More Than This

by Stephanie Taylor

  “No!” Allison and Sarah say, hands covering their mouths.

  Holly looks at River’s profile as he tells the story, feeling relaxed for the first time since they arrived at this country house.

  “Yep. And we agreed that morning that we’d both get by for the whole trip without phones or any connection to home, and that we’d say yes to everything that comes our way.”

  “Pass the chicken?” Roberto, the editor for the magazine, holds out a hand as he interrupts the conversation. He and Heath, the photographer, have been eating and listening to the women with mild interest as they try to piece together Holly and River’s love story. River picks up the platter of roasted chicken and baby potatoes and passes it down to Roberto. “Thanks, mate.”

  “So what have you said yes to so far?” Sarah spears a stalk of grilled asparagus on her fork and lifts it to her mouth.

  “This photo shoot,” Holly says. “I met a modeling agent at Heathrow and she gave me her card. River set up the appointment to meet her, and boom—here we are.” She pushes her plate aside and leans back in her chair so that her shoulder touches the arm that River’s still resting on her seat back.

  “What if I told you that I’m working on a film set in Dublin in a couple of weeks and they need extras—would you say yes to that?” Sarah lifts an eyebrow.

  “We might,” River says without hesitation.

  Holly is about to object, so she holds her tongue, focusing instead on the string of fairy lights winking against the sky that’s smudged with darkness. Stars dot the various shades of blue like pinpricks. In the distance, the call of a lone bird pierces the evening.

  “It’s an action movie and it pays a per diem rate, but I could probably get you both in at the hotel where the extras are staying if you’re interested,” Sarah says, speaking more to River than to Holly, which Holly has picked up on and filed away for reference.

  “Let’s trade info and we’ll touch bases,” River says, putting his hand on Holly’s shoulder and rubbing it with his thumb as he speaks.

  “What info?” Holly turns to him. “We don’t have phones.”

  “We could turn them on for that,” River says. He lifts his arm from the back of her chair and leans forward, placing both elbows on the table on either side of his dinner plate. A soft wind rustles across the patio, lifting the edges of their napkins and blowing the women’s hair around.

  The only sound at the table is of silverware on plates as River’s statement settles over Holly. There’s been an unspoken friction between them all day, and River deciding without discussion that he’s willing to turn on his phone for a call from Sarah irks Holly. She stands and starts gathering empty plates and glasses.

  “Oh, don’t do that,” Allison says with a laugh that bubbles from her chest. “We don’t make our models do grunt work.” She stands on her side of the table and follows Holly’s lead.

  “I don’t mind,” Holly counters. “Really. I’m used to doing everything at my B&B. I can serve dinner, clean up after, run the office—you name it. I’m kind of a jack-of-all-trades.”

  “Impressive,” Sarah says smoothly, leaning back in her chair. She doesn’t offer to help clean up. “I admire a woman who can juggle so many different things.”

  Heath puts his salad plate on top of his dinner plate and pushes back his chair. “And I admire a man who doesn’t let the women do all the washing up.” His dark hair is coarse and rumpled, and over dinner, Holly’s noticed the way his eyes always look like he’s amused by everything that’s going on around him. “Also, my wife would have my head if she heard I sat around and made the women wait on me, so let’s do this, ladies.”

  In short order, Heath, Allison, and Holly have the table cleared and the kitchen cleaned. When the dishwasher is finally humming in the warm kitchen, Holly runs a rag over the long farm table that’s been used for prep, swooping the crumbs into her open palm and dumping them into the sink. She doesn’t even notice as Heath and Allison fade from the room quietly, replaced by River and his wineglass. He’s standing next to the pantry door, his shoulder leaning against the wall as he watches her.

  “You’re mad,” he says simply. “But I’m not sure why.”

  “I’m not sure why, either,” Holly admits readily. “But I don’t like being roped into something later on that I’m not even sure I want to do right now.” The dishwasher clanks as water moves through the stacks of plates and forks.

  “No one is roping you in,” River says with impatience. “I thought ‘maybe’ was generous of me, when technically I should have said ‘yes’ to her.”

  Holly throws the dishtowel in her hand onto the counter and it lands with one end dangling into the oversized sink. “There is no ‘technically’ to this, River—we’re making the rules up as we go.” Holly pivots and stares out the window at the darkened garden beyond. “When we planned this trip, I thought it was going to be the two of us exploring Europe and seeing how this whole thing was going to work out between us—if it was even going to work out.”

  River pushes himself away from the wall and sets his wineglass on the kitchen table. He walks up behind Holly and wraps his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head. They can see their own reflections in the window over the sink.

  “And see, I think we are exploring Europe and seeing whether this thing between us will work out,” he says softly, rocking her slightly as he holds her. “You know I like to have fun and be impulsive—who organized a game of baseball with coconuts on the beach in the moonlight?” he asks, reminding her of their impromptu game during his first visit to Christmas Key. “And if we’re going to do this,” he says, referring to their relationship, “then you have to accept that about me.”

  “And you have to accept that I’m a little less impulsive than you are,” Holly says. “I like to plan and organize, and I like to have some control over my life. It’s what I do—it’s who I am.”

  They’re both quiet for a moment as their words sink in with one another. “I don’t think our differences are a bad thing,” River says, letting go of Holly and turning her so that she’s facing him. “But I would love to see you stop trying to live in two places at once, at least for a couple of weeks.”

  “What do you mean?” Holly wraps her arms around River’s waist and puts her cheek against his chest. “I’m not living in two places at once.”

  River huffs. “You are always living on Christmas Key, at least in some corner of your mind.”

  Holly’s kicked off her shoes and is standing on the warm terra cotta tiles of the kitchen floor in her bare feet. She tries to keep her mind entirely on the present: on the smell of River’s cologne that fills her nostrils as she hugs him; on the feel of the smooth tiles under her feet; on the sound of the dishwasher that’s filling the kitchen with heat. But she can’t do it. The mention of the island brings Bonnie’s emails back to the front of her mind, and the thought of Coco infiltrating Christmas Key raises her blood pressure and heart rate. She pushes back from River’s embrace.

  “You’re right,” Holly says with a weak smile. “I’ll try harder.” It’s not terribly convincing, but it’s what she can give him for the moment. “I think I’m going to turn in,” she says. “I’ve never been a model before, but I hear they need their beauty rest. How about you?”

  River looks away. “I think they’re having dessert out on the patio, so I might join them and then come up. I’ll try not to wake you.” He plants a hasty kiss on the top of her forehead and walks away, picking his wineglass up from the table as he goes.

  14

  Bonnie is sitting at the small table outside of Mistletoe Morning Brew on Wednesday morning with Katelynn and her son Logan when Holly’s pink golf cart zips up to the curb. Coco is at the wheel.

  “Let’s grab a coffee,” Coco says to Gator and the Killjoys, putting one foot on the sidewalk the minute the cart is switched off. She’s wearing a pair of white shorts and a teal sun visor, her chin-length dark hair smo
othed back from her face and tucked behind both ears. “I want to show you what I’m thinking and get your feedback.”

  Gator unfurls his long limbs from the back of the cart and follows Coco. Patience and calm ooze from his every pore, and his face is blank and stoic. Netta and Brice Killjoy look overheated and tired. Bonnie smiles at this. She isn’t sure where they’re from, but it’s clearly not Florida. The heat of mid-May is getting to both of them, and Brice’s golf shirt clings to his middle-aged chest, rings of sweat forming under his pecs like wet moons.

  “I really like what we’ve seen so far,” Brice Killjoy says, holding the door to Mistletoe Morning Brew so that the others can enter. He looks down at Bonnie and offers the slightest nod. She holds her cup of coffee aloft in greeting.

  When the door closes behind the group and the bells on the handle have stopped jingling, Katelynn leans in closer. “Are those the people everyone is talking about?” she asks in a stage whisper.

  “Those are them,” Bonnie confirms. “Coco can already taste the money from the sale of this island.”

  “But she can’t sell it.” Katelynn frowns. “This is home for a lot of people. I remember visiting my grandparents here when I was a kid—and it’s going to be home for Logan. I want him to know what it’s like to grow up somewhere like this.”

  Logan grunts and jams the straw of his frozen hot chocolate between his lips. Bonnie looks at him directly, unwilling to hold back her thoughts, though she knows she should.

  “Logan, let me ask you something,” Bonnie says, folding her hands on the iron table top. The sun has been beating down on the metal and it’s warm to the touch. “What was your life like back in…where are you guys from?”

  Logan’s eyes cut to his mom like he needs permission to speak. Katelynn leans back in her chair and just watches him.

  “Cleveland,” he says, swallowing hard. His Adam’s apple bobs under the tight skin of his teenage neck. There’s obvious discomfort in his hazel eyes as he becomes the center of attention at the table.

  “Uh huh. Cleveland. And what was your life like there? Were you the captain of the football team? A straight-A student with a hot and heavy lady friend?” Katelynn’s eyebrows shoot up at this last part, but she lets Bonnie run with this line of questioning. “Because I sense you don’t want to be here, and I’m really curious about what you left behind.”

  Logan swallows again, his neck and ears reddening. “No, not really,” he says quietly. “But my dad and his other kids live there, and my best friend Owen lived on my street.”

  Bonnie’s heart seizes a little as she watches his eyes grow sad. She’s miscalculated by just a hair, reading his belligerence for contempt when really he’s just a kid who’s bummed about leaving everything behind. But if there’s one thing Bonnie knows from experience, it’s teenage boys—after all, she’s raised three of her own.

  “Listen, sugarplum,” she says, reaching across the table and patting his forearm. “Miles seem like lightyears when you’re a kid, but people are pretty damn portable. You’d be surprised at how easy it is for you to ship off and head to Cleveland for a visit, or for Owen to come down here.” Bonnie glances at Katelynn to make sure she hasn’t just offered to have an off-limits friend come down to Christmas Key and wreak havoc, but Katelynn is smiling at her, so Bonnie continues. “This place is the most gorgeous home you’ll ever have—mark my words—and there are people coming and going all the time. You might wake up one day and find that we’ve got a team of young Swedish figure skaters staying at the B&B, or a family with four teenage daughters who forgot to pack anything but bikinis—” Katelynn chokes on her coffee. “Just give it a chance, huh?”

  Logan is staring at the tabletop, an irrepressible grin covering his smooth face. He runs a hand through his light brown mop of hair and nods, still not looking at Bonnie. “Yeah,” he says. He picks up his frozen hot chocolate again.

  Bonnie knows she’s made her point, so she turns back to Katelynn and lets him off the hook. “Now, how is your grandpa doing?”

  “He’s okay,” Katelynn says, her eyes softening as the smile dims just a bit. “My uncle is leaving this week, so it’ll just be us taking care of Grandpa.” She taps her nails against the paper coffee cup in front of her and glances at her son. “I guess I didn’t really know what kind of work that would require, but it’s going to be substantial. He can’t be left alone for long, and he’s pretty forgetful.”

  “Well, we’re all here for you, doll,” Bonnie says, and she means it. “Hal is one of us, and if you need respite care of any sort so that you can go out for lunch or take Logan to the beach for an afternoon, you just holler, you hear? One of us will swing by and give you a break.”

  “Thanks, Bonnie. That means a lot.”

  “Now,” Bonnie says, changing gears. “You said you visited here as a teenager, right?” Katelynn nods. “Did you hang out with our feisty mayor much on your vacations down here to visit your grandparents?”

  “Holly?” Katelynn laughs and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Absolutely. She’s two years younger than I am, but we ran around together like a couple of mischief makers.”

  “What was she like?”

  “As a teenager?” Katelynn turns her eyes to the blue sky like she’s watching a movie that’s replaying against the heavens. “Lanky. Tan. Smart in a way that a girl from a big city could never be. She showed me how to roam free on a wild island and how to make friends with anyone, no matter what their age, no matter where they were from. Good sense of humor, good taste in music, but a little…I don’t know—reserved, maybe. Holly always had her eye on whatever her immediate goal was, whether that was finding the ripest coconut or making her grandpa laugh, and she wouldn’t let anything distract her.”

  “And how many years has it been since you’ve seen her?”

  Katelynn considers this. “Let’s see, it was before I had Logan,” she looks over at her son, “So probably sixteen or seventeen years.”

  “Based on your description she hasn’t really changed much,” Bonnie laughs. “You’ll recognize her the minute she steps off the boat.”

  “Anyway,” Coco’s voice shoots out of the coffee shop as she pushes the door open with her shoulder. “I’d like to have one last look at the north side of the island before you all leave. I think that’s our winning spot.”

  “Oh, Coco—I do, too.” Netta Killjoy is holding an iced coffee in one hand, her long, French-manicured nails biting into the plastic cup. “I can see the lights along the shoreline now as the boats approach at night, and I can only imagine what a hundred or two hundred full-time employees would do for this economy.”

  “The housing alone and all the building that would have to take place would completely change the topography of the island,” Brice Killjoy adds as the door to the coffee shop closes again. Gator is silent beside them, his dark eyes narrowed as he listens.

  “Let me take you all over there again so we can talk through the obstacles we came up with last night.” Coco climbs into the driver’s seat of Holly’s cart and sets her coffee in the cup holder near the steering wheel. She waits as everyone gets settled in the cart and then shoots Bonnie a look. “Hey, Bonnie,” she says with a layer of frost in her voice. “I’m dropping my guests off at the dock around one, and then I’ll be in to help out in the B&B office.”

  Bonnie’s heart nearly stops. “No need,” she says with the same cool tone that Coco’s used on her. “I’ve got it all under control.”

  Coco lets the parking break out with one foot. “Oh, honey, I’m not going to leave you here high and dry,” she says as the cart starts to roll away from the curb. “My daughter might have left you here to handle everything, but I plan on staying until she gets back. See you this afternoon.” She punches the gas and pulls away.

  “She’s bossy,” Logan says, offering his own unsolicited thoughts for the first time. He takes another sip of his cold drink. Katelynn shoots her son a warning look.

  “Sugar
plum,” Bonnie says with a laugh. “Truer words were never spoken.”

  Coco drops Gator and the Killjoys off at the dock for their trip back to the mainland and rushes back to the B&B. She pulls Holly’s cart into the sandy lot of the inn and shuts it off, gathering her purse and the can of Diet Coke she’s been sipping all day. It’s warm now, and she pours the stream of liquid onto the ground before using the back door of the building to let herself into the office.

  “Bonnie?” she calls out, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head. “I’m here.”

  “Fabulous. Because things haven’t been moving along just fine without you for Lord knows how many years,” Bonnie says under her breath.

  “Oh!” Coco stops short in the doorway when she sees Pucci staring at her from his dog bed in the corner of the room. “I didn’t know that dog would be here.”

  Bonnie raises an eyebrow. Her slow, lazy blinks don’t hide for one second how she and Pucci both feel about Coco’s arrival. “He comes in here almost every day. Jake’s watching him while Holly’s gone, and he drops Pucci off here so that he doesn’t get lonely while Jake’s at work.”

  “Well,” Coco skirts the edge of the room, avoiding the dog. “I’m allergic to him, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me.” She drops her purse on the side of the desk where Holly normally sits and Bonnie cringes visibly. “Much like you.”

  “A rabbit knows a fox track same as a hound does,” Bonnie says with a shrug. She turns her attention back to the email she’s writing to Holly. There’s still been no answer from across the pond, but it hasn’t stopped Bonnie from calling her phone, sending her Facebook messages, and dropping an email any time something comes up. Her panic at Holly’s radio silence hasn’t reached the level yet where she’s considered calling the American Consulate in London, but it’s getting close.

  Coco ignores Bonnie’s barb and pulls out the chair across from her. “So. What are we working on?”