The shop owner had explained that islanders typically didn’t wear black, as the mosquitos were attracted to it. Not to mention the midday heat. Samantha had looked around as she’d wandered the town and saw that the woman was right. Bright colors and light pants and dresses were typical – not a black business suit to be seen. Samantha wondered what a life like this would be like. Moseying into town each morning to open a shop, closing for a long lunch, leaving at five on the dot to have a rum on the beach and watch the sun set over the stunning waters that hugged the coastline.
Mirra had been right. The town really was only about four blocks long, and the main thoroughfare consisted of brightly colored buildings that housed a variety of businesses – a multi-shop that seemed to sell everything from hand soap to laminate flooring; tourist shops with all the expected t-shirts screaming ‘Siren Island’ in neon colors; and a couple of bar restaurants where people nursed their drinks and played dominoes in the lazy afternoon sun.
Maybe one of these days Sam would feel comfortable enough to drive down and have a bite to eat on her own at one of the restaurants – the one with barrel tables and swings for seats looked particularly fun. A giggle escaped as she thought about herself, coconut drink in hand, sending a picture to Lola of her in a swing and her bright red dress. Her friend would be ecstatic.
But for now, Samantha needed to tackle the drive home. Traumatized from her drive earlier, she turned the key and gingerly let up on the clutch as she pressed down the gas – then jerked back into her seat as the car slammed to a stop and died.
The man across the street chuckled.
Sweat broke out her forehead and Samantha glared at the air conditioner, which limply fanned her with little puffs of barely-cooled air.
“Okay, lovey,” Samantha cooed to the truck like Jolie had, “we can do this together.”
Once more she eased off the clutch and pressed the accelerator.
“Damn it!” Samantha smacked the steering wheel, pointedly ignoring the chuckling man across the street.
Three tries and several inventive curses later, Sam shot into the street, narrowly missing an oncoming car, and coolly acknowledged the man who now sent her an approving nod. Sweat dripped down her back and Sam wondered if sweat stains would show through this fabric. See? If she’d been wearing black, nobody would see her sweat.
She gripped the wheel more tightly as she approached a series of hills, the pavement – well, if it could be called paved, with all the potholes – turning to dirt. Grinding the gears, Sam shifted and the car lunged forward, limping its way up the hill.
“Come on, baby, come on. You’ve got this,” Sam chanted, gingerly applying more gas as she crested the top of the second hill. She was now seriously dripping in sweat and anxiety crawled at her throat, but then she saw the mermaid statue tucked at the base of a cheerful palm tree.
“Yes!” Sam shouted and steered the truck left onto the small dirt lane, just as three goats launched themselves from where they’d been concealed in the bushes. A scream tore from Samantha’s throat as she heard the distinctive ding of metal hitting a hoof or a horn, she wasn’t sure what, and the truck died on the spot because she’d slammed on the brakes, completely forgetting to downshift.
Putting her head on the steering wheel, she wept.
Chapter 11
“Hey… hey now. Miss Samantha Jameson, hey… can you look up at me? Are you all right then?”
Samantha closed her eyes and shook her head back and forth. The majority of her crying fit had passed, but her embarrassment at hearing Lucas’s voice threatened to bring it back on.
“Are you injured? Should I go for a doctor?”
He was already opening the door and running his hands gently over her body. For a moment Samantha was too shocked at his touch to move, a delicious heat seeming to follow his hands as they trailed down her legs. Then, batting his hands weakly away, she leaned back in the seat and met his eyes.
“Oh, honey. Having a bad day?” Lucas asked. He’d shoved his sunglasses up on his head and for the first time she could see his eyes, a dusky yellowish-green, now filled with concern for her.
“I… I hit a goat!” Samantha wailed and covered her face with her hands.
“Shhh, come here. Here, let’s get you out of this truck,” Lucas said, neatly unsnapping her safety belt and tugging her from the truck. Samantha stood on wobbly legs, turning away from the front of the car. She couldn’t bring herself to look – she couldn’t bear it.
“I heard it. It dinged. I heard it hit the front,” Samantha said, her eyes filling again as Lucas pulled her into his arms, pressing her face to his chest. She breathed in the scent of soap and sea air, wanting to snuggle against him until she could stand on her own again.
“Was it three goats? A group of three?” Lucas murmured, his lips by her ear.
“Oh no… I hit all three of them?” Samantha dragged in a breath. This was what happened when she went adventuring. Innocent creatures died. She should have known better.
“Sweetheart, look,” Lucas said, turning her by the shoulders to point into the bushes on the far side of the road. There, three goats munched on the leaves of a tree – though one did turn and look angrily back at her. Or at least that’s what it felt like.
“They’re safe,” Samantha breathed.
“These goats are quicker than they look. This isn’t their first time playing dodge with island trucks. They’ll be just fine. See? No blood,” Lucas said, stepping away from her to check the front of the truck. She missed his presence instantly, and found herself wanting to be surrounded by his arms again. There was something about him that seemed safe to her in this moment. He was just so big and strong… and capable.
Something she was trying to prove that she was, with this trip, she reminded herself. A capable adult who’d taken herself off on an adventure. She certainly shouldn’t be in a puddle of tears after not killing a goat.
“Thank you. I’m sorry for the tears. God… I’ve never been much of a crier. But something about driving a stick shift today just really put me out of my element,” Samantha said.
Lucas laughed, walking back to put his hands on her shoulders. “Driving in a new country can be daunting for anyone. And manual cars bring their own particular challenges. You should be proud of yourself for giving it a go,” Lucas said as he glanced into the truck. “Did some shopping, I see?”
“I did. I stumbled into a boutique in a ball of anxiety after parking in what I’m certain wasn’t a legal parking spot, and before I knew it this shop owner had my hands full of dresses that I most certainly do not need.”
“Charlene. She’s great. I’d say she’s done you a service, if she picked out the dress you’re wearing. It’s stunning on you,” Lucas said, his gaze sliding down her body, causing warm little trills of excitement to pull long and low inside of her at his look.
“Ahhh, thank you, but you don’t have to say that.” Samantha blushed, knowing she probably looked a mess between her crying jag and the sweat running down her back. She’d never been one to cry pretty. It had always amazed her how the women in the movies could blink out tears, looking all doe-eyed, not a hair out of place when they cried. When she did cry – which was not often, for this exact reason, among others – she looked more like a toddler with the flu. Or several strains of flu.
“Why? I call it like I see it,” Lucas said, leaning a hip against the truck as he studied her.
“I’m sure I look like a cat that’s been just tossed in a bath. It’s not the best look for me.”
“Obviously I’d rather see you smiling,” Lucas said, “but that certainly doesn’t change the fact that red’s your color and that’s a mighty fine dress Miss Charlene picked out for you.”
Oooookay. Samantha realized the man just might really be flirting with her. Even if she likely had slobber on her chin.
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” Samantha looked around herself, realizing they were still in the middle of
the road. “Shouldn’t I move this truck? I’m sure to be blocking traffic.” She looked at the truck with distaste, not wanting to try and start it again. Her patience was shattered for the day.
“How about this? I’ll drive the truck back if you share a bottle of that wine I see sticking out of the bag there.”
It made her feel good, she realized, to have a man flirt with her even after she’d just sobbed in his arms like a sodden mess of a crazy woman.
“You have yourself a deal. I was ready to put in neutral and push it back,” Samantha said and then looked to where his 4-Runner was parked. “Aren’t you on your way somewhere though?”
“No place in particular to be tonight. I was going to head down to the market and pick up a few bits to go with my wine for sunset is all.”
“I have some bits,” Samantha blurted out.
Lucas’s slow smile caused heat to cover her face. “You most certainly do,” he said, smiling appreciatively and overselling his leer so she knew he was joking.
“Oh my gosh, stop it,” Samantha laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder as she clambered into the passenger seat next to him.
“What? I was looking at that cheese you have in there. It’s my favorite,” Lucas nodded at the bag she’d pulled onto her lap. Samantha found herself chuckling as he shifted smoothly into gear and delivered them neatly to the front door of the Laughing Mermaid.
“I’ll meet you in the garden in fifteen or so?”
“Sounds good,” Samantha said. It was enough time for her to try and freshen up, but not enough to let her anxiety to overtake her.
“And Sam?”
“Yes?” Samantha said, turning at the door to the villa.
“Keep the dress. I like it,” Lucas gestured to red dress and winked before he whistled his way back up the dirt road.
Okay, so maybe there was enough time for her anxiety to kick in. Samantha groaned and raced upstairs, already afraid to look in the mirror.
It didn’t matter, she told herself.
After this vacation, she’d never see this man again.
Chapter 12
Samantha knocked at the kitchen door, fidgeting nervously with the strand of sea-colored beads she’d added to her outfit. They nestled coolly between her breasts, making her feel a little decadent.
“Samantha, don’t you look lovely,” Irma commented as she slid open the old-world barn door on its rollers.
“Thank you. I bought this dress today,” Samantha said, smiling at Irma and then gasping at the kitchen behind her. “Your property is just perfect. In every aspect. This kitchen is so… homey.”
“Thank you. I always feel the heart of the home is in the kitchen. Would you like to come in?” Irma asked. “I’m just making some sweets. I had a hankering for coconut chocolate bars.”
“Oh, I don’t want to bother you it. It’s just, well, I have a – well, it’s not a date. It’s just a thing. A drink. Between friends, that is. Something for the cheese is what I wanted to see if you had. It’s not a date. He helped me, you see. I hit a goat.” Samantha closed her eyes and drew in a breath. Get your shit together, woman, she ordered herself.
Irma’s eyes widened and then she threw back her head and laughed, her bracelets jangling at her wrists.
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re having a drink – with Lucas, I presume?”
“Yes – how did you know? Is that what he does? Hits on every woman who stays here?” Samantha narrowed her eyes at Irma, twisting the handle of the bag between her fingers.
“He most certainly does not. Our Lucas mostly keeps to himself. We’ve been hoping he’d find someone,” Irma said, reaching up to open a gleaming wood cupboard door.
“Oh. I’m not someone. I’m just. It’s not…” Samantha sighed. “God, this is annoying. When did I become such a stuttering mess?”
“I’m sure it’s just a passing thing. It seems like you’ve got a lot going on.” Irma slid a cheese board onto the lovely weathered-stone island and waved her over. “Come, let’s put the board together.”
“I’m much more confident in real life,” Samantha said, pulling out the goodies she’d gotten at the market. Mango, a few cheese selections, the baguette, sugared almonds, and the wine.
“And this isn’t real life?” Irma laughed.
“Not for me it’s not. Maybe for you,” Samantha said, unwrapping a crumbly blue cheese.
“It could be for you too. Did you ever think that the life you’re living back home is your fake life and this is really you?”
“An anxious crying mess?” Samantha raised an eyebrow at Irma. “You’re not exactly selling me here.”
“That’s not what I’m seeing.” Irma smiled and pulled out two wine glasses with delicate mermaids etched on the glass. “I see a woman who was brave enough to travel on her own to another country – one that she’s never been to; who forced herself to drive a car she doesn’t know how to operate; and who still went out and bought herself a pretty dress. On top of it, she’s landed herself a hot date. I’d say you’re doing just fine.”
“What about the goat?” Samantha shot back, but she enjoyed hearing Irma’s perception of her. Her words seemed to soothe the knot of anxiety that wrapped around her stomach like a coiling snake.
“Ah, that’s island life. We’ve all bumped a goat here and there. They learn quickly to move faster.”
Samantha laughed the entire way to the garden.
Chapter 13
“That’s what I like to see – a laughing woman.” Lucas stood from where he’d been sitting by the water in a low-slung chair with bright orange cushions. The garden here was more like a fairy garden, Samantha thought, with little secret spots tucked away between palm trees and rocks. Lucas had chosen two chairs tucked into the trees with a small table between them. He hurried over to help her with the board and glasses.
“Is that a plumeria tree?” Samantha asked, stopping to sniff a bloom before she sat.
“Frangipani, or jasmine as you probably know it.”
“It smells divine,” Samantha said, lowering herself into the chair with a smile as she looked at the sun hanging low in the sky. “This is a knockout view.”
“Isn’t it just? I never tire of it,” Lucas agreed, and bent to pick up a small bowl at his feet. “I made you something.”
“Made me something? When did you have time for that?” Sam asked, then brought her hand to her heart when he lifted out a small garland of jasmine flowers.
“Just now. See how the tree drops her blooms? It’s quite easy to slide a thread through the heart of them and soon enough you have a pretty crown fit for a queen,” Lucas said, handing her the white flowers with soft yellow centers. Sam breathed deeply of their delicious fragrance before placing it lightly on her head, immediately feeling both foolish and unexpectedly thrilled at wearing a flower crown.
Didn’t every woman want to wear a crown once in her life?
“How do I look?” Samantha said, laughing at him from under her flowers. “Like a queen?”
Lucas framed his fingers in a rectangle, like an artist capturing the image in his mind to paint later. “You look like you’re blooming,” he said softly, his gaze appreciative.
Sam smiled. If it really was time for her to bloom, perhaps this wasn’t such a bad place to do it. Though at thirty-eight years of age, she should have already bloomed, her inner critic admonished. Or was that her mother’s voice? Hard to tell, these days, and if she thought too hard about it the old resentful ache would burn through her stomach.
“Uh-oh. You went from smiling to looking slightly pained. Did I say something to distress you?” Lucas asked, his handsome face creasing with worry.
“No, you did not. My own demons, I suppose.” Samantha waved it away with a flick of her wrist. “Should we try this wine?”
“Of course.” Lucas neatly opened the bottle. “Care to share more about those demons?”
Samantha opened her mouth to let it all pour
out – the job, the stress, the deep-rooted guilt and anger that seemed to be intertwined with never living up to her family’s expectations, her loneliness… and then looked around herself. The sun dropped low to the horizon, casting her rays in a golden-red net across the gentle water, and Sam realized that she absolutely did not want to share. Not yet, or at least not now. This was a moment meant to just be – no discussion of yesterdays gone, and none of future worries on the horizon.
“Frankly, no, I don’t. It all seems so far away when I’m sitting here, looking at this beauty,” Samantha said, accepting a glass of wine and gesturing out to the water.
“The ocean does have that effect on you,” Lucas said, settling back and stretching long legs out in front of him to cross his feet at the ankles. Samantha turned to look over at him. Not only did he carry an air of confidence with him, but he just seemed so… relaxed. In fact, a lot of people on the island did. She wondered if that was what happened when you moved to an island – worries just melted away.
“Have you been here long?” Samantha asked. She wanted to know all the details about this handsome man next to her – most importantly, why was he still single?
“Off and on for ten years or so. Initially it was just to visit, but then I kept returning here on holiday. Eventually, I knew it was time for a change. And so I packed my bags, and here I am.” Lucas smiled at her, and Samantha found herself smiling right back, even though he hadn’t given her any of the gritty details she secretly craved. What did he do for a living? How was he making money on the island? Did he rent the villa on the beach? Own it? Had he ever married? Were there kids? If Lola were here, she’d have dug out the details in a casual manner over the course of a glass of wine, but Samantha had never had the easy conversational prowess that Lola did.
“It must have been a good move for you. You appear quite content,” Samantha said, sampling a bit of the cheese.
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