“We’ve pre-selected that for you, Chuck. And there won’t be any gender-mixing when it comes to sleeping quarters. Yet.” Leanna winks at him. “Oh, and this filly isn’t a contestant,” she says, tipping a head in Holly’s direction. “Your fellow competitors are the ones coming off the boats. The crew is already here on shore.”
As Chuck and the others circulate, shaking hands with each other and the crew members, Holly notices Jake in the mix. He’s materialized in the middle of the crowd and is greeting people and looking around as if he’s never seen the island before.
“He’s a natural, isn’t he?” Leanna leans in to Holly, talking out of one side of her mouth like someone might be able to read lips. “And don’t worry—I’ll keep my eye on him for you.”
“Oh—no. Jake isn’t my…I mean, we aren’t…” Holly shakes her head.
Leanna narrows her eyes, no doubt trying to reconcile the blush on Holly’s cheeks with the words coming out of her mouth. “Okay. Got it.”
Holly stands away from the crowd as Wayne gathers the contestants in front of the tents. There are three cameras filming everything for special behind-the-scenes footage to air online and in later shows, and Leanna is watching through the screen of her iPhone as she circles behind the group, making a video of everything so they have some raw-looking footage to mix in as well.
Aside from Jake and Chuck Cortwell, there are ten other contestants of various ages, heights, sizes, and hair colors. One of the women looks to be in her late forties with hair that fades from coral to tangerine to apricot like her head is on fire. Both of her arms are covered in full-sleeve tattoos made of interlaced flowers. There are a couple of guys in their twenties who have the trim physiques and chiseled faces of male models or wannabe actors, and an angelic-looking girl of nineteen or twenty whose brown hair falls in perfect ringlets to her waist. Her eyes are wide and blue, and when she smiles, her face lights up like she’s looking at the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
Holly takes in the anxious, intense, curious faces of the competitors, her eyes finally landing on an Amazonian goddess. She’s got the tousled blonde hair of a girl who travels with a hairstylist, and the shiny, tanned limbs of a tennis player who’s spent her life in the sun. Her skin is flawless, her body a perfectly carved hourglass. In a bikini, she’d easily be Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue material. Holly can’t tear her eyes away.
“So, you can come back over and check things out as we’re filming,” Leanna says in a stage whisper, zipping her phone into her fanny pack. “Normally we wouldn’t give quite this much access to someone who isn’t part of the crew, but I know we’ll need to pick your brain as this progresses and find out more about the island and the area.”
Holly nods, still watching the blonde model as she moves to stand next to Jake.
“Hey, I forgot to have you sign something…I’ve got it right here,” Leanna says, turning a few pages on the clipboard. “It’s no big deal, really. Just a non-disclosure agreement about the show while we’re filming. And after.” She uncaps a ballpoint pen and hands it to Holly. “Right here. And your initials over here.” Leanna holds out the clipboard and taps two spots on the page.
Holly looks down at the legal document in front of her. “Non-disclosure agreement?”
“It says you won’t talk to anyone about what goes on behind the scenes, or give any spoilers to the press or anyone else before the show airs. And you won’t do any interviews afterward unless they’re approved by us.”
“Oh, right.” Holly scans the page quickly before dragging the pen across the signature line. She adds her initials at the bottom.
“Thanks. Anyway, we’re going to get started here, so why don’t you text me next time you’re thinking of visiting the set, and I’ll let you know if it’s a good time?” Leanna’s body is positioned strategically between Holly and the campsite, blocking her view of Jake.
So suddenly a trip to the quietest beach on the island requires permission via text? And walking on the sand of her own island is now known as a “visit to the set”? Holly tries to keep an even smile on her face, but she’s completely unprepared for the way relinquishing a portion of her island makes her chest seize up with anxiety.
“Sure. Of course.” Holly retreats a few steps. “Thanks for letting me be here today.”
“No problem!” Leanna has already turned her back on Holly.
Behind the wheel of her golf cart again, with the sound of the ocean breaking in the distance beyond the sand dune, Holly sits and stares at the palm trees and at the road stretching out ahead of her. She doesn’t turn the key to kick on the cart’s power, but instead lets the gentle breeze push her light brown hair around as she thinks.
Jake’s hesitation in the tent brought out a protectiveness in her that she hadn’t felt towards him in a while, and the sleek, blonde lion who’d nearly swallowed him whole hadn’t done much to put Holly’s mind at ease. The scene in the tent plays over and over again on a loop in her mind, and Holly pictures her hand in his hair. A pang of something uncomfortable—something that feels icky, like guilt mixed with regret—runs through her as she sees his face looking up at her again. What bothers her more than his obvious discomfort, and more than her strange territorial response to the gorgeous supermodel competitor, was the way she’d been so ready to comfort him. She’d cupped the back of his head in her hand and looked down in his eyes, ready to say…to say…
And that’s what really nags at her: she has no idea what she’d been about to say.
Chapter 9
After a full day at the B&B, Holly slips a yellow notepad into her purse and grabs her Yankees cap from the hook by the door. She makes a kissing noise at Pucci, who’s been sitting calmly on his dog bed in the corner all day. He rises and gives a full-body shake, then follows Holly through the front lobby and out the door. They meander the few steps up Main Street to Jack Frosty’s, where Holly stops and looks down at her trusty companion.
“You have to wait out here, buddy,” she says to Pucci, pointing at a spot on the sidewalk outside the open air bar. The late-autumn sun is already low in the sky, and the temperature has taken a dip. Holly pulls her arms through the white cardigan she’s had tied around her waist all day as she walks up the steps to Jack Frosty’s.
“Over here, lady!” Fiona calls from the counter. She’s already bellied up to the bar on one of the high stools, a cold drink sweating at her elbow.
Holly swings by the jukebox and picks a Springsteen song before climbing up onto a stool at the bar. When he hears her song choice, Buckhunter stops what he’s doing and bobs his head to the beat.
“Hey, doc. How goes it?” Holly settles in next to her best friend.
“Pretty damn good.” Fiona picks up her drink. “You gonna order before we start? You look like you could use a drink.”
“Could I get a Sidecar, please?” Holly says to Buckhunter’s back as he works behind the bar. She takes off her hat and lays it on the counter.
“That’s an interesting choice,” Buckhunter says to his niece. The napkin he sets on the counter in front of her has a print of a snowman holding two frothy mugs of beer in its stick hands stamped on it. Holly smiles, running her fingers over the name of the bar and the words ‘Christmas Key, Florida’ under the snowman.
“Well, I’m an interesting girl,” she says.
“No argument there.” Buckhunter pulls a clean glass from the shelf and fills his shaker with ice.
“So?” Fiona makes a tell me everything motion with one hand. “What’s going on? Have you been back to the set?”
“No, not yet. I felt weird about how Jake and I left things the other day.”
“Why—how did you leave things?” Fiona swivels on her stool so that her whole body faces Holly; her knees touch the side of Holly’s thigh.
Holly smiles at Buckhunter as he sets the drink on the cocktail napkin. There’s a wedge of orange resting on the rim of the glass and she takes it off, tearing at its
sweet, citrusy flesh with her teeth while she thinks about how much she wants to share.
“I don’t know. It was strange to see him acting like he was a real competitor on the show.”
“But isn’t he?”
“Yeah, I guess. And we had this moment in his tent before the other contestants got there—”
“No,” Fiona says. Her eyebrows shoot up, mouth rounded into a perfect O.
“No—not that kind of moment,” Holly assures her, holding her glass in one hand. “I guess it could have turned into that kind of moment…but it didn’t.”
“We need to get River out here, stat.”
“Ooooh, doctor talk—I love it when you say stuff like stat and doctor’s orders.”
“You know what I mean. If you’re thinking about having a quickie in a tent with Jake, then maybe Bonnie is right.”
“About?”
“About us chipping in to buy a plane ticket for your boyfriend. We need him to make a cross-country trip as soon as possible.”
“Why is this being discussed?” Holly takes her first drink of the Sidecar; the cognac slides down her esophagus, leaving a warm trail behind it.
“We’re worried about you, Hol.” Fiona leans in closer, talking into Holly’s ear so that Buckhunter won’t hear. “This whole Cap situation is ridiculous, and then there’s a film crew on the island on top of that. I don’t want to see you internalizing all of this without an outlet—it could jeopardize your health.”
“Okay, that’s definitely doctor-talk,” Holly says, bumping Fiona’s shoulder playfully with her own. “But I thought you were a general practitioner, not a shrink.”
“I minored in abnormal psych.” She pats Holly’s leg. “Knowing a little about crazy people has helped me survive on this island,” she says with a laugh, picking up her drink. “And it’s definitely helped me to understand you.”
“Glad I could serve as a case-study for you, Fee,” Holly says with a mock pout.
“Oh, no…” Fiona’s looks at the entrance to the bar.
“What?” Holly turns on her stool: there, on the top step, are Cap and Wyatt Bender. They’re wearing matching t-shirts, and with their marked differences in height and stature, they look like some mismatched comedy team from a movie. Holly makes an annoyed sound and takes another sip of her Sidecar.
Cap and Wyatt wave casually at neighbors and friends as they cut through the center of the bar, and Cap stops to shake hands with Ray and Millie Bradford. Ray sets his cheeseburger in its basket and stands up, brushing crumbs off the legs of his khaki pants before he takes the hand Cap offers.
“He never stops campaigning, does he?” Holly turns her back on Cap and Wyatt and shakes her half-empty drink lightly, knocking the ice cubes around in the glass.
“Ladies,” Wyatt says, approaching the bar. Holly can feel him standing directly behind her, but she doesn’t turn to greet him.
“Nice shirts, Wyatt.” Fiona rolls her eyes.
Holly finally turns around—as slowly as possible—and glances at his chest. “‘Cap’s Your Chap—Vote For Duncan.’ Very clever,” she says without emotion, turning back to the bar.
“We thought so.” Wyatt puts a rough, weathered hand on the counter next to Holly’s drink.
“Mayor!” Cap says jovially. “Fancy meeting you here. Like our shirts?” He looks down at the front of his too-tight white t-shirt, a smug smile on his face.
“Where did you get those made so quickly?” Fiona holds up a finger to get Buckhunter’s attention.
“Ordered ‘em online,” Wyatt says. “It’s a wonder what a body can do with a computer and a credit card.”
“Well, I declare,” Fiona says sarcastically, sounding bored. She pushes her empty drink across the bar at Buckhunter.
“You two lovelies working on something in particular?” Cap asks. The gold hoop in his ear catches the reflection of the twinkling Christmas lights hanging around the bar.
“Oh, we’re just writing a steamy romance novel together in our free time,” Fiona says, stirring her fresh drink with a straw. “It’s about a crusty old pirate and his oil tycoon lover. Very hot—it’s kind of a twenty-first century thing.”
Cap frowns, hand poised over his white goatee. He and Wyatt exchange a confused look. “Sounds like a doozy.”
“Say,” Wyatt interrupts, glancing around the bar. “Is that saucy redhead here tonight?”
“Nope.” (Holly makes a mental note to tell Bonnie that Wyatt was asking for her.)
“I was kind of hoping she would be,” he says, disappointment written all over his handsomely lined face.
“I’m sure you were. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Holly turns around again so that her back is to the men. “If I were a betting woman,” she says to Fiona once Cap and Wyatt are out of ear shot, “I’d say that Wyatt Bender doesn’t give a rat’s patooie about Cap being mayor.”
“You’re probably right. I can totally see that.” Fiona grabs a fistful of shelled peanuts from a bowl on the bar.
“Exactly. He just wants to get under Bonnie’s skin.”
“Okay, let’s ignore them for now and focus on your main points for Wednesday’s meeting,” Fiona says, sitting up straighter. She crosses her legs and folds her hands on the bar, her face suddenly serious. She looks like a reporter who’s ready to get down to business. “I’m going to listen objectively, and then I’ll decide whether I feel confident enough in your platform to give you my vote.”
“I hope you’re pulling my leg,” Holly says, getting her notepad and pen out of her purse. She sets the legal pad on the bar.
“I’m still undecided.” Fiona picks up the notes and looks over Holly’s bullet points. “You know,” she shrugs, “Cap’s my chap, so it’s hard to say—I might be voting for Duncan.”
“What’s it gonna take to get your vote, Dr. Potts?”
“Food. Lots of food.”
“Buckhunter!” Holly shouts down the bar. “We’re going to need an order of chili fries, and two baskets of chicken strips.”
“Don’t forget the onion rings,” Fiona says. “We have some serious work to do on this speech.”
“And onion rings!” Holly calls out, a smile spreading across her face.
She and Fiona spend the next two hours eating greasy food, laughing, and covering Buckhunter’s bar with crumpled up napkins and wadded pieces of paper. In the end, they deem having a campaign slogan “too cheesy” and instead select a few of Holly’s successes to highlight at the meeting. Buckhunter stops by every twenty minutes or so to offer his input and listen to their ideas, and at some point, Cap and Wyatt leave the bar. The women don’t even notice.
When they finally step out onto Main Street well after dark, Holly feels prepared for Wednesday’s meeting. She gives her best friend a hug. “Thanks, Fee. I couldn’t have done this without you. I think I’m ready.”
“And I think I’ve got a stomachache—that was a lot of junk food.” Fiona sticks out her tongue. “Call me tomorrow?”
“Will do.” Holly waves at Fiona. There’s a light breeze as she walks down the sidewalk, breathing in the ocean air. It’s a beautiful night on an even more beautiful island, and she feels the warmth and happiness of companionship after her evening with Fiona. This is the calmest she’s felt in a while, and for a moment she’s able to forget that there’s anything amiss in her life. Holly feels a lightness in her heart about the mayoral race against Cap; maybe she actually needs this little political shake-up? Maybe being called on the carpet is what will give her an edge and help her to see the holes in her own approach to progress?
She swings her bag as she walks, but stops when her mind skips to Jake: Jake, who isn’t her boyfriend; Jake, who is definitely not her concern; Jake, who she can’t seem to keep out of her mind. She’d just like to get through one day without having him pop up in her thoughts. She’d like to have one day where she thinks of River more than she thinks about Jake.
As she stands there, the light breeze turn
s into a sharp gust of wind that pins Holly’s skirt tight against her thighs. Her sweater blows open, whipping wildly as she clutches her purse. Holly wraps her arms around herself on the sidewalk, waiting for the wind to pass.
Chapter 10
The B&B’s dining room is nearly filled to capacity, and there’s an electric hum in the air. November sixteenth is the coldest day of the year so far. Ladies all around the room are wearing shawls or shirts with sleeves that cover their browned and freckled shoulders, and some of the men have switched from shorts to long pants (mostly of the plaid variety, undoubtedly left over from years spent on the golf course).
Heddie Lang-Mueller is seated next to the podium with a sweater knotted around her narrow shoulders, hair in a tight bun. She’s got her paper and three pens arranged on the table and she’s tallying islanders in her head as they enter the room.
“Sorry!” Fiona mouths to Holly as she ducks into the dining room. Fiona stops at the third row from the front and scoots past knees and purses to reach the only open seat she can find, holding the edges of her white lab coat so they don’t flap around and hit people as she steps over them.
Holly smiles nervously. She can tell Fiona ran out of her tiny doctor’s office at Poinsettia Plaza—probably between appointments, though no one would have been scheduled to see her during the village council meeting anyway—and raced over to the B&B to be there for the meeting. Buckhunter is leaning against the back wall, arms folded, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. He winks at Holly almost imperceptibly, following it up with a few blinks of his lids so that it almost looks like he has something in his eye.
The only other person Holly would like to make eye contact with before the meeting starts is Jake, but he’s on set with the rest of the cast and crew. The past five days have been filled with this mayoral nonsense between her and Cap, and on top of everything else, she’s been talking to a festival coordinator from Tampa who has some ideas for seasonal events that she’d like to bring to Christmas Key. It hasn’t left a lot of time to get permission to “visit the set,” and so Holly’s done her best to just keep her head down and stay focused.
Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two Page 7