Chapter 2
Chapter Two
YURI
My heart thunders and the dock feels anything but solid beneath my feet.
My eyes are playing tricks on me. They have to be.
Too many hours of travel over the past few days, too much fresh air when I’m used to recycled, filtered lab air, and definitely too much time letting myself indulge in memories of Cooper, that’s why I can’t catch my breath and I can’t stop staring after the retreating form of a man with long blond hair who for a second I could have sworn…
I shake my head and my fingers twitch in a familiar, soothing rhythm, each one tapping against the pad of my thumb one after the other, over and over until my pulse starts to feel normal again.
Choked laughter catches in my throat, and I force myself to stop watching the group of men disappearing down the beach.
By the time I pull myself together Bird is already down at the far end of the dock, chatting with a man who’s just as beefed up as he is but with ginger hair and a shaggy beard.
Boston. He’s the owner of The Sand Bar and my new boss.
I hitch my duffel bag higher on my shoulder and head in their direction.
“Yuri, you made it.” Boston greets me with a friendly smile and a nod that I return before fixing my attention on the garish golf cart parked a few feet behind him.
There’s an inflatable shark fixed to the roof with a rubber severed leg in its mouth and flashing blue fairy lights covering the rest of the exterior.
Boston follows my gaze and laughs. “It’s kind of a tradition around here. The shark was my idea, adding the leg was Trick’s.”
I’m guessing Trick is his partner, and I’m starting to pick up on a theme here.
Does everyone on the island have a nickname?
What if I don’t want one? I hate to be a stick-in-the-mud, but I’ll never get used to being called by a different name.
I’ve never even particularly cared for pet names, if I’m honest. Well, except maybe when Cooper used to rasp “sweetness” in my ear when we were…
“Sick,” Bird says, jerking me out of my memory. Boston fist-bumps him, so it must be a compliment on his design.
“Did you two get a chance to meet on the ferry?” Boston asks.
“Yeah, I talked him out of jumping,” Bird says.
“I wasn’t really going to jump.” I rush to reassure Boston since he doesn’t have any context, and I’d really hate for my new boss to think I’m a suicide risk.
“Good. I don’t have it in me to hold another round of interviews before the season starts in a couple months,” he says solemnly. “Come on, I’m your official welcome wagon today, so let me give you guys a tour and then I’ll drive you over to the rental houses Devil set you up with.”
Bird hops onto the rear-facing seat, leaving me to slide in up front next to Boston, who takes the wheel. The cart doesn’t look like it can move all that fast, but the initial jolt when he presses his foot down on the pedal has me grappling for something to hold on to.
“I’ve got a couple of locals who are going to be rotating in part time behind the bar, but the two of you will be my go-to guys once we’re open for the season.
So get used to each other’s faces because you’re going to be seeing a lot of each other,” he explains as we leave the port behind us and cruise down the gravel road towards the cluster of buildings in the distance.
The beach stretches endlessly on one side, with small, colorful houses lining the other side of the road.
They all look empty at the moment, so they must be guest rentals.
There are a few people dotting the sand, laying out or heading towards the water with surfboards under their arms, but for the most part the island is quiet.
“Is it pretty much like this until the season starts?” I ask.
“Yup. There are fewer than a hundred permanent residents and we’re all pretty content to enjoy the long, lazy winter in peace.
It’ll feel like a whole different world once the floodgates open in the spring though, so soak up the sun and enjoy the waves while you can,” Boston says.
“We hold some local events at the bar during the off-season though, and I keep the doors open limited hours for the locals, so you’ll both get some hours and time to practice your mixing skills. ”
The gravel road turns solid under the tires of the cart, jolting me in my seat again as the beaches and houses are replaced by a quaint downtown area.
“This is obviously where you’re going to find most of what you need on the island.
” Boston slows our speed to a crawl so he can point out each business that lines the main street, most of them with clever or borderline vulgar names.
“We’ve got the Tasty Hole donut shop, that won’t be open until a week before the season starts.
Ask Easy about the Donut Challenge and he might give you a free box. ”
“What’s the Donut Challenge?” I ask. If it gets you a free box, it has to be something like “eat a dozen donuts in a certain amount of time and win a prize,” right?
“Oh, I think I know about this,” Bird says, turning sideways in his seat so we can hear him. “I was here for vacation a few years ago and I hooked up with the hot blond who owns the donut shop. He told me that it’s a Palm Island tradition to stack donuts on a guy’s—”
“Got it.” I cut him off before he can finish that sentence and ruin glazed donuts for me for the rest of my life. “But wait, donut holes aren’t that big…”
“Easy makes them special.” Boston chuckles.
“Anyway, next to the donut shop is Island Vibes. It’s where you can get clothes, shoes, that kind of stuff.
Lux doesn’t keep regular hours during the off-season, but if you ask, he’ll open it up for you.
Down there we’ve got Heavenly Toys, for all your sexual health and pleasure needs.
” He waggles his eyebrows. “It’s one of the few businesses in town that stays open all winter without interruption. There’s The Sand Bar.”
He continues to point out businesses up and down the street, naming the owners so casually that I wish I was taking notes.
Are we really supposed to remember who owns each business and what the off-season hours are like?
I should have brought my laptop with me so I could at least use the Chamber of Commerce website to make myself a chart once I have some downtime.
I guess I can use my phone to do it, this just really feels like a laptop project.
And it doesn’t help that half my attention is still stuck on the blond man who definitely wasn’t Cooper.
“There was a guy down by the docks…” I blurt, interrupting Boston in the middle of telling us about the restaurant owned by Chef Storm.
Shit, that was rude, but he’s stopped talking now so it would probably be even more rude to not just ask.
“He looked a little familiar and I’m trying to place him.
He had long blond hair and he was wearing pink board shorts. ”
“Long blond hair would either be Easy or Lyric. If he wasn’t with the tallest guy you’ve ever seen in your life, then it’s most likely Lyric.”
Damn, another nickname. That doesn’t exactly help.
My heart rate kicks up a bit again though because Lyric would fit.
Cooper was never without his guitar, singing whatever song or random combination of lyrics popped into his head.
But what are the odds? I could calculate them, but not in my head.
Even without running the actual numbers though, I know they’re astronomical.
I’m sure there’s a blond musician on every beach in the world.
I nod and flash a quick smile to let him know that I’m done interrupting him with pointless questions.
“Over there is Raven’s Café.” Boston returns to the tour, pointing to a shop with a black awning over the door and the words “coffee, tea, and psychic readings” painted in the window.
“Oh man, I would literally suck a dick for a shot of espresso right about now,” Bird groans.
“Looks like it’s open and I’m coming down from my morning coffee too, so no fellatio required to talk me into this one.
” Boston pulls the golf cart up to the curb in front of the café and turns the key to kill the whirr of the battery powered engine.
“Let’s consider this a tour intermission.
Get a snack and a drink, take in the local color, and we’ll pick this back up in twenty. ”
Bird leaves his bag on the back of the cart, and I consider doing the same, but I just can’t make myself leave the only things I brought with me out here in the open where anyone could grab them.
So, I sling my duffel back over my shoulder and follow them into the shop.
There’s a little bell that chimes over the door as we walk in and a blast of cool air thanks to the droning hum of the air conditioner.
It takes half a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the shop, but as soon as they do, my heart stops.
LYRIC
“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Lyr, you were right,” Hennessey mumbles around a mouthful of scone sandwich.
“I know food.” I shrug and take another bite of my own sandwich, which happens to be a blueberry scone sliced longways, with raspberry jam and toasted ham and cheese in the middle.
“You should put these on the menu,” Goose says to Raven as he steps out from behind the back room curtain carrying my guitar in one hand and a deck of cards in the other.
“I might,” he says agreeably, the heels of his boots clicking against the wood floor as he makes his way over to us.
I tried the goth look for a hot minute a handful of years back, but I couldn’t pull it off.
I can’t imagine Raven with any other style than his fishnets, black corsets and crop tops, and knee-high boots though.
He’s wearing a black skirt today that flounces with each step before he stops next to our table.
“Kick-ass. You found my guitar.” I take it, slipping the strap around my neck and settling it into my lap where it belongs.