by Sue Seabury
“Sorry.” Kat kept her eyes on her red feet. She knew her cheeks were brighter. “So, you do just about everything around this place, huh? I think Mr. Roarke had help. I mean, besides Tattoo.”
“Ramsey is no Tattoo.”
“He certainly isn’t.” Kat grinned but when she looked at Hugo, his mouth was set in a thin line.
“Tattoo knew how to follow directions.”
“I see.” No love lost there. “It must be hard to be chief cook and bottle washer.”
Hugo broke off a branch that was sticking out in the path. His face relaxed into a more thoughtful expression. “I know most people think it is stressful to handle all the details, but I learned the hard way it pays to do things myself. Knowing I can count on someone — me — to get them done makes my life easier.”
“It does seem hard to find good help these days,” Kat said. “Most people just want to get paid to show up.”
“Exactly! And then they don’t even bother to do that, and don’t understand why I won’t hire them back. So.” He lifted his hands, then let them fall. “It makes for long days for me, but it’s worth it.” His smile was now rueful.
“So you sleep here, I mean, at the resort?”
“Who says I sleep?” He laughed.
Kat grimaced in sympathy.
“Yes, I have a small apartment, just beyond the kitchen.”
“It’s worth it, I’m sure, because you actually own the place,” Kat said. “My job is pretty brainless. Just, check people in, say hello, listen when they want to talk. Unfortunately the salary is commensurate with the level of difficulty.” She stubbed her toe on a rock and took a quick hop.
“Careful,” Hugo said. “Why don’t you do something you like better?”
“No training and no experience, for starters. Being a mom, you become a Jack-of-all-trades and develop stamina to beat out a marathon runner, but most employers don’t see it that way. They see a twenty-year gap in your employment history, and that’s it. They’d rather take their chances on the twenty-two-year-old.”
Hugo snapped another branch that was in their path. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Oh, well, who ever said life was fair? Anyway, I don’t know why I complained. I loved being able to stay home with my son, and if having a mediocre job is the price I pay now, so be it. I don’t care about having lots of money. ‘Enough is as good as a feast’ for me.”
He stared at her like he was seeing a ghost. She’d been sincere; what did that look mean? He probably loved money. Most men did.
She cleared her throat. “How long have you had this place?”
“Three years.” He seemed to grow even taller.
“And is it working out? Being a Hugo-of-all-trades?”
“It’s going pretty well, but you never know. The wheel of chance can turn and —phfft.” He licked his lips and threw her a few sideways glances. He seemed like he wanted to tell her something; she kept quiet to give him time to decide.
Eventually he said, “My neighbor got sued last year. Personal injury. Lost everything.” He pointed at a tree root for her to avoid.
She stepped over it.That’s why he’d panicked when she made her silly joke in reception about breaking something to extend her stay. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t like him at all — not only because he was my competition. I didn’t like the way he did things.” He waggled his hand to indicate the dicey nature of the competitor’s business. “With all the things he was up to, to get sued for someone cutting his foot on a piece of glass that washed up on the beach.” Hugo laughed, but it was mirthless. “Maybe it was payback for all the illegal things he was doing, but it doesn’t seem right that a person can lose everything over one small accident.”
“Yes, sometimes it’s the smallest things.” For Kat, it had been a door click. She’d been asking Darren about planning a special trip for the two of them after Carver left for college. Darren hadn’t even let her finish, just said, “No.” That’s what did it for her.
“Big things, too,” Hugo said. “I used to have a catamaran, give snorkeling tours, stuff like that.”
“Sounds dreamy.”
“It was a not-unpleasant way to earn a living. Anyway, I lost it in a hurricane. The insurance had an ‘act of God’ clause in it. Didn’t have to pay.” He chewed his lips. “Excuse me. I don’t know why I’m boring you with all these dreary stories. Forgive me.”
“I’m not bored at all. You’ve led — are leading — a very interesting life. Anything else you care to reveal?” Kat wiggled her eyebrows as a joke.
Hugo looked straight ahead. “I need to bring my machete next time.”
Kat started. “What?”
Hugo pointed at a branch that blocked their path.
She exhaled a laugh. “I was just about to swear not to tell your secrets to get you to spare my life. Or at least hold off until the end of my stay.”
He held the branch aside for her to pass. A postcard-perfect crescent beach lay before them. Swaying palm trees, crystalline water, the whole nine.
“How beautiful!” She turned to Hugo. “Beauty promises happiness, right?”
Hugo nodded. “It’s a great place for shell-hunting. I find some real treasures down here sometimes. It’s kind of my little secret. I don’t tell just anyone about it.”
“I won’t tell! Just please, no machete.”
His lips curved up. “Since you’ve been kind enough to listen to my uninteresting woes, I will spare you today. But tomorrow, who can say?”
This time, they were on the same humor page.
“It’s so perfect,” Kat said.
“I hope it fits all your requirements: solitude, with the additional benefit of shade. I think it best for your delicate skin that you stay out of the midday sun.” He reached out and ran his hand lightly down her arm, then he blinked and pulled it back. “Forgive me. Doyou like shade?”
“I do. Look at what happened to my feet!” She wiggled her pink toes.
“Oh, no.”
She’d done it again. He wasway too sensitive about these minor things. Kat laughed to lighten the mood. “It’s nothing. I’ll just skip putting lotion on my legs for a few days to catch up.”
“You can’t do that. You’ll burn.” He reached out again, but caught himself just before he touched her.
“Kidding,” Kat said.
“Right.”
Short circuit again with the humor. She’d play it straight from now on.
The breeze blew a familiar scent to Kat’s nose. She breathed deeply. “That smells like the flowers in my room. What are they?”
“Geraniums.” Hugo pointed at the ground. Sure enough, some of those small pink blooms were poking out.
“They never smell that good at home.”
“Here in Puerto Rico, everything is little more special.” His expression and tone were filled with pride. Kat could allow it. The island was pretty magical.
“Oh, that reminds me. When I was taking my grapefruit-scented bubble bath, I came up with a drink idea. Ginger, mint, and grapefruit. Got anything like that?”
Hugo pursed his full lips. “I’ve had a grapefruit mojito, and a ginger martini, but I can’t think of anything with the three together.”
“Well, I’m no mix master. It was just an idea I dreamed up in my bath.” And that was enough innuendo for one conversation. “Thank you for bringing me.”
He took a quick step away from her. “Right. Alone time. Enjoy yourself. And just follow the path to get back. You can’t get lost. There’s only the one.” He jogged away.
As soon as he disappeared behind the leaves, Kat got a sinking, tired feeling, but looking out at the turquoise water revived her somewhat. Determined to enjoy her solo adventure, she walked down to the water’s edge.
Hugo was right. There were lots of great shells. She didn’t know the name of any of them. Another thing to add to her list of questions about the island. Maybe she’d see if the gift shop had a field
guide.
Concentrating on the irregular line of shells and sea glass along the high-water mark, a splash and nearby voices startled her. A few shells slid out of the apron she’d fashioned from her dress.
A child screeched, then another. So much for her peace and quiet.
Another child darted out from among the trees. Kat had visions of an entire school bus emptying into her peaceful haven.
A fourth appeared, but no more. Kat heaved a sigh of relief, until they started playing a loud, splashy game of tag that extended into her territory.
“Oh!” she cried when she got a good wave all the way up to her thigh. Her dress was soaked.
“Perdón!” a little boy of about seven yelled. He picked up one of the shells Kat had dropped and held it out. “Hola.”
It was impossible for her to stay annoyed at a grin like that. “Hola.”
She held out her hand to accept the shell. At the same time, one of the girls called out. Kat didn’t catch what she said, but by her tone and the way she had her hands on her hips, it was clear she was telling the boy not to talk to strangers.
The boy dropped the shell and ran back. The girl said some more rapid words and the boy returned and picked up the shell again. He held it out shyly.
“Gracias,” Kat said.
His serious expression changed to a smile once again. Then the girl called and he ran off. Two women showed up, then a man with a guitar. Kat sighed at her loss of privacy, but their wave was friendly. She raised a hand in return, but kept her distance.
The children continued their splashy game in the shallow water. Kat decided she had enough shells and went to sit on a fallen palm trunk.
She sorted them one by one, throwing occasional glances over to the party. While the women set up a colorful striped blanket and spread out the contents of their shopping bags, the man tuned up his guitar. Some things were the same the world over, like women making the lunch.
A drop of nostalgia tweaked Kat’s heart, but satisfaction with her new freedom was stronger. The delicious smells wafting over reminded her stomach it hadn’t been fed in a while.
Two little brown feet appeared in the sand. The boy held his hands behind his back. Clearly he wanted to surprise her. She covered her eyes.
“Mira!” he yelled.
Kat uncovered and saw a perfect miniature conch shell. “Oh! Beautiful!” She racked her brain for the Spanish word. Nothing came, but a few others did.
She pointed at the shells. “Qué es?”
The boy wrinkled his nose. “Las conchas marinas?”
“Ah, sí. Should’ve guessed that.” Kat pointed at his. “This one?”
“Caracola.”
“This?” She pointed at a shell that had smooth, brown mottling on the top and tiny jagged teeth-like rows at the opening underneath.
“Cauri.”
A cowrie shell. So that’s where the word came from.
“This?” She pointed at some bumpy, twiggy things.
“El coral.”
Okay, this was getting a little embarrassing.
“Gracias.”
The boy hesitated a moment, then shyly added his perfect miniature conch to her collection.
“Oh, are you sure?” She picked it up but he had already run away again. She’d forgotten how fast little boys could move.
The man finished tuning his guitar and began to strum. He played well, and the song was low and gentle. It was quite nice, actually.
So pleasant, she was surprised by the dampness on her face. The boy must’ve splashed her again. She brushed her fingers along her cheeks and glanced over at him. He looked nothing like Carver. Tan and slender, he had dark hair whereas Carver had always been stocky and fair. And yet, there was some boy essence that was exactly like her son.
The dampness reappeared.
Nostalgia squeezed her heart again. She missed her little boy.
The song turned melancholy. A hollow opened in her stomach. Time to go. Slipping the conch shell into her pocket, she left her collection on the tree stump and signaled to the kids they were welcome to it. She didn’t stay to see if they noticed her or not.
Walking back up the path, she used both hands to dry her cheeks, but soon needed them to push branches aside. She didn’t remember this much overgrowth from the way down. Hugo had made the path easy for her.
A branch caught her across the nose. She sniffed and reminded herself how lucky she’d been, getting to stay home with Carver for all those years.
She was back at the cliff. It seemed much higher than on the trip out and she had to use her hands to hoist herself up. They got muddy when her tears mixed with the soil. Didn’t matter; she needed a shower anyway.
She stopped and looked out at the sea. The view looked completely different than yesterday, although she couldn’t say exactly how.
Her hands felt sticky; she wiped them on a leaf. The full-time-mother phase of her life was over. Time to turn a new page in her book.
11
Kat intended to head straight back to her room to clean up, but blender noises coming from the dining area caught her ear. A refreshing minty scent hooked her nose, and the rest of her got pulled in by the sight of Hugo.
He looked up and raised a glass. Kat’s legs wobbled. Must be hunger.
“I’ve been working on your idea.” Hugo pushed his wild hair out of the way. It bounced right back.
Kat slid onto a barstool. “And?”
“Taste and decide.” He lined up four glasses on the teak wood bar.
“What’s in them?”
“Ginger, mint and grapefruit as a base, and then whiskey, rum, vodka and Benedictine, and tequila and triple sec.” He pointed at each glass in turn.
She really should eat something first, but it would be rude to ask for food now, after he’d worked so hard on her other idea. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Just a taste. Maybe start with the most sour.“ He pointed at the whiskey glass.
Whiskey was Darren’s drink. She took a tiny sip. “Not bad.”
She worked her way up the line, her sips growing progressively. “Hard to say. They’re all good.”
“Then I will offer them all to the others to try. But we must make them sound like real cocktails. What shall we name them?”
Kat got a little shiver at his conspiratorial tone. And all thewe’s. “How do you say ‘grapefruit’ in Spanish?”
“Toronja.”
“So this one can be a ‘Mojito Toronja.’ That has a nice ring, right?”
“I like it.”
And I like your pouty lips.
To keep the unruly thought from escaping her own lips, she took another sip from each. Bad idea. Tingles went from her toes to her scalp also made her tongue feel looser.Concentrate on the drinks.
“Tequila moon for this one, because it’s cloudy and dreamy.”Like your face.
Kat cleared her throat. “For this, Vodka Cha-Cha because it makes me want to dance—”With you. Despite being seated, her hips wiggled. “ —and Jungle Juice for the whiskey, because it makes me feel like exploring.”Under your sarong.
Goodness, she was as bad as Queenie. She slapped the last glass down on the polished wood a little harder than she meant to.
“You are quite creative.” Hugo spread his arms wide on the bar. His fingertips were almost touching hers, electricity crackling. A fraction of an inch more and there’d be sparks.
Kat was buzzing hard, dangerous territory. But the only thing she could think to do with her mouth besides flat-out kiss him was to drink more. She took another sip from the rum glass. “Renaming this one. Cabo Cooler, ’cause I feel cool right down to my caboose!”
In fact, she was feeling quite warm in that area, and others. The rum glass was now empty. She swigged from the vodka mix because it was the next closest. “Got a better name for this one too. Flirtini!”
She threw her head back and laughed. The barstool seemed to sway. Hugo’s hand was right there; she grab
bed it. He placed his other hand over hers. So warm.
“Careful,” he said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
A hiccup slipped out. “I think I need to eat something.”
Hugo jumped as if she’d stomped on his foot. His hands slid off hers. “Of course. Forgive me. What can I make you? Never mind. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the kitchen and returned faster than seemed possible given the assortment of food on his tray. Fruit, nuts, salsa, chips, but the thing that really made Kat’s stomach rumble was the mashed plantains.
“What’d you call this again?”
“Mofongo.”
Talk about things that need renaming. She shoveled in a forkful. “Mmm, I’m so in love with these, I could marry them.” She shut her eyes. She did not just say that. What was she, twelve? “I mean, they’re delicious.”
“Gracias. It is one of my favorites too. Mymamá makes the best.”
Kat choked. Hismother made his snacks?
“They can be a bit dry. I have just the thing. Give me one minute.” He was gone for more than a minute, but returned with a fragrant bowl of something that made Kat swoon.
“Soup?”
“Yes. Mymamá made it today. Too much for me.” He held up a hand. “This is a fresh bowl, of course.”
His mom made his lunch too. Kat took a big spoonful. Ten minutes ago, the slurp would have embarrassed her, but since she had no intention of pursuing any man whose mother still cooked his meals, she didn’t care.
It was delicious: flavors she couldn’t name, some kind of fish, but also delicate exotic spices. And the plantains provided a pleasant chewy contrast. “This is so good. What’s in it?”
Hugo shrugged. “Mamá’s secret.”
He wiped circles on the bar and threw occasional glances her way. After downing a few more bites, her head felt much clearer. She hadn’t done anything really, just held his hand, and only because she lost her balance. No unseemly remarks had escaped. She hadn’t humiliated herself. She would watch her drinking for the rest of her stay. Clearly she couldn’t be trusted when tipsy.
“How did you enjoy the shell beach?” Hugo asked.
“Oh, it was great. Thanks again.”