The captain pulled the horn on the ferry as it approached the dock. The sound echoed over the water. I retraced my steps to the Jeep, and waited for the crew to motion me onto the shore. Maybe I had read too many scripts or played too many roles, but as the ramp lowered and I pressed his foot on the gas, I had the strange sensation that a new movie had begun.
***
There were six miles between the ferry dock and the main village of Brees Island. I couldn’t see anything except sand dunes as I followed the cars in front of me.
It was one in the morning, and I had managed almost sixteen hours without talking to my agent, publicist, stylist, trainer, or assistant. That was a record. The music on the radio had turned to static. I searched for a station. My eyes burned, but the cool air from the open window felt soothing as I drove.
I slowed the Jeep as I rolled into the village. Nothing was open, or at least from the street, I couldn’t see any lights. The car in front of me turned into the gravel parking lot of the Carribe Inn. I pulled to the side and watched as the driver walked to the door, grabbed an envelope from a drop box, and retrieved a pair of keys. That was how that guy had a room. Damn it. I hadn’t thought to call ahead to make reservations. I snorted. I hadn’t thought ahead about any of this.
Somewhere in the middle of the drive from the ferry dock, I remembered passing a campground. I pulled hard on the steering wheel until I made a U-turn, sending me back on the beach road.
Along the ocean side of the island was a campground. The office was dark. I pulled to an open spot and cut the engine on the Jeep. My lungs filled with a deep inhale of salty air as the waves pounded on the shore in front of me.
I reached for the lever on the seat and reclined it as far as it would go. There was barely enough room, but I propped my feet on the dash before pulling my hat over my eyes.
It wasn’t a penthouse, a yacht, or a billionaire’s guesthouse, but I smiled as my tired eyes gave in to the sleep that invaded his body. It might only last one night, but I slept satisfied knowing there was no way anyone in the world would find this movie star tonight.
CHAPTER TWO
Chelsea
The alarm chirped cricket sounds for the fourth time. I threw the sheet off my chest and kicked the quilt to the end of the bed. 5 a.m. Who in their right mind woke up at 5 a.m.? I tapped the screen on my phone to quiet the alarm. This wasn’t the first time I had cursed my alarm as I stumbled to the shower and turned the water on.
There were water restrictions this time of year on the island. So many tourists, so little rain, and only seven minutes a shower. It was my mother’s idea to use a kitchen timer. I twisted the dial to the right and placed the timer on the counter before stepping into the steady stream of hot water. If I had to take a quick shower, it was going to be a good one.
I closed my eyes and lathered a handful of shampoo through long strands of auburn hair.
He shouldn’t be stealing my heart and my breath
We said good-bye with one very last kiss
But no matter what, every corner I turn
I see his face, his eyes, and it burns, it burns
I raced to stop the water and hopped over the side of the tub. There had to be paper in here somewhere. I tore through the first cabinet drawer and then the other.
“Ugh,” I exhaled, and then wrapped a towel around my chest before scurrying into my room.
My writing notebook was still in my bag, and that was in the front seat of my car. I repeated the words in my head faster this time, hoping they didn’t slip away as quickly as they had appeared.
“Ah-ha!” I triumphantly pulled an envelope from a stack of unopened mail.
Pens were easier to find. I grabbed a ballpoint next to the bed and frantically jotted down the lyrics on the back of the envelope. I read them again aloud and hummed a few bars in a minor key. I smiled.
A shampoo trail slid along my temple. “Shit.”
I touched the foamy mess still in my hair and hesitantly left the envelope on the bed, walking back to the shower with one eye on the envelope. Maybe if I stared hard enough, the rest of the song would come.
Not knowing how much time I had actually spent in the shower before my burst of lyrical genius, I reset the timer for five minutes and rinsed my hair.
The lyrics came at the strangest moments. Sometimes it happened when there was a guitar on my knee and my writing journal within arm’s reach, but usually it was completely inconvenient and random like this morning—the words hit me like an unexpected burst of energy, needing to be expended in that moment or I would spontaneously combust—at least it always felt that way.
I twisted my hair between my palms and squeezed out the water. I didn’t want to go to work before the whole song had hit me in the face like a blast of cold air from the freezer. The thought of standing in the store all day made me grit my teeth.
I needed to finish it. I had to. If I called in sick, my mother would stop by, setting off a chain reaction from my aunts that would last all day. If I tried to take the day off, my father would never cease with the lectures on responsibility and setting a good example for the other employees.
Good example, I huffed. His every move was a bad example. It annoyed me to the core how self-righteous he was when I knew how he spent his nights and sometimes his afternoons. Just being in the same room with him made me sick.
He gave me one more reason to leave Brees Island. I wasn’t finished chasing my dream, and the longer I stayed, the more I had to put it on hold. Just like the lyrics on the back of that envelope.
I grabbed a towel and dried myself before stepping into a pair of khaki shorts and a fitted T-shirt with the logo for the island store where I worked.
It was dark as I walked to the side of the cottage. It was an oversized beach house that had been divided into four apartments. I had one of the lower corner units. There was a view of the cove from the deck. Luckily, the last renter had left a hammock, and it was my favorite spot to write.
It had been a battle with my parents to have my own place for the summer. They couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to live at home. Did every grad student have to deal with this, even at twenty-five? I had the master’s degree, I just needed a little bit of time to figure out what was next. It would have been completely unbearable living under the same roof as my dad. There was no backing down on my part. I fought until they both gave in.
I pulled a turquoise beach cruiser from the bike stand. The island was small. Everything was within riding distance. I rode to most places, enjoying the snippets of freedom the bike gave me. I threw my leg over the bike and pushed down on the pedal.
***
The door slammed behind me as I walked into the store.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Derek beamed as I reached behind him for an apron.
He moved closer so that my arm grazed the firm muscles in his shoulder. When he was this close I could see deep flecks of amber in his dark eyes.
“Hey.”
I stepped back, slipped the straps over my neck, and tied the strings tightly around my waist. Nothing was more unflattering than these canvas aprons my father made everyone who worked at Davis’s General Store wear.
“I’ve had better greetings,” Derek teased.
He had stopped sweeping. He leaned against the broom handle with one arm while his free hand roamed my hip, resting on the curve of my waist. His palm felt warm through my thin T-shirt.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a morning person. You know this.” I tugged at his wrist, working myself free.
“I wouldn’t forget something like that.” He smiled. I noticed he was overdue for a haircut. Most surfers let their hair grow long in the summer. Derek wasn’t any different.
“Just stop with the chipper-chipperness,” I warned.
My cheeks flushed pink with the memory of waking up under Derek’s tanned arms. That had been two days ago. I glanced over his shoulder and read the clock above the register. 5:45. Even with
rushing around, I was still fifteen minutes late. God, I had to get out of here.
Derek gripped the handle and turned his attention to the strokes of the broom across the store’s hardwood floors. “Got it.”
I hadn’t meant to snap at him. He was just being Derek, and I was doing what I always did—lashing out at him when he was only being nice. But, it was too familiar, too intimate. True, things had taken an awkward turn since we had made out after Paul McIntire’s bonfire party. But somehow I had convinced myself we could do those things to each other in the dark under the influence of too many red cups, and it would magically disappear when we worked together at the store. It didn’t go as planned. It never did.
“Der, I’m—” Before I could complete the apology, my father barged through the back hallway. I bristled when he appeared.
“Chelsea? You late again?” He avoided my eyes and looked at Derek for an answer.
Unbelievable. This happened almost every morning and every morning Derek covered for me, but this time I didn’t deserve for my ass to be saved.
“Chelsea was here, sir. Right on time.” Derek circled around, concentrating on the dust pile and not my eyes.
“Good. Derek, would you mind giving me a hand? There’s a delivery out back on the docks. Bait shrimp’s in.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Davis.” Derek winked as he handed his broom to me. “Maybe you could finish this for me.”
“Uh. Sure.” I took the handle and watched as the two men disappeared into the hallway’s delivery entrance.
Derek would give me a hard time about the whole thing. He always did. If he thought covering for me would lead to more alone time, he had the wrong idea about what had happened between us.
Things had gradually escalated in the past month since I came home after graduation. It started with an accidental kiss in the shadows of the employee parking lot after work, and then one night the kiss moved to the backseat of the car when I thought we had technically rounded second base. It was as if Derek had transformed into the hot new guy while I was gone for two years. Everything about his body was new to me.
I secretly admitted I liked getting to know this side of him, but there was one thing about him that hadn’t changed. He wasn’t interested in stepping one toe off the island, and I didn’t want to keep one toe on it. No amount of flirting or hot kisses could change that.
CHAPTER THREE
Ben
“Hey, hey, you in there?” I heard a raspy voice through the fog of sleep. “Do you hear me?”
I shifted my feet from the dash of the Jeep and rubbed the back of my neck. There was a crick running from the base of my skull to my fingertips. My entire right arm was numb. I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept in a car. Maybe this would be the last—it should be.
“Mornin’, sir. What’s the problem?” Damn it. I had meant to cover up the accent. Maybe it wasn’t too late. I reached for my sunglasses.
“The problem is that you spent the night in my campground without registering or paying.” A man wearing a plaid shirt and a white mustache hovered outside the window. There was a pack of cigarettes peeking from his shirt pocket.
I adjusted my hat. “Oh, sorry about that. I can set— I mean, I will take care of the bill right now.” The words didn’t sound one bit Texan. I smiled and reached for the door handle. Where was my voice coach when I needed to boast?
The man stepped back to allow the Jeep door to swing open. “I don’t usually wake up to find people sleeping in their cars. Little unusual around here.”
I flipped through the bills in my wallet. “Again, I’m sorry. It was late and all the hotels on the island were closed. This place seemed like a saving grace at the last minute. So thank you.”
The man walked around to the back of the Jeep and eyed the license plate. “Georgia, huh?”
I froze. The cover story hadn’t come to me yet. Was I supposed to be traveling for the summer on my own? Was a friend on the way to meet me? The only thing I knew was that I wasn’t ready to be Ben Baldwin yet.
“No, sir. It’s a rental.” I handed the man a one-hundred dollar bill.
He cocked his head to the side. “Son, it’s ten dollars a night to park and camp.”
“Oh.” I looked toward the trail covered in scrubby water oaks that led back to the main island road.
There were plenty of inns and motels on the island. Probably had great little breakfast specials and ladies who told island legends and handed out seashells, but those same places had people. People who might recognize me and sell me out to the highest bidder.
“You know, I was hoping I could stay a few nights. I’m in no hurry,” I explained as the plan formed.
“Did you bring a tent? Anything?” The man eyed the Jeep’s backseat.
I laughed. “No, I didn’t think of that.”
“Hmm. Well, we do have some campers for rent. They’re the old-style aluminum pull-behinds, but I have them set up real nice and they’ve even been featured in a few camper magazines, if you’re interested. They call them retro-chic or some kind of nonsense.” The man shook his head and tossed his hands in the air.
Magazines were the last thing I was interested in, but I liked the sound of a camper. The feeling had returned to my hand, but another night in the Jeep wasn’t going to work. A throbbing shoulder here and an achy knee there reminded me I had taken too many hits on the football field.
“Sold. I’ll take one.” I nodded.
The man squinted, this time tilting his head to the other side. “Does anyone ever tell you, you look familiar?”
I kicked my boot along the sandy parking space, careful not to look up. “I must have one of those faces or a twin.” I chuckled, hoping the man would stop trying to place my famous face.
“Yep, one of those faces. All right. Come on. Let me show you the Silver Sand Dollar.” He walked away in the direction of the beach.
“Silver Sand Dollar?”
“My wife named all the spaces and the campers. She did all the decorating too. So, if it’s too much on the feminine side, you can blame her.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.” I followed him along the narrow path to a horseshoe shaped assortment of Airstream campers. There were five total. I hoped the Sand Dollar was the one at the end, farthest from the others and the rest of the campground. It undoubtedly had the best view of the beach too.
The man limped past the first camper named “Shark’s Den.” I read the name of each trailer until we arrived at the final one in the group.
Hot damn. I took in the twenty-two-foot silver structure. I couldn’t think of anything more fucking perfect.
“Here she is.” The owner pulled on the handle. “Now, just crank down on this twice and the door opens right up.” He ascended two steps into the camper.
I glanced around at the red-checked décor. At least it wasn’t pink or peach. Peach would have been far worse. Instead, this kind of looked like a picnic table.
There was a bed at the far end, separated by a bi-fold door. In the center was a bathroom with a standup shower, sink, and toilet; the kitchenette took up the majority of the center space; and the end closest to the path was filled with a U-shaped bench and round table. The panel of windows looked out on the waves rolling along the shore.
“What ya think?” The man had moved closer to the door. It seemed he was in a hurry to end the tour.
“I think it will work.”
“Good. You mind stopping by the office after you settle in and fill out your reservation card?”
My chest tightened.
“Reservation paperwork?” I knew as soon as I wrote my name down, this venture into anonymity was over. I’d be found out in two seconds.
“Nothing major. Length of stay, email address so we can send you our updates. That’s my wife’s idea. She started a monthly newsletter. People seem to like it.”
I relaxed. “Certainly. I can do that, and I’ll go ahead and pay up for the month.” Maybe if I paid e
nough up-front cash, they would leave me alone. My host seemed nice enough, but he had already spent more time studying me than I was comfortable with.
“The whole month? All right. Well, Flora will help you.”
“Flora?”
“That’s the wife. You can call her Flo for shorth.” He laughed. “I’m Carl, by the way. See you around.” He tapped on the doorframe before exiting.
***
I tucked the corner of the towel along my hipbone. The Silver Sand Dollar had everything I needed and nothing I didn’t. It was pure heaven. It didn’t matter that I barely fit into the standup shower or that after seven minutes the water ran like a drippy faucet. I had run until I had finally found something I didn’t think existed anymore. Freedom.
I ran a hand through my wet hair and slid into the booth overlooking the ocean.
The campground visitors had already started setting up on the beach. A few umbrellas dotted the horizon along with a few surf fishermen, and a pack of surfers headed to the shore to catch a wave.
My head jerked and I hit my elbow when I heard my phone ring. I looked at the name flashing across the screen. Rebecca. I exhaled. I wasn’t ready to talk to her. There wasn’t anything to talk about. Even if the stories weren’t true, even if the press had somehow twisted everything around against her, I couldn’t convince myself anymore that the pictures weren’t real. She was in Hawaii with someone else. Someone else held her hand, laughed next to her on a paddleboard, and fed her tropical fruit. There were too many pictures and too many of Rebecca’s smiles for me to pretend anymore. There was some kind of truth in that trash.
I exhaled when the ringing stopped. I reached for the phone, ready to delete her number, just as the ringing started again. Dammit. This time it was Rick. I had to answer it.
“Hey, buddy. What’s happening?” I dug deep into the Texas drawl.
“Buddy? What the fuck, Ben? Where in the hell are you? I have been looking all over the damn city of Atlanta for you. Where did you go after your charity event?”
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