by L. L. Akers
I may have to have a little talk with Grayson myself, she thought.
She patted Olivia’s leg, amused that she’d wiggled protectively in between her and Jake on the tram that would take them to their beach house. Olivia tightly clutched Ozzie’s leash in her hand, keeping his head closer to herself than to Jake. So far, Ozzie hadn’t tried to take a nip out of anyone, but Olivia wasn’t taking any chances. She’d removed the muzzle once they settled on the ferry—for the twenty minutes it took to travel from Southport to Bald Head Island—but she’d put it on again once they disembarked since they’d be sitting so close together. Unfortunately, Ozzie had to earn Jake and Dusty’s trust again.
Grayson sat off by himself, staring out the glassless window, with a detached look. He didn’t seem interested in the natural world all around them. Every once in a while, he turned to steal a glance at the dog, his lips set in a disapproving firm line. Gabby wondered if his disapproval was because Olivia had brought the dog, or because the dog was muzzled. Either way, Olivia didn’t notice his stolen glances, and Gabby was glad. She could already feel her sister’s discomfort as though it were her own, and knew it had everything to do with Grayson.
As they meandered down the narrow, well-worn road toward East Beach, they passed under the shade of hundreds of large Live Oak trees. Salt marshes and creeks on one side gifted them with the view of a snowy Egret, poised with its wings lifted partway as though pausing in the middle of a slow ballet, and a flock of Ibises gathering among the tall cord grass, lightly glinting with salt on the leaves and stems, as well as the tell-tale eyes of an alligator, quickly dropping from sight—but not before gathering the oohs and ahhs of Rickey, who was thrilled to see one outside of captivity.
Gabby shuddered as she thought about the possibility of Rickey sneaking off to search for alligators by himself. Boys will be boys… They’d all have to keep a close eye on him, especially since Emma was so distracted with her wedding.
They passed the maritime forest preserve, its entrance a shadowed canopy promising refreshingly cool hikes through the Spanish oaks and palm trees. She couldn’t wait to get in there with Jake and a blanket—maybe a picnic… The forest looked romantically enchanting.
They saw other trams, and plenty of golf carts and bicycles, but no cars. Cars weren’t allowed on the island. The farther the tram took them from the hustle and bustle of the mainland, the more a feeling of island-time seeped in. Gabby hoped both Olivia and Grayson were feeling it, too, and that they both might loosen up a little and relax with the change of pace.
The tram rolled to a stop.
Emma stood up, clutching Rickey with one hand and Dusty with the other. “This is it!” They all stood as one and stepped off the tram. The guys waited patiently for the driver to unload their luggage, while the girls ran ahead, not able to contain their excitement to see the house.
The house was a Victorian-inspired cottage with three bedrooms and a crofter over the cart-garage that could be used as an extra bedroom. The details of the house gave it a romantic and vintage feel; whomever had crafted this house had done a stunning job. They’d embraced the old and mixed it with new, giving it practical yet embellished design. The floors were done in a rich American cherry. The walls were simple horizontal boards throughout the house that reinforced the vintage cottage feel. The doors and window panes were painted a warm red, complementing the calmer shades that covered the furnishings and walls. The living room, kitchen and screened-in porch, as well as the spacious master bedroom, all had a spectacular view of East beach where they could watch the sun rise every morning.
The three sisters ran through the house as though they were children again, peeking into each room. Their excitement was contagious… Rickey jumped up and down on top of the couch, happy to watch his mother and aunts as they ran by from room to room, hair flying and flip-flops flapping.
Dusty, Jake and Grayson came in, carrying the luggage, as well as the long, zippered dress-bags that held Emma’s wedding gown and the bridesmaid dresses.
Dusty laughed as he watched his bride-to-be run to the kitchen sink and lean over it to peer out the window. “Look, Dusty! Look at our view!”
He walked over to her, taking her hand and leaning toward the window. “Amazing,” he said as he looked out over the dunes to the waves crashing in. “Just like you.” He turned and kissed her on her forehead and wrapped his arms around her. “I can’t wait for you to be mine, Emma. Only three more days…”
Emma leaned into him, laying her head against his chest. “I’m already yours. I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me that.”
Gabby smiled. “Get a room!”
Olivia cleared her throat, seemingly nervous to speak. “About that. There’s only three bedrooms. How do we want to split them up?”
Emma stepped away from Dusty and pointed upstairs. “There’s a master and a guest room upstairs. How about me and Olivia share the master, and Dusty and Rickey can share the guest room. It has two beds.” She pointed to the other side of the house. “Gabby and Jake can have the guest room down here, and Grayson can take the crofter over the garage. It’s a spare bedroom, too.”
Dusty gave his bride a pitiful look, and she returned it with an eye-point to Rickey. While they’d loved to spend the night together, they’d not yet done it in front of Rickey and wouldn’t be starting now, so close to the wedding date. Dusty nodded his head in agreement.
Grayson grabbed his one small travel bag and his suit bag that held his tuxedo, and turned toward the door. “Fine with me.” He left quickly, leaving no room for discussion.
Gabby raised her eyebrows at Dusty as though to say, “See?”
Dusty shrugged and grabbed a handful of Emma’s luggage. “He needs to get settled in—alone. The crofter will be perfect for him.” He turned and headed up the stairs with Emma’s things.
Chapter Seventeen
Grayson startled awake, squinting at the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. The wisps of his dream floated away, leaving behind the memory of her long hair in his hands.
He shook it off—it was the same damn dream that had haunted him for years—and looked around, dazed and confused.
Oh. The crofter. The crofter was sort of like a treehouse… a really nice wooden treehouse without a tree, but with windows and a door, which overlooked the ocean.
It was only a short walk across the back deck of the beach house and up a flight of stairs, and just big enough for a bed and nightstand, a dresser of drawers, and a desk. Not that the desk was any use. He’d tried to get online and couldn’t the night before, which was irritating.
But the whole damn trip was irritating. He’d be glad when Emma and Dusty said I do, they did and they were done, so he could get the hell home and back online for his usual eighteen hours a day.
He couldn’t stay offline for five days. He’d have to find someplace on this godforsaken island that had Wi-Fi, or he’d lose his mind.
He caught sight of the ocean out one of the windows, sparkling as though mocking him.
Oh yeah. This beautiful, tropical island... Oh, joy.
He sat up on the bed, running his hands through his rumpled hair, scratching his just-awoken itchy head. He stilled as he heard a noise—another noise, he realized, recognizing now the sound that had woken him.
He looked at the door and saw a flash of long dark hair whipping by on the other side of the glazed glass.
His heart flinched. Déjà vu…
But it was only someone at the door. Not knocking… but making a god-awful racket.
He jumped out of the bed and took the few steps to the door, swinging it open to find Olivia struggling to pull Ozzie away from a tray of steaming food and coffee that was placed on the floor outside his door.
The steam from the food, and the coffee, drifted up to his nose and his stomach rumbled.
Olivia looked up at him, starting with his feet. Her cheeks flushed pink by the time she’d made it waist-high, and she drop
ped her eyes to the dog again, answering him from under her thick, shuttered lids.
“I’m sorry. He somehow got out and followed me up here. I’m trying to get him away from your breakfast,” Olivia said through her efforts of holding the heavy dog back. The corners of her mouth turned up in what appeared to be an embarrassed smile.
Grayson looked again at the breakfast tray. His eyes stopped on an artfully arranged, but messy pile of…something. Something that smelled amazingly delicious.
He nodded toward the food. “What is that? And who made it?”
Olivia shrugged her shoulders. “I made it. You missed breakfast and it was left over. It’s French toast, with figs, cinnamon, powdered sugar, crumbled bacon and syrup,” she answered with her head still lowered, and her hands still trying to keep Ozzie away from it.
Grayson’s stomach betrayed his mood, rumbling even louder. What the hell? Who cooks like this? Bacon, figs and syrup? It even looks like real Maple syrup, not that pretend-shit most people buy from the stores. The whole tray looked like something you’d see set out on a white tablecloth in a fancy restaurant. She’d even garnished the plate with decorative slices of oranges.
“I don’t expect breakfast to be brought up to me. I would’ve walked down and got coffee once I’d got up,” he gruffly mumbled.
Olivia’s back straightened as she finally plopped down on the last step, her exhaustion from wrestling with Ozzie obvious. Grayson watched her as she proudly whipped her head to the side, throwing her hair over her shoulder.
“I didn’t want to throw it out, and it was getting cold. Like I said, it was just left over. Don’t eat it if you don’t want it.” She shrugged. “If you’ll pick it up and shut the door, so Ozzie will stop fighting me, I’ll rest a minute and wrangle him back into the house.”
“I’ll eat it,” Grayson answered as he reached down and picked up the tray. He stepped back into the crofter and shut the door.
What else am I gonna do? Refuse it? he thought. But I hope they don’t expect me to eat meals with them and ‘hang out’ around the table with everybody. I can feed myself. Been doing it for a long damn time.
He sat the tray down on the desk inside the door. He pulled his belt out of the pants from the floor, where he’d dropped them before climbing into bed the night before. May as well help her get the damn dog back into the house so he could at least eat in peace.
He opened the door again to find Olivia still sitting, her arms wrapped around the dog’s neck, her head leaning against his. She appeared to be having a private conversation with him.
No wonder my ears are burning.
He looped his belt into a loose make-shift leash around Ozzie’s neck. “Come on, boy,” he said to the dog.
The leash wasn’t needed. Ozzie wagged his nub and walked obediently beside Grayson, who quickly stomped down the steps to the deck that led into the house.
Chapter Eighteen
Olivia smirked as she watched Grayson hurriedly trudge down the steps with Ozzie tamely at his side.
She cringed and yelled out, “Grayson, you don’t have—”
“—Yeah, I know I don’t have to. But if I want to eat in peace, this is the quickest way. It appears you’re having trouble handling him,” Grayson called out over his shoulder, not breaking his stride.
Fine. Tried to tell you, she thought. That’s not what I was going to say. But if you want to be rude and interrupt me, then okay…
It would serve him right for being less than appreciative of her cooking and bringing him breakfast.
Or maybe he already knew. He certainly had nothing to be shy about.
She felt her face flush again as she watched the muscles flex with each step.
Maybe he was just that confident…or arrogant?
She rolled her eyes at that thought. How pompous! she thought. And rude.
And if she’d known he’d be such a grumpy jerk about bringing him breakfast, she wouldn’t have done it.
She rolled her eyes at herself. Of course you would have.
She didn’t have it in her to not worry about someone going hungry, or not taking care of a guest. Although they were all guests here, she felt sure he was the only one who felt like an outsider. Everyone else already knew each other…and they had kind of let him banish himself to this treehouse in the backyard, all alone.
She sighed. She couldn’t deny her almost pathological need to nurture and try to make everyone feel comfortable. She knew better than anyone that if she’d ignored Grayson, and had left him unfed, she’d have worried herself to death all day… and Rickey was waiting for her to take him and Ozzie out on the beach and have some fun. She’d promised him she would, after breakfast, but she’d known she couldn’t have fun before making sure everyone was taken care of. It just wasn’t in her nature.
She stood up and ran down the stairs behind Grayson, trying not to stare.
The sound of clatter came to a standstill as Grayson walked into the house.
Dusty, Emma, Gabby, Jake and Rickey were all still gathered around the table, amid an almost-empty pitcher of orange juice, empty plates and wadded up napkins. All eyes turned toward him.
“Mornin’ everybody. Just bringing the dog back,” he grumbled. “Olivia brought me up some breakfast, and he seemed to think it was for him. Anyone feeding this beast?”
When no one answered, he shrugged and unfastened his belt from Ozzie, giving him a rub around the ears to say goodbye, when Dusty cleared his throat and spoke loudly, “Umm…Do you want me to bring you up some clothes, too, big brother?” He laughed loudly, and Jake did the same.
Grayson dropped his chin and stared down at his lack of pants. His hands fell to defensively cover himself, and he quickly turned to leave, coming face to face with Olivia.
She stood with her hand over her mouth, and eyes wide with mirth.
“Thanks a lot for the heads up,” Grayson mumbled, giving her a stern look. He shuffled past her, slamming the door behind him.
Olivia’s mouth dropped open and she looked at Dusty, holding her hands out in surrender. Then she laughed. Full belly laugh.
“I’m sorry! I tried…he…I thought he knew!”
Chapter Nineteen
Grayson sat at the desk in the crofter, eating his French toast. He had to hand it to her…this was the best breakfast food he’d ever tasted.
Ever.
Melt in your mouth good, even though it’d gotten cold before he sat down to eat it. He’d have to remember to compliment the chef.
He felt guilty when he thought about the way he’d treated Olivia earlier. He really hadn’t meant to. She probably thought he was an old grouch.
If he was going to be keeping close quarters with a crowd of strangers, he wished he’d given Dusty the okay to at least warn them to stay away from him when he first awoke—and when he slept.
Sleep was torture. No peace. And it usually took an hour or so for him to shake it off after he awoke.
He could see them out on the beach. Jake and Dusty sitting in beach chairs with a cooler between them—probably full of beer—facing the ocean, and watching their women dance around in the waves splashing each other.
Olivia—or he assumed it was Olivia: he couldn’t tell her apart from Gabby, especially at this distance—sat in the sand taking turns with Rickey at throwing a tennis ball into the water and watching Ozzie run and splash after it.
Ozzie was a great dog. He wished he was his. It would be nice to have a friend… a companion… that had no expectations of him other than to be fed and walked. He could handle that. He hadn’t thought about it until meeting Ozzie. Maybe it was time he consider getting himself and Graysie one.
He finished up the French toast, tempted to lick the plate clean. But he didn’t. He’d already used up his quota of bad manners today.
He glared at his tablet. After a dozen attempts to log on to the internet the night before, he’d given up. This was the longest he’d been offline in a long time. He felt lost. Wh
at to do? He didn’t want to go near the ocean—at least any nearer than he’d already been forced to—and there was only one golf cart at the house. He’d leave them all stranded if he took it to check out the rest of the island.
He leaned back in the chair and noticed the shelves alongside the window. Stacked with old, yellowed, dog-eared paperbacks, small boxes of jigsaw puzzles and a set of binoculars.
Cool.
One lens cap was missing, and they were scuffed up, but when he put them up against his eyes they worked fine. Too fine.
He froze when the goggles landed on Olivia. He could see now it was her, not Gabby. He could tell by the way she held herself. Proud, but reserved, while Gabby was a bit silly, or playful. Almost a bit wild in comparison to her sister.
The differences in them were very subtle, at least with the limited interaction he’d had so far.
They were both beautiful women. Hell, all three of them were. He raised his eyebrows at Olivia’s tiny bikini. He wouldn’t have expected her to wear that… but he was glad she had.
Wow.
He saw a flash run past Olivia and moved the lens to see it was Gabby—if it wasn’t, she sure was being friendly with Gabby’s husband, shoving a handful of sand down his swim trunks and laughing and running away. Yeah… that was Gabby.
He looked back to Olivia. She was facing away from him. He was surprised to see she had a tattoo. She didn’t seem the type. He squinted to see the details.
The tat started with a very faint flight trail dipping and curving untethered across the spread of her beautiful bare back to land a dazzling scarlet-red dragonfly onto her right shoulder.
It was mesmerizing. One of the best tattoos he’d ever seen. But it did seem odd for her…almost contradictory to the image she projected of the sweet, quiet and reserved woman. Maybe she had another side? A deeper and possibly wild side that she hadn’t shown yet.