Bonnie’s fingers slow to a stop, and the tapping of the keys peters out. She hasn’t really considered the ramifications of Coco working in the B&B office with her until Holly’s return, but now that she’s here, it does seem possible that Coco will stay. After all, she owns as much of the island as Holly—well, one percent less, but that one percent won’t do anything to slow down a destructive gale-force wind like Coco.
Bonnie gives in with a sigh. “I’m responding to emails, and planning for the wedding we’re hosting here in October.”
Coco makes a sound in her throat that’s half disbelief, half derision. “A wedding? Small peanuts.” She pushes the cup of pens and pencils to the opposite side of the desk and starts rearranging Holly’s workspace. “I’ve been telling Holly for years that she needs to think bigger. Aim for the stars. Thank God I’m here.”
“Indeed,” Bonnie says. Her fingers start moving on the keyboard again.
Coco—visibly pleased with how she’s arranged Holly’s workspace to suit her own needs—folds her hands on the desk and smiles at Bonnie. “Now, how do I go about getting a village council meeting put together?”
Bonnie’s eyes flit to the calendar on her own desk. The village council meeting should have been today, had Holly not left the island. “Uhhhh, very difficult process. Lots of work. And we would never have one without the mayor present.”
“I’m calling b.s. on that, Bonnie Lane.” Coco smoothes her hair with one hand, tucking it behind two lobes studded with diamonds the size of green peas. “This tiny little group of oldsters might take a day and a half to get over here for the meeting, but it can’t be that hard to call it and put it together. I want to have a meeting,” she demands.
“Any official gathering of more than twenty islanders must be approved and presided over by the mayor of the municipality,” Bonnie says in what she hopes is an official-sounding voice. “It’s in our bylaws.”
“Like hell it is,” Coco spits back. “I have a groundbreaking offer that I want to share—not that I need to, because the vote is ultimately up to me, Holly, and Leo—but I’d like to get as many people on board with it as possible. It can’t hurt to have everyone’s support.”
Bonnie closes her laptop so that nothing separates her from Coco. “What—some multi-million dollar offer from that motley band of investors you just put on a boat? You think anyone around here cares what they have to offer? Most of us don’t have long enough left to live to start dreaming about turning this island into a water park or a Southern outpost of the Florida State History Museum.”
“Give me a break, Bonnie.” Coco narrows her eyes. “You think I’d waste my time on offers like that? We’re talking housing developments here. New residents. A broader tax base. Big money, huge investors, unimaginable revenue. And nobody would have to leave the island if they didn’t want to.”
Bonnie silently reminds herself to breathe: in through the nose, out through the mouth. She watches Coco’s nipped and tucked face as she powers towards the crux of whatever plan she’s about to hatch.
“All this time I’ve been trying to get Holly to sell this damn heap of sand and take the cash and run, but she won’t. I feel like I’m fighting some uphill battle, and then one day—boom—an idea comes to me for how we can hit the fast-forward button on her big dream to develop this place. Get some big investors to come in here and turn Christmas Key into a mint. Throw up some houses, get more infrastructure. Build something that actually draws the tourists in year-round. We’ll be printing money in no time.”
Bonnie’s stomach sinks as she envisions what Coco is trying to do. She knows that hitting the fast-forward button is not what Holly wants, and she can’t imagine Buckhunter going along with this scheme either. The massive, instant development of an enclave like Christmas Key is nothing but a recipe for disaster.
“Now, I want a meeting,” Coco says, standing up and looking down at Bonnie. “And if you don’t make a village council meeting happen, then I will—in pieces. I’ll gather nineteen people at a time so that there aren’t more than twenty of us at once, and I’ll pitch my idea to them that way.” She picks up her purse and wedges it under one arm. “Hey,” she says as though an idea has just come to her. “That might be better anyway. A room full of islanders might pick up some momentum and actually be able to put up a united front. Meeting in smaller groups means I can start to spread my ideas around like a bee spreading pollen.” Coco walks to the doorway, sunglasses in hand. She pauses and looks back at Bonnie. “Actually, I kind of like that.”
“More like a mosquito spreading malaria,” Bonnie says to herself once she’s alone again.
15
It rains all day during the photo shoot in Fairford. Holly smiles politely as Sarah touches up her makeup while she perches on a windowsill, water streaming down the glass behind her. Roberto, the magazine editor, is pleased with the slightly reserved look on Holly’s face, but only River knows her well enough to know that it’s because she feels like a fish out of water.
Allison drags a steamer over to where Holly stands, tugging at the electrical cord as she crosses the room. “Doing okay there, love? Need a sip of tea or water?” Holly shakes her head no. There are safety pins on the sleeve of one of Allison’s arms, and she’s wearing a roll of masking tape on her wrist like a bracelet. “Hold still just a tick, alright?”
“Sure, no problem,” Holly says, standing stock-still as Allison brings the head of the steamer to the side of her wool pants. A loud gush of steam hits the pant leg, blowing the wrinkles out of the fabric.
“How do I look?” River asks, his chest pushed out theatrically. He’s wearing a three-piece suit. Sarah’s taken a pair of clippers to his hair, taming his sandy locks and making the whole cut look more triangular. He looks hipper than Holly is used to.
“Very handsome,” Holly says, holding out a hand for him to join her. She’s spent the morning getting her makeup done in the bedroom with the computer, and it took all her willpower not to ask Sarah whether she minded at all if Holly just popped on and checked her email.
“I think we’re ready for Buckingham Palace.” River steps into place next to Holly. They’re standing beneath a huge light that’s shaped like a dome. Heath tips a round disc that reflects silver onto their faces as he checks his light meters, clicking a small remote and making the flash pop each time.
“This is a real photo shoot,” Holly says quietly. She leans in to River and puts her chin against his upper arm.
“Ah, ah, ah—makeup on the clothes!” Sarah shouts, rushing over to them. Holly pulls her chin away like she’s just rested it against a branding iron. “Don’t touch each other, please.” Sarah brushes at the spot on River’s navy blue coat with one hand where Holly’s foundation has left a small mark.
“Sorry,” Holly says, touching her chin reflexively.
“Don’t touch yourself, either!” Sarah swats at Holly’s hand.
Holly puts both hands in the air in surrender. “Okay, I’m just standing here like this until we’re ready.”
The actual shoot takes way less time than Holly would have imagined; it’s the preparation that seems endless. When it’s all said and done, they photograph eight different outfits with hairstyle changes for Holly, working until the light is nearly gone outside.
When they’re done, Holly tears off the borrowed clothes and pulls on her own jeans in a large bathroom, scrubbing at her face with a washcloth as she digs through her duffel bag for a t-shirt. She can’t wait to get out of there and back to London.
“You’re sure you can’t wait another hour and have pizza with us? Roberto will be back with it in a bit, and then one of us can drive you to the train later on.” Sarah is pleading with River downstairs when Holly comes down in her Converse and with a totally clean face.
River glances at Holly with the “we have to say yes to everything” face, but one look at her seems to change his mind.
“We should really get back to our flat and pack our
stuff, and we need to get some sleep. Our train to Amsterdam leaves first thing in the morning,” River says, giving Holly a wink that looks like he’s got something in his left eye.
Sarah and River trade phone numbers so that they can talk about the film shoot in Dublin at the end of the month, and then the taxi arrives, its wheels crunching on the loose rocks of the driveway.
“Thanks for everything,” Holly says, perking up a bit now that she knows they’re leaving. “It was fun.” She shakes hands with Sarah and Allison and accepts a hug from Heath, who tells her she’s a natural in front of the camera.
“She missed her calling,” River says, smiling down at Holly with pride. “Though I think she makes a damn fine mayor, which is almost as exciting as being a supermodel.”
They climb into the cab and sit close together in the backseat, Holly resting her head on River’s shoulder in the darkness. It’s late, and the day has been long and tiring. The driver starts the meter and pulls away, driving slowly down the long lane that leads to the High Street.
“Not your cup of tea, eh?” River asks, jostling his shoulder to rouse Holly as the car picks up speed.
“Cindy Crawford can keep her job, and I’ll keep mine,” Holly says definitively. “It was too much fussing and standing around for this girl.”
River laughs. “Really? I kind of liked it. And the money isn’t bad, either.”
They ride in silence the rest of the way to the train station. Holly watches the windshield wipers move back and forth rhythmically, thinking about the way River had navigated the whole modeling thing with ease. He could talk to anyone on the set, charm them all, and then get in front of the camera and give them exactly what they wanted. It was almost unsettling to watch him in a role Holly had never imagined him in. She held onto his arm tighter as they drove, the same thought running in her head on a loop the whole way: he’s the one who’s a natural.
St. Pancras International train station is busy on Friday morning, and the first order of business is breakfast. Holly sits with their bags next to her on a bench while River gets in line at Starbucks to order muffins and coffees. She’d tossed and turned the night before, listening to the rain and to River’s snoring as she thought again about the things Bonnie had emailed her. Coco being on the island has her worried and curious, and she’d like nothing more than to run to the nearest payphone and call home to see what’s going on.
“Peppermint mocha and a chocolate croissant for milady,” River says grandly, handing Holly her pastry and drink. He sits next to her so they can eat quickly before passing through customs and security.
“What the heck…” Holly is chewing a bite of her croissant when a cluster of uniformed officers descends on two men in soccer jerseys and leather jackets. They strip the men of luggage and coats, patting them down with efficiency as one of the officers takes their passports and begins to examine them and radio some unheard information on to someone else.
River takes a drink of coffee while he watches. “They’re serious about security. I’ve seen more armed guards and police officers just roaming around this station than I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“I think it’s safe to say that I’ve never seen this much police activity,” Holly says jokingly. “Even in Miami.”
“We’ve got military presence, too,” River says, lifting his chin at two men in dark green fatigues who are heavily armed and holding assault rifles in front of their chests.
“I’m not sure if it makes me feel better or worse.” Holly tears off another bite of her croissant. “Like, are they protecting us, or are we in imminent danger?”
“Maybe a little of both,” River says pensively. “Let’s get through security so we can find our seats on the train.” He stands up and tosses their garbage in the trashcan next to the bench. “Finish that coffee, girl—they won’t let you get through security with it.”
The ride to Brussels is slow and plagued with delays along the way, but Holly has a book to read and River’s shoulder to lean against while they wait. The voice on the speaker that announces their stops and starts does it all in three different languages each time: French, German, and English, and when the man says that his name is Jean-Jacques, Holly repeats it to herself, letting the French pronunciation roll around in her mouth.
“Jean-Jacques says we’ll be starting up again in about ten minutes,” she repeats to River.
“So I hear,” he says, looking up from the newspaper he’d purchased at the train station.
“Jean-Jacques says we’ll be in Brussels by noon.”
“Jean-Jacques is a really cool guy,” River says, lifting one corner of his mouth in a half-smile.
“He does seem cool,” Holly agrees. The train is warm and crowded and she’s feeling drowsy. “I mean, if you can speak three languages and manage a whole train full of people who’re trying to get somewhere, you’d have to be.”
The train starts up again in a few minutes and rolls toward Brussels without further delay. As they pull into the city, graffitied walls near the train tracks pass by in a blur of color. The rain has started again, and the dreary gray concrete, gray skies, and big city feel of the graffiti overwhelms her. For a second Holly feels such a powerful sense of homesickness for blue skies and palm trees that her eyes well up with unshed tears.
In order to refocus her mind and shake off the helpless feeling of being far from home, Holly rereads Bonnie’s emails in her mind. There has to be a way to call or respond—she needs to make contact somehow. If Coco is really stirring things up and bringing strangers to Christmas Key, she needs to be able to mitigate the effects, even from thousands of miles away.
“Here’s your bag,” River says, standing up and grabbing their things from the overhead bin as the train rolls to a stop. “Because of that delay, we’ve only got about five minutes to get to the other train, so I think we’re going to have to run. You up for this?”
“We have to run?” Holly puts the straps of her duffel bag over her shoulder and stands up, ducking so she won’t hit her head on the low ceiling above the seats.
Jean-Jacques comes on the speaker once again, giving his last words in German, then French, and finally English. “We apologize for the long delays,” he says in a French accent so thick that Holly starts craving a baguette. “The connection for Amsterdam is going to be a short window of time. It will be challenging, but it can be done!”
“Yeah, it’s going to be close. Take my hand.”
“It will be challenging, but it can be done!” Holly parrots back to River in her impression of a French accent.
River pulls her through the throng of people and as soon as their feet touch the platform, they break into a flat-out run. Holly apologizes to people as she bumps them with her flying duffel bag and her loose elbows, and they push past people who are dallying at the bottom of an escalator. They’re looking for the right platform to catch the train to Amsterdam, and when River spots it, he grabs her hand again and pulls her forward in one last burst of speed, yanking her up the step and onto the train just as the wheels start to move. They’ve made it. River looks down at Holly in breathless admiration as he pulls her close for a congratulatory hug.
“Nice hustle, kid.”
The next leg of the journey is about two hours, and they pull into Amsterdam in the middle of the afternoon. This train ride is much smoother and without delays, and they exit the train with their bags and walk into a big, open station with shops and restaurants. People stream around them, and different languages flow past their ears as they consult a sign with a map of the city.
“The boathouse I rented for us is supposed to be really close to the station,” he says, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I have the address here, and the directions.”
Holly leans in and looks at what he’s written. A woman with a baby in a stroller stops and looks at the map. She smiles at Holly and speaks to her little girl in Dutch. The words are unfamiliar to Holly’s ears, but the tone is universal.
Holly wiggles her fingers at the happy baby.
“We need to catch the ferry, which is across the street there,” River points at the road just outside of the station, which is filled with pedestrians and bicyclists. “It’s about a five minute ride, and then we walk for another five minutes or so.”
Holly puts her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket and looks up at him. “You know what I think?” she asks, kicking his foot with the toe of her Converse.
“What?”
“I think it sounds challenging, but it can be done!” she says with her faux French accent.
“And you know what I think? I think you’re a nut.” River puts his hands on the sides of her waist and pulls her close. “Come here.”
“Oh, hey,” Holly says, taking her hands out of her pockets and wrapping them around River. “Right here in the train station, huh?”
“This is Europe, baby—anything goes.” River smiles down at her, looking deep into her eyes. For the first time in a couple of days Holly relaxes and remembers why she took this trip with him in the first place. This is River—fun, easygoing, sexy, kind-hearted River. This is the guy who landed in her life during a tropical storm and helped her to keep it all together. He’s the one who tried to help her through the last gasp of her feelings for Jake, but ultimately took a step back and let her figure things out for herself when she needed the space. And he’s the guy who is here for her now, taking her on the adventure of a lifetime and looking at her like he wants to kiss her in the middle of the train station in Amsterdam.
And so, with a smile and a giddiness that momentarily erases her worries about what’s going on at home, she lets him.
16
“I’d like to call this unscheduled village council meeting to order,” Coco says on Friday at noon, lifting Holly’s pink marble gavel and rapping it against the matching block that’s resting on the podium. The B&B’s dining room is filled with curious islanders, most of whom ignore Coco’s request for silence and continue to chatter amongst themselves about the fact that Holly isn’t there and is still unreachable by phone and email.
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