Chapter 3
chapter three
Wendy
The beach at six in the morning belongs to me, the seagulls, and the pelicans. The sand is cool and firm under my bare feet, where the tide packed it flat overnight. Right now, the water is pale green, a color that can only be seen before the sun climbs high enough to turn it blue.
I walk the shoreline like I’ve done since I was a kid, scanning for shells as the waves roll over my ankles. The air smells like wet sand and home. I wished for Coconut Beach mornings when I was in California. I worked nonstop and had no free time while climbing the corporate ladder.
In the distance, a fishing boat rocks with its lights still on even though the sky is turning pink.
I bend down to pick up a shell the size of a quarter.
When the wave gushes forward, I rinse the sand from it, admiring the iridescent inside.
When I was younger, I’d fill mason jars full of shells, and Josie started helping.
Sorting them by size and color became our weekend tradition, something I did to bond with my little sister.
Ten years ago, when I moved to California to get my master’s degree in hospitality, I gave her everything we’d collected over the decade.
As a teenager, she launched her seashell jewelry and accessories business.
Every piece she’s ever sold has a sentimental value because each shell was handpicked.
Even now, I still pocket the pretty ones.
A few steps later, I find several more.
My mind wanders to last night at Cocktails & Chaos, where Carter Banks watched me across the bar.
He looked at me like I was the only person in the room.
Our gazes locked, and we held a silent conversation.
I turned first because I didn’t trust what would happen next.
Past me was more confident than I am now.
In my twenties, I would’ve crossed the room and confronted him. The version of me that’s currently existing doesn’t want to get involved with anyone. Men suck. Every last one of them. The grumpy guest in the Captain’s Room needs to get the hell out of my head.
I continue my search for pretty shells as the sound of the ocean calms me. There’s no place like Coconut Beach.
A sparkling light catches my eye near the waterline.
It’s a perfect scallop, cream-colored with a thin orange line running along the ridges.
I crouch to pick it up and brush the sand off with my thumb.
The good ones are harder to find because tourists take them as keepsakes.
Being on the beach early is a requirement and local trade secret.
The sand is usually picked clean by noon.
Behind me, I hear the footsteps of someone running.
I glance over my shoulder and didn’t expect Carter Banks.
He’s jogging toward me, shirtless and sweaty, with his golden-brown hair pushed back from his face.
The morning light illuminates the muscles in his shoulders, chest, and his stomach while his red shorts hang on for dear life.
I gulp, not fully prepared for a show this early.
I continue to scan the ground without making eye contact, but I know he clocked me watching him.
Please keep running. Please.
When he passes me, I let out a sigh of relief. I catch a hint of his cologne, mixed with sweat. Everything about him is intoxicating. When the sound of his stride fades, I breathe easier. I glance over, happy to see he’s already twenty yards away.
The muscles in his back shift with every stride. I lick my lips and shake the thoughts away because I cannot do this. Right now, I need to get off the beach and go home.
The seven shells I picked up clank in my pocket as I climb the stairs to the B&B. I give myself a firm lecture about being on a healing journey and ignoring all men. The candle is burning, which means Gran is awake.
After my grandfather passed away, she moved into the bungalow behind the B&B. Since I’ve returned home, I’ve been staying in the Sandcastle Room. Gran is giving me free room and board, along with a salary that I’ve refused to take.
I drop the shells into a collection jar by the front desk, then change into my work uniform, which consists of a Seaside Bed & Breakfast polo shirt and some cutoff jean shorts.
There isn’t an official uniform, but when guests see me in anything other than this, they know I’m not working.
It creates subconscious boundaries while I live on-site. I plan to move after summer.
I pour myself a cup of coffee, and my mouth waters at the smell of the food Rose, one of Gran’s friend’s, prepares each morning. I’m grateful for her because if I had to cook on top of everything else, this place would’ve shut down a week ago.
“Hi, Mrs. Rose,” I say with a grin. “How are you this morning?”
“Hi, honey. I’m blessed. I just saw your grandma, and she’s already in one of her moods,” she says as I snag a slice of bacon and take a bite.
“This is perfect,” I say, adding one sugar and a tiny splash of cream to my coffee. “And thanks for the warning.”
“Anytime.”
I move to the front counter to check this morning’s bookings to see if anything has changed since yesterday. It hasn’t. The Galloways are staying in the Driftwood and will check out tomorrow. The Coral Room is empty until this weekend, and so are many others.
At the left of the screen, beside Carter’s reservation, is a countdown of how many days until his checkout. Sixty-two days remaining. It’s lit up green, like a neon sign, a reminder that he’s the reason the electricity bill will be caught up today.
The front door opens, and I look up, expecting Gran, but it’s Carter in those slutty red shorts. Ugh.
He moves through the lobby, carrying his running shoes in his hands. Sweat drips down his chest, and his hair is damp. He’s breathing hard enough that I can see his ribs expand with each inhale.
“Good morning,” I say with a polite smile.
He doesn’t speak or glance my way as he moves toward the stairs.
Asshole.
“There are water bottles in the fridge. Help yourself,” I say because he looks as if he needs it.
The stairs creak, and then he’s gone.
I stare back at the screen, and I don’t know what it is about him that infuriates me.
“There you are!” Gran says, making me jump out of my skin.
She walks through the back with two of the Bees behind her. Lucille’s sunglasses are on, and Birdie is carrying a bottle of champagne and orange juice.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “It’s barely seven.”
“Good morning to you too, Wendy!” Birdie says, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head.
“Jeez, what were you up to last night?”
“None of your business,” Gran tells me.
They move toward the table, each of them carrying a notebook and pen. I hate it when they get like this. This is what I’ve nicknamed a Meddling Meeting, where they get together and fuck up people’s lives.
Birdie disappears into the kitchen and greets Rose. Within minutes, the mimosas are poured, and she’s moving back to the table with the three of them in her hands. This is what they do several times per week, like the B&B is their personal clubhouse.
Lucille settles into her chair. “I saw the most gorgeous man jogging on the beach this morning. He was shirtless, wearing little red shorts. Looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.”
My cheeks heat because I know they’re talking about Carter.
“Really?” Birdie asks.
“Did you take a photo?” Gran asks, returning with an additional bottle of champagne.
I keep my eyes on the laptop, trying my best to ignore them as I make a priority list of things I have to take care of this week.
“Wendy, did you go on your walk this morning?” Lucille asks from the long table. “Did you happen to see anyone?”
I roll my eyes and continue writing.
“That’s a yes,” Birdie says.
I hear footsteps, and my body tenses because I already know who it is.
A freshly showered Carter comes into view, wearing a shirt that sticks to his body and board shorts that fall to his knees.
He smells like mountain air and trouble.
Carter stops at the bottom of the stairs and takes in the scene—three women over sixty with mimosas and notebooks, giggling at seven in the morning.
I don’t look up from my laptop as he moves past me to where breakfast is being served.
“Oh, hi. Good morning,” Gran says, patting the chair beside her. “Would you like to join us? We’re having mimosas.”
I pull a small mirror from the drawer that I use to see if there’s anything in my teeth. I position it perfectly so I can spy on them. Carter offers them his million-dollar smile.
“Appreciate the invite, but I’m starting with coffee after my run,” he says politely.
Lucille’s eyes widen. “You were running this morning? In red shorts?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and he has manners.” Birdie sounds impressed.
“Grab some breakfast, sweetie,” my grandma says. “Rose makes the best egg and bacon burritos on the island. Homemade tortillas.”
They treat him like they’ve known him his entire life.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Oh, by the way.” Gran stands, “I’m Gale. The owner of the bed-and-breakfast.”
“Pleasure to officially meet you.”
Carter offers his hand, and she pulls him into a warm embrace.
“Honey, we hug here in Coconut Beach. You’d better get used to it.”
Carter stiffens until she releases him.
“So …” Lucille holds her mimosa with a pinkie out. Her rings sparkle in the morning sunlight. “What does a handsome young man like you do for a living?”
“Young?” He chuckles. “I’m forty-one.”
“Still a baby,” Birdie says.
I can’t tell if his smile is real or fake as he moves to the coffeepot and pours himself a cup. No sugar or cream. Carter drinks it black, like he’s all business. He grabs a napkin and two breakfast burritos.
“Oh, you’re Carter Banks,” Gran says like she remembered the reservation she forgot to tell me about. “I believe I spoke to your girlfriend on the phone to make your reservation.”
Carter chuckles. “That was my assistant.”
“Oh. So, you’re single?”
I shake my head, knowing she’d find a way to fit that question in. She always does.
There’s no version of this where he escapes the Bees unscathed. When they’re together, they tag-team. If he knows what’s best, he’ll walk away before they begin the real interrogation. They already have their pens ready to take notes.
“I can see you’re all very busy. Have a beautiful day, ladies.” Carter smiles politely, completely ignoring her question.
My mouth falls open because no one has ever avoided answering Gran so flawlessly. I snap the small mirror shut and shove it back in the drawer, actually mortified.
Carter walks away with his burritos and coffee in hand, and they continue their hushed conversation.
I track him in my peripheral vision, but mind my business.
As he reaches the counter, his stride slows.
It’s the slightest hesitation, like he’s considering if he should say something, but then he moves up the stairs.
The Bees erupt into giggles the second he’s out of sight.
“But notice how he didn’t answer my question,” Gran says to her friends. “Did any of you check to see if he was wearing a ring?”
“You know a man on an island alone tends to lose his ring, if you know what I mean,” Lucille says.
I swallow hard. That didn’t cross my mind, but now it’s the only thing I can think about.
A man who books two months alone at a beach and dodges every personal question like it’s his job is hiding something.
He could have five wives and eighteen kids, and the less I find out about Carter Banks, the better.
When my stomach growls, I move to the dining area for food. Gran talks in a hushed tone while the Bees scribble in their notebooks.
I move behind Gran to take a peek at her notes. They flip their notebooks closed so I can’t spy.
“The three of you should leave that man alone. You’re being a menace,” I whisper.
“He’s here for two months. Maybe we can help find him an island girl,” my grandmother says, chuckling. “We’ve dedicated our summer to helping four couples find love.”
I shake my head. “Trust me, no one my age wants you three meddling. Pretty please stop with the matchmaking thing. I’m sure he’s more than capable of finding someone without your help. You’ve seen him.”
“Maybe we’ll add you to our list instead,” Lucille says.
“Absolutely not. I’m not interested,” I say.
“Someone is in a bad mood,” Gran says, and they go back to their hushed whispering.
“I’m in a great mood actually. I just want you to respect our guests. Please don’t run him off. We can’t afford it.” I grab a burrito for myself.
Gran waves me away.
I step outside and close my eyes, baking in the morning sun. I look up at the upper balcony, and Carter’s feet are propped up on the edge. He’s on the phone, his voice low enough that I can’t make out the words. Three floors should be enough distance between us, but somehow, it’s not.
I unwrap the foil and take my time eating. Thirty minutes later, I go back inside. On the counter, there’s a note in Gran’s handwriting.
Please come see me when you return.
“Yes?” I walk toward the table where the Bees are. They’re clearly tipsy.
“Mr. Banks would like his sheets changed every morning at seven a.m. with breakfast delivered to his room.”
“That’s absurd.” I shake my head. “I’m not doing that. He can request a sheet change every three to four days and come downstairs for breakfast like every other guest we’ve ever had.”
“I told him it would cost an extra one hundred fifty dollars per day,” Gran says.
“And he agreed?” I stare at her, doing quick math. “That’s over nine thousand dollars.”
“I’m aware.” She grins. “This old dog still has some tricks. He gave permission to do the authorization on the card on file. So, starting tomorrow, please add that to your list. The last thing we need is him going to the Grand Palm. He threatened.”
“And that’s why you should all leave him alone.”
“I agree. Going forward, every request he has, we will fulfill it,” she tells me like she finally understands the importance of keeping Carter Banks happy. Maybe she realizes too much is banking on him staying until August 3.
I groan and go back to the front counter. This spoiled man is under my skin, and now I’m monetarily obligated to be in his room every morning at seven.
It might be the longest summer of my life.