Cuban cigars. “This place looked a whole lot different when I first came to visit Arlo and Dahlia. I’m glad the area’s drawing more people, but I hope they can hang on to Gypsy Cove so some of the old feel sticks around.”
    A ceiling fan with fat blades and a motor big enough to power a small plane whirred above them, making the early evening heat far more bearable. Color surrounded her on all sides. Gold stucco walls trimmed in cobalt blue, terra cotta tile floors with bold yellow suns painted in the center of each square, and red, green, and white Mexican banners crisscrossed on the ceiling.
    Lovely. A picture she couldn’t imagine ever forgetting. And Zade had given it to her. She nudged her plate away and leaned back in her chair. “I’m stuffed.”
    “ Don’t forget the sopaipillas.”
    She rubbed her stomach like that might somehow make more room. “Oh, no. I need about four hours on the treadmill to offset the chips and guacamole alone. And you knew better than to get me the big margarita. I haven’t finished any of the jumbo sized ones yet.”
    “ We’ll tackle calorie burn later.” He tore the corner off one of the four cinnamon pastries he’d ordered despite that she’d told him not to, and dragged it through a pile of honey. “Right now we’ve got dessert to enjoy and tacky souvenirs to buy.”
    The guy had endless energy. For three days in a row, he’d taken her one simple desire to explore new places to heart and surprised her every morning with a new tour. Swimming with dolphins, manatees, and sea lions, a tour of Mayan ruins, and a frigid float down an underground river.
    He wiped his fingers and planted his elbows on the table, studying her with a crooked grin. The same amused, yet content expression he’d watched her with since that first day on the beach.
    “ What?” She straightened and tidied the table. Anything to distract herself from trying to read too much into what his look meant.
    “ Trying to figure out if I want to give you something or not.”
    She barked out a laugh loud enough to make the bartender’s head whip in their direction. Covering her mouth and waving an apology toward the bar, she said in a lower voice, “You’ve carted me all over Riviera Maya for the last three days and curled my toes until I slept like the dead for three nights. What else could you want to give me?”
    His gaze skimmed down to her breasts, then back up to her eyes. “Curled your toes, huh?”
    Okay, maybe the industrial grade ceiling fan wasn’t enough for August in Mexico. She fanned herself and shifted in her chair. “Like you don’t already know that. If