by Brooks, Abby
“Sawyer is one hell of a lucky man to be marrying a woman like you.”
Brighton turned away from my picture and raised an eyebrow, scouring my statement for any hint of sarcasm. There wasn’t any, for the record, but no one in LA said what they meant, so I understood the reaction. “Are you packed? We leave for Key West tomorrow.”
“I’m so ready,” I lied, offering my friend a genuine smile. Brighton had no idea how close we would be to where I grew up and I intended to keep it that way—my past was my secret.
One night, after too many martinis, Brighton had the swell idea to ‘slum it’ for her wedding, tittering behind her hand like it was the joke of the century. Always ready to please his beautiful bride, Sawyer stamped the trip with his ‘perfectly ironic’ seal of approval. After all, who would expect one of the most influential agents in LA to get married on some dingey little island like Key West?
And just like that, Maisie Brown was going home.
Our conversation drifted to the up and coming authors, singers, actors, and musicians all vying for our attention. Even though I was still very aware of the time ticking down on my escape plans, my eyes lit up when she mentioned Collin West, a singer who was about to hit it big. Like, bigger than Liam McGuire before he lost his edge and settled down in Wherever, Ohio.
Collin’s story was the best kind. Growing up poor, scrawny, and redheaded, his peers made fun of him for his obsession with icons like Freddie Mercury and David Bowie. After he broke onto the scene at the beginning of the year, redheads everywhere experienced a rare moment in the limelight.
Reversals of fortune, baby.
Nothing better.
Whether we were talking books, movies, or biographies, they were my favorite kind of story.
Proof that nothing about who we are or how we live was set in stone? Yes, please!
Stories showing that no matter how difficult the start, through the right combination of hard work, discipline, sacrifice, or luck, you could end up with everything? Sign me up!
With its wall to wall windows and pristine furniture, my corner office at Shift was a daily reminder of my own personal reversal of fortune.
Of everything I fought for.
Of everything I won.
Of who I became and who I swore I would never be again.
The little girl with a rumbling belly? With ill-fitting clothes and a house in the Florida Keys with no air conditioning? (Let that sink in a moment. Florida Keys. No AC.)
That hungry, sweaty little girl was gone. I grew out of her and into the person I was today. I spent my days glued to my laptop with my phone pressed to my ear, fighting in the trenches to make my client’s dreams come true. If I could do it for myself, then I knew I could do it for others.
Sure, I was burning the candle at both ends. And sure, I didn’t have a personal life, but the sacrifice was worth it. I didn’t even care that I clocked more time at the office than at home, because the view was fabulous.
“You girls all set?” The question came from the doorway and I looked up to find Jacob Lombardi—the man who singlehandedly made Shift what it was today and the boss I had tried so hard to avoid. Salt and pepper hair perfectly matched an expensive suit and a blinding smile reminded us his opinion mattered more than anyone in the industry.
Well, hell.
Cue yet another speech about what an angel he was for letting us use the vacation time we had piling up like dragons hoarding gold. And the crazy thing was, as much as I needed the time off, this vacation wasn’t for me at all. As maid of honor, my time would be dedicated to making the bride’s week as smooth as possible.
“You know it,” Brighton replied while I nodded, purse slipping off my arm as my phone vibrated with a call I’d have to ignore.
Lombardi set his jaw. “Good. Get your asses down there, have a great time, and know that I can’t imagine another situation where I would be okay having the two of you out for a week at the same time.” He grinned as he repeated a new version of the same thing he’d said for the last month. “So, make the best of it, because it won’t be happening again.” We all shared a laugh and he offered his congratulations on the upcoming nuptials before heading off to do whatever someone that important did all day.
As soon as he left, Brighton said her goodbyes and followed in his footsteps. I returned a few calls, then checked the myriad social media accounts I adminned before watering the plant that lived on the shelf next to Caleb. It was the single living thing depending on me and a hardy little trooper. Thankfully. I was lucky to remember to feed myself some days, let alone another creature that relied on me for its basic food and nourishment.
“I won’t be gone long,” I promised. “Just a quick jaunt down memory lane and then I’ll be back, right here where I belong.” For some reason, maybe because I was talking to a plant as if we were friends, I felt a twinge of sadness that seemed so out of place in my brave new world.
I had no reason to be sad. None at all.
I had everything I ever wanted and then some.
Two
Caleb
Sunlight glinted off the water as I navigated the waves. The smell of sunscreen mixed with the briny scent of ocean air. The engine drone blended with laughter and conversation from the tourists drinking themselves out of seasickness. From the moment I woke up, a sense of expectation had clung to the day. This feeling of something big coming my way. I had no idea what it might be, but I intended to keep my eyes open so I wouldn’t miss it.
As a tour boat operator in beautiful Key West, I was always surrounded by people, but never in a way that asked me to do more than smile and wave. I spent my days outside. Stayed true to my need to keep things easygoing and quiet. At best, my impact on people was a stellar vacation memory. At worst, the memory wasn’t all that great because of bad weather, but I made up for it by offering them a few more drinks.
Could life get any better?
If I was outside, I was happy.
If I was making people smile, I was happy.
So mostly, I was just plain happy.
By paying attention to who I was and what I wanted out of my time on this earth, I created the perfect life for myself, spending my days on the water and my nights at the bars, or helping my brothers with some project or another at The Hut—the hotel my family owned and operated since I was a kid.
A bikini-clad blonde with the whitest legs I had ever seen stumbled my way. Her tequila sunrise (more sunrise than tequila today—the sun was shining and profit was important) sloshed in a cheap plastic cup in one hand and she clutched her phone in the other.
“Hey, Cap’n,” she purred, shifting the device to clutch my arm, then staring in surprise at her manicured hand as she gave me a squeeze. “You’re so strong.” Another squeeze. “And big.” She licked her full lips. “I can’t even get my fingers around you.” She gave me a wicked smile and waited for me to react to her super clever (read: not clever at all) pickup line.
I smiled in return, letting my eyes meet hers, really connecting in that way not many people were capable of anymore. She flinched away from it, drawing a curtain over her real self by dropping her gaze back to my arm.
“Why thank you,” I said, amping up my southern drawl for effect before giving my attention back to the water. (Floridians don’t really drawl, but the tourists—especially the bikini-clad kind—didn’t seem to care about that technicality.)
The girl practically melted into a puddle at my feet, then asked to take a selfie with me, which she did before I had time to reply, snapping several in a row while pursing her lips, then opening her mouth and flashing a peace sign. She immediately went to work posting the images to approximately three hundred social sites while I navigated us along the rolling waves toward our snorkeling destination.
There were times I felt like I should have been born in another century. A time without smartphones and screen addictions. A time without go, go, go and people getting Instagram famous for the shocking size of their
butt. I valued hard work and face to face moments of genuine connection. I was a man out of time, which sometimes meant I was lonelier than I wanted to be.
When you were the only person whose eyes weren’t glazed and glued to a screen, it was amazing how many people thought they were busy doing Really Important Things, but were actually glorified zombies accomplishing not much at all. It’s funny how that one difference made me difficult to relate to. But I came to terms with that quickly enough and fostered the relationships that mattered—the ones with my brothers, sister, and mother.
By the time my tipsy tourist finished posting her pictures, it seemed like she forgot why she stumbled over to me in the first place and made her way back to her friends for another round of selfie stupidity. I was happy to see her go. Those super pale legs told me everything I needed to know. The girl wasn’t from around here. If her cellphone obsession wasn’t enough to make her completely distasteful, then her expiration date was.
I didn’t do short-term. Wasn’t one for hookups. I looked for depth in a world swimming in the shallow end. My closest friends were sunshine and seawater, and you couldn’t get much deeper than that.
We arrived at our snorkeling destination and I went through my spiel, showing my gaggle of fun-seekers how to use the equipment, then watching as they made their way into the water. I found myself tempted to jump in after them. I craved that sudden rush of pressure as the sea closed over my head, the bubbles rushing past my skin as I dove into a secret world, mesmerized by sudden silence. But today, I was Cap’n Caleb Hutton, knower of all things nautical, tourist attraction for the easily distracted. I enjoyed my role and I played it well.
A sudden commotion in the water caught my attention. Splashing. Screaming. Distress. I zeroed in on the hubbub and found a woman at the center, spreading fear outwards in concentric circles. She was firmly strapped into her life vest, so I had very little concern about her going under, but that didn’t mean she was safe. Something under the water and out of sight could be the cause of her distress—which meant I needed to get to her as quickly as I could. Without hesitating, I stripped out of my shirt and dove off the boat. With strong strokes, I sliced through the water to where she floundered and wrapped an arm around her waist.
I worked to make eye contact. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
She met my eyes and I recognized my selfie queen under her facemask. The girl nodded, panicked and wide-eyed, and we made our way to the boat. While she was the one with the life vest, I was the one doing most of the work and by the time we made it back onboard, my lungs were burning and my arms were on fire. I helped her out of her gear and knelt down as seawater dripped into my eyes.
“You okay?” I looked her over for any signs as to what she encountered. Jellyfish? Shark? Ray? There were no obvious signs she needed medical attention.
The woman gasped for breath and pulled her hair over one shoulder. “I can’t believe you just dove in to rescue me.” Something in the way she ran her gaze down my chest and abs had me growing more and more suspicious.
“Are you hurt?”
She babbled her answer and I struggled to discern what happened, but the picture she drew was clear enough to tell me what I needed to know. A fish had swum too close to her, so close it almost touched her, and…while she tried to sell her fear as genuine, I got the distinct feeling that she had been angling for exactly this reaction from me.
She fluttered her eyelashes and glanced down at her heaving breasts, slick, wet, and straining against her bikini fabric. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t saved me.”
I helped her to her feet and disengaged as quickly as I could without being rude.
I didn’t do tourists.
I didn’t do short-term.
I didn’t do self-absorbed.
And I really hoped the distress this damsel had manufactured for my benefit wasn’t the something big I’d been expecting from the time I woke up.
Three
Maisie
After the glitz and gloss of life in Los Angeles, the tiki bars and slow meander of Key West had me off my game. For Brighton and Sawyer, everything was ‘so ironic’ and while I couldn’t quite see their angle, I appreciated their happiness. From the moment we stepped off the plane, they seemed, well, exactly as you would expect people to seem on the week of their wedding. At ease, ecstatic, and eager to spend their time lounging half-drunk on the beach.
I, on the other hand, spent my days with my laptop open and my phone in my hand. Sometimes working on both screens at once. Collin West’s drive for success didn’t stop because I was on vacation—which meant I didn’t either. The only reason I didn’t have my laptop with me tonight was because Brighton expressly forbid it.
“This is my bachelorette party and you are my maid of honor,” she said before we left, with a hand on her hip and a glint in her eye. “I hereby decree that you shall not work and that all work-related topics and accessories are forbidden for the duration of the evening.”
The laptop ban didn’t stop me from checking my phone. In between taking pictures of Brighton throwing back shots and sipping from umbrella-adorned drinks housed in coconut shells, I got Collin set up with a photoshoot and started negotiating a bit part in a movie.
“Maisie.” Brighton leaned over the table and snatched my phone from my hands. “Take a picture with me.” The look in her eyes told me that I’d been caught red-handed, so I promised myself I would put my phone away for the rest of the evening. She pressed her cheek to mine and put on her best selfie face—which was fabulous, by the way—and then angled the phone to capture something behind us.
“And just what do we have here?” she whispered, then used her fingers to zoom in on a man sitting at the bar. His tousled blonde hair framed a rugged face, tanned and beautiful with a chiseled jaw and strong cheekbones. A worn T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders and giant biceps. Strong hands enveloped a beer bottle and lifted it to full lips.
Brighton snapped a picture then lowered the phone. “The lighting’s shit, but that right there is one fine male specimen.” The gleam in her eyes alerted me to a rum-fueled plan of epic proportions. As far as she was concerned, I was going home with that guy tonight.
The image was pixelated, but he definitely checked all of my boxes. Big, brawny beer drinkers were right up my alley. All that testosterone meant they were looking for a hot one-night stand, considering anything more too close to a full-on committed relationship. The muscles usually meant self-absorbed, so I didn’t have to worry about anything resembling feelings developing on his end. And, considering my own strong, self-aware nature, the meatheads typically had enough ego to come at me with a strength I could respect. Nothing turned me off more than a beta male.
I’m gonna touch your shoulder now. Do I have your permission?
…shudder…
Brighton sat back down and shared the picture with her equally tipsy sorority sisters, and I took a seat that allowed me space to ogle the man at the bar.
There was something about him…
Something that tugged at a memory…
A sense of nostalgia…
Before I could put my finger on what it was, Brighton and her friends had me walking over to him with a steady, slightly offkey chant of girl-power awesomeness egging me on. Why working from my phone constituted a bachelorette party foul, but a random hookup didn’t, would be a question that haunted me for the rest of the night.
Halfway through my journey across the bar, a man stepped into my path. “Well hello, beautiful.” Drunken eyes struggled to focus on my face, then traveled down to stare with unabashed admiration at my breasts.
While I appreciated the enthusiasm, the man smelled like regret mixed with a heavy dash of body odor and a splash of tequila…just for fun. I stepped out of his way and continued my trek to the bar, hoping the cold shoulder approach would be enough to throw him off.
No such luck.
Sir Stinks-a-lot managed to kee
p pace with me, invading my personal space and getting more than a little handsy as he rolled through pickup lines with expert level mastery. Not only was I the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, but heaven must be missing an angel and he knew exactly how to show me such a good time that my toes would be curling into next week.
That one made me pause because eww. My utter lack of response up to this point should have been enough for him to take the hint, but it was growing obvious I needed to be more direct. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”
One hand snaked around my shoulder, unveiling the full power of the BO housed in those armpits. “That’s what you think now,” he said as he leaned in too close. “But—”
“She said she’s not interested.” And just like that, my personal space was no longer invaded, my nostrils were free of that terrible stink, and my would-be toe-curler was staring into the angry face of the hunk at the bar—who looked even more familiar up close.
As my savior informed the drunk his time at the bar had come to an end, I studied his profile, trying to understand why he seemed so familiar. I saw a lot of handsome men in my line of work, and a lot of not so handsome men, too. There was a point when everybody looked like somebody. I ran through a list of recent clients to see if I’d found someone’s doppelganger, wondering if there was a way the resemblance might work to everyone’s advantage.
And that was when it hit me.
The realization came barreling my way, a bowling ball rumbling down the space-time continuum for a strike, and you literally could have knocked me over with a feather when I understood who I was looking at.
“Caleb Hutton?” I leaned forward, desperate to catch the rest of his face, to erase the scruff and the chiseled features maturity had brought to my childhood friend. “No way. It’s really you!”
