9. Libby
CHAPTER NINE
libby
“We can’t forget to tell her about Blue,” Maggie says. For the past hour, she and her friend Kennedy—a pretty blonde who’s been nothing but kind to me, just like Maggie—have been dishing secrets about everyone on the island.
I can’t help the smile that lights up my face.
This sensation is so foreign to me. For years I attended the swankiest bars and the nicest parties, but I never had anyone to share a secret with.
No girlfriends, no sisters. Just directors, castmates, and acting coaches.
There were rarely even other kids on the set of the show.
It’s clear from this small interaction alone that Maggie and Kennedy have a sisterly relationship. With less than seventy people on the island, I suppose there wasn’t much choice. But it’s clear their friendship is based on more than convenience.
“Oh god,” Kennedy groans. “Please don’t.”
Maggie squeezes my arm, the warmth of her hand soaking into me. I relish the feel because I’m freezing again. This is supposed to be a summer island, yet I’ve been cold every single second I’ve been here.
When the ferries arrived yesterday, so did people. Tourists came in droves—at least by this island’s standard. There are at least twenty people here at the brewery I’ve never seen before.
I press closer to the outdoor heater beside me and try to focus on what the girls are saying. Apparently Blue is Kennedy’s grandfather, and…
“He paints naked people?” I ask, hoping I heard them wrong.
Kennedy covers her face. “No.” She groans. “He sits out on his lawn in the nude and paints.”
I snort. “Is he at least nice to look at?”
“Ew!” Kennedy yells.
Maggie cackles so uproariously she almost falls off her stool. “Not a day in his life,” she says through her wheezing.
Kennedy shakes her head, though her eyes are still all smiley. “Being the only nurse on the island, I’ve seen just about everyone here naked, but I do draw the line at my grandfather.”
“Even Fisher?” Dammit. The words slip out before I have time to think them through.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him, let alone saying his name. But it’s impossible to keep him out of my head with the way he’s been glaring at me all night, as if my mere existence offends him.
The two women share another look.
Stomach sinking, I curl in on myself. “Sorry, he’s the only person I know on the island.”
Kennedy bites her lip. “I don’t think anyone really knows Fisher.”
Frowning, I consider asking what she means. Instead, I keep my mouth shut. Don’t want to appear even more interested than I already sound.
While I’ve yet to see anyone of the female variety coming or going from his house, I did see some pictures of a younger Sutton with a beautiful woman around the living room. Maybe Fisher’s wife doesn’t stay on the island?
Again, I keep the question to myself. The last thing I’m going to do is gossip. Lord knows I hate when people do it about me.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when two men I hadn’t even noticed before stop at our table, both wearing cocky smirks.
“Ugh, summer people,” Kennedy grumbles under her breath.
My fingers curl around my beer can. I’m beginning to hate those two words.
Maggie beams at the strangers, seemingly unbothered by their status as summer people. “Hello. Are you enjoying your Balmy Days?”
The guy wearing a Revs baseball cap looks at his friend, brows pulled low in confusion.
Kennedy points to his can. “It’s the name of the beer.”
“Oh.” Revs guy shrugs. “It’s okay, I guess. The bar doesn’t have many options.”
Maggie’s face falls. When we arrived, she introduced me to her parents, Rip and Annette, who own the brewery. They were genuinely welcoming, which is the opposite of how the vast majority of residents have been.
Chest tightening with sympathy for her and her parents, I step in. “It’s the best menu I’ve seen in a while.”
His friend chuckles, his eyes roving over me. “You drink a lot of beer, pretty girl?”
A low grumble sounds, the growl so fierce the items on the table rattle. “Does she look like she drinks a lot of beer?”
Heart stumbling, I look up and find Fisher, eyes narrowed to slits, standing a foot away from our visitors.
I’m not sure what he means by that, but the guys laugh, obviously finding his statement funny.
Rather than laugh along with them, Fisher continues to glare. He holds the look for an uncomfortably long time.
Finally catching on, the guys let their laughter die off.
The one without a hat clears his throat. “So, are you visiting?”
Fisher takes a single step closer. “Does she look like she lives on the island?”
While both guys smile and murmur about how no, I don’t look like I live on the island, Fisher turns his glare to me. He’s judging me. He’s always judging me. And while I’m not trying to fit in—my mom always said why fit in when you can wear pink? —his tone bothers me.
“So are you staying at the inn?” Revs hat says.
“She’s not.” This time Fisher steps between the men and me, blocking their view of us completely. Then, as if the men don’t even exist, he turns his attention to Kennedy. “You taking Lindsey with you next week, Eddy?”
“Eddy?” I frown at my new friend.
“That’s what everyone calls Kennedy,” Maggie mumbles.
The blonde shrugs. “I’m waiting to see if I can get a sitter on the island. If not, she’ll stay with Wilder.”
Fisher nods like this all makes sense, but I’m left completely lost. Not that it matters. If his goal was to get rid of the guys, he’s accomplished it. The two of them are already walking off.
“You staying for another beer?” Maggie asks Kennedy.
She glances down at her mug and then toward the gate, her shoulders drooping.
Maggie sighs. “The two of you are pathetic. You get a kid-free night, and neither of you are enjoying it.”
Fisher’s lip twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “I don’t know. I enjoyed getting rid of those summer people.”
The laugh that bubbles out of Kennedy is airy. “Fine. One more.” She hands her mug to Maggie.
Maggie eyes me in silent question.
I eye the mugs she’s holding, then turn to Fisher, who’s drinking from a can. “How come you don’t have a mug?”
Maggie laughs. “Oh, he does.”
“He just never uses it,” Kennedy finishes.
Frowning, I assess him—the dark hair, the perma-scowl, the broody demeanor. “But why?”
He grunts.
Sighing, I turn to Maggie. I don’t know why I bothered trying to get a real response from him. “What do the numbers stand for?”
She shrugs. “Just the number you get when it’s assigned.” She holds hers up so I can see the thirty-six stamped into the side. “Sixty-eight people live on the island. Obviously the kids don’t have mugs yet. We all get them when we turn twenty-one.”
“Sixty-nine people if you count me,” I say with a smile.
“We don’t,” Fisher grumbles.
Maggie sighs. “Ignore him.”
I do. He’s grumpy and miserable, and I refuse to let him bring me down. “So how do I get one?”
“You don’t,” he grits out. “They’re not for summer people.”
“I’ll talk to my dad,” Maggie offers, giving me a sweet smile. “You’re not really summer people since you’re staying here the whole summer.”
“That’s literally the definition of summer people,” Fisher says with a smirk.
Kennedy rests her forearms on the table and leans forward. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so many words.”
A loud laugh cuts through the dark, and instantly, Maggie’s head snaps up.
From here, it looks as though the women from the bachelorette party are being wooed by the man who was sitting with Fisher before my annoying neighbor inserted himself into our conversation.
“Your brother is such a flirt,” Maggie grumbles.
Chin lifted, Kennedy squints. Then she gives her head a shake. “On second thought, no more beer for me. I’m not in the mood.” She looks at Fisher. “You ready to go yet?”
His brown eyes cut to mine, then drop to my beer. “You sticking around, Princess?”
Annoyance flares, heating me for an instant. “Yup.”
He dips his chin at Kennedy. “Go on without me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She bites down on her lip, though a smile peeks through anyway. “Right. See you tomorrow.” She hugs Maggie goodbye and then grins at me. “It was so nice to meet you, Libby. Hopefully I’ll see you around more often.”
With that, she’s rushing out the gate like she can’t get home fast enough.
Another laugh rings through the yard, and Maggie eyes the group of women. “I should go see if they need anything.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No. You stay here,” she says, her tone teasing. “I’m sure Fisher”—she gives him a knowing look I don’t understand—“can keep you entertained.”
As she strides toward the loud group, the heat that sparked in my veins fizzles out, and I lean closer to the heater.
“Told you to wear a jacket,” Fisher grumbles as he sets his can on the table.
I blow out a breath and turn my entire body toward the heater so I don’t have to look at his judgmental face. “My luggage still hasn’t arrived, but I ordered one.”
The scents of sandalwood and pale ale surround me, and then I’m engulfed in warm, soft fabric. “Lift your arms.” Fisher’s words are low, his breath teasing my neck.
I curl in on myself as another shiver rolls down my back. “What are you doing?” I say, though the word comes out scratchy.
“I’m giving you my flannel. You’re shivering, and I don’t need you getting sick on top of all the other trouble you’ve been causing.”
A bolt of anger zaps through me. God, the man is infuriating. Even as he does something nice, like giving me the literal shirt off his back to keep me warm, he has to throw in a barb.
For years I’ve been told—by man after man after man—that I’m difficult. Even my father, god love him, treats me like I’m a task to be checked off on his list. Just once I wish I didn’t feel like an obligation or burden.
He squeezes my upper arms, then slides his hands down, sucking in a lungful of air as he does.
Is he…could he be…did he just smell me?
With both hands, I grasp the fabric and tighten it around me. The urge to tuck my nose beneath the collar is too strong to resist, and I find myself doing exactly what he just did, inhaling the scent of his shirt.
Soap, a hint of something smoky, and sandalwood.
Why does he have to smell so good? Why do we have to keep running into one another? I don’t like him. He doesn’t like me. And yet here we are… again .
“You don’t have to entertain me. I’m pretty good at being on my own.” I finally turn around and look up, certain I’ll find him glaring again.
Instead, his brown eyes dance in the moonlight, stealing the breath from my lungs.
With a hissed curse, he looks away from me. “I’ll go when you go.”
“What?”
He turns back to me, and this time he doesn’t hide the way he assesses me as he lifts his beer and takes a long pull.
“It’s my job as sheriff to make sure everyone gets home safe. So I’ll go when you go.”
“Suit yourself,” I mutter as I stand and head toward the bar for another drink. “But I’m not leaving anytime soon.”
Just as I settle beside the bar, the two guys from earlier reappear. “So, you have a house on the island?” Revs Hat Guy says. He steps in so close I can smell the beer on his breath.
My body clams up at his proximity. I’m used to men taking a few too many liberties when it comes to my personal space, but honestly, in LA, I was typically too busy to get out much, so I’ve forgotten how relentless they can be.
I turn away, but when a hand settles on my waist, I go on high alert. I’m just about to turn around and tell this guy to get lost when that soap and sandalwood scent hits me. Then Fisher’s mouth is at my ear and his chest is pressed to my back. “Ready to go home yet, Princess?”
Instinctively, my body relaxes. Relieved, I nod. “Yes, please.”