by MK Schiller
“He’s just a little bit in love with you, which makes him an asshole to any other male who has your attention.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Scarlett, I don’t want to spend the few minutes we have alone discussing Russell Foster.”
“I’ll talk to him. He’s a great guy, you’ll see.”
I placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “If it bothers you, then talk to him, but don’t do it for my benefit. I don’t really give a damn, except I do have a question.”
“What’s that?”
“How long does it take at the dock?”
She raised her eyebrow, understanding the depth of my question. “Usually half an hour. Did you say we were alone? What about Rose?”
“At least an hour out.”
“Bob’s going to be at the grocery store for a while.” I closed the shades and locked the front door. When I turned, she was leaning against the jukebox, elbows bent, one long leg across the other.
I rushed to her but halted in my tracks when she flinched. My gut twisted.
“Scarlett?”
She waved me closer. “Sorry, come here.”
I took slower, steadier steps. She kissed me hard, encouraging my advance. I couldn’t hold back. Hitching her legs around my waist, I pressed her against the curved top of the machine.
I kissed her, tasting the balm on her lips. “I don’t know this one, but I like it.”
“It’s strawberry rhubarb.”
I smacked my lips together, nodding approvingly. “Damn tasty, Scarlett.”
She tugged my shirt, pulling me to her. “Have some more.”
I stopped just shy of her lips, my finger running over her cheek where it dimpled when she smiled just right. “Why can’t I resist you?”
“Don’t ask me. I have the same exact question.”
“Do I know you from somewhere else?”
She laughed, patting my chest. “You can stop with the cheesy pickup lines, Flynn. You already got the girl.”
Did I get the girl?
I kissed every inch of her face and grinded myself against her. She worked my belt, but it was a difficult angle. I pushed her back and pulled down her top. I buried my face in her chest. Her ass landed on the buttons, filling the space with music. A song I’d come to know, “Magic Man” by Heart.
“Is the jukebox haunted?”
“Or maybe my ass is magic?” Her smile was all sin and no shame.
“I love your dirty talk.”
A door slammed. We both gasped. I put her down. “You forgot the back door,” she whispered.
“Are you still talking dirty?” I cocked my eyebrow, not hiding my grin. “Because I never forget the back door.”
She pushed me away, but her blush flirted with me just the same. I adjusted her shirt and pulled down her skirt. She pointed to my zipper. Shit, I was too busy thinking about her back door to shut my front one. I pulled it up right as Aunt Rose walked in.
It didn’t matter that we weren’t on top of each other, half-naked in desperate need of hosing off. I smoothed back my hair, knowing it was a complete mess. Her face, flush and warm, didn’t do a damn thing to help the cause.
Aunt Rose took one look at us, smiled, and pivoted around. “Open the blinds. Let the sunshine in. Love is in the air,” she proclaimed.
Scarlett and I exchanged an uncomfortable stare. I pointed to the kitchen where Aunt Rose had disappeared. “She’s on medicinal marijuana.”
Scarlett giggled nervously. “I know. I’m just happy she’s not mad that I’m sexually harassing her nephew.”
“You can harass me anytime.”
She unlocked the door. If she hadn’t moved, Russell would have knocked her over. He stormed in like a man chased by demonic bloodhounds, announcing in true Paul Revere style, “The tourists are coming. The tourists are coming. Ferry’s early.”
Rose followed him, eerily calm and shaking her head.
They swarmed us like locusts. Women with big straw hats, excited children talking a mile a minute, men with potbellies and floral shirts came in herds, announced by the clack of a hundred flip-flops slapping on tile floors.
“The weekends are always insane,” Scarlett said before running into the kitchen.
It was frenzied and maddening. Scarlett helped Aunt Rose with the cooking. She was just about the cutest fry cook I’d ever seen in her tall chef’s hat, holding up a spatula and ringing a little bell to signal orders were ready.
She was bossy, warning me several times to pick up my food before she had to make it again. Bob, Russell, and I carried pounds upon pounds of food to hungry diners.
Bob stood in front of the register counting out change to a customer. “One quarter plus another. That’s fifty cents. One more dime will make sixty.”
“Today, please,” the customer, a surfer-looking guy in a white T-shirt with the words “VIP member of BOC” written across the top in big black ink, said. Squinting, I read the words “Beachside Orgy Club” in small print underneath. He looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon whole. What a prick.
Bob held up his hand and waved. He shifted from side to side. “Sure, sure, Buddy. One sec.”
“Need some help?” I offered as I wiped the crumbs off the long countertop.
Bob shook his head. “I can do this,” he said with frustration. He shook the two quarters in his hand as if weighing them.
BOC sighed and spun his hand in a circle, signaling he wanted Bob to hurry up. “This isn’t rocket science. Why don’t you get someone who knows how to count?”
“Take it easy,” I said, walking over to Bob’s side.
“Easy?” Lemon-face said, pointing to the window. “I’m losing sunlight here. The waves don’t last all day. This idiot can’t even make change.”
“Hey, don’t call him that.”
“I’m not dumb,” Bob said, swiping his arm across his forehead. “I can do it.”
Bob handed the customer his change, but his shaky hand bumped the coffee tumbler the man carried, causing it to fall. Hot coffee sloshed on the guy’s white T-shirt right over the C, so it looked as if the shirt said VIP member of BO. I might have laughed if the dude hadn’t let out a scream as if he’s been stabbed. He stepped back and waved his hands frantically.
I handed him a few napkins, which he snatched from me.
“You idiot! Look at what you’ve done. This is going to stain.” He pointed to his shirt as if it was a work of art.
“Here,” Scarlett said, coming out of nowhere and wedging into the space between Bob and me. She thrust a twenty-dollar bill at the customer. She must have taken it from her own pocket.
“What’s that?” the asshole asked.
She waved the money at him. “For your stupid shirt and your meal. Just take it and don’t come back. You aren’t welcomed here.”
“You’re banning me? You can’t do that.”
“The hell I can’t.” She put her hands on her hip. “Get out before I toss you out.”
BO looked like he wanted to argue, but he thought better of it and pocketed the money. It was the right choice. Scarlett looked as if she might jump over the counter and throat punch him.
I gathered up the fallen change and put it back in the register. Silence stretched across the café. All the customers stared at us; some held their forks and coffee cups in mid-air. Scarlett clapped her hands. “Ten minutes until breakfast ends. Get your orders in, folks. I’m almost out of eggs.”
That worked. People started chatting to each other. Russ ran around the room taking orders. But Bob hadn’t moved from the register. Scarlett stood next to him, her hand on his arm. He started shaking and tapping the register. “I can do this. Please…” He held out change again as if the customer was still there. “Let me do it.”
“It’s okay, Bobby,” Rose said, coming out of the back room. She put her arm around him. He was twice the size of her, but she looked like the adult.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” he said. “I…I thought I was better
.”
“Shh, there is nothing wrong with you.”
“That was his fault,” Scarlett said.
Rose pulled Bob over to a table. I watched as he counted out the change again, handing it to her, almost as if he had to do it before he could move on. She smiled and talked quietly with him. Russ came by the table and brought a Coke for Bob and a coffee for Rose. They held hands. Rose kept handing him back the change, and he kept counting it again.
I was no expert, but I figured Bob had an intellectual disability when I met him, but the way he nodded his head as if he couldn’t stop made it seem more neurological.
Scarlett elbowed me. “We have to get back to work, Flynn. Second rush is coming.”
“Is he okay?” I asked.
“He will be. Bob’s a champ.”
I didn’t get a chance to ask her anything else. When the tourists headed to the beach, we barely had a minute before the natives took their places. Although still busy, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Natives joked and laughed. Scarlett and Bob traded places since he knew the lunch menu better.
Men flirted with her. I did my best to focus on my work and stop glaring. Of course, it didn’t work.
“That’s my table,” she said after I’d set down bowls of pasta in front of a particularly rowdy table of high school boys, who had been leering at her far too long for my comfort.
“Just helping you out.”
A pretty girl who looked like Emma Stone’s doppelganger asked for my phone number.
“I’m sorry. I’m not available,” I said.
When I stepped away from the table, I caught Scarlett staring at me from the far side of the room. She looked away as soon as our eyes locked.
We were possessive of each other, or maybe we were possessed by each other. I wasn’t sure which.
A man came in dressed in a wrinkled suit that seemed a size too large. The rest of him was well-kept, though, indicating he’d lost weight recently. Scarlett and Russ both rushed over to him. Russ shook his hand, and Scarlett hugged him. She sat him at a corner booth where she’d set a reserved sign earlier.
“Who is that?” I asked when she came into the kitchen.
She didn’t just cut into one pie. She sliced into each flavor. “Mr. Castings. Tommy’s dad. He comes in sometimes. We try to sit with him a while if we can.” She stacked the slices of pies on a large dinner plate and poured a cup of coffee. “Can you handle things on your own for a bit?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“You sure?”
“Take your time.”
I took care of the last of the diners, occasionally watching them. Mr. Castings didn’t smile once, but he did hug both of them before he left. He also ate all of the pie.
As I washed the last dishes, it occurred to me how tired I was. Sure, I was physically fit, but had I ever put in a full day’s work like this? I was drained, but in a good way. As if I’d earned my keep today.
When we flipped over the closed sign and all evidence of the hectic day was cleaned and washed, Aunt Rose asked Scarlett to pick a song. She chose “Take on Me” by A-ha, a faster paced song. Russell danced with Rose, and Scarlett with Bob, who was in a much better mood.
The symbol of the last dance suddenly made sense to me. I began to understand what it really meant to belong here. The tourists came and rented our space for the day. But the island belonged to the natives. We would always have the last walk on the beach, the last swim of the night, and the very last dance. No longer an interloper, I assumed my rightful place as an IBC—islander by choice.
Starving, Scarlett and I decided to stay and fix ourselves a snack.
“Can I ask about Bob?” I said once we’d made our food and sat in a booth.
Her fingers balled into a fist. “That guy was such a creep.”
“You really set him straight, bruiser.”
My eyes watered as she sprinkled a generous amount of pepper over her food. “There was a hurricane a few years ago. It changed course. Bob was out boating. He fell when the boat almost capsized. The doctors say he has a traumatic brain injury, which causes his concentration problems. He stays with his brother on the island, and Rose gave him a job when no one else would.”
“And who is he to Rose?”
She smiled, moving the straw around in her drink. “You caught that, huh?”
“It was obvious.”
“Bob used to live on the mainland, and he was a dentist. Rose’s dentist. They had a thing for a long time. Rumor has it, he even proposed, but then the accident happened. They can’t be together…at least not in that way anymore. But she still watches out for him. We all do. He’s a good guy.”
“You’re a good guy,” I said.
She laughed. “I try.”
She looked at my side of the table and made a face.
She pointed her fork at me. “What’s that, New York?”
“I believe they call it a bagel. They are very popular in New York.”
She wiggled her fork. “Shut up. You know I’m talking about your drink.”
I clanked my glass against hers in a mock toast. “A green smoothie. Good stuff.”
“What’s in it?”
“Spinach, avocado, and a few blueberries. But you can put anything in it that’s green, except for green peppers.”
“Why not green peppers?”
“Um…because they taste like ass.”
She laughed, cutting into her food. “Yeah, they do.”
“What are you eating?” I asked, staring at her plate with skepticism.
“Biscuits and country gravy. Delicious.” The white, chunky smothered dish looked disgusting to me.
“I’ll take your word for it, Texas.”
“Have an open mind. I’ll try yours if you try mine.”
“Deal.” I slid my glass to her. She cut a piece and held out the heaping forkful of food to me.
As I chewed, I changed my perceptions. “Not bad.”
She instantly slid the glass back to me after her sip, wrinkling her nose. “That’s awful.” She reached for her water, drinking half the glass down.
“It’s an acquired taste.”
“What’s your favorite thing to eat?” she asked. My smiled widened, and I arched my brow.
She narrowed her crystal blue eyes at me, shaking her head. “You have such a dirty mind, Jason Flynn.”
I leaned in, my voice dropping a few octaves, even though we were alone. “I didn’t say a word, yet you knew exactly what I was thinking. If my mind’s dirty, then yours, Scarlett Jones, is…”
“Mud,” she admitted. “You’ve reduced me to mud.”
“Don’t give me all the credit. You were well on your way.”
“Seriously, though, what’s your favorite food?”
“I like the pastrami sandwiches at Delgado’s Deli on Broadway, the Calamari at the Sutton Hotel, the Lobster Bisque at the Ocean Café in Martindale, and the eel at The Fishery.”
“Eel?”
“Yep, eel’s awesome.”
“I’ll take your word for it, but I didn’t ask your favorite restaurants.”
“I just associate food with the restaurants because…well, because I always have stuff ordered in or eat out.”
“How about if I make you a home-cooked meal tonight? My mom is not going to be home. You can spend the night.”
“You’re gonna make me one of my favorites?”
“You have to go somewhere else for eel, but I’ll make you something you’ll like.”
“I’m sure you will.”
The island was a bunch of loose unraveling threads. Being with her made sense, but the more time I spent here, the more questions I had.
Chapter Sixteen
She hummed a soft tune while she cooked. I kept peering over her shoulder, sneaking bites. I snacked on some food, too. She finally shooed me to the table and told me to chop onions, claiming she didn’t want to cry in front of me. I sat at the table built for only two. Against the wal
l above it hung a painting of the sea.
I handed her my chopped veggies and rinsed the knife. A large knife in the butcher block was missing. I ran my finger over the slit. It wasn’t in the sink, and there was no dishwasher. When I looked back at her, she was staring at me.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.” What did it matter if the knife was missing? What was my problem? “Just hungry,” I said.
She lit candles. The cat even gave us some privacy. We ate grilled steaks smothered in onions, mashed potatoes, and cornbread.
We talked about our lives. I told her about my father and Anna. All the places I’d traveled to and my favorite subjects in school. She told me about her difficulties in school and the places she wanted to go. Then she gave me glimpses of her life with stories about her, Russell, and Tommy.
Her eyes glistened when she talked about Tom. I wiped the tears before they fell. We shared our childhood adventures, adult ambitions, and acknowledged we were stuck in the awkward space between those two things.
“We have the day off tomorrow.” I had a feeling Aunt Rose planned it that way. “How should we spend it?”
She looked down at the plate and back to me. “I have plans.”
“Oh, sure.” I tried and failed miserably at sounding nonchalant.
“Remember, I told you about the ceremony? That’s tomorrow.”
“What kind of ceremony?”
“Tommy’s memorial service.”
“I’m sorry, Scarlett.”
“I’m glad I can go.” She made fork lines into her mashed potatoes. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you believe in God?”
The question was simple. The answer not so much. “Yes, but it doesn’t come easy for me.”
“Faith isn’t easy.”
Trying to fake a smile, I busied myself cutting into my meat.
She stayed silent, giving me all the time I needed to answer.
“I suppose not. Let’s just say God has always been present in my life, but we rarely acknowledge each other.”
“That’s not true. He knows who you are, Jason. He knows you’re a good man.”
I paused, drinking in her statement. I wasn’t sure what God thought of me, but I was happy to hear Scarlett’s opinion. “Thank you.” My reply, simple enough, ran much deeper than the two words.
