There wasn’t a trace of that boy in the man who stood in a puddle at the edge of the sea.
Life was funny like that. For a moment in time, a few weeks in the summer when we were both just a couple of naïve kids, I called Ian Kemp a friend. Earlier that day he had treated me as a stranger. It was the summers after that turned us into nothing more than a few memories.
But those few memories turned significant.
Ian Kemp had introduced me to my comfort food. He’d also given me the confidence to smile to spite my mother when she got the best of me.
And for those memories, I felt a little indebted. A little bit more familiar to the stranger on the beach.
I made my way back to my house, my gaze fixed on Ian until I was forced to unload my sand-filled panties. A hot shower and a loofah scrub down later, I poured another glass of wine from my already corked bottle and took residence on my porch chair overlooking the calm sea. In an attempt not to screw up my routine, a routine I carefully followed to the letter on most days, I lit my hurricane candles on my porch as Novo Amor’s “Faux” drifted through my speakers and out to sea.
I learned much too late, ambiance was the key for me. Music, wine, and candles created my safe haven. These little things made me feel like I was in the midst of something, instead of looking forward to something else. I had spent way too much of my life looking forward to things.
Those things rarely ever came the way I’d imagined them.
Certainties were pap smears, head colds, and flat tires. But the feeling you got wrapped up in a good book, the perfect song, surrounded by candlelight could be repeated over and over.
Endless self-made memories that no one could screw up? Yes, please.
Because when you date yourself, there is no one to disappoint you. Jasmine didn’t get it. But me and my hesitant libido understood. I’d gone through an entire year without missing men. I’d go through another if I felt like it. But it wasn’t about setting restrictions on my life. It was about the way I felt about myself.
I’d come to the island anxiety-ridden and the blue water was my prescription. I’d set goals to forget my old ones and shed my skin for a better fit. One that bled life without calculations and bred alternate possibilities. I basked in the smell of the ocean—a new necessity—and marveled at the swirl of different shades of blue that hit the slightly rocky shore.
Several healthy sips of wine later, and much to my dismay, my bottle was empty.
As wrong as it was, I glanced over at Ian who remained in the same spot on the beach and then over to the Kemp’s house, where I knew an expensive bottle was chilling in the fridge.
As the sun began to fade behind the new Armani-clad statue in the neighborhood, the ocean and surrounding mountain islands behind him, I tiptoed over to the house. In record time, I had the bottle in hand and walked out of the Kemps’ ready to step lightly back to my side of the invisible fence. I shrieked when I saw the dark cloud that waited on the other side of the door and dropped my keys on the porch between us. Ian peered down at me as I scrambled to retrieve them.
“Shit, I’m sorry. Ian, hi, do you remember me? Koti?” He remained mute with no recognition on his face. “Well, it’s good to see you. I was… just making sure the place was ready for you. I manage this property now, I don’t know if your mother mentioned it?” Ian stood silent, his hands in his pockets. He was pale, his stubble-covered face was slightly bloated. Red-rimmed eyes were a sure sign of the day he’d had, and his full lips didn’t move with a single tell.
Ian glanced at the bottle of wine with indifference before he sidestepped me, plucked the key out of my hand and went through the door shutting it soundly behind him.
“Well, that was good, Koti,” I muttered, taking a step away when he sounded through the door, his South African tongue slightly faded, but much more masculine.
“It was awful, actually. Terrible liar. But then I guess that’s a thing with you women.”
“Wow, uh, geesh. I’ll replace your wine tomorrow,” I said through the closed door. “Sorry, for… sorry.”
What in the hell was I apologizing for? He’d just thrown women into a collective group and labeled them all liars, insulted an entire sex because of my slight alcoholism on a Tuesday night.
The nerve.
Stomping across the sand, my cell phone rang. Already on edge, I shrieked in surprise before I pulled it out of my pocket. I’d forgotten to turn it off after my shift and it was Jasmine’s night for after-hours calls. I blew out a breath as I looked at the lifeless house behind me while dusk set in. He hadn’t turned on a single light. Reluctantly I answered. “At Ease Property Management, this is Koti.”
“Hi, Koti, it’s Rowan Kemp.”
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Kemp.”
“Koti, I insist you call me Rowan. Is Ian there? Is he still at the house?”
“Yes. He uh, showed up about six hours ago.”
“Oh, thank God, okay…” I could hear the fear in her voice. “Koti, darling, I need a huge favor,” I swore when the woman spoke to me she could make a simple sentence sound like a song lyric. Ian’s father was all-American, but his mother was where the South African roots lay.
“Sure, you know I’ll help any way I can.”
“I’m sure the rental was booked for the week, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am. Actually, it’s booked almost every week for the next several months. We had to spend a small fortune relocating the guests today.”
“I’ll cover all of it, double your commission. I really need your help.”
“Okay.” I was up for anything that had me in electricity and wines that didn’t taste like syrup. Living hand to mouth had been a refreshing change when I first moved to the island, until it became a burden. Maintaining island life took work and a lot of it. “What can I do for you?”
“Watch him.”
I pressed my phone closer to my ear. “Watch him?”
“Yes. He’s just been through the worst divorce. Almost a year of fighting. He left home without a word to anyone. His father and I were frantic. He won’t take my calls. Just please check in with him each day. Make sure he’s okay.”
I lived in the house next door, there was no way it would be hard for me to check on him and the commission alone had me speaking up. “Of course.”
“I’ll send the money right away. Whatever he needs, invoice me. If he stays longer than a few weeks, we’ll be down.”
I highly doubted Ian wanted a visit from his parents, but it wasn’t my place to say so. “Yes, ma’am. Can I ask… actually never mind.” I had to admit I was curious, the image of his tortured gray eyes flashed through my head.
“He wanted the divorce, he asked for it. I’m not sure what happened.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Ian is a good man, a very good man. I’ve raised an amazing son. This… running away is not like him.” I thought back to a year ago when I showed up to my parents’ sanctuary with nothing but the clothes on my back, my purse, and my passport.
Back inside my house, I sat in my living room, opened the table side window and listened to Simone as she began to sing her lullaby. “If any place can make him feel better, it’s this place.”
“I’m so worried.” She was crying now as I gripped the phone tight, hearing my own mother’s voice from a year ago. “Koti, you can’t just run away. You need to face this head-on.”
Thinking back to the worst day of my life, I spoke from experience. “This island frees people, Rowan. I promise I’ll look after him.”
“Thank you, Koti.”
“Call me anytime.”
Chapter Four
Koti
“What the fack!”
In the midst of a foggy, wine-induced dream, I snapped to and looked at my bedside clock.
4 a.m.
Groaning, I grabbed my body pillow and cradled it between my legs as I heard repetitive banging in the house next door.
Everythin
g went quiet for a few minutes before I heard another enraged growl. Pulling myself from the bed, I moved to my window where I saw every light in the Kemp house had been turned on.
“Okay, Ian, have your freak out and go to bed.” It was going to be a long night if he had insomnia.
Another loud clatter had me jumping away from the glass, while his growls grew louder.
“What in the fack! Eish!” It seemed his native tongue made more of an appearance when he was angry. “Fok hierdie plek!”
He stormed onto his porch with a broom in hand looking back at the house and tilting his head as if he were straining to hear. I moved out of sight before I turned my light on as he slammed his way back into the house. Another series of bangs had my head pounding. I moved to my kitchen and grabbed a bottled water when I heard the repeat thwack of his back door. Realization dawned, and I began to laugh when the door slammed again.
“Oh Simone, you’ve got yourself a new victim.” I grabbed a new pair of noise-canceling plugs from my nightstand and marched over to the porch where Ian paced. With a heated glance my way, he didn’t bother with pleasantries. “The facking smoke alarm is broken. I’m…” he tapped his forehead. “Gatvol!”
“Gat what?”
“I’ve had it! Never mind. It’s the alarms, we need to have them checked.”
“No…”
Ian, still in his slacks and undershirt, glared at me. The porch light illuminated us in weak shadow. He was a beautiful man, even with a vampire tan and the slight bulge around his waist. His thick, gelled, dark-brown hair was scattered from a day of running his hand through it and feathered over his brow. He’d grown up pretty… and pretty bitchy.
“Don’t tell me no. I’ve been listening to the screech for hours. I’ve dismantled them all!”
“Ian,” I said carefully, as I closed the few feet between us like I was cornering a very angry six-foot-plus mouse. “It’s not the smoke detectors.”
He scrutinized me in my shorts and thin halter top, sans bra. “Brilliant, just brilliant. You manage this property, right? How does anyone get any sleep here?!”
“If you will just listen—”
“Are you mad, woman? I have been listening! I’m certain it’s the alarms.”
“It’s not—”
He moved toward me his lips upturned. “Listen—”
“No listen, Ian, it’s—”
“Shush!”
Pressing my lips together he craned his neck until his eyes widened. “Hear it? Don’t tell me that’s not an alarm!”
I stood with my hand on my hips, cupping his remedy—the earplugs—in my palm. Shrugging, I made my way off his porch. “Fine, it’s the alarms. Good luck with that.”
Marching into my house, I slammed the open window and turned on my AC. Even with the added white noise from the unit, I could hear the frog, who’d taken up residence in the thick brush behind the Kemp house, begin to sing. Simone, my sweet Coqui Frog, who I’d lovingly named after Nina Simone, appeared to me on one of the plants next to my porch after a three-week fight. Simone sounded very much like a smoke alarm with dying batteries. But Ian and his head-biting ass would just have to find out the hard way.
Welcome back to St. Thomas, Mr. Kemp.
Some horses you could lead to water and they would still walk straight through it believing it was a mirage. Such was the case with my angry new neighbor.
Still, angry was better than sad. And if Ian was about to fight the good fight, he needed that fire.
I fell asleep a few minutes later to a more muted, “What the fack! A frog?!”
* * *
“I don’t give a rat’s ass, Kevin! This is unacceptable!”
I opened one eye and groaned before I pulled a pillow over my head.
“Rubbish! And she made sure of that!” Ian was growling into his phone and must have decided his back porch was the perfect place to vent. I looked at the bedside clock.
7 a.m.
I pulled myself from the comfort of my cloud and made my way outside, slamming my screen door and eyeing him from my porch with my hands on my hips, in hopes that would be enough to stop his tirade.
“Oh, bullshit! That’s bullshit!” He paced on the sand yard purposefully ignoring my presence and plea for peace.
“Excuse me,” I whispered on the wind. I needed to grow some balls and fast when it came to moody Mr. Kemp. I didn’t do well without my sleep. Years of sleep depravity in New York followed by a year of rested bliss had changed me.
“This is inexcusable! What I want, what I want? I want you to do your facking job!” Ian’s accent had turned into a strange mix of pissed off Texan with a lash whip of South African. He stood in boxer briefs pacing as he ignored me. He was tall, disheveled and shirtless. The extra weight he carried did little to take away from his appeal. On any other day, I might have enjoyed the testosterone-filled man parading in front of me.
“So facking wrong! Eish! All of this is wrong!” More silence, then, “That should have been brought to my attention a year ago!”
Ripping my eyes away from his muscular thighs, I found myself screaming along with him. “Hey, take that brawl inside, crocky!”
Ian glared at me and I swore he bared teeth as he made his way up his porch steps. I was dismissed as he began his pacing on the faded wood giving me a view of his muscular back.
“A little louder, I don’t think everyone on the island is awake yet,” I muttered as he continued his rant.
“Fine. I want a call within the hour.” Ian ended his call and threw his cell on one of the porch chairs before opening his screen without glancing my way.
“Hey!” I interjected as he paused his retreat and glanced my way. “Look, buddy, I’m all for getting a point across, but can we not do it at seven in the morning while our neighbor is sleeping?”
“Fine. Right.” He slammed the door behind him.
“I accept your apology!”
His voice drifted through the open windows in his living room. “I didn’t offer one, miss.”
“Koti. My name is Koti and you damn well know it. And from what I remember you were all about formalities and manners, Mr. Kemp, so how about showing some common courtesy?”
The only way to get privacy between our two houses was to shut them up completely. Even then, without a little white noise, you could hear a lot.
Fact: People have a lot of sex on vacation. A lot of sex.
The rumble of Ian’s voice drifted through the air. “It’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations.”
“As if I had a choice!”
“Who’s screaming now?”
“Well, we’re both up now anyway, thanks to you.”
He stayed mute as I growled from my own porch.
Koti Vaughn, you need this commission.
Minutes after my first sip of coffee, I found my calm in the crash of the waves on our shared beach. Ian made his way onto his porch dressed in his slacks from the day before, his own cup in hand. Wrinkled and wrecked were the best words to describe him and I couldn’t help the tug of recognition of the state of his distress yesterday. Mustering up some patience, I made another effort to extend the olive branch. “I’ll be by with your groceries at noon. I didn’t get a chance to check your water levels so let me know if you’re running low. My phone number is in the book on the counter, text me if you want me to pick up anything else for you.”
His reply was a curt nod.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you at noon.”
* * *
“That bad, huh?” Jasmine’s eyes surveyed me in my zombie-like state. I managed to throw on a sundress and applied some sunblock and deodorant before I made it out of my house. I left the state of my wet hair up to my Jeep.
“Nice hair.”
“Bite me and he’s a nightmare. He’s hurt, but hard to sympathize with. He spent half the night putting holes in his ceiling and the morning screaming into his cell phone.”
Jasmine filled a fresh cup of
coffee and put it on my desk. “Is he hot?”
I sat back in my chair and winced due to the building throb in my skull.
“He’s a headache.”
“A hot headache?”
“He’s handsome, I guess.”
“Handsome? Who says handsome?”
“I just did.” I rolled my eyes as I logged into my desktop. “I know what you’re thinking and trust me, you don’t want to meet the ass. The first thing that came out of his mouth was that all women are liars.”
“So, he’s handsome?”
“Very handsome, and very pissed off. He taught me how to snorkel when I was six. He was cute then. He’s handsome now and completely standoffish.”
“Hmm.” Jasmine chewed her lower lip and scrutinized my face. “Sounds like an opportunity.”
I ignored her by typing an email reply to a new renter.
“Koti.” It was a demand. I met her soft brown eyes over the screen. There wasn’t a trace of humor anywhere. “You’ve barely dated since you’ve been here. Don’t you miss sex?”
“I told you… I fooled around enough in New York. I’m happy with being alone. It’s what I want for the moment. And my angry neighbor is not the one to saddle up with.” She planted her ass on the edge of my desk and covered my busy hands.
“I worry about you. You are completely anti-social. No TV at home, what do you even do?”
“I read, I take long walks down the beach, I drink wine, I attempt to play the piano, and I get a lot of sleep. I’m fine.” It was the truth. The absolute truth. I’d found calm. I wanted to keep it.
“Fine, but a little flirtation wouldn’t hurt.”
“Trust me, he’s not the one to flirt with. He’s either yelling or grunting. Anyway, I spoke to Mrs. Kemp. She’s going to double our commission and cover the difference of the Margulis mansion.”
Beach Reads Box Set Page 264