by Isabel Jolie
“You’ve always sold yourself short. If you like doing it, that’s all I care about.”
“You are such a sweetie. I love you.” She wrinkled her nose and reached out and tapped my arm. “How’re you doing?”
“Good. I think we’ll surpass one hundred nests this summer. Last night, we had two nests hatch. Of course, true to my luck, I was on the far end of South Beach, and both hatchings were on East Beach.”
“Great.” She sipped her wine and rocked her chair. “Any non-turtle news to report?”
“Actually, yes. There’s a new guy on the island.”
She snorted out her wine. “Honey, there are new men on the island every week. Married with children. Or still in college and living off mommy and daddy. Loads of new men to choose from each week.” She smirked as she crossed her legs, taking care to keep her lingerie covered. “Those interns of yours are the best thing going. And those surf instructors.” She clucked her tongue in mock appreciation.
Poppy didn’t lie. But the thrill of sitting on the beach with a lukewarm six-pack each night had waned. While I’d barely had a year of being legal, I preferred to hang with the twenty-one-and-over crowd.
I shifted to the edge of the rocking chair. “This new guy is better than any of the interns. Trust me. He’s smoking hot. Not married. No children. He’s a resident. And…he needs help renovating his beach house.”
“He’s an owner?” Poppy’s chin dropped down.
“Do you remember Pearl? The nice older lady who was good friends with Alice?”
“Yeah. I liked her. Didn’t she die?”
“Last winter.” A vision of her weathered cottage came to mind, and I brushed it away. “Anyway, the hot guy? He’s her grandson, and he inherited her beach cottage.”
“Jake’s Watch?”
“Yep.” All the cottages on the island bore a name, similar to the way all boats did. Jake referred to a cherished family dog. Legend had it Jake had come back as a dolphin, and could still be glimpsed offshore, keeping an eye on his old family.
“And you like this guy?” Poppy tilted her head, her grin spreading wide.
“I do. I mean, you know, from afar. We spoke on the beach briefly. He didn’t say much. Everything about him screams surfer. But he’s also got the bad mood brooding thing going. It’s like he needs to be wrapped up in a warm blanket and hugged. Does that make any sense at all? Definitely crush worthy.”
“You got all that from seeing him on the beach?”
“Yep.”
“Well, let me get dressed.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s Friday night. What else are we gonna do before you ditch me to watch sand? Besides, I’ve got to see this guy.”
I waved my hand in the air, dismissing her. “Nope. Not tonight.”
She ignored me and trounced up the stairs. Moments later, she returned in a loose, flowery sundress and flip-flops. “Let’s go.”
“No way. He’s older. He wouldn’t want to hang with us.”
“How old?”
“I don’t know. Not intern age. Maybe thirties? Like, he’s distant crush material. Not spend time with the crush kind of material.”
“Please. The thirties are not old. Trust me. I have clients who are way older, and guess what? They dig twenty-something girls.”
“No. Let’s just go for a bike ride.” I should have never mentioned him to Poppy. I should have kept him as my safe secret crush, like a book boyfriend.
“Hey! You said he needs help refurbishing. Someone on the island needs help from Ms. Luna Rey. That means you’ve got to flip those golf cart sirens into the flaring red position and get to it.” She snapped her fingers. “Let’s go. Hop-hop. I wanna to see the new guy!”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Come on. We’ll bring a bottle of red. Grab an extra glass and corkscrew in case he doesn’t have.”
Chapter 5
Tate
* * *
The wood splintered and cracked as I ripped it up, board by board. Water damage had cast a gray sheen over the slim pine boards. This floor had probably been put in during the eighties when two-inch floorboards and high varnish reigned supreme. Over the years, sandy feet wore down the varnish, and the last hurricane had brought the tide high enough to coat the floor in seawater.
Sweat dripped down my forehead and drenched the inside of my heavy-duty work gloves. The old nails proved stubborn. Without lifting an arm, my body odors permeated the air. Something I didn’t need to worry about, as I was doing the job alone. The stench brought me back to the ships.
“Diaz, I need a shower. Or a bath. Where do I go?”
“Que?”
Fish guts covered my chest and coated my shorts. “Shower?” I made a note to learn the Spanish word later, but it should have been obvious what I needed.
He pointed to the back of the ship and called out to his shipmate. “Go,” he told me with a glare.
An Asian man awaited me. Motioned for me to back up. I peered behind me, and a blast of cold water shot down over me. I screamed. Howled. The icy water burned. The wind froze the raw skin.
Men clustered around, laughing and pointing.
“Mas?” Diaz called from the front of the boat.
Three times, ice cold water poured over me before all traces of blood were gone. Shivering, I’d descended into the bowels of the ship, my fingers and toes frozen. Past the empty hammocks. My bag with all my clean clothes rested where I’d left it. Black, beady eyes startled me. The long, naked tail skittered away into the shadows. Bile rose in the back of my throat.
I wiped my forehead with my glove, staring out the back window, through the screened-in porch, searching for whitecaps through the blades of grass on the dunes. I homed in on my view out the window, seeking to forget the fishing boat and my fact gathering expedition for Greenpeace.
A knock sounded at the door. I might have ignored it, but I welcomed the reprieve. I flung the door open.
The dirty blonde from the beach stood before me in a navy halter top and short jean cut-offs and flip-flops. I recognized her instantly. A different pair of short jean cut-offs hugged her curves today.
A smattering of freckles below golden brown eyes captured my attention. Bright, full of life and spirit. She smiled, exposing straight, pearl white teeth, offset by tan, smooth skin. Her honeyed blonde highlights glinted in the sun.
I propped my foot against the door to keep it open and waited, half-expecting her to offer me Girl Scout cookies or to join the conservancy up the street.
“Hi.” She rocked back on her heels and brushed the loose, golden strands out of her eyes. “I’m Luna. We met on the beach? Alice said you might need some help with renovations, and I came by to see if I could help. I stopped by with a friend of mine last night, but you weren’t home. I left you a note. Did you get it?”
I shook my head.
“I told Poppy I didn’t think it would stay. Not in the wind. I slipped it under your doormat. Oh, here it is. It did stay.” She bent down, and her hair fell forward, the tips brushing the wood on my front porch. “So, here it is. My note.” She held out the piece of paper.
I stared at the sandy, ripped piece of notebook paper, then at her.
“We wanted to see if you wanted to have a glass of wine. You know, to welcome you to the island.”
“You’re old enough to drink?”
She laughed. “Yeah. I’m almost twenty-three. I’m a junior scientist at the conservancy. I work for Dr. Wilton. He’s the senior scientist at the center. I’m currently pursuing my master’s in marine biology. I’ll spend one year here overseeing the sea turtle program and assisting on coastal science research, then I’ll return to university to complete my program.”
“My undergrad degree is in marine biology.” I leaned against the doorframe.
“Really? That’s so cool.” She bounced on her feet.
It registered that I was blocking the entrance to my cottage with my body and that it migh
t be polite to invite her in. I closed the door behind me and stepped forward onto the front porch.
“Where’d you go to school?”
“Brown.” Her light brown eyes widened. Emphasizing our fifteen-year age difference, I added, “A long time ago.”
“Oh. I’m at the University of Florida. This is technically a one-year internship for me.” She lifted her shoulders and slipped the tips of her long, tan fingers into her jean pockets.
“Good school,” I offered. For marine biology, it was. Brown used to be the best, but they discontinued the program.
“So, do you currently do work with your degree? Or do you do something now that’s totally unrelated?”
I wiped my palm over my mouth to cover the smirk I couldn’t hold back. So many thoughts about that damn degree and my life choices rose in response to that question. “Ten years in Asia. Many roles. Not all related to marine biology. Now, I’m in between jobs.” And that was all she’d get out of me. She didn’t need to know more.
“That’s so cool,” she shrieked. She had the self-awareness to realize she’d been overly exuberant and bowed her head. She stepped back, closer to the porch step. “I volunteered for Greenpeace. All four years of undergrad. I’m currently torn between coastal biology or research on reefs.”
“Are you on the PhD path?” I stared off across the swaying grasses on the dunes, cursing myself for engaging in conversation.
“I’m not sure. Undecided. Did you—”
“No.”
“It’s expensive. But I love the work. And the classes. Especially with professors who have worked in the field, you know?”
I nodded.
“I’d love to talk to you more about your experiences sometime. You might even have some ideas for the conservancy.”
“I’m pretty busy these days. If I get some time later, maybe.” I rested my hand on the porch rail, preparing to back into my grandmother’s home.
“Oh, yes. Your renovations. What all are you doing? I’ve spent the last two summers on the island as an intern at the conservancy. This summer makes my third here. But now, I’ll be living here the full year. What about you? Are you staying?”
“Unsure.” I held the screen door handle, attempting to signal an end to the conversation.
“What do you mean?” she asked, upbeat and bright, oblivious to my brush off.
“I’m going to fix up the cottage. Then decide.”
She pushed past me and walked into the foul-smelling unit, talking as she stepped inside. I stood there a moment, watching her shapely ass sway. Stunned.
“Oh, you’re replacing the floorboards. That’s such a smart thing to do. Do you know what you’re going to replace them with?”
“Hadn’t decided.” I let the screen door slam closed behind me. “Figured I’d go with whatever they had at the hardware store.” Last time I’d been here, there was one hardware store on the island. I didn’t expect that had changed.
“Oh. You should do manufactured wood. It’s waterproof. And environmentally friendly. Do you have a design planned? Because if not, we had a house that ordered flooring then changed their mind. They had to buy it, but I’d bet Mr. Baird would sell it to you at a huge discount. The people already had to pay for it. They’re like those kinds of owners with crazy money who don’t mind throwing away a bit here and there. She changed her mind, and it was like…” She snapped her fingers in the air to finish her sentence. She glided farther in, past the kitchen and into the demolished living area.
“If you redo this place correctly, you can literally increase the value so much. That’s what Mr. Baird does. He buys the run-down places that are selling for the price of the land, then guts them. New floors, new cabinets, counters. We’ve been doing shiplap on the walls, which is super easy to do, and it adds so much. Paint. Sometimes we replace fixtures. Depends on how dated they are or if they’re rusted.” She looked up at the light in the center of the room. “You’ve got rust. It’s a lot, but at the same time, it’s not. Paint. That’s the big piece on these cottages. Sometimes a new roof. Does this place need a new roof?”
She’d been scouting for nails as she checked the downstairs out, and I’d been focused on the way she filled out her cut-offs. My cock twitched, threatening to come to life. Christ, it had been too long since I’d been near a woman. She caught me staring, and I stepped past her to open the window further. The whole place felt too warm and stuffy. There wasn’t enough ocean breeze coming through, and the mold smell remained trapped inside.
“Have you checked the roof yet?” she asked, skepticism leaking through her words. Like she was wondering if I knew what I was doing. Like maybe somehow she’d inspected my floorboard project and discerned I’m a renovation amateur.
“No.”
“What all are you gonna do?”
“Don’t have much of a plan.” I’d started ripping up the boards because it needed to be done and it felt good. “Someone—I think Alice, maybe—had most of the furniture moved upstairs before the storm. So, I figured I’d start down here. Fix it up. Then move upstairs.”
“Did you have damage upstairs?” The innocent girl did not understand what kind of loaded question she just asked.
“Only down here. Whole place needs a fresh coat of paint.” The bathrooms could probably use a refresh too, but they were palatial compared to a plank with a hole in it.
Without asking, she charged up the stairs, and I followed along in her wake. Whereas downstairs was one sizeable room with a kitchen and living area, the second floor had a hallway with three doors, and the stairs continued up to the third floor. Two doors led to bedrooms, one door to a bathroom. A standard configuration for these cottages.
She opened the doors, glanced inside, then charged up to the third-floor bedroom.
I rolled my head back, stretching my shoulder muscles, and followed. By the time I caught up with her, she was running her fingers along the windows. The view of the ocean from up here was breathtaking, but you couldn’t see it so well, as years of salt spray coated the glass panes.
“You need to replace these windows,” she said with the air of a seasoned renovation expert.
“What?”
“Yes, you see how they’re bowing in? And come here.” She waved me closer.
I reluctantly stepped forward. She grabbed my hand, and shockwaves cycled up my arm. No one had touched me in…I couldn’t remember.
Her fingers wrapped around several of mine, and she held them over a gap where the double-hung window joined, then along the perimeter.
“Feel that?” she asked, referencing the air flowing in freely from the outside. But I was still hung up on my physical reaction to another human being’s skin. She was close to me, watching as she moved my hand, searching for a sign I felt the breeze as she directed my wrist around the window’s perimeter. I breathed in her coconut sunblock. I envisioned coating her back with the white lotion, lifting her hair out of the way and stroking her smooth, flawless skin.
I snatched my hand back and moved to the center of the room.
“You replace these windows, and you’ll see a huge improvement in your electric bill. Not to mention, look at all the corrosion.”
My heartrate quickened, and I placed my hands on my hips.
“Look at all your fixtures.” She pointed at the overhead light. “Rust.” She stepped forward, into the small bathroom. “Yeah, come see. Everything here is rusted or corroded.”
This room happened to be my favorite. The room I stayed in as a kid when I spent summers here. Water dripped from the ceiling vents. One problem she hadn’t yet identified. Troubling water stains marred the ceiling.
“I’ll be happy to help you. I can make a list for you of what you need done. Laura and I have helped with the redesign on over a dozen island homes. I have references. I can get Mr. Baird to come by, too. He can tell you about the roof or any structural issues.”
“Alice already had him come by and check it out.”
&
nbsp; “Did he mention if it needs a new roof?”
“No.” If I recalled correctly, he only checked out the electrical after the hurricane. I ran my hand through my hair and found it hanging loose and wild. I pulled it back with the extra strap I’d worn on my wrist.
Luna paused, watching me. She swallowed, and I watched the movement in her throat and let my gaze wander farther down, to the tiny starfish perched over the dip in her clavicle, to her breasts bound today by her tummy baring halter top, and down those long, golden legs.
“I’ll be happy to help you out,” she said, more slowly this time, as if she knew where my thoughts had strayed. She sounded tempting. Willfully so.
I shook my head and led the way down the stairs, escaping the stuffy, too hot attic room and the mildew and rust. I heard her footsteps following me as she continued speaking.
“I can get you deals on materials through Laura and Mr. Baird. And, like I said, I think you can get a killer deal on the floorboards. I can bring over some paint samples and get an idea of what you like.”
I spun around, and she held out her phone to me.
“Look at these photos of some work we’ve done. If you see something you like, we can go off that.”
I took her phone and flipped through several shots of cottages. Clean lines, muted colors. Nice. Expensive. I handed her phone back.
“I can’t afford you. I’m sorry.”
“I’d be happy to help you for free.”
“Free? You work for free?”
“Well, no, that’s what Laura’s done with her company. I help her out, and she pays me. But this is a chance for me to build up my own portfolio, so I can take on other projects of my own.”
“I thought you have a job. As a scientist?”
“I do. But a lot of what I do is at night right now. And it’s pretty flexible, anyway, so I have some extra time. Plus, Alice asked me to help you. And I’d do anything in the world for her. So, it’s for Alice, really. Not you.”
“At night? You watch the nests,” I said, answering my own question, dazed.
She nodded with a smile. “I can’t wait to get started. I can go home and get my notepad. Bring over some samples. Oh, and Adrian, I’ll bring by a sample of that flooring,” she said, acting as if it was a done deal. Like she’d waltz right in and take the lead.
