CHAPTER 5 #2
I nod. “I walked in on him and the girl he’d cheated on me with. It was instantly over between us. But as I was letting him know clearly and loudly what I thought of his behavior, several federal agents paid a visit.”
Bean’s jaw drops. “What?”
“Turns out my ex’s brother was a wealth manager and got Dax involved in an investment fraud scheme.” I cover my mouth when I yawn again.
“So, he’s in jail.” It’s a statement of relief, not a question.
“I wish that were the case. The weasel is on the run.”
Bean gathers me into a hug, one I’ve sorely needed. The tension in my shoulders releases a fraction.
“I learned that he was using my address as his. I’m not in trouble, but figured I ought to get out of town until things blow over.” I swallow because I don’t know why it looked like my apartment blew up.
“I never liked Dax,” Bean says.
“I know. You warned me.” I’d rather not think about my guy-dar deficiencies, as in my loser guy radar doesn’t operate optimally, or at all.
Don’t get me wrong, the guy at the Smoothery was handsome, but I’m not looking.
I mean, I was because it was hard not to notice him, but I’m not looking looking.
Though not to worry, there’s no chance I’ll ever see him again.
“I’m also not the biggest fan of the McGregor brothers,” Bean says off-handedly.
“Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Their grandfather bought this island and built the resort. His name was Chip Almeida.”
She says something else, but it’s a bit garbled. I squint as if looking into the past, then shake my head as if waking up. Did I nod off?
Bean waves her hand. “Never mind. That’s another drama for another day. Tomorrow, in fact.”
Blinking rapidly, I look around as if waking up and not remembering where I am for two seconds until I place myself at Beans & Books on Coco Key.
“You’ve had a long drive. Why don’t we get you settled in?” Bean says.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You just dozed off.”
“I what? No, I didn’t.”
“Isla, you were snoring. This old chair is comfy, but we can do better.” My sister gets to her feet.
Getting a second wind, I say, “No, I’m fine. Never better. Let’s have some fun.”
She looks me over from head to toe. “You need to get some rest and maybe a shower. Where did you sleep last night?”
I wince because I cannot lie. “The bench seat in the truck is surprisingly comfortable.”
“Should I be worried about you?”
“No.” Not now that I’m here.
Bean’s uncertainty ripples across her soft, petite features, which are much like our mother’s from what I vaguely remember. Whereas I inherited my father’s slightly more angular look—at least from the few photos I’ve seen. “Will you tell me the whole story when you’re ready?”
She knows me so well. “Yes.” As I follow Bean out of the café, I can’t help but admire all the work she’s done.
The ramshackle building has transformed, but I can’t figure out where she sleeps.
Surely, not on that loveseat under the window.
Yes, it was comfortable for a cozy cuddle, but not something to stretch out and snooze for a solid eight winks way.
We walk down the street and then turn at a pathway that leads to an arbor-covered gate. Bean punches a code into the keypad and it opens.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You can stay in the guest house.”
Standing in a rear courtyard, I turn in a circle. “This is your house, er, mansion? I thought you worked for the lawyer?”
“I do.”
“Are you and he a—?” I twine my first two fingers together.
“Are you asking whether I’m dating Mr. Edmonton?”
I nod rapidly, terrified of the answer. Then again, he’s a far more upstanding citizen than Dax.
“No, he’s like an uncle. He’s also nearly eighty. We play checkers together.”
“Will he mind that I’m here?”
“No. I already called him. He’s on the mainland recovering from surgery.”
“Bean, you had me scared for a moment.”
She gives me a look like the very reason I’m here is of far more concern than her dating a geriatric lawyer.
After showing me to the guest house, I say, “If Mom could see us now...”
“She’d throw open the doors to all her grubby and greedy hippy friends.” Suffice it to say, Bean is still a bit resentful.
Me too, but I say, “She probably can. I don’t know the technicalities of how heaven works, but I’m guessing she’s proud of us.”
My sister slings her arm over my shoulders. “Well, I’m glad we’re together.”
“Yeah, and I’m living in your guest house.” Just when I thought I’d finally gotten it together—with multiple murals under my belt and several contracts ready for my paintbrushes—things went south, literally.
“I don’t own the place.” Bean gazes at the floor.
“Sis, you own a business. You live in this house. You probably have your own wing.”
“I clean in exchange for my room and board.”
“And you’re his legal assistant, run the bookstore, and—” I waggle my eyebrows.
“Stop. Trust me, it’s not like that. No seriously. It’s not. I’m not looking for love. I have Nutmeg and that’s all I need.”
Our friend Jackie has been in hot pursuit since he met her at my birthday party and kissed her under the pinata. Then she said, Sayonara. I hold out hopes that someday they’ll have a HEA.
“Me neither.” But I don’t have a cat, so I can’t even count on being an old cat lady.
“Get some rest. If you need anything, I’ll be at the bookstore.”
“I was hoping we’d bunk together like old times. Have a pajama party.”
“We will, once you’re able to stay up late.”
“Fair point. I’m kind of a walking, talking, snoring disaster.”
Bean tilts her head from side to side. “Watch out for the McGregors. They’ll be here anytime now. You’ve been warned.”
“Are we talking a Dax-level of slimy ineptitude and sketchiness or Mr. Edmonton’s elderly cantankerousness?”
“They’re on an altogether other level.”
As soon as she closes the door behind her, I crash onto the plush bed with a pillowtop mattress. It’s pure luxury and deeply appreciated after the frantic escape and long drive.
My phone beeps in my back pocket. Face down, I contort my arm to get it out. Dax’s name scrolls across the screen. The situation is trying to slap me in the face—and not a soft pat either, more like attempting to take off a sweaty sports bra after a workout.
With a single swipe, I power off my phone. “Toodles,” I say with a yawn.
I wish I could say the last three weeks were a dream. More like a nightmare if I leave out the painting parts. I’m relieved to be here and not have to face the stark reality I left up north. I only hope it doesn’t catch up with me.