Chapter 6
six
CARINA
I don’t normally end up at Paradise at three in the afternoon on a workday, but my week has been so thoroughly fucked that I don’t question it.
The street I live on dead-ends at the beach. I have uninterrupted views of the Gulf of Mexico. A few feet from my front door is a path through the beach grass that takes me over the sand dunes and directly to the water. It’s quiet for the most part, with people only venturing here if they live on my street or have rented one of the houses as a vacation property. All the houses have the same Key West-style architecture, with pastel paint and wraparound porches, regardless of when they were built. We’re supposed to feel transported to a different time and a different island, two hundred miles south of us.
The house next door to me, which mine blocks from having a perfect sea view, was sold six months ago. Since then, it’s been through extensive renovations. The noise has been truly terrible at times. It must be almost done because the same SUV has been parked in the driveway the last few days.
I’m sure it’s been transformed into a short-term rental property. I miss the former owners. I grew up with the elderly couple watching out for me during our vacations here. Mrs. Lawson always made sure I reapplied sunscreen and refilled my lemonade when my parents were too busy with work to care about me frolicking on the beach. It’s a miracle I didn’t drown.
The Lawsons were having troubles with the house’s narrow staircase, so they moved to a retirement community on the mainland. It’s just across a short bridge, but that strip of water makes it seem so much farther than it is. I now need to prepare myself for loud parties and people who don’t feel any sense of responsibility for the area.
This morning a truck delivered furniture and I needed to be out of the house for as long as possible. I can’t concentrate in my home office with its sliding glass doors facing that house, and every noise breaks my concentration. Then I look at my phone and wonder that while I didn’t give Orion my number, I still feel like I’m waiting on him to call.
I have years of experience with mindfulness. I know how to control my thoughts. It’s been a week, but I can’t get him out of my head.
I’ve never felt a connection like that with anyone else. Not even Hamilton when we were years into our relationship. Sex never made me feel closer to him. It was a fun thing we did. I live by the lessons my mother instilled in me when I was fifteen: Relationships always end. There is no such thing as a happy ever after. Leave before you get left.
It’s cold, but living any other way feels too much like a risk.
Instead of working from home, I walk the mile to the Wendell Beach downtown area and the Nebula Athletics storefront. It’s the location of my first-ever store, the yoga studio I opened a few years later, and our corporate office. It’s right on the town’s main street, surrounded by restaurants, tourist shops, and resort wear boutiques. All of them have the town’s same pastel-colored buildings with balconies on their second stories.
It’s here I answer emails about supply chain issues, brainstorm new fabrics with the design team, and co-teach a vinyasa class to a group of women from Georgia who traveled to Wendell Beach to visit the studio. I’m incredibly honored their road trip through Florida involved a stop at a place I created. It happens often, but it always means the world to me when I hear it.
I founded the company while I was getting my MBA. My dad wanted me to start as soon as I could. Most first businesses fail. He thought if I got it out of the way young, then I could recover faster and better. I’m determined to prove him wrong. I won’t fail at all. My first business is my last. It will continue to succeed.
Unfortunately, he’s convinced it will end any day. My sales numbers don’t matter, or which celebrities are seen coming out of a spin class in my leggings.
After the yoga class, I’m sweaty and grabbing my things to go home to shower and finish up the rest of my work there, crossing my fingers that the noise has ended. My friend Christian walks into the lobby. He owns Wendell Beach Rum Works which is next door to the studio. We have lunch together frequently. Sometimes he offers to drive me home when it’s storming.
“Hey, Carina. Any chance you’re done for the day?”
A few of the students from the next class notice him and browse the racks of clothes instead of heading into the studio space. But they aren’t paying attention to the clothes, they’re watching us.
Christian and I have been friends for years. He’s married to a lovely woman named Autumn and has never once flirted with anyone else. But that doesn’t change the fact he’s one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met. I beg him to model for me, but he declines. He’s an excellent friend and wears my T-shirts with jeans like they’re his uniform.
Of course, my mind drifts to what Orion would look like draped in the fabrics and cuts I plan. But I need to refocus on the now and not on the sailor I met a few days ago.
“I can be,” I respond. I’ll catch up on work later. If he’s here, it’s probably because he needs something. I’m always happy to help him. “What’s up?”
“I’m opening the first bottle of a new batch with Alex at Paradise. Thought you might want to join.”
I understand this is a moment he wants to share with Alex. They are close friends. But I don’t know why he’s reaching out to me. I’m near him, that’s all.
I shouldn’t take time off in the middle of the afternoon to sample alcohol. But a thought niggles my brain—it’s rum. Orion loves rum. Christian will give me an entire history of its origins and how this batch was created. When I see Orion next, I’ll have something to discuss with him.
I stopped at the liquor store the other day to grab a bottle of wine. I strolled through the rum aisle, looking for the bottle I shared with Orion. I wanted to remember the way he tasted on my lips. They didn’t have it, and I was so disappointed.
But it’s a terrible idea. I don’t want to hook up with him again. I stick to flings because I know how those end. I set expectations. And with the precautions I take, the biggest risk is it isn’t fun. I felt something deeper with Orion. This could turn into something more. I could become invested. He doesn’t have any connection to Wendell Beach. He could leave at any time. He lives on a boat. Dreams of sailing around the world. This place won’t hold him long. And I’ll be left standing on a beach, alone.
He demanded my honesty. No one has wanted that from me before.
Christian asked me to join him for this occasion. He is truly one of the nicest, most caring men I have ever met. He inherited his grandparents’ distillery a few years ago and has worked diligently to make it better than it was before. He didn’t have any business experience, so I taught him how to keep his books in order and developed a solid marketing plan for him. He took my advice and ran with it. He’s a few years younger than me and has done so much with what he has been given.
He probably doesn’t have investors breathing down his neck to take his marketing in a different direction.
“Sure. But I’m sweaty,” I answer.
“It’s Florida. Everyone is always sweaty. Get your water and get over it.” He smiles.
I grab my bag, wave goodbye to my staff, and head out the door with him.
I apologize one more time for my scent as I climb into his pickup truck.
“Seriously, Carina. Bristol drives my truck after kayaking. Haley has spilled raw fish in here. You’re the least smelly of our friends.” He’s probably right, but I feel guilty about it. “Plus, isn’t your fabric formulated to reduce clingy odors? Or is it a marketing ploy?”
“It’s real,” I say.
Once we’re at Paradise, a place so familiar to us it feels like a second home, we sit at the square bar in the center of the locals’ section where Alex greets us. Christian hands him the bottle of rum, while I take a moment to admire and appreciate the view. The main level of the restaurant opens out to the beach, giving us a perfect perspective of the gentle waves. I never get tired of seeing it. Inside is decorated with seashells, driftwood, and palm fronds.
“Anyone else joining, or can I open it?” Alex asks, not bothering to hide his impatience as he taps the bottle with his fingertips.
Christian looks at his phone and frowns. “Go ahead. Haley can’t make it. Something about steak marinating.”
“Autumn?” I ask after his wife. She should be here supporting him.
He shakes his head. “School’s back in for the fall. She has theater club.”
I wonder if this moment isn’t important enough for him to wait for her or if something else is happening. They’re a great couple, but she doesn’t hang out with our group much.
“Shouldn’t I get to open it?” Christian’s sister Bristol walks up to the bar with a container of limes. “It’s my grandparents too.” They both have the same sandy blond hair. Hers is tied back in a ponytail. She’s growing out her bangs and often complains about being in the awkward stage where she can’t put them behind her ears.
“My bar. My rules. My rum,” Alex says with a fake stern glare at his bartender. She rolls her eyes and gets out four tulip-shaped glasses.
Christian lifts his after Alex has poured, examining the color in the bright sunlight. “This is our first long-aged rum. My grandfather blended it fifteen years ago. When we were kids, he never let Bristol and me in the distillery. After I turned eighteen, he took me around and pointed to the barrels and told me these were his legacy, even if he’d never get to taste it.”
The emotion on his face is obvious. I find myself fighting back tears.
“To Jake Bailey.” Alex lifts his glass, knowing Christian will go on about the man, and it will be easier if we have a drink first.
“Jake Bailey,” we echo.
I take a sip and appreciate the way it tastes sweet on my tongue. It’s different from the rum I had with Orion but I like it all the same. I can’t think about it without remembering the way his skin felt under my lips. The way I tasted rum on his.
“It’s good.” I refocus myself and scan the bottles behind the bar for Orion’s preferred blend. It’s there on the top shelf, next to another bottle of Wendell Beach Rum.
I smile.
Alex gives me a look as he refills his glass. “I didn’t know you ever drank straight liquor.”
“Not usually, but Christian asked, and this is good,” I say.
That’s the downside of having a friend who is also your bartender—they tend to learn your drinks quickly and how they change with your mood. I drink mojitos and daiquiris at the bar, and wine everywhere else. He knows this and I expect a comment if I stray.
I’m sure if I drank more diversely, he wouldn’t comment. Our friend Sienna drinks everything under the moon. She lives in Boston, and when she visits he goes out of his way to create recipes hoping to find her a new favorite.
I ask Christian a few more questions about the rum, something I can tuck away to casually drop into conversation if I run into Orion. Hey, so good to see you. Small town, right? Wendell Beach Rum Works has a new blend you should try. Oh, you don’t know where it is? No worries, I can take you. I’m friends with the owner.
I shouldn’t be thinking this. I’m not planning on beginning a relationship with him. I don’t have time to commit to anyone. Even a fling with someone in town feels risky. Those purposefully happen away from home. Then I don’t have the chance to get attached. Thinking about Orion like this feels like I’m getting attached. It’s too big of a risk. It’ll blow up in my face. I’ve been protecting myself for far too long to let this man under my skin.
If I run into him around town, I’ll be pleasant and professional and pretend nothing happened, like we agreed we would. I’m sure it will happen. There are only a few thousand permanent residents, and with school just back in session, the visiting crowds have thinned. If I see him more than in passing, I’ll cave to my temptations and sleep with him again. I can’t do that right now.
“You should have a launch party for it,” I suggest to Christian. “Really get people excited.”
Christian shakes his head. “I don’t have time to plan anything.”
“I could help,” I offer. I want to do this. I want something to invite Orion to. Show him off and let him meet everyone I’m friends with.
But I push the thought away. I won’t send him mixed messages, even as I send them to myself. I’ll do this for Christian. He might pretend this doesn’t matter to him, but it does. Someone should promote it. And seeing Orion right now is a distraction I don’t need.
“Don’t you have enough with Sienna’s wedding?” he asks.
I groan. He’s right. Her wedding is in two months. Since it’s taking place in Wendell Beach and she lives in Boston, a lot of the errand-running has fallen on Haley and me. Her fiancé, Beckett, hasn’t helped nearly as much as he promised he would.
“Not a full party then, but something special. This is a big deal, Christian.”
“I know.” His voice is quieter than I expect.
“Right, I’m headed home. I have marketing research due by the end of the week,” I say. I slide from my barstool, grab my bag, and wave goodbye to everyone.
Paradise is so close to my house, it’s a given I’ll walk, so there’s no polite offer from anyone to give me a ride. I put on my sunglasses and head out the beach side of the restaurant. The fine white sand is hot on my bare feet as I carry my flip-flops. I do this short trip so often it’s easy to ignore what’s around me. But I appreciate the beauty of the beach and the vastness of the gulf. This beach stretches the entire seven miles of the gulf side of the island. The water is relatively still today. It’s early enough that I might have time for a paddle before sunset. It’s so hot out and I want nothing more than to plunge into the water. I pick up my pace. At least now it doesn’t matter how sweaty I am.
I get home, and after grabbing a glass of water, head to my back porch. The neighbor’s house is quiet and I didn’t see the SUV parked out front. I want to sit for a few moments and see if I can reclaim a little bit of the equilibrium that’s been missing over the last week. Then I’ll grab my board and head out to the water. Market research can be done after the sun sets. What’s the point of owning an athletic wear company if I’m too busy to use the clothing?
I see movement from the corner of my eye in the neighbor’s yard and turn.
“No, you can’t be here,” I gasp. I expected the shirtless form of a stranger.
Instead, I see the beautiful skin and tattoos of the man I can’t get out of my head.