I'd barely slept and didn't want to get out of bed. I rolled onto my stomach and thoughts of Leo sent a warm rush through my body.

First the kiss, then the episode with Jacob. Then how Leo had stepped in between me and Jacob at the perfect moment and taken me into his arms. And afterward, the seriously hot make-out session at his bakery.

Tingles tickled my brain every time I thought about that afternoon.

And the time I'd spent with him in the four days since...holy wow.

It was so difficult to believe he'd only been with one woman. Me. But it also made sense. From what he'd told me during several subsequent conversations he'd enlisted in the Marines not long after we met in high school.

They'd been incredible, these past few days with him. Every spare minute, as much as our work schedules would allow, we were together. Sand sculpting. Talking on the beach until sunset. Having coffee. Once he'd even come over for breakfast. We were taking things slow.

He was so different than the boy I first met. Serious and thoughtful. The years had changed him, made him sharper, edgier. He talked often about politics and foreign policy, and I wondered aloud why he wasn't going to college, what with his interests and passionate views.

"Maybe someday." He'd shrugged, then changed the subject.

Also, he was achingly similar to the Leo I'd known as a teenager. He was often clever, sometimes shy, and unfailingly polite around me. A gentleman, always opening doors and seeing to my needs. He hadn't lost that trait.

So, Leo definitely wasn't a player like Jacob. He was honorable and so incredibly sensual, sometimes to the point where his smoldering looks and long caresses of my palm with his fingertips made me want to combust.

We'd kissed every so often, but since we hung out in mostly public places, we'd refrained from ravaging each other. But there had been one night when he walked me home from the café that he hugged me so hard on my porch and grabbed a fistful of my hair as he whispered fiercely in my ear. "I will always want you, Jess. In every way you can think of and a thousand more. Don't ever, ever forget that."

He felt so...right. And yet, I worried.

Eventually, he'd want to have sex. What if I had the same problem I'd had with Jacob? I'd come close to telling Leo about it, but figured he didn't want to know about how my body had reacted to another man. It just didn't seem like something to discuss casually, if ever, with a guy. Well, I'd deal with it when and if we got that far. Right now, I was enjoying our time together.

I flipped over in bed, burrowing under the covers and yawning. Then, stretching contentedly like a cat, I tossed the covers off and grabbed my mother's journal from the nightstand. I'd been meaning to read more for some time.

JUNE 12: I think we're finding our equilibrium. Mom takes care of the girls in the morning while I attend to everything at the hotel. Then she takes over in the afternoon and I play with the girls. Once I wrangle them into bed, I attempt to clean the apartment. I'm exhausted, though, and on top of that, lonely. Trying hard not to be bitter. It would be nice to have an adult conversation with a man over a real dinner, not a discussion of a purple dinosaur with two kids over mac-and-cheese.

Weird. I'd never really imagined my mom wanting an adult conversation. She'd been so seemingly happy to entertain me and Nicole with games and toys, it was as if she'd been made for just that—being a mother. It was funny how the journals now forced me to look at Mom in a new light. As a woman, not a single mom.

I glanced at my phone and swiped it to check the time. Time to get up. I set the journal on my nightstand. It was five in the morning.

Over the next few hours, I buzzed through my morning tasks, my mind on Leo. Showered, brewed coffee, and set the table. With a huge smile, I answered guests' questions.

The sand sculpture competition will be judged on Valentine's Day.

Yes, there's an art show as part of Palmira Winterfest. The schedule's here, printed in the Palmira Post.

Sunset's at about five-thirty. Make sure to bring a chair and your camera.

And a new answer: The pastries are delicious, aren't they? A new baker in town makes them. He's from New Orleans. A war veteran. I'll tell him you loved the croissants. Yes, isn't that unusual? A Marine who bakes.

Once the guests wandered off for the day, and when Nicole arrived to staff the desk, I headed out with my bucket filled with tools, paint brushes, and several spray bottles filled with water. I still had to win this competition.

Over the years, I'd become an expert, kind of, on what was needed to make the perfect sand sculpture. The judging was two days away, and I needed to actually start working on my final product. I needed to pack the sand firmly into place before etching the fine details into the palm trees.

All around, competitors contorted themselves while working the sand. One guy from the surf shop had inexplicably brought a ladder. I stifled a grin when I got to my mound of sand and looked over at Leo's station. He was there already, lying on his stomach on the ground.

I loved seeing how the hard and tough Marine also had an artistic side. And his baking abilities had blown me away. Could he be any more perfect?

I fumbled and dropped my crate. It landed with a louder thud than I anticipated, the tools jangling and clinking noisily.

Leo scrambled to his feet and grinned when he saw me. He couldn't stop smiling these days, it seemed. Was he as giddy as I was? And why wasn't he wearing a shirt?

I felt a wave of heat travel through my body when I recalled how it felt to be next to that rock-hard chest, how he'd clasped me to him when we said goodbye the previous night.

He walked over, a trowel in those big strong hands, and my heart sped up.

"So, what are you planning for your sculpture?" he asked. "The practice days are over, and we need to begin carving for real. Are you finally going to tell me?"

"I guess," I said with mock exasperation, then laughed. We'd teased each other for days over who would win. "An oasis with palm trees. I might add a manatee. Tourists love manatees. You?"

Leo turned and leaned close, his back pressing into my shoulder so we were both staring at his sand mountain. I could feel the heat of his body through my T-shirt and resisted the urge to throw my arms around him and never let go.

He used the trowel in one hand and his other fingers to gesture in wide, sweeping motions. "I'm imagining a shell printed into the sand. 3D. Like that painting, The Birth of Venus. With a mermaid nestled inside. I decided not to go with the starfish."

I was sculpting palm trees, and he was planning a Renaissance replica? What kind of overachiever was he? My head found his shoulder, and I gave in to the pleasure of being so near to his warm flesh. He wrapped an arm around my waist, and it felt so perfect.

"What are you," I said, "the Botticelli of sand sculptors? I never knew you had any artistic talent apart from the kitchen and bedroom."

He laughed, and when a gust of wind blew a curly wisp of hair over my face, he reached out and tucked it behind my ear. I remembered how he'd done that exact thing when we were teens.

"It has nothing to do with my talent," he said, "I just have a really beautiful model."

____