by Isabel Jolie
“And what will this do?” I’d asked.
“Evil spirits are lurking. It’ll send them on their way.”
Yeah, if a foul mood equated to lurking spirits, I could see where Alice was coming from. But somehow I didn’t expect an open bucket of water would transform Tate. Poppy told me that all he’d seen on her phone was one of her boudoir shoots. Now, why she was showing those shots to Gabe, a guy she’d just met, I had no idea. That was as odd to me as the bucket of water.
To each his own. It was a phrase my mom repeated all the time in her diner. She said it got her through the day when a customer would spout off about something she completely disagreed with. Or when someone came in and spent an hour getting regular refills and left a twenty-five-cent tip. I always took it as her way of accepting the things she couldn’t change.
Thinking about home had me pulling out my phone. The diner would be packed, and Dad would either be there helping Mom or out surfing or fishing. So, I pressed Nova Fisher.
“Good morning,” Nova chirped.
“Morning. Catching you at a good time?”
“Sure. I stepped outside to thaw. I don’t know why they crank the AC so high in hospitals. This time I remembered, and even in my hoodie, my nose is like an ice cube.”
“Why are you in the hospital?”
“Oh, I thought that’s why you were calling. Dad fell off a roof yesterday. He had to stay overnight. He’s supposed to be released this morning, but they don’t want to release him until the doctor comes by and sees him.”
“What? Did he break something? A concussion?” I ran through the injuries roofers sometimes incurred. Death, of course, being the worst, but he was getting released, so we bypassed that one.
“Concussion. And a broken arm. We thought he might have broken his back. He fractured his pelvis. Could have been worse.”
My sister’s statement qualified as an understatement.
“Why didn’t Mom call me?”
“I thought she did. But everything’s okay. She probably just didn’t want to worry you.”
“Is she there now?”
“No, she’s at the diner. He’s okay, Luna. I wouldn’t have even mentioned it if I thought it would get you worked up. He really is okay.”
“I wish I was there.”
“Why? He’s going to be a total grouch.”
“Any chance he’s considering a different line of work?”
“We haven’t broached that subject. Not yet, anyway.” There was a smile to her tone, and I understood. Dad wasn’t exactly amenable to the idea of growing too old for roofing. Amenable or not, it was the truth. Stubborn man. “How’s school going?”
“Fine. The nice thing about online classes is I go at my own pace. I have one class that’s live, but the rest post each week, and we have assignments. I like it.” As a graduate student, I had no issues being virtual.
“Don’t tell Mom and Dad that. Next thing you know, they’ll be pushing for me to go virtual, only they’ll make me stay here to help them.”
“Did you come home because of Dad’s accident?” I winced. She lived close enough to come home easily. I did not.
“Yeah. Mom called when she was driving to the hospital. She wasn’t sure how bad it was.”
“And no one thought to call me?”
“What could you have done? Worry. That’s all. There’s no point.”
“But I still want to know,” I whined.
The person behind the counter called out, “Luna.”
I tucked my phone between my ear and shoulder to free both hands, and before I could pick my food order up, two large hands reached around me and slipped the food onto a tray. My phone clattered to the floor as I stepped back, surprised.
Tate bent down and blew onto the phone, cleaning remnants of sand from the surface, and handed it back to me. Then he picked up the tray and exited onto the deck.
“Luna? Luna? Are you there?” Nova’s voice echoed.
I put the phone to my ear while looking into Tate’s probing aqua eyes. “Yeah. Sorry, I dropped the phone. Can I call you back?”
“Everything okay?” Tate asked after I ended the call with my sister. His eyebrows angled in on each other, forming a deep crease.
“My dad had an accident, but he’s going to be okay.”
He nodded and picked up his coffee cup from the tray.
“You want to join me?” I asked. He’d set the tray down on one of the small tables out on the deck. It seemed he planned on picking his breakfast up and sitting somewhere else.
I couldn’t tell from his sober expression if he was concerned or if he might be debating how to escape eating breakfast with me.
“Sit down.” I pushed the seat at the table out for him with my leg. I won’t bite.
He pulled the chair out farther and sat down. One other couple sat at a table about ten feet away on the deck, but otherwise, we were alone.
“Where’s Gabe?” I asked.
“Just dropped him off at the ferry. He’s on his way back to New York.”
“He seemed like a nice guy.”
“He liked your friend.”
“Yeah, they seemed to hit it off.” I unraveled the paper wrapped around my plastic fork and knife.
“Yes.” He nodded a few times. His steaming cup of grits, cheese, tomatoes, and chives looked good, better than the avocado toast I’d ordered. He dipped his fork in and stirred it around, his gaze flicking between his breakfast and me. A low pulse of energy surged between us.
“I overheard some of your conversation.” He sounded guilty. I’d kind of forgotten where I was standing when talking to Nova, but it didn’t matter to me if anyone overheard.
“So, you heard my dad fell off a roof?”
“Everything okay?”
“It will be. I wish I could be there to help, that’s all.”
“Where’s there?”
“Florida. It’s not easy to be far away. But, then again, I guess you of all people know that.”
He paused for a moment, mid-chew, then swallowed.
“I have some ideas sketched out for you, and some paint colors that we’ve used in other cottages. If you want me to bring them over later, I can.”
“I’d appreciate it. The floors are done. I’m thinking I might do what you suggested, put some shiplap on one wall downstairs, then it’ll be ready for painting. Unless I tackle the kitchen.”
“Did you do the floors by yourself?”
“No. This guy Tony helped. Do you know him?”
“He works for Mr. Baird’s construction company.”
“Yeah. He had a couple of days off. I think there was a delay in some materials being delivered or something, so the job was on hold. He stopped by and asked if I needed help installing.”
“Are you happy with the floors?”
“Oh, yeah. They look great. Pretty easy to install, too, snap ’em in place.” He sipped his coffee while I chewed on my avocado toast. A seagull landed on the deck railing, eyeing our food. Tate raised his arm, waving it, and the seagull flew away.
“How close are you and Poppy?” he asked as he crossed his leg, resting one ankle on his knee. With his t-shirt and board shorts and hair pulled back, he bore the laidback look of a surfer. But his somber vibe aged him.
“Pretty close. She’s my best friend on the island, by far.” I waited, wondering where he was going with this line of questioning. If he aimed to judge, I’d defend.
“Do you guys…do you work together?” he asked.
I laughed out loud. “Oh, my god. Is that what’s bugging you? You’re wondering if I’m an OnlyFans girl, too?” He shrugged and lifted his eyebrows, prompting me to say more. “That really bothers you, huh? That she sells photos?”
“She does more than sell photos.” I raised my eyebrows at both his tone and his words. “But no,” he added, sulking. “Well, yes and no. I wish we lived in a world that no one had to sell their body for money. But if she chooses to do so, and she wants
to do it, then I guess I don’t have an issue with it.”
“That’s right,” I added forcefully. “To each his own. No judgment.” I studied him, thinking about him tearing off in the rain, refusing a ride home.
His teeth scraped slowly over his bottom lip. “So, you didn’t answer. Do you do that, too?”
“Would it bother you if I did?” I kind of liked the idea that he might care.
Those blue eyes lifted to mine, and I thought he was going to open up, but he balled up his napkin, scooped up his trash, and tossed it in the nearby trash can on the corner of the deck.
“Tate?” I asked.
“Like you said. To each his own. Come by anytime. We haven’t discussed your rates yet. Prepare a proposal. And an hourly or project rate. Okay?”
“I’ll come by this morning.” My pulse quickened as he stood before me, close enough that if I raised my arm, I could touch his worn t-shirt, or graze my fingers over the rough, unshaven auburn growth along his jaw. I breathed in the faint familiar scent of lemongrass. It reminded me of the Citronella Campsuds body soap my father insisted on using at home. He always said it served a double-duty by being good for the sea and keeping the insects away.
Tate gazed down, introspective, oblivious I’d been breathing him in. He swallowed, and I watched the movement in his throat. I had the craziest urge to lean forward and trace kisses from the underside of his jaw and down his neck. He turned his back on me as he called out, “Later.”
Chapter 11
Tate
* * *
After leaving Luna, I didn’t return to the cottage. I couldn’t handle being caged in by walls. The long stretch of beach welcomed me, the mammoth ocean calming my frayed psyche.
I stood, staring out across the horizon, seeing faces. A heavy chain around a fisherman’s neck. His dark, pleading eyes. Rain splattered his bare chest up on deck. The putrid odor emanated from below deck as I descended the stairs into the lower levels. My sneaker tripped over the coil of a rope on the floor. A rat squeaked.
Grunts. Skin slapping skin. My feet followed the dull noise. To the side of the stacked barrels, the captain stood, his pants down around his knees, his bare ass clenched, hammering into the dark backside. The man bent over a barrel, his head hanging down. The fisherman tilted his head, and the whites of his eyes glowed in the shadows. Bile rose in my throat as the sound echoed above the crashing waves, as the rancid smell of the bowels of the ship rose, replacing the fresh, salt air of the present. No matter how far I traveled, I couldn’t forget.
My phone vibrated. It took a moment for the active phone to register. I pulled it out of my pocket as the ocean tide circled my ankles. Greggory Tate. Fuck.
“How’d you get my number?”
“Mr. Williams. You know, my lawyer?”
“What do you want, Gregg?”
“What do I…? You know, you are unbelievable.” A feminine voice crossed over the line with a “Greggory” and a faint “calm down.” Growing up, the scolding voice would have belonged to our mother. I hadn’t met his wife, but I assumed she’d taken on the controlling Gregg role.
Silence filled the phone, long enough for me to hold it away from my face to see if I’d lost connection.
“Adrian?” my brother asked.
“Yeah, still here.”
“Gabe said you’re back. Here in the States.”
“Yes.” I was sure Mr. Williams informed him of all of this, but I felt a stab of betrayal that he’d talked to Gabe. Unjustified emotion, as I never asked Gabe to not talk to my family.
“And you’re on Haven Island. Staying at Nana Pearl’s place?”
I exhaled. “Are you calling to talk about the lawsuit?”
“No. I don’t want to talk about the lawsuit. I’d like to talk to my brother. If you’re back here for money, we’ll work it out. I don’t want you to be destitute. I don’t want you to be a freeloader either. Nana Pearl completely ignored Dad’s wishes by leaving you in the will.” I gritted my teeth. Despite the asshat’s opinion, Dad and I hadn’t had any issues before he died. “I have a responsibility to my children. If I could’ve reached you, it probably wouldn’t have come to this.”
“I don’t care about money. You fucking know that. I’ve told Williams. If he hasn’t communicated that to you, then that’s on him.”
“Then we need confirmation you are of sound mind, so it can’t be contested later. Can you come home?”
“You think I’m crazy?”
“I think you need to grow up. And when you do, you’ll realize what you’re giving up. And for what? Why? Did you save the whales? Some aquatic species no one’s ever heard of?”
“You can be a real dick, you know that?”
“Me? Do you have any idea what you put Dad through? And for what?”
My thumb hovered over the red circle. I pulled it together and put the phone back to my ear. “Email me whatever you want me to agree to. I want Nana’s cottage. I don’t give a damn about anything else.”
I hung up and threw my phone into the air, hurling it back toward the dunes, and roared out all the frustration bottled up inside. A seagull squawked overhead. The phone landed in the sand near a white plastic cage nestled near the base of a dune, protecting a turtle nest. And for what?
Chapter 12
Luna
* * *
Tate’s cottage felt empty. I knocked and held my iPad and a paint chip book close to my chest. A golf cart buzzed by, speeding down Wynd Road, and I waved. Whoever drove the cart waved back.
A well-worn path from the front door, along the side of the cottage, to the back, lay just beyond the picket fence. The narrow path measured a few inches, barely wide enough for a single foot, but the white sand showed through the tangled briars and weeds. I climbed over the short fence and followed it to the screened-in porch facing the ocean.
He told me to come, so I didn’t expect he’d be surprised to find me here. His golf cart was parked out front, so he had to be nearby. A surfboard hung on the porch wall.
I sat back in the Adirondack chair, setting the things I’d brought on the side table, and waited. The wind blew, casting a cool breeze. The sound of the waves crashing carried over the dunes, and I closed my eyes, resting.
The screen door creaked, then banged against the door frame. I slowly opened my eyes, reluctant to stir from the relaxing lull. Tate’s windblown hair curled around his face, and his aqua irises swept over me. Water stains darkened his board shorts along the hem, a sign he’d waded out into the ocean while on his walk.
I licked the salt off my parched lips. “Hi,” I offered to his silence.
He blinked several times then ran his fingers through his hair and pulled the loose curls on one side behind his ear. “You bring stuff for me to look at?”
“Yeah.” I reached around for my iPad and brought it to life. “What’s the Wi-Fi password?”
“Connection’s spotty out here on the porch. Come inside.” We weren’t far from the mainland, but we were far enough away to have spotty and often unreliable internet.
I followed him. His bronzed, broad shoulders tapered down to a trim waist. His board shorts draped over perfectly rounded buttocks. He could model for Billabong or any surfing brand. He might be mid-thirties, but between his loose curls, salt blown hair, and his athletic physique, modeling could bring him some extra dough.
“You want anything to drink?”
“No, thanks, I’m good.” I stared down at my feet and took in the smooth, well laid flooring. “Wow. The floors came out great.” I breathed in the air and noticed a distinct fresh smell.
“Tony helped me knock it out in one day. He’s good. Efficient.”
“He’s helpful.” The wide wood panels gave the cottage an updated feel. “You’re gonna love these floors. The synthetic boards stand up to water and sand well.”
He had an old leather sofa on one wall and two chairs with slipcovers tugged over them, and one coffee table. The place felt like a r
ental cottage. “Didn’t your grandmother live here?”
“She did. But Alice had her personal stuff packed up after the damage from the last hurricane. It’s somewhere in storage.”
“I was gonna say that it doesn’t feel like an older person’s home.”
“Well, Nana wasn’t typical. She surfed right up until they made her leave. And this was always a vacation home for her. She and my grandfather have a home in Connecticut. Or…had.” He sat down on one end of the sofa, then popped back up and charged toward the kitchen bar and sat on one of the four stools.
“Let’s see what you brought.”
I joined him at the bar. The bar portion stood higher than the counter on the other side, serving as the division between the kitchen and the dining and living area. I tapped my iPad to life and handed it to him when the prompt for the Wi-Fi password appeared. A stack of mail sat a few inches away. An envelope with the return address to World’s Children and a logo with a modern take on children holding hands rested on the top of the stack. The mail lined up square and orderly against the edge of a notepad with the Tate Financial Services logo at the top.
He handed my iPad back to me, drawing my attention back to our meeting. I brought him through my presentation and the ideas I prepared. My knee brushed his. The hairs along his leg brushed mine. He leaned closer, our heads inches apart. The faint scent of his soap filled the air. He breathed in deeply and shifted, and he wrapped his arm behind my back, his attention rapt on the computer screen.
The tips of his fingers grazed my wrist. A surge of energy lit along my skin and ignited in my chest. I snapped my arm back as if shocked. The iPad clattered on the counter. Neither of us made a move to pick it up.
“Any interest in surfing?” he asked.
“Sure.” His fingers picked at my top, a long sleeve, loose, cover-up. I had my bathing suit on underneath it, as my plan had been to stop by here and then hit the beach. Now that we were in the offseason, I had little to do on Sundays, as it was the kind of day most people were coming or going.
