38. Sloane
P eople always ask me what my favorite time of year is, and I can never give them just one answer because there are two spectacular seasons in Mermaid Beach.
The first is in the spring, when the day’s temperatures are rising but the humidity isn’t oppressive yet, and the water is still refreshingly cool.
The second is in the fall, when the days are cooling off but stepping into the Gulf is like swimming in a bath.
In both cases, the beach is quieter but not deserted.
It’s never truly empty here. Even in January when locals bundle up in sweatshirts, people will lounge in the sand, listening to the waves lap while basking in the sun and watching the odd pelican linger.
I’ve spotted swimmers in February when the Gulf is twenty degrees colder than in season.
Northerners, usually, venturing down from Michigan or New York, reveling that the white powder beneath their feet is not snow.
It’s all relative, I guess, but you won’t catch me in the water at that time of year. I don’t enjoy the bite of cold. Even the sand is frigid against your bare feet.
I shut my book and finish the last drops of my coffee. The first days when seasonal staff start rolling in are the best. We’re on the verge of the boom, but we’re not there yet, and we usually have hands to spare. My life feels temporarily lighter in these early days.
Rebel opened the coffee shop this morning with the help of the new girl, Amanda, reacquainting herself with the menu and machines, and letting Frank sleep in for the first time in months.
I wish I could sleep in, but my internal clock is hardwired. Still, I don’t feel guilty about taking twenty minutes for myself with this calming view before help Frank with moving equipment.
Except for the bobbing head I spot out in the water.
Way too far out, especially to be swimming alone.
Ten bucks says it’s an ignorant tourist who’s never heard of a rip current and has no idea how bad they can get around here with the sandbar.
That, or they were so enthralled by the lapping waves—like a mermaid’s call, impossible to ignore, Gigi always says—that they didn’t notice the giant red and purple flags flapping in the breeze.
Now they’re trying to swim back to shore like an amateur.
If they keep it up, they’ll exhaust themselves and drown. It happens every year.
With a groan, I abandon my things and march along the beach toward the water, waving my hands. “ This way!” I yell, gesticulating wildly to my right. “Swim this way!”
My phone sits heavy in my pocket. Do I call for help yet? Do I go in after them? Ugh, it’s too early for this shit.
The guy—I think it’s a man?—finally clues in because he follows my direction, swimming parallel to the shoreline, getting himself out of the dangerous current.
Relief washes over me as I watch him approach.
By the time he reaches the beach, he’s on his hands and knees, crawling, and collapses in a heap on the sand.
“You’ve gotta pay attention to those currents,” I chastise, closing in. “They’ll pull even grown-ass men out before you know it.” And grown-ass, this pile of sculpted flesh definitely is.
He rolls onto his back, his bare, muscular chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.
My jaw drops. “It’s you .” The guy who came into the shop two days ago. “Ronan, right?” I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of him more than once, hadn’t glanced up when the door jangled with a customer, hoping he’d make another appearance.
His mouth opens but he can’t seem to manage words, waggling his finger, gesturing for me to come closer.
I drop to my knees beside him. “Do you need me to call for help? I can get someone here?—”
“Sea witch. Sloane,” he squeezes out through ragged breaths before his arm flops to the side. He closes his eyes.
I bite my bottom lip against the urge to grin. He remembers my name too. That’s … something . “I thought you said you were from Miami. Did you not notice the flags?”
“Indianapolis, originally, and I was jogging … The water looked so inviting.”
I wait as his breathing evens out. “You’re going to be okay.”
His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. “I need mouth-to-mouth, just to be sure.”
Now I can’t contain my smile. “Barely alive and flirting already.”
“I know where my skills lie.”
What are this guy’s skills, besides wielding that deep, grating voice that I feel deep in my core?
A passerby calls out, asking if we need help.
Ronan answers by raising his arm and giving the thumbs-up sign but otherwise makes no move to stand.
“You didn’t come in for that coffee.”
“I was on my way there today, I swear.” He cracks an eyelid but flinches against the morning sun.
I shift to block the blinding rays for him. “But decided to almost drown first?”
“I like to keep things interesting.” A crooked smile stretches across his full lips, reminding me how attractive this man is.
Not that I haven’t already gotten an eyeful, him in nothing but a pair of shorts that cling to his groin in an obscene way.
My effort to keep my focus above his waist leads me to study the sleeve of intricate ink curling up over his shoulder.
And he’s watching me ogle his body shamelessly.
“Find another way. I don’t need floaters outside my place of business. That’s not very interesting for my sales.”
His stomach clenches as he pulls himself up to a sitting position, showing off a well-honed washboard of muscle and bringing his face to less than a foot from mine. “Probably wouldn’t impress my boss either if I didn’t show up for my second day on the job.”
“Oh?” I can’t help the surprise—and delight—in that single word. “You’re not just a finance bro here on vacation?” Which means he’s going to be here for at least a few months.
He chuckles. “Definitely not. I hate numbers.”
“Where are you working?”
He checks his watch before jerking his chin toward the west. “At the new hotel.”
“You mean the new Wolf Hotel?” I can’t help the accusation in my tone.
“Yeah …” Ronan’s brow pinches as he regards my face. “Why do you say it like that?”
My disappointment swells. That stupid place is infiltrating every aspect of my life.
I can’t even flirt with a guy now without being reminded of its existence.
“If you’re going to run into the water, educate yourself so you don’t die.
” With that stark warning, I leave Ronan sitting on the beach as I march back to the shop, my footfalls heavy with frustration.
The glaring Help Wanted sign greets me.
“Fuck you, Henry Wolf.” I shove the rentals office door open.
My mood turns downright caustic when I spot Cody with his elbows on the counter, chatting up Skye.
I haven’t been in the same room as him since he picked up the last of his things to move back in with his mother, though I’ve seen him around town a few times.
He’s been smart enough to stay away from the Sea Witch on account of Frank promising to rip off his arms and beat him with them if he came around again.
I’ve never seen Frank hurt so much as a spider—he’s the type to brave a thorn-coated bush to rescue an injured bird—but the threat was effective.
Skye gives me a wide-eyed I didn’t know what you wanted me to do look, and mouths “ I’m sorry ” before scooting to the back office. She’s incapable of being rude, even when the person deserves it.
“Rentals aren’t open yet. If you want a coffee, you know where it is.” I toss my book behind the counter and then crane my neck to check the line on the other side, while deftly avoiding his gaze. “It’s quiet. Better move quick before that changes. And you’re paying full price.”
“Already got one.” Cody hoists a paper cup in the air. “Gotta support the Sea Witch, right?” A pause and then, “You look good.”
“Bet you say that to all the staffers. Oh, wait, you do .” That was the icing on the cake, hearing that he put the moves on Skye one night last summer at the bar, about a month after we broke up.
I busy myself with my computer screen, his gaze like a hot iron on my cheek.
“Wow, it’s like we’re strangers.”
“No, we’re not strangers. I know you too well.” Finally, I meet his eyes. It used to send a thrill through my core to have his attention. Now it swells the ball of anxiety in my stomach. I really did love him then, probably as much as I hate him now. “Seriously, why are you here?”
He shrugs. “I came to see how you’re doing.”
“No.” That’s the thing about Cody—he’s always angling for himself. He’s an opportunist. “You want something. What is it?”
He purses his lips. “I need a work reference from you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I stare at him with incredulity.
After everything, he has the nerve to ask for that ?
“What’s wrong, can’t get one from Logan?
” After he left here, our mutual friend who owns Siren’s Call, a popular beach bar for tourists and locals alike, gave Cody a chance at bartending.
That lasted all of two weeks until Logan discovered Cody was giving away as much tequila to pretty girls as he was selling.
“Come on …” Cody’s jaw tenses. He’s annoyed. Good.
“No? What about the Depot, then?” Frank saw him stocking shelves in the tool aisle over winter.
He grins. “Been keeping tabs on me?”
“Yeah, so I can avoid you.”
His glee curdles. “Of course I got a reference. A good one too,” he scoffs, and I know he’s lying. I can hear it in his voice.
“Then you don’t need one from me.”
“The Depot is grunt work. But seeing as I helped run things around here?—”
“Are you serious? ‘ Helped run things’ ?” A maniacal laugh escapes me. “You want my reference? Okay, here it is: You were the laziest person to ever work for the Sea Witch. How’s that?”
“Come on. Just ’cause we didn’t work out doesn’t mean you have to be so bitter.”