by Marcelo, Tif
Could it be that it had only been a few days since she and Brandon had been looking through Yakap’s window? Back then, she’d been naive enough to think that she wouldn’t fall for him again, only to be swooped straight to the moon and back by that first kiss in the warehouse.
“Coffee’s not helping, I see,” a voice said next to her.
Geneva’s eyes flew open, and her mind did the descent to reality with a quick flicker of images ending with her sitting atop her kitchen counter with Brandon between her legs. She gasped. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
Brandon tipped a glass bottle of soda onto his lips. He looked so handsome, but smug, in the chair. “Sure, just like how you don’t have enough time to pick out paint colors.”
Her gaze darted around the tent for prying ears; no one was paying them any mind, all engaged in their own conversations. “With the time I spent not mulling over paint colors yesterday, I finished up two whole houses.”
“Congratulations,” Brandon said. “Even if picking out paint colors would have only cost you a few minutes. But what do I know?”
Geneva bit her lip as guilt wiggled its way through her. In truth, she’d spent much of yesterday combing through her pros and cons while putting up wallpaper and creating accent walls. And still, she wasn’t sure what she should do.
Her dilemma wasn’t about leaving earlier than she’d anticipated. It wasn’t even whether she would be able to complete her tasks at the resort. The entire crew at Heart Resort was now in the flow of work—she had been transparent with her design plans, and the Pusos had enough capable people to finish out the final to-dos on her list.
It felt as if her next decision was the domino to jump-start the next phase of her life. Foster’s Group and Beachy were massive, rare opportunities that would require 100 percent of her effort and heart. She knew she would be excellent at either job, and that made it more difficult to decide.
It was a relief when Chris called for the team’s attention.
He directed everyone to their devices, to which he’d sent the grand opening rollout plan yesterday. Geneva clicked on the file; she had yet to scan through the topics.
Ten pages.
She took a sip of her coffee to bolster her.
“Damn,” Brandon said, swiping left on his iPad.
“By the shock on some of your faces, I can tell this is the first time you’re seeing the file. No worries—what I did was compile your updates so we all know what’s up ahead for the grand opening. I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page. We don’t want anything to fall in the cracks. First up: Tammy”—he gestured to her—“has been ramping up our social media as well as ads on Facebook and other related travel sites. Do you want to continue?”
Tammy stood and nodded at Geneva and Brandon. “Thanks to these two, and along with other models I’ve been able to hire, we are on our way to a brand-new website. I’m also amassing our own stock photos we can rotate out over the months. In fact, we have another session after this meeting, in front of Kilig. Perfect, right? Exhilaration.”
Next to Tammy, Chris winced. “Not that there will be anything exhilarating going on.”
Geneva gritted her teeth and avoided looking at Brandon.
“We’ve got a commercial queued at a local cable channel. We updated our billboards on northbound and southbound I-95,” Tammy continued. “We’ve got a few media spots for Chris. Podcasts too. I’ve reached out to local brick-and-mortar Outer Banks businesses to develop partnerships, since they need to love us too. Right now, well, we’re kind of like outsiders trying to mingle in with locals. In fact, there’s a rumor that another competing resort is in the works, and its owners are local residents of the Outer Banks. They’re called Willow Tree Inc.—”
Geneva’s ears perked. As the owner of a mobile business, she was intrigued by the politics of small towns. In a large cosmopolitan area, what she’d run into was cutthroat pricing competition and invisibility. In a small town? It was all about acceptance.
“We don’t have to involve everyone with that, Tammy,” Chris said. “It’s all politics, and I’m taking care of it.”
“Oh, okay. Moving on then.” She cleared her throat. “Finally, I’m working on cross-promotions with our vendors. That’s it for me.”
“Next? Gil?”
Gil cleared his throat. “Since Brandon and Mike are dealing with maintenance and building, I’ve been moved to employee management. Our retraining has begun. We’ve retained about ninety percent of our employees since Maximus, so we’ve got some recruitment to do. So far, for the expected amount of clients, we have enough in our teams to open.”
“Brandon and Geneva?”
Geneva glanced at Brandon. He nodded back, to give her the floor.
An unexpected sliver of nervousness ran up her spine, which was silly. Nothing she was about to say would be new, but there was more at stake. From her relationship with the Pusos to how each home, albeit tiny, had come to be. And now that her work here was almost done, she was going to let all of them—the people and things—go soon.
Sadness washed through her; it was such an unexpected, visceral reaction that Geneva had to take a breath, and she blinked back tears.
“I started with a theme: it takes two. I wanted each space to feel comfortable and intimate, where a couple felt like they weren’t on top of one another despite the home’s square footage. From there, I really tried to give each home a personality,” Geneva said, voice croaking. “One of our part-timers, Rhiannon Gold, reminded me that names mattered. Just as each house has a name, I thought, shouldn’t each embody what that name means? If you swipe through the pages and zoom in, you’ll see that Brandon and I worked to give each house a little something new.”
All around her, the team swiped through the pictures she had taken along the way.
“These are gorgeous,” Tammy said. “Can I grab a couple of these for our social media?”
“Yes, of course.” She glanced briefly at Brandon. “My hope is that those couples who stay in these beach houses glean what they need from the house. The spirit, if you will.”
She thought of Luna, who’d been immediately at ease in her own beach house, Ligaya. At the joy she felt opening her doors to the view of the water. And how, now, she didn’t think twice about the climb down from the loft or how small the place was. She looked to Brandon and said, “Bran?”
“We still have to do the exterior painting on a couple of the homes,” Brandon said. “The yoga studio’s floors are done, mirrors and office installed the next day or two—fairly straightforward, and we don’t anticipate any issues there. We’re waiting on the delivery of new equipment for the restaurant, and we’ve still to update its interior decor.”
“Just remember. It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Chris said.
Geneva detected a blip of a frown on Brandon’s face, but it disappeared just as quickly.
“Thank you both. Beatrice?” Chris prompted.
She startled, looking up from her phone. “Sorry, I’m keeping an eye out on this storm. It looks like it’s been downgraded to a tropical depression, which is a relief, but as the day passes, let’s be flexible in stopping what we need to do in order to board up or shutter windows. We have materials at the ready from Maximus, and we have to keep on our phones for changes in plans. Anyway, if you take a look at the next slide, you’ll see our client numbers.” Beatrice outlined all the couples that were set to arrive for the first session back, and seven of the ten houses would be occupied. On a chart that only Beatrice could make whimsical despite all the moving parts, she showed occupancy depending on the current couples retreat plan.
Beatrice gestured to Chet, who stood and, without exposing their identities, discussed the myriad of relationship issues their upcoming clients were facing and what programs they were seeking. He directed everyone to his chart, which indicated which of the staff members would be involved, from the yoga instructor to the acupuncturist to the chef to the therapist on c
all, and the specific crews involved with the outdoor couples activities.
Geneva was swept up into the discussion and the team’s sincere intention of making the couples’ experience perfect. She thought of each house and which couple would be assigned which home. Of which home would give them the best luck for their couplehood.
Geneva wasn’t at all superstitious; her spirituality, she admitted, needed some fine-tuning. Work was how Geneva expressed her intentions, her manifestations; work was her prayer. But her mother had called their house in Annapolis their good-luck home because it had witnessed so many of the Harrises’ holiday celebrations and most of Geneva’s birthdays. Geneva had felt safe in that house; she’d known every nook and cranny. That house had represented her childhood.
She yearned for that same comfort. When else had she felt that same safety?
Right here. With Brandon.
No.
She was simply emotional at the moment. This project was special, and the lines were blurred. She pushed her thoughts down and away as Chris took the stage.
“I’m just . . . I’m so impressed,” he said. “In the beginning, I thought this was going to be a hard thing to accomplish, but here we are. I’m so proud of this team. I know I don’t say it enough. You aren’t just part of the executive team. You’re part of this family. This Heart Resort family, the Puso family. And, while some of you have to move on, you will always have a place here. These last few months . . .”
What had been a formidable force showed a crack in his veneer.
Were those tears in Chris’s eyes?
Beatrice placed a hand on his shoulder, and the two shared a glance. Chris took another breath. “After Maximus, I wasn’t sure how we were going to get it together. All I knew was that we had to try, for all of us, for our parents.”
Geneva braved a glance at Brandon. He looked bereft; he was looking off into the distance, not quite at his brother.
Geneva had been on the road when Tita Marilyn and Tito Joe passed away. She’d been in the middle of a drive, leaving Kansas City, Missouri, en route to New Orleans. She had been looking forward to the new environment, another state to check off her family bucket list.
She had been driving a renovated van, which she’d gutted and furnished with a built-in mattress. The van itself didn’t have bells and whistles, nor did it have Bluetooth capability, so when her phone had rung the first and the second times, she hadn’t answered it. It can wait, she’d told herself.
By the third round, she’d dug her phone out of the center console. It was Beatrice.
“They’re gone,” she’d simply said with a stark one-toned voice. Beatrice “Inject All the Emotion” Puso, with a monotone one-liner? While Geneva hadn’t known what it meant, she’d pulled over anyway. After she’d pieced together the horrible news, she’d turned her van around to be with friends.
Geneva knew how important this resort was to Brandon, to Beatrice, to Gil, and to Chris. The bittersweet joy Chris now expressed—she felt too. Geneva had been intent on making something out of herself before Tito Joe and Tita Marilyn had died, and their deaths had started her firing on all cylinders, wanting to accomplish all she had written down in the family bucket list.
Chris straightened, his stoic demeanor returning. “All that to say: I want to thank you for all of your hard work. And I would be remiss if I didn’t thank Geneva especially for coming to Heart Resort on her own volition, since she’s leaving us earlier than expected. But don’t you worry, Geneva; we’ll finish out what you started.”
“Earlier?” Brandon echoed next to her.
Geneva kept her eyes on Chris, though her heart leapt in panic; he’d dropped a bomb of a half truth. “Actually”—she raised her hand to object—“I . . . I haven’t decided yet.” She smiled to ease the news for those around her, especially to Brandon.
“Right, right. Undecided yet, but important for me just to say, especially on the precipice of another storm. We don’t know what we could have done without you. But enough of the sappy stuff. Let’s keep things moving . . .”
With that, Chris continued on with the meeting. The man was right. There was, indeed, a storm coming, and she felt it from the chill next to her.
“Hey, wait up!” Geneva chased after Brandon from under the tent. The meeting had concluded and the staff had dispersed, each with a laminated info sheet of storm and hurricane precautions. Once they were out of earshot, she raised her voice. “Bran!”
Brandon climbed into his golf cart, rocking it to the side. He took his time to put away his things but avoided her eyes. “Yep.”
“Could I hitch a ride with you to Kilig?”
He turned the key. The cart beeped to life.
Geneva noted a flush across his cheeks, his tight grip on the steering wheel.
She rested her arms on the roof. While she didn’t owe Brandon an explanation—technically, she hadn’t made a decision—perhaps him finding out through Chris wasn’t the best. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I’d mentioned the possibility to Beatrice, and she must have told Chris. There’s a lot going on with my upcoming work, and this literally came up yesterday, after our photo shoot.”
“Geneva.” He looked up then; a small smile played on his lips. It made it to his eyes, but in this sad way. “I just want to be alone. I can meet you at Kilig, all right?”
She glanced at his foot, squarely on the gas pedal. Hands at ten and two. Brandon wanted to go—he wanted to get out of there, much like he had the first time they’d reunited. Internally, she grimaced at the backward slide, and at how everything was topsy turvy.
This was why she left before it got too deep. Because she couldn’t manage this. Logically, her decisions about her business were her own, and yet, in the last day, what Brandon and his family thought, unbeknownst to them, mattered. It was why she couldn’t spend but five minutes yesterday talking about paint colors. Ultimately, she wanted to make her own decisions, untouched by another person’s opinion.
Still, she couldn’t let Brandon go, because damn it, she did care about him. Despite her intention to stay away from him, he was under her skin; he was in her soul. She wanted to make things okay, though that would mean that he had to speak to her.
“Are you mad?”
He heaved a breath. “I’m not mad.” Each word was measured and clear. He looked out of the windshield once more, and that was when Geneva caught it. His tell. A crinkle on the sides of his eyes, as if he was wincing, like he was resisting a hard truth.
Brandon was so good at small talk and easy talk. At banter. But not with his true feelings. Right then, it reminded her of them four years ago, with her chasing his thoughts and him holding back. Even at their last fight.
Right then felt like a breakthrough.
Geneva rounded the golf cart and hopped in.
It earned her an eye roll. “I guess we’re riding together.”
“Yes, because our conversation isn’t over.”
He sighed a heavy, impatient breath. “Geneva, I feel like talking’s all we do.”
When she didn’t budge—did he know that she was as stubborn as he was?—he backed up from the space, and they set off.
There were more people milling on the resort these last couple of days. Golf carts whizzed down the main road. Chef Castillo now had two food trucks to accommodate those staying on during the day.
Geneva waved at the familiar people walking up the path: The crew that helped load and unload vans. Sal, with his walkie-talkie on his hip, directing traffic. The gardeners tending to the newly planted flowers she’d helped pick out. She’d had a bit of interaction with all these folks, and while with every job she’d learned to build a community, it wasn’t quite like this.
“You’re like the mayor around here,” Brandon remarked above the noise of the engine.
“It’s kind of hard to believe that it’s only been a week, and I feel so . . .” The words rushed out of her, with the emotions of the morning.
“So . . . ?”
“Settled.” She glanced briefly at him. Seeing the hurt on his face, Geneva’s heart dropped at her mistake. She’d only been thinking of herself: her work, her adjustment, her schedule, her feelings. “Bran, I did get an offer I can’t—I shouldn’t—refuse. I was taking my time to think about it, to make the right kind of plans, and to make the announcement properly.”
After a beat, his voice cut through the engine. “As someone who’s working with you directly, it would have been nice to know. We’re in a partnership.”
She nodded. “What good is a notice if there’s no decision?”
“Spoken by someone who doesn’t run their decisions by anyone.” He laughed. “Even a whiff of a decision could change the course of everything. Then again, even if you had feedback about your decision, it wouldn’t matter. When you make up your mind, Geneva, there’s no changing it. You up and go at a moment’s notice.”
Her insides burned at his accusation, feeling the words sear deep in her gut. There was a measure of truth in it, but defensiveness rose like a phoenix. No one had walked in her shoes. “I’m not stubborn for the heck of it.” She dared him with a look, because two could play this game. “But you can’t understand. You and I aren’t the same person. We don’t have the same kind of pressure.”
“And what kind of pressure do you think I do and don’t have?”
“I don’t know, Brandon. But you’re surrounded by these people. You will always be able to rely on them. You’ve even had the flexibility to stay in one place. And the consequences . . . you don’t feel them like I do.”
“Noted,” he said.