I ran my fingers through the warm sand, scooping the grains into one cupped palm, then letting them pour into the other.

My shoulders, normally somewhere near my ears with tension, eased downward with each rhythmic scoop. This was the best I'd felt in months, though I still didn't feel all that great.

With both hands, I piled the sand into a little mountain in front of my knees, then picked up the pencil and began to sketch an idea for a sculpture. With each pass of the pencil, my muscles loosened. Maybe Palmira's warmth had been exactly what I needed to help erase the pain of Afghanist—

Oh, screw that. I was running—from my past, and possibly, probably, something so hideous, I didn't want to even contemplate the consequences.

My hand went instinctively to my beard, but my fingers found only the smooth skin of my chin. I'd shaved and cut my hair right after that night in the park, right before I packed my shit into the truck, strapped the Harley onto a trailer, and hauled everything to Florida.

My father's plans to open a business on Palmira had been well-timed, at least. Leaving the luxury of my family's Garden District mansion was for the best, even if it meant being alone with tortured thoughts for weeks.

I preferred being nearly a thousand miles from everyone in Louisiana and their happy, well-adjusted, socialite families. I didn't need a reminder of how much shame I could potentially bring to my family name back in New Orleans. I'd wanted to annoy my old man, not ruin him.

Well, here I could zone out on the beach and no one would notice. Hell, I'd been doing it all afternoon as I moved sand around, stopping only to swim and float in the crystal-clear water.

At least that soothed my soul: the blue Gulf of Mexico.

Something about hearing the ocean instead of city traffic—or worse, bomb blasts—made me nostalgic for that previous trip to Palmira five years ago. If only I could return to the past, to before joining the Marines, to before Afghanistan.

I wanted to be the happy eighteen-year-old on a Florida beach on New Year's Eve again, kissing a beautiful girl without a care in the world. In the moments when I treated myself kindly, I almost allowed myself to believe I could reclaim that innocence.

The rest of the time, which was most days, I knew otherwise. I was too damaged and jaded to feel like that again. Too physically and mentally ruined.

Still, I had to try like hell not to think about that previous trip. Or Jessica. Memories of her had come roaring back when I first saw the island's tall palm trees and drove by her family's hotel. What had happened to her? Was she still here?

I smoothed the sand with my palms and patted it down, praying an anxiety attack wasn't imminent. Those episodes always lurked in the shadows now that I'd gone off my medicine. Taking a deep breath, I filled my lungs with ocean air. Just breathe. That's what the therapist had told him. Breathe. I closed my eyes, and sunshine touched my cheeks. Breathe and be in the moment.

The dual lilt of shorebirds and surf was interrupted by a sudden crunch of sand. My eyes flew open, and I saw a woman standing about six feet away. I froze, and a hum fluttered through my body.

Shock. Happiness. Sadness.

"Jess? Jessica Clarke?" It was as if my thoughts had summoned her to me. I immediately regretted my questioning tone. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I'd forgotten her. It was the very opposite.

She stared at me, her beautiful pink lips slightly parted. Did she not remember me? The idea cut through me. What we'd shared was incredible. Or so I'd thought. Deep down, I'd been hoping to run into her. And I'd wanted an amicable reunion at the very least. Was that possible?

With shaking legs, I rose and approached. I brushed sand off my thighs and noticed her mouth set in a narrow, hard line.

"Hey. Wow. It's been a long time, Jess."

She took a step back. "Leo Villeneuve."

Still so damn gorgeous. Her hair, which had been chin-length as a girl, now flowed over her shoulders in tawny-blonde curls. There was a lightness in my chest that hadn't been there moments before, and my mouth was suddenly dry.

She was so scorchingly hot, it made me tongue-tied.

My eyes lingered on the soft curves of her breasts barely hidden under a shapeless pink T-shirt. She wore tight jean shorts, and it was difficult for me not to stare at her tan legs and remember how they'd tangled perfectly with mine. She'd filled out beautifully. Before, she'd complained about her body, but I'd always felt her ample curves were the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

With her long, wild hair and flushed cheeks, Jess was my fantasy come to life. My mermaid girl.

I stopped myself from grunting with need like a caveman. Even though I'd been a Marine, deep down, I was a southern gentleman. Or I wanted to be. Around her at least.

"Leo Villeneuve," she repeated. Her voice was flat. "I didn't think I'd actually lay eyes on you again in my lifetime."

I grinned, thinking I might as well be flirtatious to hide the anxiety lurking in my mind. No way would I let her see how nervous I really was—about everything.

"Lucky for me you were wrong."

I held out my arms, making sure to twist the right one so she wouldn't immediately notice the latticework of scars running across my skin. If only she wasn't wearing sunglasses. I wanted to see her eyes. I'd never forgotten the way they pierced my hormonal teenage heart.

"Nice tattoos."

Was she being sarcastic?

She dropped a bucket of tools on the sand and slipped her sunglasses atop her head. Her sea-glass green eyes were every bit as flawless as I remembered. My stomach clenched.

"You look amazing."

I immediately regretted blurting those words when I saw the disgust on her face. Or was it something else? I couldn't tell. With no makeup, she was fresh-faced and young-looking—or maybe it was just that I felt old next to her—but her eyes, and the way her mouth quirked into a droop, revealed a hint of sadness. There were dark circles under her bottom lashes.

"Thanks." Her eyes skittered around the beach, toward the water, and I noticed she didn't return my compliment. "What...are you doing here?"

"My family's business bought The Daily Bread. I'm opening a bakery here in the next month or so. I've entered the sculpture contest. Thought I'd do a little early advertising while I waited for contractors to do some work."

I studied her as she inhaled a long breath, then exhaled for just as long. She said nothing, so I decided to fill the silence.

"I've been wondering what happened to you."

I hoped to come off as casual, as if it was no big deal we'd just run into each other on the beach after five years apart. After I'd spent time in hell. After...

She smirked. "Have you now?"

"Yeah, 'cause we're practically neighbors. The bakery's only two blocks from your hotel." I flashed her a big grin. "Does your family still own it? I was thinking of stopping by."

Jess nodded, but still wasn't smiling. "Right. You're a big thinker. Had a lot of plans five years ago, if I remember right."

I nervously ran my palm back and forth over my short hair. God, her tone was brittle. I knew we'd have to eventually talk about our past, which meant I'd have to tell her what had happened since we last spoke.

That meant opening up. Revealing secrets.

No. I definitely didn't feel like talking, especially not here or now. Ever since Afghanistan, I tried to avoid discussing anything bad or confrontational. I didn't feel like explaining anything to anyone. These days, I wanted compromise and smooth conversation.

Hearts and puppies, rainbows and unicorns.

What a joke. Like any of those were appropriate for my shit-show of a life—which was so sad, because Jessica had been the one person I'd felt comfortable talking to, maybe because she hadn't gone to my private school back in New Orleans where I never seemed to fit in.

Or because she was a girl and more in touch with her feelings. I'd thought about this over the years, why conversation had been so easy around her. Now that we were adults, it sure wasn't.

"It's been that long? Wow. I feel ancient." I barked out a sharp laugh. "I probably look it."

The corner of Jessica's mouth quirked up enough to bring out the dimple in her cheek. I ached to press my lips there.

"A lot has happened since."

"Don't I know it," I muttered, then nodded in the direction of her bucket. "You a contestant?"

The smile she tossed my way made my heart flip. "Yeah. I am. In the spot next to yours. Actually, I'm usually the winner. The other business owners don't put too much effort into their sculptures. I'm a little different."

I grinned, glad we weren't talking about the past. "Really? So, I've got competition?"

"I'm afraid so. But I don't expect much out of you. You're from New Orleans. A city guy."

What was that look in her eye? Was she flirting with me? Was everything forgiven and forgotten? Something inside me soared. God, her voice was so sexy, with just enough of a southern drawl to make me want to listen to her all day and night—preferably in bed. It had been so long. For all of it.

I tried to remember if I'd ever told her I spent summers as a boy on the Florida Panhandle with Mom's family, watching and helping sand sculptors at a festival there. "What are you planning on carving?"

"I'm keeping that a secret for now. You?"

"I was thinking of a cluster of starfish. But I'm not sure yet."

Jessica's eyes narrowed, and she pressed her lips together. Had I said something wrong?

Oh. Shit. The first time we were alone together, I'd given her a starfish I found on the beach.

"I think we have a lot of catching up to do. Why don't we have dinner together? Or drinks? I'd love to clean up and take you out, baby." I stepped closer. "How's tonight?"

What the hell was I doing? Why I had just called her "baby" like I used to? It was a New Orleans term of endearment I'd only ever used with her. We'd joked about it when we were kids, and now the word just slipped free.

Dammit. And why had I been so quick to ask her out? This couldn't happen, no matter how much I wanted it. We couldn't happen. I was here to hide. To sort out my life. To make some tough decisions. Definitely not to get back together with my teenage crush.

Jessica pressed her palms together and interwove her fingers hard enough, her knuckles turned white. Her gaze, suddenly rabbit-like and frightened, dropped to the sand, and she bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I...I have to go now. I'll...uh, see you around, okay?"

She grabbed her bucket, turned, and half-walked, half-ran over the sand toward the parking lot.

My heart tore as I watched her leave.

Run. Run far, Jess. That's exactly what I deserve.

____