Chapter 24
chapter twenty-four
Wendy
Yesterday, we checked out of the Grand Palm and spent the rest of Sunday at the B however, storms tend to fuck up everyday life.
“Please stay out of our way the best you can, okay? We don’t have time today.”
“You won’t even notice me.”
Because of Josie’s work and her storytelling abilities, we’ve had consistent bookings. I haven’t thanked her enough.
Mia moves through the B&B, snapping photos of the staircase, the dining room windows, the view from the second-floor landing. She’s good at this, and her enthusiasm is contagious. When she finds Carter standing on a ladder, she grins and lifts the camera.
“Don’t move,” she says. “The light is doing everything right now.”
He glances down, and she takes three quick shots. She turns the screen toward me on her way past. “Look at that. Stunning photo.”
It is.
He looks relaxed and genuinely happy. Seeing him through Mia’s eyes makes it harder to pretend what we have is casual. She framed him on that ladder, helping, like he belongs here. Like he’s part of the place.
“You should let me shoot you two together sometime,” she says, already moving toward the kitchen. “Something casual. Nothing staged.”
“Only if you tell me who you’re seeing,” I say, lifting my brows. Two of us can play this game.
Mia laughs. “The world is my oyster, Wendy Winslow.”
“You’re such a liar,” I say, following behind her. “I can tell.”
“I’d suggest you focus on your own love life. Mine’s not interesting.”
Josie bumps my shoulder once Mia disappears around the corner. “She won’t tell you.”
“Do you know?”
Josie shrugs. “I’m a vault, sis.”
By late afternoon, the B&B is different.
The patio is cleared, the generator is fueled, and there’s enough water in jugs to wash hands and flush toilets for a week.
My arms are sore from lifting heavy things, and there’s a bruise forming on my shin, where I bumped into the storage room door.
Carter did most of the work and didn’t complain once.
Before the end of the shift, Gran sits me down. “We might have to cancel reservations. It would be in our best interest to tell everyone who’s currently staying at the B&B that they need to find shelter elsewhere.”
My hands freeze. “Carter too?”
“He can stay because we have a contract saying we’re not responsible for him, thanks to the surf lessons. Everyone else should probably go to the Grand Palm. It’s safer.”
I reach forward and grab her hand.
She gives me a sad smile. “If this is the end, it was good while it lasted.”
“Do not talk like that.” I sigh. “I’ll let everyone know tonight.”
“Thanks, honey. I’m going to bed. This old back is sore.”
She stands, and I pull her into a tight hug. I watch her leave through the front door. The lobby is too quiet after she’s gone.
I press both palms flat on the desk and stare at the reservation book until the names blur.
Three new bookings. Three families are expecting a place to stay, and I might have to call every one of them and tell them not to come.
The back of my throat burns, and I squeeze my eyes shut because if I start crying in this lobby, I won’t stop.
Carter comes down the stairs. “Hey.” He has a deck of cards in his hands that he’s shuffling. “How’s your poker game?”
“I suck at it,” I tell him.
That evening, Carter cooks dinner. He makes penne pasta with garlic butter shrimp and whatever herbs Rose left in the fridge.
“You’re domestic,” I say. “Not on my bingo card for you.”
“I can cook a few meals,” he says. “Don’t be impressed until you taste it.”
The kitchen is filled with the scent of garlic browning in olive oil.
It makes my mouth water. I sit on the counter with my feet dangling, a glass of red wine in my hand, and watch him work.
He pulls the deck of cards from his back pocket and deals a hand of poker on the cutting board while the sauce simmers.
I lose three rounds before the pasta is done.
“I told you I suck at this,” I say.
“You’re terrible,” he agrees. “But you’re fun to beat.”
I pour more wine into our glasses.
“We should talk,” I say.
“About?” He stirs the sauce without looking up.
“Our summer crush agreement.”
“No decisions until August 3.” He glances at me. “I’m aware.”
“But …”
“But nothing. I’m still on board.” He exhales. “I have some bad news though.”
My fingers tighten around the wineglass. “About?”
“Our date. I got a text from the restaurant that it was canceled.”
“Oh, that’s okay. You can make it up to me.”
“I’d love to.” He fills a bowl with food, then hands it to me.
We sit on the deck together with our forks in hand. The first bite is lemony with a kick from the red pepper flakes he added. The sky turns from orange to deep red over the water. The weather report plays low on Carter’s phone.
“The tropical storm could become a Category 1 hurricane,” the weather guy says.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say.
Carter takes a sip of wine. “We’ll figure it out.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe the bookings will keep coming, that the storm will miss us, and that Carter will choose this island over New York. But I’ve been the woman who got drunk on hope before, and it cost me years.
He reaches over and takes my hand. The sun drops below the water, and the sky goes dark. His thumb rubs against my fingers, and my body relaxes.
No decisions about us and our future will be made until August 3. That gives us twenty days, and so much can change in that time.
I let him comfort me, knowing we’ll ride this storm together.