CHAPTER 6
Years have passed since I drove off the mainland and onto this particular stretch of road, bordered on both sides by water, but my distaste for the area remains firmly in place.
Sure, it’s objectively beautiful with the turquoise sea, soft white sand, lush vegetation, and palm trees hanging lazily over ocean vistas like they have nothing better to do.
But I called this place home for too long. Too many memories hide behind the sunsets and hope-filled moments I’m better off forgetting.
When I roll past the pathetic Coco Key sign, red flags, sirens, and flashing lights demand I turn back, but I ignore the warnings in my mind and continue into town.
Unsurprisingly, without the Driftwood Resort’s influence, the town is in shambles. The place takes a beating from a few seasonal storms each year, but this is downright pathetic.
The Sip & Scoop sign is missing its S’s and the C, so it says ip & oop. Sand drifts like snow across the road. The pelicans have taken over, and trust me, what they leave behind is not polite.
I cannot imagine the state of the resort. “Chip, get it together.”
With the cash the old man has squirreled away, he could hire people to at least trim the palm trees around here. After all, he owns pretty much all the property on this island except for a few houses and shacks.
The Island Blooms florist hasn’t just seen better days, it’s the equivalent of Strawberry Shortcake living in her truck and taking a bath in a public restroom. The potential is there, but she could do better.
Glancing at the clock on the dash, I scold myself. I’d gone exactly twenty-nine minutes without thinking about her. I can’t seem to break thirty.
Despite what my rivals say, perhaps there is a kind, compassionate bone in my body, and the reason my thoughts repeatedly float back to her is that I want to do good in this world.
Contribute to a worthy cause and improve the lives of those in need.
The woman looked like she could use help and not just learn to juggle or top off her fluids.
But I don’t need Strawberry Shortcake or Coco Key.
I’m the Lone Ranger, the Lone Wolf, a werewolf all rolled into one and women are better off steering clear of me.
Parked outside what appears to be the sole shop in this town where the owner bothers to sweep the doormat and wipe the smudges from the window, I give myself one last chance to go back.
But before I can throw the BMW into reverse, an SUV pulls alongside my car. The door slams. A man whoops and before I know it, Ryan pulls me out of the driver’s seat and into a hug.
“It’s been far too long.”
“Not long enough,” I mutter.
“Magnus gave the order. Said to come down here for the old man’s birthday or whatever. I’m surprised you were the first to arrive.”
“Trust me, I’ve considered doubling back.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Nah. Come on. It’ll be like old times.”
If only I had Ryan’s sunny outlook.
“I’ll even buy you a—” He points to the ip & oop and shakes his head. “Looks like Kathy is closed for the season.”
“When were you here last?”
Ryan scratches his temple. “I’m not sure. Three years? Five? Seems like a lot has changed. This place is new. Let’s head inside.”
We enter Beans & Books, a cozy little bookstore café with a giant loveseat under the window and books everywhere. A cat eyes us carefully like she’s the loss prevention specialist.
A woman with dark hair and soft features emerges from the back and says, “Welcome, what can I get for you?”
Like the cat, she looks from Ryan to me. Her eyes are brown and somewhat familiar, but I can’t place them. I scrub my hand down my face. I could probably use a sound sleep and a solid meal served on a plate with a knife and fork.
Ryan smiles in that infuriatingly flirty way that woos women without a single word. “If you’re wondering whether we’re twins, yes, but not identical.” He points to my nose. “See, his is smooth. I have a bump. And he has a scar on his lip and bigger ears. Obviously, I’m the superior specimen.”
The woman’s expression ripples between concern for my brother and amusement.
Just to annoy Ryan, I say, “Don’t listen to him. I’ve never seen this guy in my life. He said he wanted to case the joint, and I advised against it. He’s wanted in three states for chocolate theft.” I point to the display.
He chucks me in the arm with his fist. “I am not. I’ve been told that I’m as sweet as pie. A real cinnamon roll. A cookies and milk kind of guy. However, my twin is as prickly as a pineapple, as tart as a lemon, and as—”
“Sounds like you have low blood sugar,” I interrupt.
“Admit that I’m the nice one and you’re the mean one.”
“No comment.”
“Bro, you don’t have a nice bone or muscle or impulse in your body,” Ryan retorts.
“I rescued a kitten once and I help old ladies load their groceries.”
“Oh yeah? When was the last time you were in the grocery store?”
I shift uneasily. He’s got me there. Angela knows what I like to keep stocked at my condo, otherwise, I eat out.
Ryan turns back to the woman behind the counter. “Okay, fine, my brother isn’t mean, so much as he’s misunderstood.”
“The only thing I don’t understand is why you’re trying to convince a perfect stranger who’s who. We just had a long ride and are looking for refreshments. We’ll take iced coffee. Mine, black.”
“Please,” Ryan adds, confirming he’s right about being the nice one.
On the upside, at least we’re not fighting or standing here in uncomfortable silence—we’ve done a lot of that in recent years. Perhaps Chip’s birthday invitation lightened the mood.
We get our coffees and sit down at a nearby table.
“Good to see you, bro,” I say, contradicting Ryan’s claim of my mean brother status.
“Considering all the time you spend in the office, I imagined you wouldn’t come out in the light of day.”
“Are you calling me a vampire?”
“You’re known for sucking the blood out of your clients.”
“I’m good at what I do.”
“Too good,” a deep, commanding voice says from the doorway.
Magnus walks in and removes his aviator sunglasses.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as if he’d been part of the conversation all along.
“Too good to call or visit your brothers.”
“I talked to you yesterday.”
“I called you,” Magnus corrects.
“I saw Ryan at the playoffs.”
Ryan points at me and then at himself. “You were in the box. I was on the field.”
“We made eye contact. And I visited you at Walter Reed, Mag.”
“I was in a medically induced coma.”
Not going to lie, that had me on edge, but as soon as the doctor said he’d be fine, I went back to work.
Ryan practically pouts. “You missed my birthday. All of them since we turned eighteen.”
“I sent you a card.”
“Angela sends me a card.”
“How do you know about Angela?” I ask.
Ryan rolls his eyes.
“I didn’t know it was so special to you.”
“We’re twins. It’s our birthday. Why wouldn’t it be?”
I shrug, trying to remember where I was and what I was doing when we turned thirty-two. “I didn’t realize this demand that I meet with you was because it’s official dump on me day.”
“When was the last time you saw Emmie?” Ryan asks with a gotcha face.
“Last Thursday.”
“Oh, so you have time for our sister, but not for your brothers?”
“Last I checked, things were cool between us,” I say.
“Cool like we’re chill or cool like the icy wind of war blows from the north?” Ryan asks.
I give my head a shake. “The latter.”
“That’s the problem. You haven’t checked,” Magnus says, arms across his chest. “It’s like you forgot you have three brothers and a sister.”
“And you have checked in?”
They don’t reply because it’s easiest to pick a fight with me. They know I’ll come back swinging, and if not that, leave them to stew in stony silence.
“Wait. Where’s CJ?” Ryan asks as if just now remembering there are four McGregor brothers.
“Probably lazing on the beach somewhere.”
“Getting up to no good,” Magnus adds.
“Last I heard, he was kicked out of Tortuga.”
“You’re thinking of Captain Jack Sparrow,” Magnus says.
“May as well be the same,” I mutter.
Ryan cocks an eyebrow. “Minus the general drunkenness and dreads. Looks-wise, CJ is the opposite of the fictional captain of the Black Pearl.”
“But he’s no stranger to pirates. And he’s late, as usual.” Though CJ would argue that we’re extra early because nothing exciting happens until he’s present and accounted for.
“The party doesn’t start for another half hour,” Magnus corrects.
Stretching my legs out long and taking the last sip of my coffee, I say, “Strange to have a birthday party in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday.”
“Chip is a unique man. A big personality but mysterious. He’d have you watching his right hand, meanwhile, his left hand was doing all the work.”
Ryan leans in. “Mag, you’re the oldest, maybe you know the answer to this question. I’ve always wondered, why do we call our grandfather Chip and not Grandpa or the Brazilian Portuguese word for it?”
“You mean Av??” Magnus asks.
“Like avocado,” Ryan says, licking his lips.
I roll my eyes. Our mother only spoke Brazilian Portuguese to us, and it’s all faint in my mind, but that word is new to me because I too always called our grandfather Chip.
“Some say he got the name from traders who used to come through here—”
“You mean pirates?” I snort because I wouldn’t be surprised if the old man was involved in shady dealings.
“Just how old do you think he is?” Ryan asks.
I shrug. “He’s been old my entire life.”
Magnus raps me on the back of the head. “Respect.”
I wince and stand at attention because, although I can hold my own, I don’t want to get in a tangle with Magnus, even if he’s approaching his forties.
“I’ve also heard Chip was a nickname from his days in the Brazilian military.”
“So, he played for the good guys, then switched to the bad guys?” I ask.
“Watch it,” Mag warns.
I hold up my hands, “Alright, alright.” Can’t say that I’m not a little resentful. Chip raised us, but he had some pirate-type tendencies.
“There’s speculation, sure, but why don’t you ask him?” Magnus says.
“The guy intimidates me.”
“He’s ancient, how could he—?”
A growl-like sound comes from Magnus’s chest. I take it to be the three-strike warning. Unless I want to find myself out back with his fist in my face, I’d better watch my tongue. Message received. My big brother is the only human on earth to whom I will ever defer.
“What is that?” Magnus asks, leaning toward the door and listening.
“I thought it was you.”
“Sounds like a boat,” Ryan says.
“We should head over to the resort,” I say, eager to get this over with.
We stand in the doorway of Beans & Books. Ryan waves to the woman who likely witnessed the entire interaction and if she loves writing books as much as reading them, she’ll feature our conversation in the pages of a novel called something like Bickering Brothers in Paradise.
Magnus shakes his head. “You didn’t look at the card Chip sent, did you?”
I shake my head.
“We’re not meeting at the resort. We’re meeting across the street.”
“Why would Chip have a party there?” Ryan points at a stucco, two-story building with classic scrollwork and a patio wrapping around the top and wrought-iron railings. Looks straight out of a Pirates of the Caribbean movie—belonging to the wealthy settlers, not the rabble-rousers in Tortuga.
“I’m not sure it’s a party, guys,” Mag mutters.
“Then what are we doing here?”
Standing on the street, the conversation turns rowdy with confusion, insults, and questions.
Magnus calls order at the same time that I go silent.
A woman exits a gate wreathed in climbing vines with pink flowers. I vaguely remember mam?e calling them bougainvillea.
I take a careful look because instead of wearing short overalls and a tank top, she has on a denim skirt and a tank top. Same paint-stained sneakers. Same long brown hair streaked blonde by the sun.
Backing away slowly, I can only imagine my eyes are as big as saucers.
“You’re staring,” Magnus says.
“What are you staring at?” Ryan asks.
Not what. Who.
She’s just so confusing. Chaotic. Like one of those splatter paint works of modern art, except this time and from this distance, I don’t see any paint. Looks like she showered.
I rub my eyes. I’ve got to be seeing things. “We should go to the meeting.”
“Now you want to go?” Ryan asks.
My step stutters as she approaches.
“And who is this?” Ryan asks.
“What do we have here?” Magnus follows up as if it’s all too clear that there is a history between us, albeit recent and brief. A story I don’t want to tell.
Strawberry Shortcake waves tentatively, as if during the last twenty-four hours we were pioneers traveling to a strange land and had a few encounters, but mostly kept to ourselves. However, now that we’ve arrived, our connection makes us acquaintances, if not friends.
My instincts tell me to run, otherwise, there’s sure to be trouble—of the liquid variety. But my brothers watch her approach as if they’re scientists observing a rare species in the wild and eager to find out what’s going to happen.
“Hi, Mr. Muffin,” Strawberry Shortcake says.
“Hello,” I say shortly.
Magnus’s stoic expression hints with the faintest amusement. Ryan smirks—both likely at the stupid name.
Before I can explain or refute, before any connections or observations are made, a lukewarm splash comes from nearby.
Magnus coils, on alert. Ryan wipes his face. I glare at Strawberry Shortcake. Only, she’s wetter than me. There aren’t any cups or jugs or any types of containers in her hands. No muffins either.
Instead, a manatee dunks underwater by the nearby dock.
The woman from the bookstore rushes out, gives us all a once-over, and says, “Looks like Lola the Sassy Sea Cow gotcha.” Then, turning to Strawberry Shortcake, she adds, “I need your help.”
They disappear inside.
Yeah, I need help too. Help keeping my clothing dry. Help avoiding this mysterious woman who repeatedly pops into my life and makes my pulse stop.