by Ronica Black
She made a small noise of disbelief. “I don’t see how that’s possible. With all these fishermen? All these boats? You’re telling me they’re all sold out?”
“Tomas is, yes. As for the others…”
“I’ve already been to two others.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead again. “I’m tired. I don’t want to have to track down every fisherman here for some freaking shrimp. I don’t understand how they could be out.”
“It is late in the day,” Cam said. “And weekends here are crazy busy, especially now with the beginning of shrimp season.”
“Lo siento, miss,” Tomas, said, apologizing. He held out the icy bag of blue shrimp. He told her she could have it for free.
“He said he’s sorry, and he’d like you to have the blue for free.”
She shook her head and laughed. “I can’t take the blue. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him. But he doesn’t seem to get it.”
Cam felt herself frown as the woman’s incredible beauty began to fade and give way to her attitude. She actually sounded kind of snotty, like maybe she thought Tomas was somehow too dense to understand her.
“He speaks English,” Cam said, eager to defend her longtime friend. “And he has the ability to think and reason. So, he understands what you want. I can assure you of that. But what he doesn’t understand, is your refusal to accept that you aren’t going to get it.”
She reared back a little and her mouth opened again. Cam could tell she’d struck a nerve so she quickly spoke, trying to douse the growing flames between them.
“Have you had the blue shrimp before?”
“I—no, I have not. My friend, the one who wants the shrimp, may have, I don’t know. She loves to cook and she’s very particular about her ingredients. She specifically asked for the brown.” The question had seemed to throw her off balance. Her anger, now confusion.
“The blue shrimp is just as good. In fact, a lot of people like it better. It’s kind of what we’re known for around here. Your friend might like it too. I’m sure she can adjust whatever it is she’s making to accommodate for the difference in taste. And Tomas, who is one heck of a great guy by the way, is offering it to you for free. So, what do you have to lose in accepting it? You don’t like it, come back earlier tomorrow for the brown.”
She scratched her head and sighed. “It’s not as easy as that. My friend said the drive from her house to town is quite a ways. Which is why we stopped here to stock up on our way in. But yes, okay. I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” She dug in her pocket and pulled out some folded bills. She thumbed through them and held some out for Tomas. It was a generous amount. “For your time,” she said, the venom finally gone from her voice. He looked hesitant, as if afraid she still might bite.
Cam assured him it was okay to take the money. He took it and nodded at her, thanking her. He handed her the bag of shrimp.
She thanked him, gave Cam a quiet, unreadable look and wished them both a nice day before she turned and walked away. The breeze came off the sea again, toying with the woman’s thick hair like a child trying to cheer up a sad friend. Cam’s gaze fell to the pebbled ground where the breeze was also playing with something else.
“Oh, no.” She quickly knelt and snatched the fallen twenty-dollar bill and hurried after the woman.
“Wait! Miss, wait, please.”
The woman turned with alarm but as soon as she seemed to recognize Cam, that alarm hardened to what looked like contempt.
“I’m not a jerk,” she spat as Cam slammed to a stop.
“What?” Cam almost looked over her shoulder, convinced she was speaking to someone other than her.
“Your friend,” she continued. “Tomas. I knew what he was saying. I—understood. I just wasn’t sure he understood me. Not because I thought he was less than me or uneducated, or whatever else it was I could tell you were thinking. But simply because English isn’t his first language and Spanish isn’t mine. So, I was just trying to talk to him. To explain my situation, hoping he may have some sort of a solution. Like maybe he knew someone else who may have the shrimp. I don’t know. Granted, I’ve had a very long, very shitty day and I know I’m frustrated and probably more than a bit cranky, but I am not an asshole. And I don’t appreciate you assuming that I am. Got it?”
She lifted her sunglasses above her eyes and pierced Cam with a gaze that felt as hot as the sun but matched the cool turquoise color of the sea.
“Yeah,” Cam said, stunned breathless, this time from her eyes. But the conflict she’d felt earlier returned and it had intensified. It seemed that one second she was lost in an awestruck delirium by the woman’s beauty and the next she was dodging the flying daggers of her words. Her mind couldn’t keep up, couldn’t make sense of an enchantment that only seemed to lead to danger.
Cam held out the twenty-dollar bill. “You dropped this.”
The woman stared, seemingly confused. The stone-like set to her face softened ever so slightly.
“Oh.” She took the money and shoved it in her pocket. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
She started to turn but halted halfway. “You shouldn’t assume things about people, you know. Especially when you don’t know what they’ve been through that day.” She dropped her shades back in position over her eyes.
She had thrown one last dagger and this one had hit its mark. And Cam did not like the way it felt as it sliced into her skin.
“Really? That’s how you’re going to walk away? After making sure you got in one last jab? Making sure you got the last word?” She laughed and tugged off her own sunglasses and pinned the woman with a fiery gaze of her own. “I could say a lot of things to you right now. But I’m choosing not to. I left all that petty shit behind when I moved here, and I don’t allow tourists to bring it back, regardless of what they say or how they behave. So, I’m just going to kindly suggest that you follow your own so-called advice. To maybe, instead of thinking about yourself, think about Tomas and consider what all he may have gone through today before he encountered you. Because I can guarantee you, whatever it is you went through, in one damn day, is nothing compared to what he goes through each and every day. And I mean every day. He doesn’t get the benefit of a beach vacation, where he can spend endless hours lounging in the sand, drinking ice cold margaritas while being waited upon by others. He—” She stopped and shook her head. “What am I doing? Why am I wasting my time?”
The woman dug in her pocket again and retrieved the twenty-dollar bill. She shoved it toward her. “You’re right. I should’ve considered him and his life and his feelings. Give this to him, along with an apology.”
Cam didn’t take it.
“Don’t give him your money. Give him your respect.”
The woman clamped her mouth closed and crumpled up the bill in her fist. The scarlet on her cheeks deepened once again.
“You don’t know me,” she said. “You—don’t.” She turned on her heel and walked away.
“And I don’t think I want to,” Cam whispered as she watched her walk away. “Even if you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Chapter Three
“I can’t believe it. Is this it? It’s—Oh, my God, you weren’t kidding were you guys?” Blake Livingstone leaned forward from her position in the back seat to look through the windshield. She, along with her good friends Sloane and McKenna, had just emerged from the long bumpy dirt road through the dunes to turn down a new, smoother path, that seemed to stretch for miles along an endless row of beach houses. But it was what could be seen between the houses that had Blake nearly bouncing with excitement.
“This is it, all right,” McKenna said from the passenger seat.
Blake kept staring as they bypassed more houses, getting quick glimpses between them of what Sloane and McKenna had been trying to describe to her back in Phoenix.
Soon they pulled into the sandy but cemented drive of a small, off-white bungalow style house with a l
ow roof and wood trim. They parked parallel to a front entry garage, and from what Blake could see, the main door to the house appeared to be down from the garage on the side of the house.
Sloane turned off the engine to her Toyota Highlander. “She needs some work, but all in all, we think she’s worth it.” She smoothed her fine, shoulder length blond hair behind her ears and adjusted her red and white Arizona Cardinals ball cap. Then she smiled back at Blake. “You ready for the best beach vacation you’ve ever had?”
“I’m not on vacation, remember?” But she was unexpectedly excited and she couldn’t restrain the grin that gave that away.
McKenna also looked at her from the front seat. “Oh, yes, you are. You’re going to take some time to relax while you’re here. That was the deal. Remember?” She playfully mimicked Blake.
Blake almost argued with her, wanting to reiterate that she and Sloane had things to do. Important things. This trip wasn’t about a vacation for her. She didn’t do vacations. But by the look on her friends’ faces, Blake knew there would be no reiterating tolerated.
“Everybody loves a beach vacation,” Sloane said. “And this one, I promise, will even win you over.”
Blake was about to agree to at least try to do some relaxing while she was there, but words she’d heard earlier, about an hour ago, impeded upon the voicing of her good intentions.
He doesn’t get the benefit of a beach vacation.
McKenna, who had climbed from the vehicle, opened Blake’s door as the words from the stranger in town replayed. The distress they caused must’ve been apparent on Blake’s face, because McKenna’s clouded when she looked at her.
“What’s wrong?”
McKenna looked at Sloane, who was still focused on Blake, as they waited for her reply. Blake was aware of the look that passed between them, and though she was too zoned out to directly witness it, she knew it had to be one filled with concern. Sloane and McKenna were the happiest, most well-adjusted couple Blake had ever known and they were extremely intuitive. With each other as well as others. And in particular, with Blake.
Blake slid off her seat, determined not to let a perfect stranger ruin her trip, and stepped onto the thick, soft sand next to McKenna. She hugged her tall, thin, frame and felt strands of her auburn hair flick against her arms as they were stirred by the breeze. “Nothing’s wrong. Absolutely nothing.” Blake drew away and tried to reassure her. “I’m on a beach vacation, right? So, what could possibly be wrong?”
McKenna studied her with her clear blue eyes. “I don’t know. You were unusually quiet on the drive in from town.” She cocked her head. “You’re not still thinking about that rude woman are you?”
The tiniest of lumps formed in Blake’s throat and attempted to grow. But she refused to let it. “Nah, just a little tired.”
And discombobulated.
And really pissed that a woman I don’t even know had and still is having such an effect on me.
And she was so presumptuous and pious and…freaking gorgeous.
McKenna threw her arm around her, graciously killing the lingering thoughts of the stranger, and led her along the side of the house where Blake noted the deep brown front door nestled in a small covered entryway just past the length of the garage.
“Flat tires in the middle of nowhere do tend to wear people out,” McKenna said, referring to their very eventful and very unfortunate drive in from Phoenix.
Blake laughed. “Do they?”
Sloane hustled to join them and she, too, slid an arm around Blake.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
“But I—” Blake saw the enthusiasm in her eyes. Even though they were a darker blue than her partner’s, Sloane’s emotions never had been difficult to discern, and Blake readily did as she requested, Sloane’s enthusiasm contagious. “Okay.”
McKenna and Sloane led her forward, guiding her through the deep sand. When they came to a stop Blake felt the weight of a strong breeze. “God, I can smell it,” she said. “The ocean. Smelled it the second McKenna opened my door. And I can hear it. Hear the waves crashing. Like it’s right in front of me. We can’t possibly be this close to the ocean. We can’t.”
“Open your eyes and see for yourself,” Sloane said.
Blake opened her eyes and there was the sea. Vast, blue-green and shimmering, like a gem, reflecting the colors of the setting sun.
“Oh, my God.”
“Come on,” McKenna said. The three of them hurried through the white sand to a slight decline where the sand went from soft, white, and thick, to a firmer, darker consistency that continued down to mushy wet sand the ocean had recently left behind as it pulled away from the shore. They walked on toward the water’s edge, dodging a few small tide pools.
“It’s so close,” Blake said, glancing back up at the house. She’d been to the beach before, a few times in her life, but she’d never stayed at a place literally on the beach. Hotel or otherwise.
“Wait until high tide,” Sloane said, staring out at the retreating sea as if it were calling to her. “Then you’ll really be amazed at how close we are.”
“But even at low tide it’s just as incredible,” McKenna said. “There are tide pools full of crabs and starfish, and seashells galore.”
Blake took in the beach around her. To her left, it seemed to stretch into oblivion. The row of houses, the brown sand and the crashing waves, all of it. To her right, she found the same. It seemed never-ending.
“It’s incredible,” Blake said as she looked to her left and right again and saw the long stretch of sand and houses. “And endless.” She shaded her brow against the setting sun, watching as four children played in the teasing surf. They were so far away she couldn’t even hear them. She looked back to her left again and saw several people on the beach in the distance there as well. A handful at most. “And there’s hardly any people.”
“It’s a private beach,” Sloane said. “You can’t be here unless you’re in one of the homes.”
“Oh, right,” Blake said. She laughed a little. “I know you tried to tell me about all this, but I think I needed to see it for myself to truly understand.”
“Summer’s coming to an end,” McKenna said, slipping out of her shoes. “So, there will be less and less people as the days go by.” She took a few steps and shrieked softly as the water rushed toward her and enveloped her bare feet.
Her glee was infectious, and Blake, too, slipped out of her sneakers and peeled off her socks to step into the water.
“It is cold,” she said as the water spilled over her feet and wrapped around her ankles. But the chill was welcome after a long, blistering hot day in the sun. Sloane and McKenna had assured her though, that the summer heat would soon begin to dissipate. According to them the nights were already growing cooler.
Sloane picked up an errant shell and side-armed it back into the sea. She brushed her hands on the sides of her shorts. “You ready to see the house?”
“Sure.” But there’s no way it will beat this.
Chapter Four
They picked up their shoes and headed back up to the house. When they reached the thick sand again, Sloane walked off in the direction of the car while Blake and McKenna continued to the covered patio that spanned the width of the back of the house. They stepped onto the cool cement of the patio and McKenna began uncovering and unstacking deck chairs. Blake helped and they arranged some around a patio table and then the rest on the opposite side where anyone who wanted to could sit down, prop their feet up on the low patio wall, and kick back with a killer view.
Just as they finished, the Arcadian door slid open and Sloane, who must’ve entered the house through the door along the side of the house, handed McKenna a small plastic tub and then backed out with a gas grill and rolled it into position at the edge of the patio near two of the chairs.
McKenna turned on a spigot beneath the large back window and filled the plastic tub with water. Then she placed it by the door and stepped insi
de it.
“Gotta clean your feet,” she said. “To help keep the sand out.” She stepped out and allowed Blake to do the same. Then she waved her into the house after Sloane.
Blake entered the hot, cozy-small bungalow and took in the living room to the right, where a sofa, coffee table, and two chairs sat across from a stone-walled fireplace. The furniture was neutral in color scheme and older, but still in good condition. In time McKenna would no doubt work her magic as far as the decor, but it was obvious the main concern or attraction wasn’t the interior of the house. It was what was outside, just beyond that patio that everyone would be focused on and rightfully so. The kitchen was to the left, where Sloane was fiddling with the light switch and mumbling to herself. There was an L-shaped countertop with off-white cabinetry above and below. The sink was beneath the far window, which appeared to have a view of the front door and the side of the house. At the other end of the counter there was a refrigerator and beyond that, closer to Blake, was a round table with chairs. It was a simple, modest layout, complete with bright yellow linoleum flooring and a single domed light centered in the ceiling. A light, it seemed, that Sloane was having trouble turning on.
“Something’s wrong with the lights?” McKenna asked.
Sloane continued to mumble, and she crossed to the living room and tried the lamps, which also seemed unwilling to cooperate.
“We gotta have lights, babe,” McKenna said, hurrying into what Blake assumed to be the two bedrooms in the back.
“I know, Kenna,” Sloane said. “I’m on it.”
McKenna returned to the living room. “No luck.”
“Great.” Sloane removed her ball cap and ran her hand through her hair.
“Did you try the breaker? In the garage?” McKenna asked, heading for the front door.
“Yes,” Sloane said. “I did that as soon as I came inside and noticed the entry light and the others wouldn’t come on. I was hoping that fooling with the breakers would’ve somehow worked.” She slapped her cap against her leg. “Guess not.”
