Blazing Hot Spring

by Fiona Starr

  Ricardo takes a right turn at the end of the avenue and follows the path that leads to Tortuga House, one of several two-story beachfront townhouses nestled into the hill on this side of the resort. He takes my key, opens the door, and we step inside. He places my bags near a wooden bench by the door. “Enjoy your stay with us. I am Ricardo if you need any assistance.”

  “Thank you.” I hand him a tip and close the door, then slip off my sandals and head upstairs to the balcony. The interior has been updated a bit since last year, but Tortuga House is gorgeous as always. I push open the sliding glass door and step outside, letting the warmth of the terra cotta tiles seep through the soles of my feet.

  “Bridget!” Susannah waves up at me from the sandy beach below. Each of these townhouses in the resort shares access to a private beach area just outside their back doors.

  I wave. “I’ll be right down!”

  I step back inside and bring my bags to the bedroom I share with Susannah. In a few minutes I’m transformed from my travel clothes to my bikini and wrap, floppy hat, and sandals. I toss a bottle of sunscreen into a tote and head to the beach.

  ASH

  Griffin’s Sand Bar is hopping this afternoon while the celebrity beach volleyball tournament is heading into the championship match. It’s been like this all week. They’ve got television crews, reality TV stars, and swarms of college students packed into every inch of dry land. Everyone is drinking too much, and wearing very little. There are going to be some scorching sunburns by the time the sun goes down tonight.

  I’m behind the bar, covering my ear with one hand and holding my phone up to the other while my partner, Luis, scrambles to keep up with all the customers. “Don’t worry, sis. I’ve got it all under control.” I hold a finger up to a patron, letting her know I’ll be right there.

  My sister’s voice doesn’t hide her worry that I’m going to fuck everything up. I learned long ago not to take her control freak personally. She’s Type-A Annie, Annie the Achiever, super organized, and when she’s not able to be in control, it really, really freaks out. She is running through all of her mental lists for me, ticking off everything that she had to drop when she went into labor.

  I have everything written down, but I know I need to hear her out or she’ll just call back. “Yes. I remember. The door to the dishwasher sticks. Yes.” I run my finger down my list. “And I called the guy to come look at the ice machine leak, he’ll be here at six.” Between Luis and me, we have slipped on the puddle from the stupid water line a dozen times.

  She reminds me of the new rules for trash disposal at the resort. I remember but I jot it down anyway. “Yes. Got it. Yes. Don’t worry.”

  Leave it to my sister, the owner of Griffin’s Sand Bar, to have her baby right in the middle of the Spring Break. Not that I mind; I would have come to help her out regardless. I mean… Spring Break in Cancún? Yeah… twist my arm.

  Anyway, it’s not like I had anything else going on…

  That thought, that my life was kind of free-flowing, used to be a comfort to me. I liked not being chained to a desk or tied down to anything. I liked working manual labor gigs and construction jobs. That was me: Ash Griffin, free and open.

  But now, since Derek died… that same thought has started to haunt me.

  My best friend was killed three weeks ago in a motorcycle accident. He was cruising on the highway when some asshole who was texting and driving veered into his lane and just ran him off the road. Derek hit a cement pylon—died instantly. The driver had no idea; he just kept on going. It was the people behind them who saw it all go down.

  Derek left behind his wife, two kids, and a successful, growing law practice. He had everything, and now he’s gone.

  At his funeral, we all talked about all the things he’d done with his life and career, and his family. He volunteered with his sons as a Boy Scout leader. He coached soccer. He had goals. He had plans. He had a life.

  His death made me look at my own life and ask myself, if I died tomorrow what would I leave behind? My parents and siblings would mourn, of course, but I haven’t done anything, I haven’t built much of a life.

  My goal of being free and open has resulted in a big empty hole. I’m 27 years old; I shouldn’t be able to just hop on a plane and spend a month in Mexico. I should have something else going on. Trouble is, I have no idea what I want to do with my life.

  More customers arrive and wave me down. I nod at them and point to the phone. “Annie, relax. Look, I have to go. Luis and I are in the weeds here. Call you later, ok? Kiss that baby for me.”

  I hang up and do a lap around the bar, taking orders from customers, checking IDs, making drinks, and settling tabs. It’s a frenzy in the best way. I’d forgotten what it was like to be this busy… to just go into super-bartender mode as the hours fly by. It’s the perfect way to stop thinking about anything… which, as it turns out, is exactly what I need.

  Chapter Two

  BRIDGET

  The following morning, we are having breakfast on the balcony and planning out the rest of the week. Tina is in the kitchen making pancakes.

  “Are you sure you can’t come with us?” Susannah’s pleading with me while she makes a reservation for everyone to go on a party boat cruise on a yacht this afternoon.

  I sip my coffee and try to hide any hint of regret from my voice. If they spot a weakness in my defenses, they’ll never stop trying. “I’m sure. I promised myself I’d put in a few hours every day on my thesis or I won’t have it done by the deadline.”

  Dionne crunches a piece of bacon. “All work and no play, Bridget. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Right?” Rosa says. “And you know that never worked out for anyone!” She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, nodding like she’s sharing sage wisdom.

  I know they don’t mean it, but their words sting a little. That line is just about exactly what my ex-boyfriend used to say whenever he felt like I was taking my work too seriously—which was all the time.

  He was a high-powered corporate attorney and what he was really saying was that I was putting my work ahead of him. Thing was, he had no problem putting his own work first, and I never complained when that happened because I understood.

  I refuse to be in a relationship where one person’s life is more important than the other person’s. It’s possible for both people to respect the things that matter to their partner and maintain a relationship at the same time. Too bad I wasted two years with that guy before I figured it out. But no more. From now on, I won’t settle for someone who doesn’t respect me and my work.

  I smile at my friends. They know I’m not going to budge, but they tease me about it anyway. “You guys go. Make whatever plans you want during the days. I’ll join you for the nighttime fun when you get back.”

  Lizzy pours herself a mimosa from the wet bar and sighs dramatically. “All right. If we forced her to come she’d be miserable the whole time thinking about recycling or composting, anyway. Right, Bridge?”

  “It’s called sustainability,” I say, sticking my tongue at Lizzy. “And besides, you’re exactly right.” I scrunch my nose at her and we all laugh.

  My skin feels tight from the salt in the sea and from sitting in the sun all morning. The girls are off to their party boat cruise, and I’m alone, eager to work and also starving.

  I shower and throw on a sundress and sandals and take my computer with me in search of a quiet place to get some food while I write. I walk along the path toward the resort’s main avenue which is lined with restaurants, a spa, a coffee shop, and boutiques. I pass a restaurant down by the pool, but it’s packed with people, and the deck is busy with families and children. That’s not going to work. I try the next place a few doors down and quickly realize that I’m not likely to find any quiet restaurants at the peak of lunchtime.

  I’m about to head back to the house and order room service when I remember a small place down along the beach from previous trips. I decide to try m
y luck there. I step out of my sandals and into the sand, and follow the shoreline.

  Griffin’s Sand Bar is located in a small half-moon cove between the resort and the nearby village. There’s a boardwalk and a pier, and a dock a little farther down the beach where tourists can hire a Jet Ski or go parasailing.

  I step up to the bar and wait for the bartender to turn my way. He’s busy working on something, writing in a notebook. I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment. Like I should leave and come back and make noise the next time to signal my approach. But he’s got a warm, inviting face and besides, I’m really hungry.

  I smile at him. “Are you serving lunch?”

  When he finally looks up, he’s got a distant stare and seems distracted. Then he notices me and our eyes lock. He flashes a wide smile.

  Oh my.

  ASH

  It’s finally quiet with the volleyball tournament over. The beach cove is deserted and clean-up crews spent the morning getting everything torn down and the sand cleared of trash. As good as it is for business, it’s nuts how much of a mess the Spring Break parties leave behind. There will be another big event bringing in more crowds in a few days, but for the time being, the cove is a ghost town.

  Luis is on tonight, so I don’t have to be here, but I’ve been working through Annie’s list of chores and calls that need attention. I’ve also started another list of my own—brainstorming things I can do with my life, and… I am drawing a blank. It’s so hard when everyone around me has it all figured out.

  My parents are both successful running their own businesses in Miami. Mom is a pediatrician, and Dad is a real estate developer. Each of my siblings have their lives together too. My twin sister, Annie, has the bar and her family here in Cancún. My brother, Tim, is a dentist in San Diego, and my other brother, Mac, trains Olympic and X-Games skiers and snowboarders in Utah. And that leaves me. My parents never insisted on anything except that we all finish college. So here I am with a degree in journalism and no real itch to use it.

  So far, my list includes the careers my family members have chosen. Doctor, Real Estate Developer, Bar Owner, Dentist, and Elite Athlete Coach. None of these appeals to me. I write Journalist on the list and stare at the word. There’s a pull there, of course. It’s what I spent my college years focused on; once upon a time I was all in.

  I got a job working for a paper in Miami when I graduated, but it never felt right to me. As the new guy I was put on the local happenings beat and I’ve covered more births, bar mitzvahs, weddings, and deaths than any one person should have to. When it came right down to it, I couldn’t make it fit.

  My editor suggested perhaps I needed something with more meat, like investigative journalism, but by that time the fire had gone out and the embers were ice cold. I ended up leaving after only a year.

  When I left that job, my girlfriend at the time left me. She said that she didn’t sign up to take care of a guy who had no life path, and she definitely did not enjoy the unpredictable nature of my schedule or my paychecks. After she’d covered our joint rent for the third month in a row, she’d had enough.

  I don’t blame her. You’d think that would have pushed me to adjust and get back on track, but honestly, it really just left me with even less motivation. My last few relationships ended on the same note. Now I’m in this place where I feel like maybe I should get my shit together—give my next relationship a fighting chance before it starts.

  “Are you serving lunch?” The woman’s voice breaks me from my thoughts.

  I blink and turn toward the source of the sound and its like the world stops for a moment.

  She’s got the widest blue eyes. Her dark hair is pulled up on top of her head in a messy knot, and her nose and cheeks are peppered with freckles. She smiles and her whole face draws me in.

  “Lunch? Yeah. Lunch.” I move around the bar toward her. “Sure thing. Sit anywhere. I’ll bring you a menu.”

  We actually don’t open until four o’clock, but there’s no way I am letting this girl leave.

  Chapter Three

  BRIDGET

  I set my laptop and my bag on a table near the bar and stand there, admiring the view. There’s a warm breeze coming in off the ocean. I stop for a moment and let it wash over me, breathing in the salt air. The tide is out and the waves crash in the distance.

  A couple walks hand-in-hand along the shore—she’s laughing at something he said. A pang hits me as I watch them. They seem so relaxed, so… connected. I can’t remember the last time I…

  “Welcome to Griffin’s.” The bartender lifts the flip-up counter and steps outside the bar. “Is this your first time here?” He’s wearing black shorts and a pale pink tee shirt that clings to his broad chest.

  I trace the outline of his pecs, admiring how they press against the thin fabric. “No. But it’s my first time during the day. It’s nice,” I say.

  He grabs a menu from a pocket on the edge of the bar and turns toward me. He smiles again and the corner of his mouth quirks up on one side.

  I take in the contours of his wide, muscled shoulders, his strong hips, his long, toned legs, and then I am right back to his eyes. “Nice view.” I can’t help but smile.

  His grin grows wider. White teeth flash and gray eyes catch the twinkle of the sun dancing on the ocean. He’s aware that I am flirting and he’s apparently enjoying it. He arches his brows and achieves full smolder in an instant. “Yeah, the view’s especially nice today.”

  Oh, sweet heavens. Bridget, you are here to work. The voice in my head tells me what’s supposed to be happening. I know that it’s telling me the truth, but damn, he’s hot, and like I said, I’m starving—in more ways than one.

  I take the menu and hold eye contact for a moment longer and then I glance at the food options. He watches me and I am feeling extremely aware of his stare. I can’t really concentrate with him standing right there so I order a cheeseburger and fries and a beer.

  “Excellent choice.” He is still grinning. He lifts the menu from my grip and quirks his mouth up on one side. It’s one of those things that gives me a glimpse of how he looked when he was a boy. “Coming right up.”

  I watch him walk away and I have to force myself to sit down and open my laptop. “You’re here to work,” I whisper to myself as my thesis document appears on the screen. “Oh look at that, you have plenty of work to do. First, make progress on your thesis and then you can play.” I sit in the chair that has a view of both the bar and the beach, and settle in to work.

  ASH

  Holy hell, that is one beautiful woman. It’s all I can do to tap in her order at the computer without turning to look at her again. She seems nice, and she’s one hundred percent, definitely flirting.

  Once the order processes, I pick up the phone to the kitchen and curl around the side of the bar to make sure she won’t overhear. “Hey, yeah it’s Ash at Griffin’s. I just put an order…” I look at my watch; it’s only one o’clock.

  They know I am not open yet, but the kitchen across the way preps the food for us and several of the other places on the cove. I need to call to make sure they know my order isn’t a mistake. “Cheeseburger, yep. Thanks.”

  I pour her an ice water and fish a Dos Equis out of the cooler and pop the cap. I place the drinks on a tray and head back out to her table.

  She’s typing on her computer and has her headphones in. I don’t want to disturb her, but I kinda do at the same time. I want her to look up at me with those eyes again. I want to make her smile.

  “Here you go.” I place the beer and the ice water on the table next to her laptop.

  She pulls her earbud from her ears and looks up at me. “Water too, thanks.”

  “Ah, the water’s on the house,” I say. “Important to stay hydrated, you know.”

  “That’s good of you.” She smiles and looks down as if she’s self-conscious. Her brown hair catches the sun; there’s a bit of red running through it.

  Then she’s back a
nd our eyes meet again. Her eyes are such a vibrant blue they don’t look real. Most blue-eyed people have washed-out blue eyes, or gray, like me. But her eyes are the color of a perfect summer sky without a cloud in sight. And they’re wide… so wide I feel like an intruder when I look at her; like I am seeing too much, getting too close.

  Her accent isn’t quite Midwest, but she’s definitely not from the east coast. The way she says water gives her away.

  “Where are you from?” I ask.

  “Colorado, though I go to school in California right now.” She motions to her laptop.

  “Nice. I have a brother in San Diego.”

  “I’ve never been down there. I’m up at Berkeley.”

  It’s clear that I am already way out of my league here, but I can’t help myself. I like the way she moves her mouth when she talks. “Berkeley’s nice. What are you studying?”

  “Environmental Engineering. I’m working on my thesis.”

  I blow out my breath. Yeah, I am way out of my league. This woman’s got her shit together. “That sounds kind of heavy for Spring Break.”

  She smiles again and I can feel myself grinning. “It’s due the week after I get back. It’s almost done.”

  “How long you here?”

  A whistle behind us interrupts the moment. I turn and nod at Allie, one of the food runners, as she slides the tray with my order onto the bar.

  I poke my thumb over my shoulder. “Your lunch has arrived.”

  “Oh good, I’m starving.”

  I hurry back to the bar and pick up the covered platter and turn. My feet hit a slippery patch on the tile and slide out from under me. It takes a second for me to realize I’m airborne and about to land on my ass as the entire tray of food hurls through the air.