It’s a real place. Not a hole-in-the-wall like where Mick lives now, which meant that he was always crashing at Ayers’s in a way that felt like he was infringing on her space. For years, Ayers has been begging him to find someplace better. And now he has. This cottage—Pure Joy—is a dream.
“This is amazing,” Ayers says. “You’ll be much happier here.”
“We will be happier here,” Mick says. “I got it for us. See those chairs?” He points to two stools, upholstered in blue, in front of a bar counter. “Those are what convinced me to take it. I pictured the two of us coming home from work late at night and having a drink there together—and can you imagine the sunset from here?”
“Hashtag sunset,” Ayers says. “Your Instagram account will blow up.”
“We can have our coffee out here in the mornings,” Mick says.
We broke up, Ayers thinks. But Mick’s expression is so earnest that she doesn’t have the heart to say it.
“It’s nice,” she admits.
One last hurrah, she tells herself again, though Mick is slowly but surely wearing down her resistance. Her night with Baker—which had seemed so vivid and unforgettable right after it happened—is now fading from her mind.
Has she merely fallen prey to the sexual attraction she feels for Baker because it’s bright, shiny, and new? Her relationship with Mick is deep and long and intense. Mick is the person Ayers tells things, even the small, inconsequential things, because he’s the one who has shared her history. He has context.
If she starts something new with Baker, she would have to go back to square one. The thought is, frankly, exhausting.
Ayers wades through the crystal water of Frank Bay and climbs into the boat. Mick is borrowing Funday, a thirty-two-foot Grady-White, from his boss for the day, something he normally does only on special occasions. Mick loads Gordon in and turns up the music and they go zipping across the surface of the water at breathtaking speed. Ayers loves nothing in the world more than being out on a boat—Treasure Island included—though the experience is much better when she isn’t working. She fills a Yeti cup with rum punch—Mick makes the best—and belts out, “Save it for a rainy day!”
It’s well known that Monday is the weekend for people in the service industry. La Tapa closes on Monday nights after the holiday rush, as do a bunch of other restaurants, so when Mick and Ayers arrive in Christmas Cove, it’s a Who’s Who of St. John hospitality all rafted together on either side of the Pizza Pi boat. The guys from 420 to Center are there and so is Bex from Rhumb Lines and Mattie the bartender from the Dog House Pub with his girlfriend, Lindsay, who works at the Beach Bar with Mick, and Colleen from Pizzabar in Paradise and Jena from Extra Virgin Bistro. Alex the bartender from Ocean 362 is on a catamaran—with Skip. From the looks of things, Skip is pretty far along in the partying department. When he sees Mick and Ayers pull in, he raises his arms over his head and hollers at the top of his lungs, “They’re here!” As though Mick and Ayers are the king and queen of this particular St. John prom.
Ayers grins at everyone and waves. This is her family.
Mick and Ayers tie up to a sleek, black Midnight Express that has a woman on board who looks familiar. She’s wearing a tropical-print bikini and enormous sunglasses. She waves and says, “Hey, Ayers!” and then she helps Mick with the ropes and the bumpers while Ayers racks her brain for how she knows this woman.
She leans over to hug Ayers. “I suppose you’ve heard that Brent and I are getting a divorce?”
Who’s Brent? Ayers thinks. The woman pulls a cigarette and a lighter out of a pair of teensy white shorts lying at her feet and Ayers realizes the woman is Swan Seeley, the mother of Colton Seeley, Maia’s little friend. Swan has traded in her reusable shopping bags and sustainable vegetable gardening for day-drinking and lung cancer.
Ayers laughs. This is fabulous! She always liked Swan best when she was breaking the rules anyway. But a divorce is sad, right? “I’m sorry to hear that,” Ayers says.
Swan waves the sentiment and her exhale of smoke away. “Don’t be,” she says. “He’s got a gambling problem. I had to cut bait before he sank us.”
“Good for you, then.”
Swan smiles. “There are eligible men everywhere,” she says. “Just look at this place!” Her eyes scan the now-impressive raft of boats. “What about Skip? He’s single, right?”
“He’s single,” Ayers says. “But I’m not sure he’s your type.” Or anyone’s type, she thinks. Although who’s to say that Skip, who’s coming off his weird thing with Tilda, and Swan Seeley, freshly separated, wouldn’t be a good match for each other?
“There’s the hottest new dad at the school,” Swan says. “He’s brand-new to the island, relocating from Houston. I saw him last week when I was picking up Colton. Maia seemed to know him, though of course I couldn’t ask who he was with Colton in the car.”
Hottest new dad. That would be Baker. Ayers feels herself bristling. Naturally Swan Seeley and all the other Gifft Hill mothers will pant over Baker. Ayers wants to inform Swan that Baker is taken, by her, but she can’t very well do this when she’s here with Mick.
At that moment, who should step onto Swan’s boat but Skip, holding a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon and a bouquet of plastic flutes.
“Champagne, ladies?” He pours some for Swan and some for Ayers. “This storied bubbly has notes of Canadian pennies, your dad’s Members Only jacket, and…” He glances over Ayers’s shoulder. “‘We Are Never, Ever, Ever Getting Back Together.’”
Why does he keep doing this? Ayers wonders, but Swan laughs. “Ha! You can say that again!”
Ayers turns to see a cute little speedboat pull up. Tilda is at the wheel and Cash is next to her.
Ayers is seized with panic. Cash is here? What’s Cash doing here? It’s obvious, hello, that he came with Tilda, that’s her parents’ little runabout, though they also have a sixty-two-foot single-hull sailboat. Tilda and Cash? Yes, Baker told her this the other night. It’s good, it’s great, Tilda and Cash together isn’t the problem—except, maybe, for Skip. The problem is that Cash will see Ayers here with Mick and report back to Baker.
Ugh! Arrgh! What can she do? Can she pretend she’s here with Swan? Maybe Cash and Tilda won’t stay; there are a lot of boats here already, maybe they want privacy, maybe they’ll head over to Mermaid’s Chair where they can be alone. Or to Dinghy’s on Water Island.
Go to Dinghy’s! Ayers thinks.
But Tilda has earned her place at this party; she works just as hard as everyone else. Ayers notices she gets a sadistic grin on her face when she sees Skip. She must want to gloat.
Cash and Tilda raft up with Mick. Ayers watches Mick and Cash shake hands. Ayers offers a lame little wave.
Captain Stephen starts playing the guitar and singing “Southern Cross.”
Think about how many times I have fallen…
Mick’s hand lands on the back of Ayers’s neck. He knows how much she loves this song.
The pizza arrives—one carbonara with lobster, one bloomin’ onion drizzled with lemon aioli, and Ayers’s ultimate splurge, the chocolate-banana Pizza Stix. She drinks her champagne—Skip has, generously, left the bottle for her and Swan to split—and she eats some pizza, plays tug-of-war with the crust with Gordon, and dives off the boat for a swim.
Tilda and Cash have noodles. They’re floating in the water, interested in no one but each other.
Mick is gone somewhere. Ayers cranes her neck to see if, by chance, Brigid has arrived on any of the boats. Captain Stephen stops playing and there’s the spine-chilling shriek of microphone feedback, then she hears Mick’s voice.
“You guys, can I have your attention please? Hey! Everyone, please quiet down.”
Ayers sees Mick heading toward her with the microphone. Is he going to sing to her or ask her to sing, maybe something from the Jack Johnson Spotify playlist?
It all happens so fast. A hush blankets Christmas Cove, and all eyes are on Mick, no
w standing in the bow of Funday in front of Ayers, who is dripping wet in her bikini.
He drops to one knee and only then does Ayers get it: the second surprise.
“This is why I went to St. Thomas,” he whispers. He pulls a box out of the pocket of his swim trunks and says into the microphone so that every single person they work and live with on the tiny island that is St. John USVI can hear, “Ayers Wilson, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?”
Ayers isn’t sure where Cash is, but she can feel his eyes boring into her. Swan Seeley claps a hand over her mouth and then everyone starts chanting, “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!”
Gordon, who never barks, is pressing his flank against Ayers’s leg, barking.
A public proposal is never a good idea, Ayers thinks. Or is it? She can’t say no. She can’t dive off the boat and seek asylum on Little St. James Island. She could, she supposes, beg Cash and Tilda to take her back to Cruz Bay. Yes, that’s what she should do.
But what a buzzkill. What a depressing end to such a well-executed surprise. Ayers realizes that a good number of these people must have been in on it. Nobody knows that Ayers and Mick broke up and that Ayers embarked on a new relationship. They’re all caught up in the theatrics.
Rosie? Ayers thinks with a glance skyward.
But there’s no answer.
Ayers presents her left hand to Mick and he slips the ring on her finger, then stands and pulls her in for a kiss.
The crowd cheers. Ayers studies the diamond. It’s a beautiful ring; she has to give him that. The stone sparkles so brightly that Ayers is, temporarily, blinded.
Cash
Cash takes a picture of Mick down on one knee, holding out a ring to Ayers. He sends it to Baker with a caption that reads She said yes, dude. Sorry.
Maybe, just maybe, it was all for show. Cash always wondered about guys who thought it was a good idea to propose during the seventh-inning stretch of a Colorado Rockies game or up on the stage during a Jason Aldean concert. Was it to guarantee a yes because most women wouldn’t say no in front of twenty thousand people? But then, later, was the ring pulled off the finger, put back in the box, and taken to the nearest pawnshop? Ayers looked surprised but not necessarily happy.
On the boat ride home, he asks Tilda for her opinion.
“She looked dazzled,” Tilda says. “In the best possible way. And who can blame her? Those two have been together forever, they’ve had their issues and come out the other side. They’ll get married and have kids. They’ll be great parents. They dote on Mick’s dog, Gordon.”
“Okay,” Cash says.
“Please don’t tell me seeing that upset you,” Tilda says. “If it did, I’ll drop you off at the National Park Service dock right now and you can walk home. Or find another unsuspecting woman to pick you up hitchhiking.”
“It didn’t bother me in the slightest,” Cash says. Which is true. His feelings for Ayers have changed dramatically in the past few days. “I’m worried for my brother. He really likes her. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent him that text.”
Sure enough, as soon as they get back to Cruz Bay, Cash’s phone starts ringing. Baker.
Cash sends him to voicemail. He and Tilda are going to her villa to “hang out,” then they’re heading into town for dinner.
La Tapa is closed so they decide to go to the Longboard—Tilda is in the mood for their frozen rosé—and who should they happen across but Ayers, Mick, and Maia, who are enjoying more champagne and platters of tacos.
When Maia sees Cash, she jumps to her feet. “Bro!” she says. “Did you hear the news?”
“I did,” Cash says. He smiles at Mick and Ayers. “Congratulations, you two.”
Mick puts an arm around Ayers and squeezes her. “I should have done this a long time ago.”
Ayers’s expression can only be described as dazed. Or maybe she’s just drunk. “I meant to text you,” she says. “The boat has a mechanical issue and we had to cancel the charter for tomorrow.”
“She wouldn’t have been able to go anyway,” Mick says. “I want to keep her in bed all day.”
“Really?” Maia says. “We’re eating!”
Yeah, Cash thinks. The idea of Mick and Ayers in bed is enough to turn his stomach as well. He can feel his phone buzzing away in his pocket. Baker. Baker. Baker.
“Well, if I don’t have work,” Cash says, “that means we can finally hike to the baobab tree.”
“After school?” Maia says. “Can we leave at four so my friend Shane can come?”
“Works for me,” Cash says.
“And me,” Tilda says.
“Pick us up at the ferry dock, please,” Maia says. “And bring plenty of water.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cash says.
“She’s a force,” Ayers says. Her eyes mist over. “Just like her mother.”
At four o’clock the next day, Cash and Tilda pick up Maia and Shane in Tilda’s Range Rover, which both kids find impressive; immediately, they start taking pictures of themselves in the back. Cash has probably overprepared for the hike. In his backpack, he has eight bottles of water, two of them frozen, as well as trail mix, four Kind bars, two spare clean bandannas, and a first-aid kit. He and Tilda are both dressed in hiking shorts and boots. Tilda has six bottles of water in her pack, plus sunscreen, bug spray, peanut butter–filled pretzels, a selfie stick, and a paper map from the National Park Service.
“You guys are so…gung ho,” Maia says. She holds her phone over her head and snaps a photo of herself making a fish face. “We’re just gonna hike in our Chucks.”
“Yeah,” Shane says. They all climb out of the Rover and Shane gives Cash and Tilda the once-over. “But when I climb Everest, I’m bringing you guys with me.”
“Smart aleck,” Tilda says.
Chucks aren’t really the proper footwear for a hike but Maia and Shane have youth and exuberance on their side. They bound down the trail, and in a couple of minutes, they’re so far ahead, they’re out of sight.
“Hey, wait up!” Cash calls out. “It’s not a race!” He would like to look around, take in the scenery, maybe stop to identify some plants—though that clearly isn’t happening.
“So this company I want to start,” Tilda says, “would provide guides for every hike on the island. You wouldn’t need a map, and you’d have someone there to point out the pineapple cactus and the catch-and-keep, and someone to explain the historical significance of the ruins. The National Parks just aren’t staffed to keep up with demand.”
“I should quit Treasure Island and come work for you,” Cash says. “I’m much more comfortable on land.”
“We should be partners,” Tilda says.
“I have no money,” Cash says. “I might get some once my father’s estate is settled.” This isn’t something Cash lets himself think about often, but it’s always there, twinkling like a star in the distance—a possible inheritance.
“Sweat equity,” Tilda says, then she nods down the trail. “Look.”
Maia and Shane are up ahead, holding hands. Cash says, “I saw them holding hands last week in town. It’s cute, as long as that’s all they’re doing.”
“Don’t be naive,” Tilda says. “Do you think that’s all they’re doing?”
“Yes,” Cash says, because he can’t stand to think otherwise. “I’m new at this big-brother thing, but my natural instinct is to be overprotective. If he tries anything more, he’ll have me to deal with.”
“You’re adorable,” Tilda says. She turns, stops in the middle of the trail, and gives him a kiss.
Because they’re losing daylight and the mosquitoes are coming out, once they reach the baobab tree by the Sieben plantation ruins they decide to turn around—but first they give the tree the reverence it deserves. The tree is extraordinary in breadth and height. It’s the only one of its kind on the island.
“The seeds are edible,” Maia says. “They were brought over from Africa by Danish slaves.”
They use Tilda’s sel
fie stick to take a picture of the four of them standing at the base of the tree. After Maia inspects the picture, she turns to Shane. “We’re a cute couple,” she says. She looks over at Cash and Tilda. “And so are you guys.” She pauses a beat. “You two are a couple, right?”
“Uh…” Cash says.
“Right,” Tilda says, and they all head back up the hill.
When they reach the Range Rover, both Cash’s and Maia’s phones start going nuts. Cash ignores his—it’s Baker, of course. Maia does not ignore hers.
“Would you guys please drop us in town?” she asks after she checks her texts.
“Are you sure?” Tilda says. “I’m happy to take you all the way home.”
“I live on Jacob’s Ladder,” Maia says. “Trust me, you do not want to drive the Rover up Jacob’s Ladder.”
“You’re probably right,” Tilda says. “Town it is.”
“And how will you get home from town?” Cash asks.
“You’re being overprotective,” Tilda murmurs.
“I’m being responsible,” Cash says. “She’s twelve.” He looks at Maia in the rearview mirror. “How are you getting home? Shane’s parents?”
“Huck is coming to get me,” Maia says. “His charter ran late.”
“Okay,” Cash says. Reluctantly, he pulls his phone out. He has two missed calls from Baker and one missed call from Ayers, which he hopes is work-related. He shoots her a text: What’s up?
A second later, she responds: I need your advice.
No, Cash thinks. He’s not getting in the middle of this.
As soon as the kids climb out at Powell Park, Cash reaches over and pulls Tilda in for a kiss. “So we’re a couple, huh?”
“Yes,” Tilda says. “We are.”
Cash becomes so light-headed thinking about this that they get all the way to Jumbie Bay before he realizes that Maia was lying to him. Huck’s charter didn’t run late. Huck didn’t have a charter today. Irene told Cash that this morning. She was home all day.
What Happens in Paradise Page 24
