Just South of Paradise

by Grace Palmer

  Oh, Melanie, she thinks. What have you gotten yourself into?

  She sucks in one last deep breath and goes back outside, walks around the side of the building, and starts heading toward the beach. As her feet slap against the wooden walkway, she peers through the beach grass and spots Derek sitting on a blanket in the distance. He hasn’t seen her yet, so this is her last chance to bail.

  Even as she thinks that, her feet keep moving and Melanie knows that there’s no backing out.

  Derek swings his head around as she gets closer. He jumps to his feet when he spots her. He is wearing a simple white linen shirt and a pair of pale blue shorts, his feet bare. The sun beats down on Melanie’s jean-encased legs and she wishes she had chosen to wear a dress out to Colin’s. Or at least something a little prettier.

  “Hey,” Derek greets as she approaches. “You came.”

  “Were you just going to keep waiting here if I didn’t?”

  He chuckles. “That was the plan.” He gestures to the blanket. “Please, sit.”

  Melanie does, folding her legs under her, and notices the large wicker basket at the side of the blanket. “Did you bring a picnic?” she asks.

  “Sort of.” Derek pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times, until energetic Latin music begins to play from the speakers. He then leans over the basket and roots around, producing two glasses and a flask. Melanie watches, intrigued, as he fills the glasses with a green liquid. He hands one to her and she takes a sip.

  “Is this …” Melanie frowns. “Is this a mojito?”

  “Yup,” he confirms.

  Melanie eyes him suspiciously. “Derek, what are you doing?”

  “I thought it would be nice for us to start back at the beginning,” he explains. “The happiest I’ve ever been was on our honeymoon, and I thought if I could recreate that, maybe you would remember why we’re so good together.”

  It all clicks into place—the beachfront venue, the music, the drink, Derek’s breezy outfit. But does he really think this will work? That, by harkening back to a time when they had fun, she will forget the pain and heartache she felt watching him walk out the door?

  Derek watches her with a hopeful expression. He looks like he expects her to bolt away any second. For a moment, Melanie considers it.

  Then her shoulders slump and she sighs. “Okay. I’m not saying I forgive you, or that I want to start over with you, but if you’ve got churros in that basket, then I suppose I can hang around for a little while.”

  Derek’s mouth widens into a grin, and with the sun gilding his hair, he looks positively angelic. “That’s all I ask.” He rummages in the basket and pulls out a bag of churros, as well as a little pot of caramel, handing it over.

  “So, how is your family?” Derek asks. “How’s the inn?”

  Melanie takes a sip of the mojito; it tastes like heaven. She fishes out a churro from the bag. “Actually not so great,” she admits, popping the churro into her mouth. “My dad left my mom for another woman.”

  “You’re kidding.” Derek’s brows knit with concern. “That doesn’t seem like something Richard would do.”

  “Right?” Melanie says. “It totally blindsided all of us. Nobody has spoken to him since. He said in the note he left that he wanted to be left alone for a while.”

  “He left a note?” Derek is shocked. “All the time I knew Richard, he was completely devoted to your mom. I can’t believe he’d do that. How is your mom doing?”

  Derek knew Melanie’s family for a lot of years, and it actually feels good to talk to someone other than her siblings who has spent time with both of her parents. Venting to Sabrina is great, but she only really knows Georgia and Richard through what Melanie has said to her, and the few times she has come around to things like the Memorial Day barbecue.

  “She’s muddling through,” Melanie says. “I worry that she’s only letting us see the tip of the iceberg, and that she’s suffering a lot more than we know.”

  Derek nods. “Your mom is like that. Do you remember when we got those two weeks of really bad storms smack-dab in the middle of summer and every single one of the reservations at the inn canceled? Your dad shut down completely, just sat at reception refreshing the bookings page. Your mom went around the inn finding projects to do, sprucing things up, making sure that, when it was over, you wouldn’t be worse off.”

  Melanie had forgotten about that summer. The storms ended, the bookings came back, and as a family they all but forgot about the whole debacle. It touches her that Derek would remember that.

  “She’ll be okay, Mel,” Derek says reassuringly. “She’s tough.”

  He roots through the basket again and pulls out a little umbrella, balancing it on the rim of her drink. Melanie chuckles, and from the sparkle in his eye she knows that is exactly what he was going for.

  But this still feels wrong. She’s betraying Colin, she’s betraying herself. She swallows that thought down with another sip of mojito.

  “What else have you got in that basket?” she asks in a vain effort to ignore the tumult of thoughts building up in her gut.

  Derek wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ve got all sorts of goodies.” He starts pulling things out, announcing them as he shows them to her. “All the fixings for black bean tostadas, slices of mango, pulled pork tacos, and—” He whips out a bag of tortilla chips. “Chips and salsa. I didn’t make my own salsa, though. The pulled pork took me longer to shred than I thought it would.”

  “You probably didn’t cook it long enough,” Melanie comments, grabbing the bag of chips.

  Derek was always impatient when it came to cooking—almost every pasta meal he cooked would turn out al dente.

  He cocks a brow defiantly. “I will have you know that I recently purchased a slow cooker.” He hands Melanie the salsa. “I cook everything in it now. I’m going to try peach cobbler.” He grins. “I’ve changed.”

  Melanie scoops some salsa onto a chip and chews for a long time while she tries to make sense of everything. Derek would have her believe that he has settled his restless feet and that he wants to make it all up to her, but how can she be sure he won’t get tired of this life for the second time? And how much is she willing to forgive just because he has come back and is doing and saying all the right things?

  “You seem troubled,” Derek says.

  Melanie swallows. “I’m just confused.”

  “I understand.” He tentatively reaches a hand across the blanket and clasps his fingers around hers. “You can take as long as you need to forgive me. I know what I want and I will wait as long as it takes.”

  His touch is warm and seductively comforting. It would be so easy to fall back into this. Just say you forgive him …

  She pulls her hand away and pops another chip into her mouth. Her stomach grumbles.

  “Let’s see this pulled pork,” she says.

  Derek and Melanie talk about nothing at all until late into the afternoon, when the sky turns an inky blue and the last gasps of sunlight peek out over the top of the inn. Melanie tells herself a dozen times to go home, and a dozen times, she reasons that it would be so much easier to stay.

  A breeze whips up over the water and blows Melanie’s hair around her face. Her arms break out in goose bumps and she wraps them around herself to keep warm.

  “You cold?” Derek inquires.

  She nods.

  He rises to his feet and extends a hand. “I think it’s time for me to pull my last trick out of the basket.”

  Melanie cocks a brow but allows him to guide her up. Derek keeps hold of her hand but pulls out his phone, changing the song playing on the speaker to one with a more upbeat tempo.

  “Oh no.” She shakes her head as she discerns Derek’s intent.

  “Come on, Mel.” He flashes a grin. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how.”

  “It’s been a long time,” she defends.

  Derek pulls Melanie close and rests a hand on her hip. Sparks seem to shoot from his f
ingers, raising more goose bumps. Melanie shivers.

  “Let me lead, then,” Derek murmurs, staring down at her. “You’ll pick it back up.”

  And without further warning, Derek begins to move. He steps forward, steps back, and guides her across the sand with ease. Melanie’s movements are jerky at first, but soon melt into a familiar rhythm.

  For a moment, Derek has achieved his goal. They are back at the beginning, back in Mexico where the sky stretched into forever and where Melanie felt every sensation acutely, from the breeze in her hair to the sand between her toes.

  Melanie locks eyes with her ex-husband and for a moment there is no ‘ex’ about it. He is just her husband, full stop. And he is one heck of a dancer.

  This is all so wrong.

  But the sun has fully sunk below the horizon and the sky sparkles with millions of twinkling stars. They move slowly now, swaying to a gentle beat. Melanie rests her head on Derek’s shoulder, and his hand is warm and firm on her waist. Everything is quiet.

  “I should go,” she says suddenly, backing out of his embrace.

  Part of her mind screams at her to stop. If she leaves now, she’s leaving behind the future she once wanted more than anything in the world.

  The other part of her is panicking. She can feel all the walls she built after Derek left crumbling, and those walls are the only protection she has against the pain. If she lets him in and he leaves again, it could kill her. This is all happening too fast.

  There is hurt in Derek’s eyes but he nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll walk with you.”

  “No.” Melanie shakes her head. “I want to be alone, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” Derek’s fingers thread with Melanie’s and he draws her close again. “Just one thing before you go.”

  Derek looks down at her with such intensity that her breath catches in her throat. His shadowed face comes closer, breath tickling her lips. His chest bumps against hers and Melanie is sure he will be able to feel the staccato rhythm of her heart as it races. Derek is going to kiss her.

  What’s more, Melanie is going to let him.

  She could grab her past again, right here and now. How many times did she try to remember what it felt like to kiss him in the weeks and months after he left? How many times has she pictured this exact moment until her heart broke all over again?

  It’s so tangible. Right within her reach. She can go get what she once had, pick up where she left off, and keep charging toward the bright and shimmering future that once lay ahead.

  She leans back.

  Derek’s eyes blink open and widen with surprise.

  “I’ve got to go,” Melanie says. She turns and starts to walk across the sand.

  “Melanie! Wait!”

  She pauses and looks over her shoulder. “Thank you for, uh … just, thanks.”

  Derek’s features droop. He sighs. “Can I call you?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” she answers, her voice fraying. She turns and runs before the tears start.

  25

  Drew

  Georgia smiles when Drew walks out into the living room. “Well, yeehaw,” she teases.

  “Mom, don’t even start.”

  “Do you think this town will be big enough for a gunslinger like yourself?”

  “Mom.”

  “You’re looking very country tonight, that’s all,” she says.

  Drew glances in the mirror hanging on the wall. He’s wearing a plaid shirt, a pair of crisp blue jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots he found in his dad’s closet. “I’m taking Ashley to Alma’s bar,” he explains. “They’ve got line dancing tonight.”

  “You’re sure that’s wise, hon?” Georgia says, cocking a brow. “Alma will probably be there, and if she sees you with a girl, she’s sure to embarrass you.”

  He chuckles. His mom’s best friend can be a bit overbearing, though it’s all out of a good place in her heart. She’s called Drew her stand-in-son on many an occasion. “If Alma’s there, all that means is free drinks.” He winks. “Now, I’ve got to go pick up my date.”

  With a kiss on his mom’s cheek, he swans out of the inn and gets into his car, whistling to himself.

  He likes Ashley. That is such a simple thing to admit and yet an awfully big one, too. All he has been able to think about since their last meeting is how much he wants to kiss her again, and what it will be like when he does. The sweetness of her lips lingered on his for a long time after she dropped him off at home after their night in the high school ballpark.

  She and her family are renting a cabin on the north side of town. He drives there and parks up, texting her to say he has arrived and nervously tapping the steering wheel as he waits for her. Ashley bounds out a second later and Drew has to bite his lip.

  She is wearing a frayed pair of denim shorts. Between that, the pair of cowboy boots hugging her shapely calves, and her plaid shirt tied just above her belly button, she looks incredible.

  Ashley hops into the passenger seat and grins at Drew. “Howdy, partner.”

  “Howdy yourself,” Drew says with a lascivious wink.

  “Hey!” Ashley flicks his shoulder. “Eyes on the road, bucko.”

  Drew laughs and pulls away from the curb, doing his best to keep his focus directed ahead of them. It’s far harder than it ought to be.

  The Duke Saloon is the only bar of its kind in Willow Beach. Alma opened it a couple years ago, having gotten bored with retirement and missing all things southern. Just like her, it has been a popular town fixture since the start.

  When Drew and Ashley enter, the dance floor is being cleared, and people sit on the fringes at wooden tables with barrels serving as stools. Red, white, and blue streamers loop from the ceiling in preparation for Memorial Day, and the place is buzzing.

  They go to the bar, which is packed with people dressed similarly in plaid and denim.

  “I presume you’ve gone line dancing before?” Drew asks.

  “What do you take me for?” Ashley asks, letting her voice dip into a Southern twang. “You do know I was raised in the great state of South Carolina?”

  Drew laughs and throws his hands up. “Didn’t mean to offend, ma’am.” He wrinkles his nose. “You’ll probably be way better than I am.”

  Ashley grins. “Probably, but I reckon I’m better than you at a lot of things.”

  “As cocky as you are beautiful,” Drew replies, chuckling.

  She winks. “Just you wait.”

  “Is that my little superstar Drew?” comes a booming voice from across the room.

  Alma bustles into view, fully decked out in a fringe-trimmed denim jacket with matching fringe-trimmed jeans. Her pink Stetson matches her pink cowboy boots, all of which adds up to a cowgirl times one hundred. She swoops in and smothers Drew in a hug.

  “What a lovely surprise,” she says, releasing him with an affectionate pat on the back. She turns to Ashley, grinning. “And who is this little june bug?”

  “This is Ashley,” Drew introduces. “Ashley, this is my mom’s friend, Alma. She owns the place.”

  Ashley smiles and extends her hand, which Alma shakes enthusiastically.

  “Pleasure to meet ya,” Alma says. “I hope you’re a better dancer than our Drew here. He’s got two left feet with two right shoes.”

  Ashley snorts and shoots Drew a cheeky look. “I know my way around a jazz box.”

  “Good!” Alma declares. “I’ll see you two out there.” She winks and leaves, and Drew soon hears her calling out to another friend in her trademark loud voice.

  The pair grab their drinks and the caller announces the first dance is about to begin. Drew and Ashley hurry to find a table to set their drinks on and join the line. The song begins, and Drew impresses both himself and Ashley by keeping up. The first song’s steps are simple so it’s not that hard, but by the third he starts to stumble a little.

  Ashley watches him out of the corner of her eye. He can tell that she finds his awkwardness endearing, whic
h is good news, because he’s got plenty more where that came from. Funny how a man could be a professional athlete and still have trouble with a little heel-toe-heel pattern.

  “Finally, something the mighty Drew Baldwin isn’t good at,” she remarks as she nimbly makes the steps.

  Drew chuckles. “I can’t be good at everything. You’d start to develop a complex.”

  “You, developing a complex?” She snorts. “Why, I never thought I’d see the day. You should call your new team and tell them to raise the dugout roof a little bit, if they’re gonna fit your big head in under there.”

  Drew knows she meant it as a joke. But it slaps like an insult. For a second, his reality hits him in the gut and he fumbles the next step, nearly stomping on Ashley’s foot. Why did she have to bring up baseball? It’s not her fault of course. She doesn’t know any better. He made sure of that when he lied to her.

  Ashley smacks him on the arm. “Stay in your lane!” she jokes, laughing.

  Drew watches her, wondering: would she still like him this much if she knew the truth?

  It is hard to keep his thoughts so grim when the atmosphere is so vibrant, and when his concentration is needed for the task at hand, so he soon forgets his problems and gives himself over to the frivolity.

  Life is easier that way.

  A few drinks and a few dances later, Drew and Ashley are having the best time. It doesn’t matter how many beers Ashley throws back—she continues to be a pro, whereas now, every time Drew does a grapevine, there is a distinct possibility he will fall on his rear.

  “Let’s take a break,” Drew suggests breathlessly.

  Ashley grabs his hand and nods, and the two of them leave the dance floor to perch on a couple of barrels with their drinks.

  “This is fun,” Ashley says. “You’re fun.”

  Drew grins. “I try.” He bumps against her shoulder playfully. “Things are going to get a lot less fun around here once your vacation is over.”

  Ashley sighs. “I know. For me, too. My parents are on my case all the time.” She continues in a high-pitched squawk, “Ashley, you need to study more. Ashley, you need to think about your future. Ashley this, Ashley that.” She sighs. “I’m also nervous because I’ll be starting at a new university for my veterinary science degree.”