4. Chapter 4
Why are those pineapples upside down?
A warm salty wind slinks through the slightly open window at the front of the shuttle van and teases the ends of my blonde ponytail. I close my eyes and inhale the peace, only opening them when the tinny voice of the driver comes over the speaker.
“If you’ll look to your right, you’ll see a field of pineapple plants. Fun fact about pineapples: each plant produces only one fruit and then dies. But don’t you worry. Small plantlets called suckers grow at the base of the plant, and they are planted to grow even more pineapples.”
I dip my head to look out the window, seeing hundreds of shrubby plants growing low to the ground.
I had no idea they couldn’t produce more than one pineapple.
My mind begins churning. I could probably work that fact into a story.
I pull out my notebook and jot down a few ideas.
Maybe an analogy related to love where a dying relationship spawns new growth. Perhaps a sucker joke in there as well.
The male voice continues. “And to your left, there’s a grove of coconut trees.
Beyond that is a vegetable garden. Pineapple Island Resort prides itself on growing most of the fruits and vegetables that are prepared in our gourmet kitchens.
” Then the man chuckles. “But pineapples are definitely our favorites here at this resort. Am I right?”
Everyone cheers, and I join in. The shuttle is a large flamingo-pink passenger van and, besides me, there are two couples and four women onboard who all seem to know each other.
Seated in the second row on the left side, I watch as the couple in front of me share a sweet kiss before the woman glances back at me.
I quickly look away, embarrassed that I’d been staring.
They’re a lovely couple, him with golden hair that sweeps over his forehead and her with porcelain skin and a mass of auburn curls.
They whisper for a moment—no doubt talking about the creeper behind them. Then the woman turns in her seat to give me a bright smile.
“Hi, I’m Jane Ford, and this is my partner, Gaston Chevalier.”
“So nice to meet you,” I say. “Sorry I was gawking earlier. You two just seem really sweet together.”
She laughs a throaty chuckle as Gaston swivels around and rests his forearm on the seat. “We don’t mind,” he assures me. “Are you here by yourself?”
Stranger danger!
But I can’t really deny it since I’m sitting alone, so I do the next best thing, letting them know that, while I don’t have anyone physically here with me, I’m not totally out of touch with the outside world.
“Yes. My father was worried about me coming alone, so I have to call him every night when I’m safely locked in my cottage. Otherwise, he’ll send in the troops.” There. That should do it.
I don’t mention that after my best friend went missing on our Spring Break trip in Mexico seventeen years ago, I haven’t been outside the United States. Mostly to appease my fathers… both of them.
My dads aren’t a couple or anything. Emmett McNamara is my biological father, and Isaac is my stepdad—who I call Pops—and I adore them both.
“Fantastique,” Gaston says. Judging by his name and accent, he’s a Frenchman.
Jane gives me a kind smile. “You’re welcome to eat dinner at our table tonight. We’d love to get to know you better.”
“That’s really sweet, but I was planning to turn in early and order room service. I have a lot of writing to do tonight.”
Gaston perks up. “Writing, you say? I’m an author as well. ”
“He’s a professor of psychology at Georgetown,” Jane tells me, her chin lifting in pride. “Gaston has written three textbooks and has another in the works.”
I feel my cheeks blush. “I don’t write anything as cerebral as textbooks, I’m afraid. I’m a romance author.”
One of the women behind me leans forward, her brown eyes sparkling. “Oooh, are they spicy romances? I looooove the spice.” She has a bit of a southern accent like me but sounds more Louisiana than Texas.
“They are,” I assure her with a smile. “I write under the pen name Juli Mack.”
The woman lets out a shriek that causes the van driver to jolt and almost swerve off the road.
“You are! I recognize you now!” She turns to her other three friends but keeps a finger pointed at my face, very nearly poking out my left eye.
“Y’all, this is Juli Mack, the author I’m always talking about. ”
The four women surround me, Louisiana-girl sliding into the seat beside me, her blonde friend still behind me, and the other two hopping to the dual seats across the aisle from me. I learn their names are Ann, Wendy, Donna, and Stephanie.
They each wear a brightly colored tee with The Unicorn Unit printed on the front, as well as a twisty unicorn headband on their heads. I can tell they’re a lot of fun.
The women let me know they’ve all read at least five of my books thanks to the recommendations of Wendy, the one beside me, which is an awesome feeling. I’m not super famous, but I do get recognized by hardcore romance readers from time to time.
Wendy pulls out a worn paperback of my very first book, Slow and Low .
“I’ve read this nine times, and I brought it with me to read at the beach to make it an even ten.
” She scrunches her nose apologetically.
“I hate to be that person, but would it bug you if I asked you to sign it for me? I know you’re just here to have fun, but I’d kick myself in the ass if I met you and didn’t get you to sign it.
I’ve read all of your books, but this is my favorite one ever. ”
“I don’t mind at all,” I laugh, digging through my ballerina-pink backpack for a pen. “I’m actually here to work on my next book. I’ve been having trouble concentrating at home.” I sign her paperback To my friend, Wendy. Much love, Juli Mack, and hand it back to her.
She clutches it to her chest, looking pleased. “Thank you.”
One of the ladies across from me, Donna, I think, lowers her voice and asks, “What’s your next book about? Or is it a secret?”
“It’s called The Playbook . The main characters are a librarian and a football player.”
Ann, the blonde behind me, bounces in her seat. “Oh, I love sports romance. You haven’t written one of those in a while.”
Yeah, there’s a reason for that , I think but don’t say out loud.
Stephanie, a woman with dark skin and soft black curls, waves her hand in the air. “Oooh, while you’re in your sports era, I vote for a hockey romance next.”
Not a chance in hell, sister.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say aloud.
The vehicle turns onto a driveway, and I get my first glimpse of the resort. Excitement fills my chest. It’s been so long since I’ve been on any kind of tropical vacation.
Two enormous white-stone pillars flank the guardhouse, and shiny gold pineapples gleam from each. A golden metal arch connects the two pillars and reads Pineapple Island Resort and Spa .
Why are those pineapples upside down? I wonder for a second before I’m distracted by the gorgeous scenery… lush green lawns and lines of palm trees that curve perfectly with the turns in the white and pink shell drive.
The main lodge comes into view, all reddish timber with a high peaked roof. The van pulls beneath the wide portico, and everyone stands .
A couple that had been at the back of the van inches forward to introduce themselves to everyone as Erin and Jason Alvin. “This is our first time here,” Jason says.
“Oh, you’re gonna love it!” Stephanie gushes. “We all met here five years ago and come back every year.”
Return customers… that’s a good sign.
Inside, I’m handed a slushy drink with a wedge of pineapple on the lip and am guided to a long teakwood reception desk. A tall, lean woman with mahogany skin and box braids greets me with a Jamaican accent.
“Ms. McNamara, welcome to Pineapple Island. My name is Kat. Do you have any specific requirements as far as cottages are concerned?”
I hitch my backpack higher onto my shoulder. “Something quiet, please. I’m going to be doing some writing while I’m here.”
She taps magenta fingernails—which perfectly match her lipstick—against a silver keyboard with soft clicky-clack noises and nods.
“Excellent. I’ll put you in cottage four.
It’s one of the farthest from the lodge.
The closest neighbor is cottage five, and that one is currently unoccupied.
It should be nice and peaceful for you there. ”
“That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
Her pretty bottle-green eyes twinkle with mischief. “I do hope you’re not planning to be all work and no play, Ms. McNamara. We like to have a good time here, and I’m sure everyone will be dying to spend time with you.”
Letting out a self-conscious chuckle, I tell her, “That’s very sweet of you. I definitely plan to enjoy the sunshine during the day. The photos of the beach and pool I saw online were amazing.” I place a hand on my chest and feign a swoon. “But the hammocks! That’s what sold me.”
“The hammocks are my favorites too. In fact, there’s one directly behind your cottage.
” Kat hands something to a brown-haired porter lingering at her shoulder before returning her attention to me.
“This is Malcolm. He’ll take your bags to your cottage, and they’ll be waiting for you when you arrive. ”
Her voice is like warm silk, and I could seriously listen to her reading the phone book and be enamored. “I love your accent,” I tell her. “Could you pretty please come to my room and talk me to sleep later?”
She laughs. “That could be arranged. Or I could send my husband, Jevaun. He’s a massage therapist here at the resort. His hands, combined with his voice, will turn you into a pile of pudding. You’ll sleep like a baby when he’s done.”
“That sounds amazing. I’ll think about it.”
“We also offer couple and group massages if you find someone you’d like to spend time with while you’re here.”