Chapter Eight
Taylor
The grin that’s been plastered on my face all morning is still there as I pull on a white tank top and blue-and-white striped shorts over my bikini.
I slip on my sandals and take a quick look in the mirror.
I do a double take, shocked by how vibrant I look.
My face is brighter, eyes, too. I guess a night of incredible sex, followed by an encore in the morning and a sexy shower, is revitalizing.
I’m excited to spend the day with Seth. I already spoke to my father, and he assured me he’d taken his medication, but I’m never certain whether he’s telling the truth, so I zip off a quick text to Becca.
Me: Did Dad take his meds and eat breakfast? How’s his arm?
I pocket my phone, grab my beach bag, and head out of the bedroom.
The house is sun-drenched. A salty breeze drifts in through the open terrace doors, carrying the distant sound of waves.
I catch the rich aroma of coffee and hear Seth’s deep voice before I see him in the kitchen, standing barefoot at the stove, phone pressed to his ear as he cooks eggs.
His faded plaid pink swim trunks clash with the faded green-and-yellow T-shirt stretched across his back, but for some reason the mismatched clothes suit him, in the same way the old sun-faded, salt-bitten Jeep we took to the bonfire last night did.
It rattled like it was talking to the road.
I thought Seth might have a sleek convertible to match his wealth.
But the moment I saw him behind the wheel, wind in his hair, one hand resting on the gearshift, and that easy smile on his face, I realized the Jeep suited him better than a fancy car ever could.
That old Jeep, his worn T-shirt, and his easy nature all told the same story of a rugged, unpretentious man who doesn’t need to flaunt a damn thing.
“Yeah, Dad. My team is on top of it.” He pauses, nodding as if his father can see him through the phone. “The numbers look solid, but you know me. I need boots on the ground before I make any final decisions.” He sets down the spatula, turning as I walk in.
The way his face lights up and he holds out a hand to me, like this is what we do every morning, makes my stomach flip. I set my bag on the island and go to him.
When I take his hand, he tugs me against him as he speaks into the phone. “I’ll let you know. I leave next weekend.”
He pauses again, and I realize he’s talking about his trip to Australia.
“Listen, Dad, I’ve got to run. I’m showing a friend around the island today.
” Seth tightens his grip on me and smiles at something his father must’ve said.
“Don’t go starting any rumors. Tell Mom I love her.
’Kay. Love you, too.” He ends the call, and as he slips his phone into his pocket, he says, “Sorry about that. My dad.”
“That’s okay. Sounds like you’re close to him.” I love getting to see this side of him, hearing the affection he has for his family instead of discerning it from bits and pieces of emails and texts about rearranging his schedule to see them or arranging for special gifts to be sent to them.
He brushes his scruff along my cheek, inhaling deeply, and says, “You smell good enough to eat.”
My thoughts chase back to our shower. I can still feel his slick, strong hands moving over my skin, his rough laugh against my neck, our stolen kisses under the spray as we gave in to our desires. Heat claws up my chest, and then please do hangs on the tip of my tongue.
This is crazy. I’ve never been insatiable for a man before. Seth really does have superpowers. Trying to ignore my greediness for him, I say, “I think you smell the breakfast you’re making.”
As if on cue, the toaster dings.
“Hardly.” He kisses me slow and deep, making me want him all over again.
My phone chimes, and he gives my butt a squeeze before letting me go so I can check the message.
Becca: He’s fine. We had breakfast together. The garage is a mess. He’s organizing. She added an eye roll emoji. Stop worrying, and spill! I want all the details.
A devil emoji pops up.
Me: Can’t spill now. Not alone.
I glance at Seth as I put my phone in my pocket and find him watching me as he transfers eggs onto plates.
He arches a brow. “Tinder date?”
“Is it that obvious?” I tease, slipping into the game without missing a beat.
He smirks. “You’ve got that look in your eyes.”
“I’ll try to be more discreet.” I hook my finger through his belt loop, tugging him closer. “FYI, I blew off the Tinder guy. It’s hard to compete with a man who cooks.”
He barks out a laugh, his eyes glinting. “Survival skills. Man can’t live on takeout and whiskey alone.” He kisses me softly. “Did you talk to your dad?”
My heart squeezes at his thoughtfulness. “Yes. He’s as ornery as ever. Thanks for asking.”
“Family comes first.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and says, “I kept you up half the night, your worries about your dad don’t rest, and you still manage to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in the morning.”
The words burrow into my chest. The urge to read too much into them is strong, but I know better. “I bet you say that to all your lady friends,” I say, reminding myself this is only a fling.
My nerves prickle as we carry our plates to the table and sit down. What if he thinks I’m fishing for more? I pick up a piece of toast, wishing I hadn’t said anything.
“Actually, I don’t,” he says with a serious lilt to his voice. He plucks the toast from my fingers and gives me a swift kiss. “Do you know how to swim?”
He asks it like he didn’t scramble my thoughts with his previous comment. “Yes, why?”
“I thought we’d go snorkeling this morning. Have you ever been?”
“No, but I’d like to. Unless you need to finish working on whatever you were busy with last night before dinner.”
“You don’t miss a thing, do you? I was just rereading some research for an expansion I’m considering. It’s not urgent. I want to show you the beauty that’s hiding beneath the sea.” He puts his hand on my leg, leaning closer. “But first I want to take you to meet one of my friends.”
The Jeep rattles over bumps and ruts in the dirt road, rumbling past a weathered wooden sign that reads Saint Aurelle Island Conservation Outpost. Scrub and brush press close on either side of the narrow road.
Sea grapes twist up from the sand, their broad leaves flashing green and red in the sun.
Beyond them, clusters of thatch palms and mangroves stand in the shallows, the water glinting between the trunks.
When the outpost comes into view, tucked into the untamed landscape, it feels less like a building dropped into the wild than an extension of it.
The Jeep rolls to a stop in front of the building, and Seth cuts the engine.
Before I can move, he’s out and circling around, tugging open my door, like he did last night.
The cracked vinyl seat pulls at the backs of my thighs as I step down. “It’s beautiful out here.”
“Reminds me of some of the places I grew up. Wait until you meet Missick. He’s an interesting guy, and my oldest friend,” Seth says.
Excitement bubbles up inside me at the prospect of meeting the man I’ve been passing along messages to for the past several years, and I blurt out, “Missick?” Immediately realizing my mistake, I try to cover my tracks. “What an interesting name.”
As if on cue, a tall, handsome dark-skinned man with short dreads steps out of the doorway. A smile spreads across his face, and his eyes light with the same welcoming warmth. Oh, how I wish I could truly introduce myself.
“Tought I heard that rancid ol’ Jeep.” Missick’s thick accent and melodic tone sail through the air as he comes off the porch.
Seth barks a laugh. “Get in here, you ugly bastard.” He pulls him into a long embrace. “How are you, man?”
“Better now. I figured Noah would be the next Braden to darken my door. Spoke with him ’bout some research a couple weeks ago. He’s a good man. I been tryin’ to get him here, but he’s as hard to nail down as you are.”
“Did you try bribing him with rum and fried conch?” Seth jokes.
“No, but I will next time.” Missick’s gaze flicks to me and brightens. “Who’s this? She looks like trouble to me.”
“This is Eleanor Mitchell, T’s sister. Ellie, this is my good friend, Missick. He runs the conservation programs here and keeps an eye on my place while I’m away.”
“T’s sista? I don’t know how your brotha puts up with this guy.” Missick grins and offers his hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
I shake his large, calloused hand. “You, too, and for the record, Taylor can hold his own. How long have you known each other?”
They exchange a curious glance, like they’re trying to remember.
“You were no bigger than a fishin’ pole when we met,” Missick says.
“I was eight,” Seth clarifies, and glances at me. “That’s when I came with my family the first time. I met Missick when I was trying to free a turtle from a net—”
“And nearly lost a finger,” Missick cuts in. “He screamed like a baby. Still does, when the rum’s strong enough.”
They laugh, and I do, too.
“Seth Braden screaming like a baby? That’s something nobody would believe,” I say.
“Blackmail,” Missick says conspiratorially.
Seth groans, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Hey, I’m trying to impress her. Do you mind?”
Missick’s grin widens, his eyes sparking with mischief. “Maybe I should tell her about the broom handle.”
“The broom handle?” I arch a brow. “I’m going to need a little context for this one.”
Seth shakes his head. “Christ.”
“He tied a nail to the end of a broom handle, den strut around tellin’ everyone he was gonna catch enough fish to feed the whole island,” Missick says, waving his hands.
“I was ten,” Seth says, as if defending his honor.
“Ask ’im what he had in his back pocket,” Missick says.
I glance at Seth. “Care to share?”
“I had a fishing plan with tide times and the best angles for spearing fish,” Seth admits.
“And the number of fish he tought he could catch each hour and how much he could sell them for,” Missick adds.
“I was ambitious,” Seth says.
Stifling a laugh, I say, “That’s adorable.”
Seth flashes a victorious grin at Missick.
Missick shakes his head. “The adorable fool nearly skewered his own foot tryin’ to spear a snapper.” They share a laugh over what must be a treasured memory.
Seth’s hand finds mine, and he laces our fingers together as naturally as he did last night, and my heart skips. “What he’s not telling you is that I caught ten fish that day.”
“With a net, and threw ’em all back,” Missick explains.
“You couldn’t get the hang of the spear?” I ask.
Missick scoffs. “By day’s end he was using it as good as any fisherman. He’s as capable as a shark but guided by the heart of a dolphin.”
I look at Seth, knowing he’s anchored by so much more than ambition, and find him even more irresistible.
We stay and visit with Missick, talking long enough that I learn he’s the youngest of six and has never married.
He tells me about his mother’s battle with breast cancer years ago, how Seth made sure she saw the best doctors and did everything he possibly could to save her.
The disease claimed her too fast, but as Missick tells me about the loving woman who raised him, and Seth shares heartwarming stories from his visits, she feels very much alive.
By the time we say goodbye, I feel like I’ve been given a piece of both men to carry with me.
Missick embraces me and says, “I look forward to seeing you again when the wind carries you this way.”
“I do, too,” I say, swallowing an ache of sadness, knowing I’ll never see him again after I leave the island. I’m sure we’ll be in touch via emails and texts for Seth from time to time, but I’ll be Taylor, and he’ll never know Taylor and Eleanor are one and the same.