by Robin Hill
The last time we were here, my heart shattered.
My throat threatens to close as thoughts of that horrible day come back to me. “The last time we were here, we had a fight,” I say simply, as if the words don’t cut. It was more than a fight and we both know it.
The muscles in Darian’s back strain beneath his shirt, and his hands clench and flex as he picks up our duffel.
I draw in a breath. “And I’m glad it happened.”
With that, he turns, his brows arched. After passing me the duffel, he bends to collect the shopping bags. “Glad,” he mumbles, incredulous.
“If Easter”—I pronounce the holiday as if it were a dirty word—“hadn’t happened, we would have parted ways peacefully. But that would’ve been the end of it. The end of us.”
“I don’t know,” he says, frowning. “I think fate would have brought us together eventually.”
I’m not sure I believe in fate, so I say nothing as we step off the boat and onto the dock. Silence follows us halfway to the house. Then Darian stops.
“Francesca, wait.”
I peer up at him. He looks tired in a way that goes beyond exhaustion.
“I’m sorry. I know I’ve already said it, but I need to say it again. The way I treated you…spoke to you? You may be glad it happened, but I hate it. I hurt you and it was so…unnecessary.”
“It’s in the past,” I say quietly.
A swallow bobs in his throat as he nods. “I know. And from this moment on, I’ll leave it there. But I’ll never forget it, and I’ll never quit trying to make up for it.”
Once we’re inside, I take the duffel to the bedroom while Darian puts up the food.
“Ever had picadillo?” he asks when I return to the kitchen.
I pull out a barstool and sit down, elbows resting on the island. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s a type of stew that’s popular in Cuba.” He fires up the burner under his skillet. “Gloria taught me her recipe when I was barely old enough to reach the counter.”
I lean forward to inspect the ingredients he’s collecting. Onion, tomato, cinnamon, cumin… “Raisins?”
“They offset the olives.” He smiles at my bewildered expression. “You’re gonna have to trust me.”
By the time dinner’s ready, the bungalow smells like a Mediterranean restaurant. Darian scoops the stew over rice and sets two bowls on the island.
“It looks incredible,” I say, lifting a spoonful to my mouth and blowing on it.
Darian yawns as he sits down, and I notice how red his eyes are. He looks as if he can barely manage the barstool, much less a spoon.
“I propose we eat and go to bed,” I say between blows.
“Bed, huh?” He waggles his brows, then yawns again. His eyes begin to water. “Okay, that was sad. Pretend I wasn’t just trying to flirt with you.”
I’d laugh if he didn’t look so miserable.
“Sorry I’m not much fun tonight,” he says.
“Give yourself a break,” I tell him. “You’re exhausted and you still made me this amazing meal. I could have had a sandwich.” I set my spoon in my bowl. “The nightmares are getting worse, aren’t they?”
His shoulders sag as he lowers his gaze. “I haven’t been sleeping well, but I have a feeling I will tonight.”
“I hope so,” I say with a coquettish smile. “We have an entire island to defile tomorrow.”
A full day of birthday sex.
He coughs a laugh. “Uh, yeah…there’s that.”
Within the hour, we’re in bed, our eyes closed to the sun still blazing through the windows. We lie on our sides facing each other and I inhale his scent, sun-kissed and salty from the Gulf with a hint of spice from dinner. “I smell cinnamon,” I say, burrowing closer. “Mmm…and clove.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.” He drags his large hand down the side of my face, cupping my neck as his thumb sweeps back and forth over my jaw. The action nearly lulls me to sleep. “Are you happy, Francesca?”
The unexpected question gives me a start. I open my eyes to find him watching me, maybe even studying me.
“Of course I’m happy. Where’s this coming from?”
“The nightmares are getting worse. They’ll likely keep getting worse.” His expression hardens. “The lack of sleep—it can make me…irritable.”
He says it in a way that suggests he’s speaking from experience.
I lean forward and kiss him. “We’re in this together,” I say. “No matter what.”
The smell of chocolate invades my senses as I step out of the shower. After putting on my bikini, a pair of cutoffs, and a neon pink tank, I head to the kitchen to investigate. My eyes double in size at the state of the island. Chocolate muffins and tropical fruit, enough for a small village, line the counter.
I spin around when the front door opens. Darian wipes his feet on the mat and steps inside. He’s dressed in lime green swim trunks and a Jimmy Buffett tank.
“What’s all this?” I ask, gesturing toward the food.
“Breakfast. And yeah, I know. My eyes were bigger than my stomach.” A smile brightens his face. “Mimosa?”
We each make a plate and carry them, along with our cocktails, to the dining table on the back deck. The weather is beautiful; the late morning sun shines without the hindrance of clouds, but the cool coastal breeze blowing in from the Gulf makes it pleasant.
It’s the perfect day to turn twenty-two, I think, smiling to myself as I tear off a piece of my muffin and pop it into my mouth.
“What?” Darian asks.
“What, what?”
“You seem awfully chipper today.”
“It’s not every day I wake up to a week’s worth of chocolate muffins.”
He laughs. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
It’s so peaceful here—the constant sway of the trees, the waves crashing on the beach, the occasional songbird I hear but rarely see. It’s a literal paradise, so far removed from reality that the sound of other people—another boat—is not only surprising, it’s jarring.
I shoot a glare toward the water, but there’s nothing to see besides the overgrown brush blocking my view.
“Do you hear that?” I ask Darian, failing to mask my irritation.
He swallows the grape he’s chewing. “The boat? Yeah, we should talk about that.”
“Is that normal? I’ve never heard one this close before.”
A smile flashes on his face. “Probably because we’re usually preoccupied.”
I hide my blush behind my champagne glass as I take a sip. “But you just had to have breakfast,” I tease. The motor gets louder. “Seriously, though, why would they get so close?”
“Usually, it’s to fish.” He forks a piece of pineapple. “Easier to catch closer to land.”
“And that doesn’t bother you? People fishing off your island?”
“I don’t own the Gulf,” he says, smiling. He takes a drink of his mimosa and sets his glass down with a clink on the table. “I thought of another question…”
The motor silences just as there’s a big thud in the direction of the dock.
“And I can’t believe this hasn’t come up before,” he says, “but…”
Then I hear voices—multiple voices. I jerk my head toward them. “Damn, they’re close. Like trespassing close.”
A finger comes under my chin, and my gaze returns to Darian. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I just…I keep hearing…”
The voices get louder, and they’re joined by feet pounding on what has to be the dock. I start to stand, but Darian puts his hand on my arm.
I blink. “How can you not hear that?”
Amusement pulls at his lips, and then with a shake of his head, he digs a candle and lighter out of his pocket.
My heart stops. “What are you doing?”
He puts the candle in the untouched muffin on his plate and lights it. “When�
�s your birthday, Francesca?”
“My birthday? Um…” I mumble past the lump in my throat.
“I know. Can you believe it? We’ve learned so much about each other over the last few weeks, but it never occurred to either of us to ask about birthdays.” He grins. “Mine’s next month, by the way.” The candle’s flame flickers as Darian transfers the muffin to my plate. “Happy birthday, baby,” he says, standing. He kisses the top of my head. “I should probably go see about our trespassers. Make a wish, and don’t waste it on me.”
I’m transfixed by the flame until a child’s voice calling my name brings me back. My head shoots up, and I find Jacob running toward me, arms stretched as wide as his smile. I catch him in a hug and hold him against me, and then the tears begin to fall as Jane appears on the deck.
“Hey, Jakey,” she says with her eyes locked on me. “Why don’t you go help the guys unload while I talk to Frankie?”
Jacob takes off for the dock as Jane approaches.
“They’ll be a while. Drew bought a shit-ton of liquor.”
“Drew’s here?”
Jane smiles and nods. “He is,”
“I can’t believe this.” I squeeze her arm against my chest as she hugs me from behind. “I’m so happy you’re here”—my head snaps around to look at her—“but you totally broke girl code.”
“I didn’t break anything. He saw your ID, remember?” She takes a seat in Darian’s chair, tucking her feet beneath her. “And for the record, I didn’t know he knew until a couple of weeks ago.”
I give her a pointed look. “A heads-up would have been nice.”
“I thought about it. But, Frankie, he was so excited to do this for you.” She tosses the last dregs of my mimosa over the edge of the deck and refills my glass with champagne. “He seemed happy, and I knew that would be more important to you than whatever discomfort you’re feeling now.”
“He seemed happy?”
“Ecstatic.” She takes a gulp of champagne. “Remind me to show you the texts. First he suggested New Orleans but nixed it because of Jacob. Then it was Disney World, but he figured we’d all separate and he wanted us to spend time together. I told him you’d be happy staying at the house and that’s when he came up with the idea to come here.”
“I’m so surprised. I figured he’d bring Drew one day, but…”
“That man would do anything for you,” she says, grabbing my wrist. “If you ask me, I think he picked this place as a gesture.”
“A gesture?”
“To show you that he’s trying to move on. After what you told me…about how he never brings people here? Why else would he do it?” She heaves a dreamy sigh. “Remember in high school when we said we were going to become Mormon so we could be sister wives?”
I level her with a look.
“Kidding!” she says and wiggles her brows as her hand flies to the base of her throat. “Besides, have you seen Drew?”
I shake my head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Today’s your lucky day then,” Jane says, pushing to her feet. She eyes the muffin on my plate that’s covered in melted candle, its flame long extinguished. “Tell me you have more of those.”
Jane and I set out plates, napkins, and utensils for what I now know was a planned breakfast for five. She takes a seat at the island with a muffin and a few pieces of mango while I fidget nervously across from her, waiting for the boys to return.
“You’re going to give yourself a heart condition if you don’t chill out a little.” She pushes her glass toward me. “Here, drink more.”
I toss back the last of her champagne as the front door swings open. Darian steps inside, his gaze pinning me in place as he says to Jane, “Think you can give us a minute?”
She slides off the barstool with a huff. “I’ll give you five. But just five. This is supposed to be a party.” The sincerity in her smile belies her commanding tone. “And I’m taking these,” she says, grabbing the basket of muffins before heading outside.
“I like her,” Darian says once we’re alone.
“I suppose she’s okay.”
A smile breaks over his face as he joins me in the kitchen. He stands in front of me, hands stuffed in the pockets of his swim trunks. “Did you make a wish?”
“A wish? Oh, no. Kinda got sidetracked.”
“Someone once told me this is the island of unlimited wishes,” he says. “Maybe you’ll get another chance.”
“I don’t need another chance.”
“Is that so?”
“I already have everything I want.”
He pretends to ponder that, chewing on his lip as his gaze sweeps over me. “I’m not so sure about that,” he says. “Maybe you should wish for a man you can trust. A man who doesn’t make you feel like you have to hide yourself from him.”
My heart clenches. “Darian…”
“I think we have some things to talk about,” he says softly, “but not today. Okay?” He lifts his hands to my face. “Today, we celebrate.”
His lips brush against mine and I melt into his kiss, losing myself to the sweet taste of pineapple on his tongue, the feel of hard, lean muscle pressing me into the cabinet. But then the front door opens and Drew’s voice fills the quiet bungalow.
“Remind me why I invited people,” he teases.
I laugh and try to compose myself. “Because you love me,” I say, rising onto my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for this, Darian. And I’m—”
He holds a finger to my lips, silencing me. “Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Summer’s Almost Gone
Evelyn: Lunch?
Evelyn: Text me when you get this. I’d like to see you.
Evelyn: Oh shoot. I forgot you’d be out of town.
Frankie
Drew has a penchant for chick flicks.
That’s the first thought that crosses my mind as we’re being introduced. Darian said it was because he wanted an “advantage with the ladies,” but for the life of me, I can’t imagine why he’d need one.
He holds out his hand to me and smiles. “Drew Hart,” he says, but before I can respond, he pulls me into a hug so tight it steals my breath. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Francesca.”
“You too,” I say, a grin splitting my face as I hug him back, “and please, call me Frankie.”
I once referred to Darian as Hollywood handsome, but Drew is the epitome of that phrase. Tall, though not quite as tall as Darian, with dark hair and skin, and a smile so disarming, my best friend’s already fallen captive to it.
“Frankie,” he says, gripping my shoulders as he takes me in. “I’ll be honest. I was beginning to think you were a figment of Dare’s imagination.”
“I had the same thought about you.”
Darian clears his throat. Loudly. “I can hear you, you know.”
Drew and I both shrug.
Jane snickers. “I love watching this Hallmark moment unfold, but can we move on to sleeping arrangements?” She smiles down at Jacob who’s eager to get to the beach. “I need to get this little guy settled for later.”
The initial consensus is that Jane, Jacob, and I take the bedroom and Drew and Darian take the living room. But the living room is small and houses only a couch.
Drew eyes it warily, then turns to Darian. “I’m assuming that’s a fold-out, but even so, I really wasn’t planning on spooning you.”
Darian laughs. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he says, opening a door to the left of the bathroom. “I have a rollaway down here.”
“Down where?” I ask, craning my neck to see around Jane. “I thought that was a closet.”
“Storm cellar,” Darian says. He flips on the light and descends the stairs. About halfway to the bottom, he stops and turns back to look at us, all gaping at him in the doorway. “Francesca, are you afraid of spiders?”
I bust out laughing at his random question. �
��No,” I say, crooking my thumb at my best friend standing behind me, “but Jane’s probably about to have a panic attack.”
She shudders. “You guys go ahead. I’ll man the fort.”
The storm cellar is a small box of a room, dark and damp, with a concrete floor and a single bulb hanging from the ceiling—so low, Darian has to duck to walk beneath it. One wall is lined with empty shelves, the other with a twin rollaway bed, and between them, some kind of antiquated phone system.
“What’s that?” I ask Darian, pointing.
“Satellite phone.” He steps in front of it and blows off a layer of dust. “Never needed it before, but it’s nice to have, I suppose.”
He moves to the bed, grabbing hold of one end as if to fold it, but Drew stops him.
“You know, man,” Drew says, dragging a thumb over his chin as he examines the space, “this isn’t so bad. If you’ve got a broom—and you swear on your precious car you’ll leave that door open—I’ll sleep down here.” He smiles at Jane at the top of the stairs. “Jane and the Jakester can take the living room and you guys can stay where you are.”
Darian looks hesitant. “It’s a bit claustrophobic. You sure?”
“And spidery,” Jane calls from the living room.
Drew turns to Darian, grinning. “Guess what this reminds me of.”
“The Dungeon,” they both say in unison, folding over with laughter like it’s the funniest thing ever.
“Fine, I’ll bite. What’s The Dungeon?” I ask them.
“Where Darian lived his junior year of college,” Drew says. “I swear it wasn’t much bigger than this. Dark and windowless with the same extravagant light fixture.”
“Sounds charming,” Jane says, appearing behind me with a broom and dustpan.
Darian shrugs. “The band needed practice space, and Drew needed beer money.”
“Win-win,” Drew says. “In theory, anyway. But then rehearsals started…” He makes a face. “My room was directly over the garage.”
Darian laughs. “There are much better ways to make beer money.” He takes the broom from Jane and passes it to Drew. “All you, my man. And when you’re done, maybe you can get the kitchen.”
