That One Summer: A Collection of Steamy Contemporary Romance

Chapter 2

Emilee

I waste no time. Jumpingonto my computer, I bring up the airline and book a flight for the next day. Now, I need to think about what to pack.

I have no idea how long I’ll stay, but I assume I can do laundry there. My gaze falls on the full-length mirror by my bedroom door, and I take in my reflection. A loose-fitting white cotton sleep shirt flutters gently around my frame, paired with navy blue yoga pants. My brown hair, usually so meticulously styled, hangs in soft waves brushing my shoulders, hinting at an effort to embrace a less structured life. The green of my eyes seems muted and tired, but beneath their surface, a flicker of hopefulness glints back at me.

“All right, Emilee Thompson,”I mutter, “time to get your life back into order.”

I pull out my suitcase from the closet and fling it open onto the bed, its current state of emptiness mirroring the hollow feeling inside me. One by one, I begin to place items into it: a few sundresses that haven’t seen the light of day in years, two swimsuits wrapped in memories of summers long past, and sandals that beg to feel the warmth of the sand. A few shirts and shorts, and of course, yoga pants, are added, along with a few items to sleep in. As the space is filled, each article of clothing is a promise, a commitment to step out of the shadows and into the light. I will get through this.

Pausing, I hold up a pair of denim shorts, the fabric worn soft from use. They’re simple and unpretentious, much like the life I suddenly yearn for. With a surge of resolve, I add them to the growing pile. Finally, I pack my toiletries, makeup, flip-flops, and an extra pair of flat shoes.

“Well, this is it,”I mumble, zipping the suitcase shut. The sound is final, like drawing a line under a chapter of my life I’m desperate to close.

Grabbing the handle of my luggage, I lift it off the bed, struggling a little under its weight. Now, I need to dig out my passport, pack up my computer, a couple of books, and my sunglasses, and I’m ready to hit the beach.

***

The hum of the smallplane’s engine is like a lullaby, putting me to sleep not long after take-off. It’s my best nap since I got called into the CEO’s office to find the police waiting for me.

As the plane descends, my eyes are glued to the window, where Summer Island emerges from the fluffy white clouds like a vivid dream painted in shades of emerald, gold, and blue. A small island in a cluster of islands in the Caribbean Sea, I’m surprised they have their own airport. The fragrance of salt and sea creeps through the aircraft, although it’s probably my imagination.

Marika warned me that the one and only terminal is not much larger than my post office back home. It doesn’t even have gates; the plane just rolls up close to the building, and a staircase is pushedoverto the door. Grabbing my purse and backpack from the overhead, I follow the other passengers down the aisle to the exit. As I step out onto that first step, I’m immediately hit with the warm island breeze, and I pause for a moment, closing my eyes to soak it in.

“Um, can we hurry it along, please?”

I glance over my shoulder at the woman behind me, tugging a young boy behind her. “Sorry.”I hurry down the stairs, and as a group, we head inside to wait for our bags.

The minute I walk inside, I hear my name called, and I look up to see my friend waving and hurrying toward me.

“Marika,”I say, meeting her halfway. I’m so happy to see her; my throat tightens, and my eyes fill with tears. “Oh my gosh, look at you. You’re glowing.”

“Thank you,” she says, placing a hand over her belly. “Welcome to Summer Island.”She wraps me in a welcoming embrace, and I realize how much I’ve missed her and how much I need this. “I’m so glad you’re here,”she whispers in my ear before pulling back enough to look at me. She squints as she takes in my pale appearance. “I think you need this place as much as it needs you.”

“Thank you for this, really.”My chest is tight with gratitude.

“Of course.”Her laugh was like wind chimes, light and melodic.

We catch up while waiting for my luggage, and then it’s a short drive to the resort. I’m speechless by the views along the shoreline where crystal blue water sparkles under the sun’s rays, the almost white sand a perfect contrast. On the opposite side of the road, lush tropical foliage and palm trees sway lazily in the breeze.

In a matter of minutes, we’re turning into the entrance of Tranquil Bay. Its whitewashed buildings blend into the natural beauty of its surroundings, the terracotta roofs adding a splash of warm color to the scenery. Tall palm trees and tropical flowers line the stone pathways up to the main building and skirt around it to all the others. As we climb from the car, I’m serenaded by waves lapping against the sandy shore beyond and out of sight, still within hearing distance. A sense of peace immediately washes over me as I take a deep, relaxing breath of fresh tropical air. Suddenly my troubles seem to fade away, like they stayed back in Buffalo in the cold where they belong.

This is just what I needed.

Marika glances around, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. “Sorry about the clutter. We’re still knee-deep in getting everything ready, so there’s stacks of lawn furniture and boxes of equipment and supplies strewn everywhere. Your cabin’s all set, but don’t mind the other cabins—they’re not exactly guest-ready yet.”

“Marika, honest, I hardly noticed. I couldn’t care less if I had to sleep on the beach. This...” I gesture to the vast expanse of nature, the ribbon of beachfront I can make out to the left, the undisturbed horizon, “is more than enough.”

“Come on, let’s get you settled before dinner,”she says, leading the way. Her casual stride is confident, each step an imprint of her love for this place she and Shaun are molding into a refuge—not just for weary travelers, but perhaps for lost souls like me, too.

Avoiding the main building where I presume the registration is, we walk along a gravel path lined with burgeoning wildflowers that seem to nod their heads as we pass. The odor of salt and soil mingle in the air, grounding me more with each step. Marika chats on about the resort and her dreams for it while I only half listen, absorbing the serenity that seems to seep from the earth.

“Here we are,”she announces, stopping before a small cabin nestled unassumingly between swaying palms. Its wooden exterior matches the front building in color with a lovely turquoise blue door and a large porch. On the deck are two high-back wicker chairs with floral cushions that complement the doorand,between them,a small table. It’s the perfect spot to have morning coffee.

“Go on in, take a look.”

I step over the threshold, through the unlocked door, and am greeted by the hush of seclusion. Inside, the cabin blends rustic charm and comfort—a luxurious cream-colored sofa and armchairs promise restful moments, walls adorned with local art that highlights tales of the sea, and wide windows that let in the afternoon sun, painting everything in golden hues.

“The kitchen area isn’t large, of course, but it has all the amenities: a small fridge, which I’ve already packed with water, juice, and a complimentary charcuterie board to get you by tonight. There’s a microwave, toaster oven, and coffee maker; I’ve also left some coffee for you. We do have a small store on site for staples and snacks, and you can always get something more substantial from the kitchen. Our restaurant is not officially open, of course, but the chef is working on the menu, so we’re testing things out on the small complement of staff we have and all the construction workers. Feel free to join us when we serve the meals. I’ve noted the times we typically put out the buffets.

“Marika, it’s all so beautiful,”I murmur, my fingertips grazing the smooth wooden counter that separates the quaint kitchenette from the living space. “This is more than I was even anticipating. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“Nonsense. Wait until you see the view from the bedroom.”

She doesn’t need to say more; I’m already drawn to the open door at the far side of the living area, where I find a king-size bed adorned with a beautiful white comforter, brightly colored pillows, and a throw. I skip the attached bathroom and head straight to the double doors. Beyond them, a small terrace offers a stunning view of the Caribbean Sea through the canopy of trees—a canvas of blues that stretches as far as the eye can see. A sigh escapes me. For a moment, as the waves crash into the sand, my troubles seem distant, somehow less substantial. “You’ve chosen the perfect name for this place.”

“The first time Shaun and I visited here, we felt so at peace, we just knew we wanted to create something special.”Marika’s voice is soft yet carries the strength of her conviction for making her dreams come true.

“Thank you,”I say again, the words inadequate compared to the swell of something akin to optimism blooming inside me. I turn back to face her, finding her watching me with a gentle smile.

“Come on, let’s leave your things here. I’ll show you around, and then we can eat.”

“Lead the way.”

As we leave the cabin, the breeze ruffles my hair. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, I allow myself to simply be present—in this place, with my friend, and no thoughts of my messy life back home.