Chapter 17: "Still Sweet, Still Running"

The night was thick with warmth, the scent of grilled seafood and rum-laced cocktails hanging in the air. Laughter and music intertwined with the crash of waves, the resort pulsing with life. But Sloan wasn't paying attention to any of it.

His eyes were locked on one person.

Charlie.

She was busying herself—too busy, in fact. Chatting with guests, adjusting decorations that didn't need adjusting, pretending not to see him. It was infuriating.

Sicily had been sticking to him all night, her laugh a little too loud, her touches a little too deliberate. She had noticed, of course. She wasn't stupid.

Neither was he.

Mon, watching from the bar, leaned against it and whispered to Amy, "Is it just me, or is the air thick with something that ain't just humidity?"

Amy snorted into her drink. "Oh, it's not just you. It's the 'I'm-trying-to-pretend-I-don't-have-feelings' kind of tension."

Mon let out a low whistle. "So, we're all just watching the slowest, most awkward love triangle ever?"

"Pretty much," Amy sighed. "Charlie's in denial, Sloan's confused, and Sicily is about to set something on fire."

Mon grinned. "This is getting good."

Amy elbowed him. "You could help, you know."

"Nah," he smirked. "I like the front-row seat."

Amy rolled her eyes but couldn't help but laugh.

Sloan, however, had finally managed to escape his unwanted distractions and was now making his way toward them.

Mon smirked as Sloan approached. "Well, well, if it isn't the man of the hour."

Sloan ignored his sarcasm, his eyes locked onto Mon. "What the hell was that earlier?"

Mon raised a brow. "Gonna have to be more specific, man."

"You pulling me into that stupid drinking game when I was trying to talk to Charlie."

Mon shrugged, sipping his beer. "You looked like you needed a distraction."

Sloan's jaw clenched. "Is that what we're calling it?"

Amy cleared her throat, her eyes flicking between them. "Okay, boys, let's not turn this into a testosterone showdown—"

Sloan cut his gaze to Mon. "What's going on with you and Charlie?"

Mon blinked, then let out a laugh. "Me and Charlie? That's what this is about?"

Sloan didn't laugh.

Mon sighed, setting his drink down. "Listen, man, I was just checking in on her. She seemed off tonight."

Amy, who had been watching closely, raised a brow. "Why do you care so much?"

Ignoring Amy's question, Mon, leaned against the bar with a cocktail in hand, let out a low chuckle as he watched the silent standoff. "Man, you're in deep."

Sloan snapped his gaze to him. "What?"

Mon grinned. "You're staring at her like she owes you money."

Amy smirked from the other side. "No, worse. Like he doesn't know if he wants to fight her or kiss her."

Sloan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

Amy tilted her head. "Aren't you with Sicily?"

Mon raised an eyebrow, waiting for his response.

Sloan scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's… complicated."

Mon snorted. "That's what people say when they don't want to admit they're in trouble."

Sloan gave him a look. "You're one to talk."

Mon just took a slow sip of his drink. "Am I?"

Sloan narrowed his eyes. "What's your deal, anyway? You interested in anyone?"

Mon shrugged, but his gaze flickered toward Amy—just for a second—before he grinned. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Amy raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

Sloan wasn't buying it. "That vague crap isn't an answer."

Mon just smirked. "And 'it's complicated' is?"

Sloan opened his mouth, but George came skipping up before he could argue.

"Uncle Swone! I roasted the marshmallow until it turned all black!" He held up the evidence, a charred mess on a stick.

Sloan forced a smile. "Nice, buddy. Bet it's still sweet."

George beamed. "That's what Mommy Chawie says!"

Sloan's gaze flickered back to Charlie, who was now laughing at something a guest had said. His jaw tightened.

Yeah. Still sweet.

At the Bonfire…George had somehow convinced Sloan to help him roast marshmallows. The little boy bounced excitedly, eyes wide with joy as he carefully toasted a marshmallow on a stick.

"Mommy Chawie says if you burn them, they taste different!" George announced proudly.

Sloan chuckled, crouching next to him. "Yeah, that's called ruining it, buddy."

George giggled. "But it's still sweet, right?"

Sloan glanced over at Charlie, who was standing a few feet away, talking to a guest. The firelight cast a warm glow on her face, and for a second, he just watched her.

Yeah. Still sweet.

Amy, sitting nearby, caught the look on his face and smirked. "Sloan, you might want to be careful. Sicily has been watching you like a hawk."

Sloan blinked, tearing his gaze away. "What?"

Amy took a slow sip of her drink. "Oh, nothing."

Before he could respond, Sicily suddenly appeared beside him, wrapping an arm around his. "Come dance with me," she purred.

Sloan sighed. "Maybe later, Sicily."

Sicily's grip tightened. "You've been distracted all night," she murmured. "What's going on?"

Before he could answer, Charlie's voice rang out over the fire.

"Okay, everyone! Since we're all gathered here, how about a little island trivia game?"

Groans and cheers mixed from the crowd.

Mon stood up dramatically. "If I win, do I get a prize?"

Charlie smirked. "Yeah, you get to clean up after the bonfire."

Mon clutched his chest. "Cold, Boss. Cold."

Laughter spread through the group, lightening the mood.

But Sloan wasn't laughing.

Charlie was keeping herself busy—too busy. And he wasn't stupid.

Something was up.

Later That Night…The bonfire was winding down, the embers glowing against the darkened shore. Most of the guests had either stumbled off to their rooms or were still lingering in quiet conversations.

Charlie was stacking up plates at the bar when Sloan finally cornered her.

"You've been avoiding me."

She didn't even look up. "No, I've been working."

Sloan leaned against the bar, folding his arms. "Charlie."

Her grip on the plates tightened. "Sloan."

There it was. That edge in her voice.

He stepped closer. "Are we gonna talk, or are you just gonna keep pretending nothing's wrong?"

She let out a short, humorless laugh. "Talk about what? The resort is running smoothly, the event went great, and—"

"Cut the crap, Charlie." His voice dropped, sending a shiver down her spine. "I know you."

That was the problem.

Charlie exhaled, putting the plates down. "You're imagining things."

Sloan's jaw ticked. "Really? Because from where I'm standing, you've been acting weird all night. And I don't think it's got a damn thing to do with resort management."

Charlie inhaled sharply, then straightened, forcing a neutral tone. "Look, if this is about the shoot, we'll do it tomorrow after lunch. I told you earlier, and nothing's changed."

Sloan's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "You think this is about the damn shoot?"

Her eyes locked onto his, a storm brewing in them. "You're overthinking."

"And you're lying."

Charlie clenched her jaw. "Drop it, Sloan."

He took another step. "Make me."

Before she could snap back, a voice cut through the air.

"Sloan?"

Both of them turned.

Sicily.

Arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her lips.

Oh, hell.

Charlie took a small step back, grabbing a tray. "I should—"

Sicily tilted her head. "Oh no, don't let me interrupt. Looked like something important was happening."

Sloan sighed. "Sicily, not now."

Sicily ignored him, eyes flickering between them. "You know, Charlie, you've got a real talent."

Charlie arched a brow. "For what?"

Sicily smiled, but there was no warmth. "For pretending."

Charlie stilled.

Sicily took a step closer, her voice softer but laced with something sharp. "You know, setting things up perfectly, making sure everything runs smoothly… then disappearing before the real mess begins."

Charlie's fingers curled around the tray. "If you have something to say, just say it."

Sicily's lips curved. "Fine. What are you so afraid of?"

The question landed like a slap.

Charlie's pulse hammered in her ears, but before she could respond—

"Mommy Chawie!"

George's little voice broke through the tension. He came running up, holding something in his tiny hands.

"Look! I found a crab! He was walking funny!"

Charlie blinked, forcing herself to breathe. "That's… great, buddy."

Sicily scoffed. "How convenient."

Sloan shot her a warning look. "Enough, Sicily."

Charlie took the out George had given her, stepping away. "I need to check on something."

And just like that, she was gone.

Sloan let out a slow exhale, rubbing his jaw.

Sicily smirked, brushing past him. "Careful, Sloan. She's not the only one running."

Sloan's eyes darkened.

But before he could move, Mon suddenly appeared at his side, arms crossed.

"I need a word with you."

Sloan frowned. "About?" Mon's expression was unreadable. "Charlie."