by Helen Hardt
A scantily clad hostess takes us to a table for two. “Your server will be with you in a minute.”
“What’s your pleasure?” Scotty picks up the menu on the side of the table.
“Just a basic burger.”
“Cheese?”
“No. I’m one of those weird people who doesn’t like cheese on a burger.” True story. It takes away from the flavor of the meat, in my opinion.
“Heathen!” He smiles.
“Hey, Scotty.” A nice-looking man in an island print shirt—this one yellow with tropical flowers, and even louder than Scotty’s—and surf shorts struts up. “Who’s your friend?”
“Hey, Nemo. This is Emily.”
“You an artist?” Nemo asks.
I nod. “I try to be.”
“Welcome. When did you arrive?”
“Four days ago.”
“Really? Most people from the states can’t wait to try the burgers here.”
I have no idea what to say, so I say nothing.
“I’ll have the usual,” Scotty says, nodding to me.
“What’s the usual?” I ask.
Nemo laughs. “You don’t want to know!”
I raise my eyebrows at Scotty.
“The staff makes fun of me. It’s a double, medium rare, with horseradish cheddar, green chili sauce, and a fried egg.”
“Ugh.” I twist my lips into a grimace.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Scotty laughs.
“I don’t do eggs,” I tell him. “They’re gross.”
“That’s it.” Scotty shakes his head with another smile. “It’s over between us.”
It’s a joke, I know, but still warmth creeps to my cheeks. I didn’t come here to have a fling. I came here to…
God. So don’t want to think about that at the moment.
“I’ll have a single, medium, with lettuce, tomato, and pickle.”
“One basic American, sans cheese.” Nemo scribbles on his pad.
“That’s me,” I say. “Just a basic American.”
“Pretty girl”—Scotty smiles—“there’s nothing basic about you that I can see.”
Basic. Such an innocuous word. What I wouldn’t give to actually be a basic American at the moment. Just another girl no one notices.
Invisible.
Invisibility has its perks.
“So here we are,” Scotty says, after Nemo leaves, “one Scotty and one basic American.”
“Your burger is called the Scotty?”
“Sure is. No one else orders it.”
“Shocking.” I take a drink of the water Nemo left for us.
He laughs.
“So the burger you invented has a name, but your special drink doesn’t?”
“Yup.”
“That makes no sense at all.”
“Just never found the right name,” he says, “and now I know why. You were meant to name it, pretty girl.”
I swallow another drink of water.
Feelings bubble inside me. Feelings I don’t want to have. I came here to escape. To be invisible. The last thing I need is to start down this road.
Scotty’s probably just being nice. He’s a bartender on a tropical island, for God’s sake. He probably beds someone new each week. Each day, even.
I clear my throat. “How long have you been tending bar?”
“Here? Just since the colony opened a few months ago. Before that I was at a resort on Fiji.”
“And you’re from Honolulu?”
He nods. “Born and raised. My mom’s a native, and my dad’s a fighter pilot from LA.”
LA. I don’t mean to react, but my facial muscles tighten.
“Where are you from, pretty girl?”
“Portland,” I lie. I don’t want anyone to know I’m from LA. I’ve escaped LA, at least for now.
“Portland, Oregon?”
“You know another one?”
He laughs. “No.”
“Yes. Portland, Oregon.”
“Tell me about the Pacific Northwest. I’ve only been to California. And to Florida once when I was a kid.”
“You didn’t travel much outside the islands?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m an island boy through and through. We traveled to Cali once in a blue moon to see my dad’s folks, but mostly they came to us. People love to visit Hawaii, for some reason.”
“I can’t imagine why.” Especially if all the men look like him.
“Big tourist trap if you ask me. Once you do Diamond Head and the Pearl Harbor thing, there’s not much to do except lounge on the beach.”
“I think that’s probably the point,” I say.
“I suppose. When you grow up there, it’s not nearly as exciting.”
“Really? If that’s the case, why are you working on another beach?”
He laughs. Really laughs this time, like I’ve just said something hilarious during a standup routine.
“You got me, pretty girl. I’m a beach bum through and through.”
“So you can’t fault others for wanting just a taste of that life, then.”
“I don’t. It’s just… I don’t know. Every once in a while I wonder if there’s more out there for me, you know?”
“Why bartending?” I ask.
“Why not?”
I shake my head and swallow another drink of water. “Are you ever serious about anything?”
“Sure I am. I seriously think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen since I got here. And this is a tropical island, pretty girl. I may have only been here for a few months, but gorgeous women are at a premium.”
“At an art colony?”
“Sure. Some of the artists. And the women who work here. I swear Roy Wolfe only hired good-looking people.”
“I think you just gave yourself a huge compliment,” I can’t help saying.
“I’m talking about the female population,” he says, “but hey, if the shoe fits.”
I laugh. Truly laugh.
And I realize Keanu Scotty Scott is the first person who’s made me do that in…how long?
A long time.
A long, long time.
4
Scotty
Nemo drops off our order.
“Dig in,” I say to Em.
Already she’s Em to me. Em or pretty girl. Emily is too stuffed-shirt a name for this dark-haired beauty. She’s Em, the goddess of art. Is there even a goddess of art? Probably somewhere in Greek or Roman mythology, but I don’t have a clue.
Only one goddess in front of me. Em.
She picks up her burger carefully and takes a bite. “Oh!” Grease runs down her chin.
“Forgot to mention. These are the juiciest burgers ever.”
She wipes her mouth with her napkin. “I see.”
“Burgers are an American thing,” I say, “but I swear Diego does them better than anyone in the states. Not that I’d know, since I haven’t been there in forever.”
“Diego?”
“He’s the chef here.”
“Of all the food?”
“Just this place. Burgers are his specialty. He’s a master.”
“I’ll say.” She swallows and wipes her lips again. “This is delicious.”
I take a bite of my Scotty classic. To make Em feel better, I let the juice and egg yolk drip from my lips a little before I clear it away with my napkin. Honestly, the dripping’s the best part. Seems to make me enjoy the food even more.
“Tell me your life story,” I say.
She flinches a little. Only a little, but I notice. I notice everything about her. The curve of her jawline. The one freckle on her upper lip. The way her left eye squints slightly when she smiles.
“Not much to tell,” she finally replies.
“How did you end up here?”
“I’m an artist. This is what I do.”
“I get that, but most people pay a lot to be here. You must be a successful artist.”
She flinc
hes just a little once more. Then, “I do okay.”
“Yeah?”
“But I’m not paying to be here,” she says. “A fellowship opened up, and I got it.”
“Good for you! You must be uber talented, then.”
She takes another bite of her burger and chews. And chews. The meat and bun must be masticated into mash by the time she swallows. “Like I said, I do okay.”
I swallow a drink of my water. “What are you hiding, pretty girl?”
“Nothing,” she says way too quickly, dropping her gaze.
Nothing my ass. But I won’t push it. Not my business. I don’t have to know her life story to get her in the sack.
Except that I want to know her life story. Already I’m feeling a connection that’s new to me. New…and a little frightening. But I’ve never been one to back down in the face of fear.
“Tell me about your work,” I say.
“Modern, mostly. Oils. But since I’ve been here, I’ve been concentrating on the beauty of my surroundings. The colors are so vivid and bright. I swear, sunrises and sunsets don’t look this way in El— Portland.”
“Not with all that smog,” I agree, deciding consciously not to comment on her stumble.
“I’ve started three different projects just from the view of my lanai,” she continues. “I love mixing color, and these are some new shades I’ve never worked with before. Plus all the flora. Tropical flowers are something else. And everything’s so green! Even the palm trees are greener than the ones at home.”
“Are they?”
“They seem to be. To me, at least.”
Her eyes light up when she speaks of color. Not surprising, given she’s an artist. But I can’t help but notice the light in those gorgeous browns is short-lived.
Yup, definitely hiding something.
“You want to take a walk on the beach after dinner?” I ask.
“Don’t you have to go back to the bar?”
“Nope. I work days. Nine to four with a half hour for lunch.”
“People drink that early?”
“Some do. We also have an awesome juice bar. You should come by in the morning and I’ll make you one of my special blends.”
She smiles. “You have a specialty for just about everything, huh?”
“Not going to lie. I do.” I polish off the rest of my burger.
Em’s sits half-eaten on her plate.
“Not hungry?” I ask.
“I am, and it’s delicious. It’s just so big.”
“I guess I should have warned you. The single is a half-pound of meat.”
Her eyes go wide. “You just ate a pound of beef!”
“Nah. The doubles are made with third-pound burgers. Though I could easily put away a pound.”
She rakes her gaze over me. “How do you eat like that and stay in such great shape?”
I waggle my eyebrows. “Like what you see?”
She blushes. Adorably. Man, she’s fucking hot.
“I’d say yes,” she says, “but I’m pretty sure you turn on the charm with every woman who sidles up to your bar.”
She’s not wrong. “Maybe. They don’t all get a dinner invitation, though.”
“Dinner’s free,” she says. “The colony is all inclusive.”
“So it is. But, pretty girl, I’d gladly take you out and pay for the finest dinner on the island. We’d have to go across to the resort, though, and it doesn’t open for another month.”
She blushes even redder. “I don’t know what you’re after, Scotty, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have it.”
“Who says I’m after anything?”
“I know the type. I’m from LA, remember? You’re a typical beach bum who beds a new woman every week. I’m not gunning to become a notch on your bedpost.”
Yeah. I’ve heard those words before. Many times. And almost every time, I’ve gotten the woman who uttered them into my bed despite her protestations. But that’s not what concerns me at the moment. This wasn’t a mere stumble. I raise an eyebrow. “LA? Not Portland?”
Her cheeks turn crimson and she drops her gaze to her unfinished burger.
“Why’d you lie, Em?”
She twists her lips and then finally lifts her head to meet my gaze. “I’m sorry. I…”
“It’s okay,” I say. “You don’t have to explain.”
“No. I do, actually. I got too comfortable too quickly. I let my guard down. I shouldn’t even be here talking to you.” She stands.
I rise as well. “Sit, Em. Please. It’s okay. I’m not angry at you for lying. And if you can’t let your guard down here, on a beautiful island, I don’t know where you can.”
“I can’t,” she says. “Not here. Not anywhere.”
She’s frightened. The fear rolls off her in waves.
I could walk away. Easy. Walk away from whatever she’s carrying around.
Except I don’t want to.
Is it the fact that she’s hot? No. She’s far from the only hot woman available at the colony. No, it runs deeper. She’s hiding something, and I find myself caring about it.
About her.
5
Emily
“About that walk on the beach?” Scotty says.
I shouldn’t have lied to him, but I was trying to maintain distance. That didn’t work out so well. Already Scotty has me feeling too comfortable. Giddy, even. Like I’ve had a couple drinks, except it’s been over an hour since my Scotty special at the bar.
Maybe Lucifer won’t find me here. Maybe I truly am safe.
I shudder without meaning to.
Just his name—Lucifer. He’s not actually the devil, of course, but Lucifer is his real name. Lucifer Charles Ashton III. Yes, he’s the third in his line to actually bear the first name Lucifer.
And boy, has he lived up to the name.
He’s known in the LA underground as Lucifer Raven. Ironically, he’s blond, but despite his coloring, he’s full of darkness.
I was seduced by that darkness. By his power. By his seductive male beauty and his lavish gifts.
I let myself get comfortable, painting in my room. When I went to the bar earlier and met Scotty, I realized I hadn’t looked over my shoulder at all today.
Until now.
A walk on the beach…
The gorgeous white sand beach beckoned from the moment I arrived. Artists with easels sat on their portable stools painting all day and even continued after the sun went down.
I’ve ventured to the beach exactly twice for classes, ordering a quick sandwich and throwing a few strokes on canvas, until that niggling on the back of my neck got unbearable, and I left. I’ve painted mostly from my lanai. I haven’t taken advantage of this beautiful place, but I have my reasons.
One reason, actually.
A reason that wants me back in LA. Either back in LA, at his side…
Or dead.
Damn! Where is that easy relaxation I felt only hours ago sitting at the bar with Scotty?
“You going to answer me?” he finally says.
I inhale. The beach. I’m here, at the colony. Who wouldn’t want to walk on the beach? I could feign illness, but he just watched me eat. Besides, I like Scotty. I don’t want to tell him a little white lie, especially after my first one blew up in my face.
I don’t want to tell him any lies, which is why I shouldn’t talk to him at all.
“I’m kind of tired,” I say. A little white lie after all. So much for that plan.
“It’s seven o’clock.”
“Yeah, but I’m still on LA time. We’re five hours behind here. Plus, jet lag and all.”
“Didn’t you get here three days ago? Or was it four?”
I let out a huff. “For God’s sake, Scotty. I’m not interested. Okay?” Yeah, the lies are just rolling out of my mouth now.
“I call bullshit,” he says.
“Call it whatever you want. I didn’t come here to hook up. I came here to—”
“To hide,
” he finishes for me.
“To paint. I came here to paint.”
“Then why’d you show up at the beach bar?” he asks.
I don’t have an answer. At least not one that makes sense.
“Just felt like a drink.” I shrug.
“And then you accepted my invitation to dinner.”
“A girl’s got to eat.”
“I see.” He sighs. “Okay, I get it.”
I nod. “Thanks for dinner. And the drink.” Though he didn’t pay for either. The art colony is all-inclusive.
“No sweat off my back.”
“Yeah. I suppose not. So I’ll see you around?”
“I’m sure you will. I work here.”
I’ve upset him. And the truth is, I really do want to go on a walk with him. I like this guy. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to like a guy again, but Scotty wormed his way under my skin in record time.
And boy, is he good-looking. The best-looking guy I’ve seen in a while, and I’m used to LA beach boys. They don’t come hotter than that.
Except here on Wolfe Island, apparently.
“You know what?” I say. “Let’s live in the moment.”
“Baby, that’s what I always do.”
“Let’s take that walk. It’s just a walk, right?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”
I cock my head. “You’ll be okay if it’s just a walk?”
“Em, listen to me. You’re beautiful. If I tell you I’m not attracted to you, you won’t believe me. Would I love to watch the sunrise with you? Hell, yeah. I’m human. But I’m also not a damned rapist. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Sometimes a walk is just a walk.”
Crap. Now I’ve pissed him off.
“Freud,” I say.
“What about him?”
“Your cigar comment. It’s attributed to Sigmund Freud.”
He nods. “I majored in psychology.”
I stifle my surprise. “You went to college?”
“What? You think a beach bum like me is automatically not educated?”