Chapter 3
THREE
Leilani
I swim like there's an angry momma alligator behind me.
A man is the last thing I need right now. Even if he's a honey-eyed dude with the nicest abs I've seen since that time I went to another mermaid's bachelorette party in Tampa. We'd gone to that male stripper show and all the guys had incredible stomach muscles.
The guy who fell off the platform looks similar to one of those strippers.
Except he's a little rougher around the edges.
No fake tans or hair gel for him. His tan is the real deal, earned from long hours in the sun.
I could see where his broad shoulders had gotten a bad sunburn a time or two.
His scruff is probably a week old, his hair a little too long.
Rough. Messy. Edgy.
Not my normal type. Wait, what am I saying? I don't have a normal type. I've had exactly one serious boyfriend, plus a couple of casual hookups in my early twenties. One of the casual hookups ghosted me. The other had been wanted for auto theft, so that relationship had been short lived.
Come to think of it, my track record with men is abysmal.
Another reason why it's best to swim far away. If I'm attracted to him, it's a good bet that he's a bad idea.
I swim around the little sand mound of an island until I'm out of sight of the platform, hidden behind the cypress trees. I come up for air and realize I'm out of breath. Not because of exertion, but from sheer excitement.
My mind's reeling, which is absurd considering I was in the guy's presence for all of five minutes.
For a bad boy, his voice had been soft and kind.
And if he's rough and edgy, what is he doing with that polished-looking couple?
Also, why did he fall into the spring like that? That was weird.
"Guess you'll never find out," I whisper to myself, then dip back underwater. As intriguing as he is, I'm not in Cypress Grove for a relationship. Not now, not after all I've accomplished in such a short time. No, no, no.
Today was a fun, brief flirtation. A confidence-booster. Nothing more.
I swim in the direction of my kayak, trying to reclaim my playful, blissful state from before. But the memory of the guy's eyes lingers. When I reach the sand bar island, I turn to glance back at the platform as I roll the waistband of the mermaid tail down over my hips.
He's not following me. That's a relief. There's no telling what I'd do if he came after me. Probably something stupid.
For the next hour, I sit in my bikini on the shore of the tiny beach, munching on the sandwich I'd packed in the cooler.
The memory of the guy is replaced with all the things I have to do for the bar, and I wish I'd brought a notebook so I could make a new list. That wouldn't have been practical, though.
I recite all the things as I paddle back to shore, and while I pull my plastic kayak out of the water. I sling the strap of my soft-sided cooler over one shoulder, then hoist the kayak up over my head. On my way to the truck, I hear a man shouting.
"Hey, hey!"
Since I'm carrying a kayak, I can't easily see if the voice is calling to me. And since I'm not a horse, I don't respond to hey. So I keep walking in the direction of my truck.
I hear the thwack of flip-flopped footsteps striking the asphalt — it's a uniquely Florida sound — and I turn, kayak and all. It's hard for me to know if the person is to my right or left because my boat's obscuring my vision.
The tip of my kayak makes contact with something. I freeze.
"Ow! Crap!"
"Eep. I'm so sorry!" I gingerly set the kayak on the asphalt and gasp.
Oh dear. It's the guy from the platform. He's clutching his right shoulder with his left hand and his face is contorted with pain. He's still only wearing dark blue board shorts. No shirt. I glance down and take in his abs, which are even better on land.
I gape at him appreciatively. Probably inappropriate since I just injured the poor guy with my kayak.
"Oh my goodness, I'm such a klutz," I cry.
He grins. "S'okay."
"Is it? No. It's not okay. Did I break your arm?"
"Aw, heck no. Just a little flesh wound. Don't need that arm anyway." He removes his hand and there's a bright red spot on his muscular shoulder. I step forward to inspect it, acutely aware of how much taller he is than me. How his skin is taut over those muscles. How he's disarmingly attractive.
"When I'm carrying the kayak, I have no peripheral vision."
"Don't worry about it. I just wanted to make sure you didn't get away from me. Unless, of course, you want to get away. Then I won't stop you. Just don't hit me with your kayak again."
The fact that he's giving me an out is endearing. I wave my hand in the air. "You're the guy from the platform."
Um, duh.
He chuckles. "Yeah, the one you swam away from."
Our eyes meet and I begin to perspire. "I was trying to be mysterious. Or something."
He cocks his head. "Well, you accomplished that."
We stare at each other without blinking, then both of us burst out laughing.
"Hey, instead of standing here in the middle of the parking lot on the hot asphalt, want to grab a drink?
My sister-in-law's tiki bar is right there, within walking distance.” He points to a thatched-roof hut that has seen better days.
“It’s closed today, but she's there and will let us sit on the deck. "
I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. I have a list to write and a bar to open and a million things to do. But I've been basically alone for weeks, just me and my plans, holed up in my bungalow. No dates, no parties, no social life. Which has been great, but...
But he looks so hopeful. And friendly. And kind.
And I'm lonely as heck. That's probably why I was so instantly attracted to him back there in the water.
I'm starved for human interaction. Another reason I should chat him up: I'm going to open a bar, and at some point, I'll need to network with other locals.
He might introduce me to others in town. This is networking.
"Sure," I say briskly, like I accept offers from men every day. "But let me put my kayak in my truck."
"I'll help with that." With those big hands of his, he picks up my plastic boat and hoists it over his head as if it's a toy. His arm muscles flex. I stare, my face growing warmer by the second.
"Plus, it'll save me from further injury." He winks. A little shimmer of awareness goes through me when I spot how long his dark eyelashes are. Maybe this is more than just being starved for human interaction.
"Funny," I say.
"Uh, where to?"
"Oh! Right there." I point to my truck.
He loads my kayak into the truck bed, and I toss the cooler into the front. As I grab a T-shirt from the front seat and slip it over my bikini top, I wonder if I should go through with this. He could be a serial killer.
Then again, he said his sister-in-law will be there. I have my own truck. I can always leave. It sure seems safe.
I'll be fine. I have my truck keys in my pocket. I pop a mint in my mouth and check my hair in the side mirror. Somehow, I have perfect, near-dry, beachy waves. Whew. Spring water is like magic, I swear.
Shutting my truck door, I make my way around back to where he's standing.
"Sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Remy Hastings." He's grinning and holding out his hand.
Suddenly feeling shy, I tuck my still-damp hair behind my ear. "I'm Leilani Kostas."
We shake hands for a few seconds while eyeballing each other.
"Leilani. That's a great name. Leilani the mermaid. Love it. By the way, how did you learn to swim like that? You're amazing. Do you do that often, swim around in the springs with a tail fin? I thought I was hallucinating when I first saw you."
I let out a giggle. He drops my hand and his expression is genuinely interested.
"It's kind of a long story."
He grins and pats the hood of his beat-up Jeep. "Well, we've got an hour or so before Kate kicks us out. She's closed today but she's got prep to do. Plenty of time for a long story or two. Have you been to Lime and Salt?"
We start walking through the parking lot. Cypress trees lean over the pavement, draped in Spanish moss.
“I haven’t, although I have heard of it. I’ve been meaning to get out here, since I love tiki bars, natural springs, and water.”
Lime and Salt has open sides facing the springs, and a small wooden deck out back.
“That’s obvious by the way you swim,” he says.
"I used to be a performing mermaid in Weeki Wachee. You know, the famous Florida mermaid shows?"
We’re right at the entrance to the bar when he stops and looks at me with wide eyes. "Really? Of course I know Weeki Wachee. My parents took us there when we were little. You were a mermaid? That is so cool."
He raps lightly on the doorframe before stepping inside. A zing goes through my body when I brush past him into the cool, dim interior. One mocktail. That's all I'll allow.
The bar is small and warm, with a wooden plank floor, open sides facing the springs, and a handful of high-top tables clustered near the railing that looks out over the crystal-clear water to the white sand bottom.
Hula girl statues and a ceramic mermaid lamp sit on the counter.
Black-and-white photos of Elvis in Florida are affixed to a wall.
There’s a life-size Elvis cutout standing sentry by an exit, and a plastic alligator wearing sunglasses, propped on a shelf.
"That's Pete," Remy says, following my gaze. "Named after Pete the gator who swims in the river. He’s a town mascot."
Behind the bar, a blonde woman is wiping down glasses, hair pulled up in a clip, an apron tied around her waist. She looks up and breaks into a grin.
"Remy! What are you doing here so early? Did you bring me a friend?"
"Kate, this is Leilani. Leilani, my sister-in-law Kate. Helps her mom Carolyn run the place. Kate married my twin brother Damien. I’m the better-looking one, but don’t tell my brother.”