Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
DYLAN
Because I own my own business, I can set my hours.
I’ve scheduled a few days off over the New Year holiday.
I’m both regretting and glad about it. It means I don’t need to put myself in a position where Larson can randomly show up at my place of work again, but it also means he can’t show up wherever I am.
It means it’s up to me to orchestrate another run-in. This would be the third time.
Kyanne and Lawrence are at the studio today, though. When I schedule long weekends, they generally choose a day to go in and fully sanitize the photo studios more deeply than our usual of just the things they touched after each appointment. Then they tackle any paperwork that might have stacked up.
It’s not open to the public, and I pay them double for today.
Booty Boudoir Studio is one of the very few not-resort-owned businesses.
However, I don’t own the studio, and all my business is run through the resort.
Kyanne and Lawrence are my employees. I pay them.
It’s one of the few reasons I keep the business my own instead of selling out to the resort, as they offer every year.
I like the control over setting my own hours and hiring my own employees.
Paying them what I think is fair. Giving them bonuses when I want to.
I like controlling what my schedule looks like and what I charge for my services.
It means appointments like Larson’s, when he just walked in and stayed for almost three hours, don’t get a double charge, and I could stay after hours if I chose.
There are positives. There are also negatives, like filing and paying my own taxes. Business licenses. Honestly, it’s enough of a hassle with them that I’ve considered selling out many times. Their offers get better and better every year.
The owners of the resort are pretty cool, though. There’s no pressure, no force, no threats. If I want to sell, and they want me to, then the offer is huge, and they promise nothing will change except the parts that I hate. I actually trust that they mean that.
I’m hanging on, though. With pretty green glittering claws.
I’m regretting taking the days off, though.
Now I’m home with nothing to do but think about Larson.
I didn’t exactly shoot my shot yesterday.
I think Tomy is on to me. He didn’t let go of Larson once the entire boat ride, never mind let him out of his sight.
If I hadn’t stared at Larson as obsessively as I did, I might have seen Tomy glare at me several times.
He likely did. If I were him, I’d have glared. I’d have done more than glare. I’d likely have made a scene. Yeah, I’m that person.
Sighing, I drop onto the kitchen stool with an island newsletter in front of me. Announcement of Ciara accepting the newly established Environmental Appeal Department’s management position. Since the drama went down with Taylor’s nitpicking a few months ago, there’s been a whole lot of rearranging.
Taylor meant well. I know he did. We all know he did.
It’s unfair to say that his every concern—like the size of a pebble on the manicured walks and the length of grass—is unimportant.
His concern didn’t come from control. It came from a place where he wants our islands to be stunning.
Not just for us who live here, but for everyone who visits.
And thus, the Environmental Appeal Department was created with Taylor working for Ciara.
It’s really cool of the owners to take the tiniest of things into consideration, and instead of dismissing the height of mailboxes, they assigned people to take on the task of making sure the islands are breathtaking.
In the very next section is a ‘formal complaint’ about Riley Harvard’s United Kingdom flag in his front yard. We’re not England. He shouldn’t be flying another country’s flag.
Smirking, I open the newsletter and find a schedule of events. Then a ‘missed connection’ where Pemona would really like to reconnect with Bessy because they hit it off when they ran into each other at the park outside the library while walking their cats.
Some people might think our newsletters and dramatic town meetings are overboard. Immature, even. Restricting. Someone from the outside might complain about the shortage of housing and the lack of career choices.
But here’s the thing. It’s a choice to live on Kala. A choice. It’s a choice to read the newsletters and attend town meetings. If this isn’t for you, then you can leave. We don’t want negative assholes here anyway, so if life on Kala isn’t the way you want to live, then go the fuck away.
We find it entertaining. We enjoy being in everyone’s business and arguing about who’s dating whom. We also go to bat for someone like Cash, who was punched by his asshole of a brother, who has an ugly chip on his shoulder.
Before the news of that happened, I had never known Cash. But like so many residents, I stopped by the place he’d been staying with his best friend, Lie, and Lie’s boyfriend to bring him flowers and a magazine. I also told him I’d happily take a bat to his brother’s head if he’d give me the word.
That’s the kind of place this is. We’re family.
Even those you aren’t friends with are extended family so far removed that maybe you don’t know them, but when they need you, you’re there.
Yes, there’s silly drama and ridiculous things like in this next section, where Mr. Morley is looking for a very specific seabird that may or may not exist, but that’s the fun of Kala.
Everyone else can go live their boring lives and leave us alone.
When I turn the page, my heart jumps because there’s talk about sports. Not hockey. We don’t have a hockey rink and therefore no hockey team, as I told Larson the other day. But seeing mention of sports makes me think about him.
I sigh. I’d been doing so well, not thinking about him and losing myself in the amusement that comes with reading the weekly newsletter.
I drop my chin into my palm and look out the sliding glass door into the backyard. I have four days to figure out how to tell this man I think he belongs to me. Four days.
I’ve never been accused of being a quiet person, so it makes sense for whatever I do to be loud. Perhaps my shot was the evening he was at my studio after hours, when we were alone. How had I not said anything then?
Probably because I was so fucking overwhelmed and overstimulated with all my damn blood in my dick from being around this naked, sexy man for three hours. I hadn’t been able to think clearly if I tried.
It wasn’t just that he was Larson, the man I’m convinced is mine.
I’ve never had someone in my studio who let me pose them however I want.
He was the perfect puppet, moving his body into whatever position I asked him to.
Even if he weren’t the object of my obsession, those would be my favorite shots.
The ones that truly display my artistic eye.
Images that are burned into my mind with no sign of fading. Because they’re Larson, my chest aches.
“I need to do something,” I mutter and scrub my hand over my face. “He has to be mine!” If I let him leave Kala without at least telling him how I’m sure that he’s my soulmate, I’ll never see him again. I can’t let that happen.
I already have his schedule for the day. I know where he and Tomy will be. But I’m not a very good stalker. Trying to be something I’m not isn’t working out. I’m loud and bright and demanding. It’s always worked for me in the past.
The issue is that I’m so taken off guard by the way I feel—for no reason at all—that I don’t know how to make this work in my favor.
Also, there’s the ethical dilemma of splitting up a couple.
I’m a lot of things, some of which people would argue aren’t good, but I’m not that person.
I don’t get between people. No matter how much I want them.
Perhaps that’s why I’m struggling.
My phone rings, and I stretch across the counter to reach for it. Huh. The studio. “Hello?” What kind of emergency does one have at a boudoir studio? They’ve never called me on a long weekend.
“Hey, boss,” Kyanne says. “There’s a tall hottie here looking for you. He wouldn’t stop pounding on the door until I answered it, and he’s not accepting that it’s your day off.”
“Who is it?” I ask, my heart already pounding.
“The man who’s been in here twice. Larson.”
Holy hell. Something tingly sweeps through my entire body. “Tell him to meet me at It’s Always Flower Day on Bane. Please.”
“Sure thing, Boss.”
“Thanks, Ky.”
“Of course.”
I’m on my feet as soon as the call ends. Oh god. Oh my god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He sought me out. That means we’re two for two. At the very least, that means he feels something like I am, right?
I head to the bathroom and quickly wash my face.
Since it’s my day off and I didn’t plan to go anywhere, I’m not at all prepared for an outing.
Okay, minimal Dylan today. Serum, moisturizer, sunscreen.
Toner and just a touch of concealer. A bit of rouge.
Eyeliner. Do I look splotchy? A touch of balm with a slight shimmer. Setting spray.
God, I look like a plain Jane. Oh. Headband with a bow. Yep, that’ll do. Add some pearls. Or maybe just a chain. Yes, a delicate chain. That’s better.
I change out of my shorts and tank into a different set of shorts and a tank.
This one is appropriate for others to see me in.
I like the way it looks on me. Then, I slip into wedge sandals to give me just a bit more height.
Oof. I need to repaint my toes. Perhaps I need something closed-toe since I have no time to paint them.
“No time,” I mutter. Hopefully, he just won’t look at my feet!
Sticking my phone into my pocket, I rush out the door, grabbing my key on the way. I come from the city of Minneapolis, so even though at least three-quarters of the residents don’t lock their doors, I almost always do out of habit.
“Dylan,” Marcell greets when I step into the flower shop.
I glance around. There’s nowhere for Larson to hide here. He’s far too big. Good. Now I have time to get myself under control.
“You look a little wild, boo,” Marcell says, tilting his head to the side.
“I’m fine,” I counter. “Just… waiting for someone.”
“Kellan just redesigned the gazebo out back. I can send them out.”
“Sounds grossly romantic,” I say as I head for the side door. “He’s a tall hockey player. You can’t miss him.”
Marcell grins and doesn’t comment.
The gazebo looks like something out of a fairy tale.
As does this side of the shop. Like a little cottage in the woods, surrounded by the most amazing trees and foliage.
The flowers are planted in the ground, but the trees and such are surrounded by planters and can be bought.
Kellan is magic. He has a way of setting up these little spaces, giving everyone ideas about what they could do in their backyards.
I step into the gazebo and touch one of the potted plants. There’s a hidden price tag within the leaves. For a moment, I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of flowers, allowing myself to forget why I’m here and who’s coming. As cliché as it is, I stop and smell the damn flowers.
When I open my eyes, Larson is standing there. My heart practically stops. Has he always been this handsome the other times I’ve seen him? How does he make my heartbeat echo throughout my entire body, just by standing there?
I swallow. I should say something, right? Or is it protocol that he says something first since he sought me out?
As if through another dimension, Larson walks toward me. With each step, air is forced from my lungs. His hands grip my shoulders, and my feet nearly come off the ground as he presses his mouth to mine. I may pass out.