He didn’t understand himself anymore. He was clever. Brilliant, some thought. But he couldn’t answer why he was here anymore than he could find a cure to save his baby girl. What good was intelligence or medical knowledge if it failed you in the end? He was the same as anybody else. Not smarter, and certainly not better. He bled. He felt. He cried. He was just a man.
Sean got out of the chair, wiped damp tears off his face with a paper towel from the dispenser on the counter and continued to unpack his bags. Instant noodles went into the cupboard, along with peanut butter and jelly, and half a loaf of bread. Kayla had mentioned a grocery store nearby. If he was going to be here for three months, he should probably rent a car. He hoped he wouldn’t regret the impulse to stay awhile.
He sniffed the milk, rearing back at the sour smell, then dumped it down the sink, and the small coffee creamer too. The six pack of Corona fit in the fridge and he stuck a bottle of scotch on the side counter, under the cupboard where he’d seen the glasses.
Shoulders slumped, he felt drained of energy. The simple motion of unpacking had zapped most of his strength. Previously he’d been an active man, but living in cramped quarters for the past month had atrophied him. A walk would do him good. He felt stiff inside and out.
He took a long hot shower, enjoying the full power of the spray and having room to move after the confined space on the boat. Then he dressed in an old but favorite pair of jeans, a clean blue tee with a fish head on the back, and headed out. He stopped at the office for directions, but instead of the attractive middle-aged lady, Kayla stood at the bookshelves by the desk. They had tourist information on the top half, and used books on the bottom. She was adding one to the collection. He glanced at the title. The Seductress and the Rake. His wife had enjoyed historical romances as well.
“Hey,” she said with a sunny smile. “How can I help you, Mr. Flannigan?”
He hadn’t been called “Mister” in a long time. But the “doctor” title seemed inappropriate, and he didn’t need any formality. Matter of fact, he wanted to be “average Joe” and stay invisible. “Call me Sean.”
Why did her bright smile illicit such a negative reaction from him? Sean could tell it was genuine. He’d seen her smiling and singing to herself earlier when he’d walked from the marina to get a room. She’d worn a big straw hat that covered most of her face. He’d wondered what the heck she had to sing about. Had to be a hundred degrees in the sun, and she was working hard, cleaning the walkway from the pool that led to the beach. Bending over and pulling weeds between the wooden steps, trimming the wild grass that grew along the sides. She’d been sweating buckets, but catching sight of him, she’d wiped her forehead with her arm, grinned and waved.
Even at her worst, she was a stunning woman. Yet he hadn’t returned the wave. Instead, he’d plowed on, head down pretending he hadn’t seen her.
“Sean, then. We’re all curious about your accent.” She smiled again, darn near blinding him. “Where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He did mind, but he answered anyway. “Boston. For the past twenty-five years.” Conversation seemed forced to him now. For a month he’d drifted alone on his boat, only stopping for gas and food. He didn’t have much to say anymore. Not to strangers, not to family or friends. He didn’t want their words of sympathy or to see a look of sadness in their eyes. Even a light-hearted chat with a pretty woman couldn’t muster any appeal. He was part of the walking dead. Just no one knew it.
“Before that,” she persisted. “It’s not a Scottish brogue, is it?”
“Nope. Born in Australia.” He tried a smile which felt stiff and unnatural. More of a grimace. “Moved to the States when I was sixteen,” he mumbled, shifting his feet, eager to get away.
“Do you say things like “dinky-di?” She laughed and brushed back her dark brown curly hair. “I worked at a Hyatt in Philly, and we had a rugby team in. I heard them use it a few times.”
He scowled. “Not if I can help it.” Must have been the work that she’d done for a hotel chain that made her so damn customer-service oriented. Probably should have stayed on his boat where there was peace and quiet, only the occasional squawking of a seagull flying by.
Ignoring his bad manners, she walked across the office to the small refrigerator that held cold waters, taking one for herself, offering him another. “So, what brought you here? To South Florida?”
He accepted the water, uncapped it and took a big drink. “Look, I just stepped in to find out where the nearest market is, not to answer twenty questions.” After a few more slugs of the water, he placed the bottle on the counter. He knew he was being rude, but she seemed damned determined not to leave him alone. Enough was enough. “Appreciate the water though,” he said, taking a step toward the door.
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to be friendly. You want to keep to yourself, it’s all the same to me.”
He shrugged his shoulders, hoping to shed his guilt. “I just don’t want to talk about myself, that’s all.”
“Fair enough.” She pointed at the door. “When you leave here, follow the dirt road to the street, then turn right.”
Sean shot her a look of apology. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t stand to be around people. She was just doing her job, and his rudeness was not to be excused. “I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. Got some things to work out. Talking doesn’t help.”
Clearing her throat, she said, “It’s okay.” She kept her eyes averted. “There’s a small general store about three blocks from here. You want a better selection, you’ve got to go a couple of miles. Big supermarket down the way a bit.” She glanced at her watch, refusing to look at him. “If you can wait an hour, Mom will be back. She can drive you.”
“Thanks, but no. The walk will do me good.” He opened the door and the heat hit him like an open furnace. Walking far in this humidity might not be such a great idea. He glanced back. “I was thinking about renting a car while I’m here.”
“Good idea.” She stood, as if waiting for him to say something else. Letting him know she thought he was a Grade A jerk.
“Can you make the arrangements or is there a place in town?”
Kayla nodded. “I can look after it. No problem.” She gave him that blasted smile once again. Like she just couldn’t help being ridiculously happy.
“Thanks.” He turned and started toward the road ahead, heading for the shade of the large palms.
Kayla called out, “Don’t forget happy hour. You’ll be back by then, I hope.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he answered, shaking his head. He had zero intention of showing up to drink girly drinks with a bunch of strangers. Maybe he could find a dark bar, a beer and a burger, and hang around until the damn thing was over.
“Perfect,” Kayla said in her cheerful voice.
He left without a backward glance.
Paradise Cove is available now on Amazon
Excerpt from
HOOKED ON YOU
by Patrice Wilton
Copyright © 2016 Patrice Wilton
This riveting romance is the second book in the Paradise Cove series set in the Florida Keys. Three high-spirited sisters inherit Paradise Cove Cottages, and each story is a stand alone. Taylor Holmes has a lot on her plate—running a family owned resort, planning a wedding for her sister, and now the added worry as she opens her dream café. Throw in a hurricane and a sexy boat captain who doesn’t take no for an answer, and this book will keep you glued to your Kindle. Romance, passion, danger, and hot, hot nights guarantee reading pleasure.
CHAPTER ONE
“Opening day and not one customer has come in!” Taylor Holmes said by way of greeting as Juanita Hernandez entered the kitchen through the back door of the café.
“No problem.” Juanita’s round face broke into a big smile. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun and she wore a cheery yellow sundress. “It’s early yet. You’ve been open what? Half an hour?”
&nbs
p; Taylor rotated her neck, trying to ease the tension in her shoulders. She had a quiche warming in the oven, and two blends of coffee made. What if nobody showed? “I’m a worry wart. And impatient too.”
“What’s that?” Juanita reached for Taylor’s hand, inspecting her palm. “You have warts?”
“No!” Taylor pulled her hand free and laughed with affection for this kind woman who had come to them in the most unusual way. “Just worries.”
Juanita and her husband Miguel had fled Cuba last year with their son Raul. Her English was remarkably better than when their bedraggled bodies had shown up in Paradise Cove, but they’d never understand all of the quirky American expressions.
“Si. Si. Plenty of worries. Me?” Juanita shook her head. “No more since we are here with you.” She tied an apron around her ample waist. “What can I do to help?”
“Drum up some customers,” Taylor answered, then seeing Juanita’s puzzled expression, she smiled and patted a chair. The compact kitchen only had room for a round bistro table, two chairs and a stool by the bar counter. “Never mind. You can sit down and enjoy a good cup of coffee. Dark roast, or hazelnut?”
“Hazelnut.”
Taylor poured them each a fragrant mug, her third cup of the day, and perched on the stool so she could see the front door while talking. “How’s Merica this morning? Did she fuss when you left her?”
“No. She loves your mom. Anna was bouncing Merica on her knee, singing ‘itsy-bitsy spider’ to her.” Juanita’s face glowed. “My sweet baby was trying to catch your mother’s fingers.” She touched her heart, her dark brown eyes misty. “Precioso.”
Taylor could easily imagine the scene. “Mom’s never been happier than in the past few months—since you all returned to us. She’s been dying for grandchildren, and loves Raul and Merica like her own.”
“They love her too.” She stirred cream into her cup with a plastic teaspoon instead of using the fine new cutlery. “Anna is a big-hearted woman, taking us all in like familia.”
“You are part of our family now.” Taylor sipped her coffee, remembering the morning that they’d been rescued at sea by her sister Kayla’s fiancé. Luckily he’d been out on his boat and had spotted them clinging to a few planks of wood. Their home-made raft had broken apart a half-mile before safely reaching the Florida Keys. Juanita had been seven months pregnant, and so the women had offered them a cottage until the baby was born. After that the Cuban Refugee center stepped in—reuniting them with Miguel’s cousin in Miami, who had grudgingly made room for the Hernandez family.
They’d stayed in touch through her youngest sister Brittany, who now lived in Miami and worked with a dance company. When Taylor heard that Miguel got laid off from his construction job, she’d convinced the whole family to come back to Paradise Cove and work at the resort.
Within three months, Miguel had built Taylor her dream café and accepted a full-time position as Paradise Cove’s gardener and handyman. Juanita split her time between the resort and the café, and Raul was already registered for sixth grade at Marathon’s middle school.
Juanita sniffed and pointed her mug toward the industrial oven. “Smells good. What did you make?”
“Cheese and mushroom quiche and orange pecan French toast.” Taylor pushed aside her coffee mug, eyes watching the door. She could feel a worried frown pinching between her brows and stroked it lightly. What if she’d made a huge mistake? She had a lot riding on this side venture, and had no idea how she’d repay the bank loan if things didn’t work out.
“Soon people will come.” Juanita stood up and rested her hands on Taylor’s tensed shoulders. “You wait and see.”
Taylor slipped off the bar stool and wiped her damp palms on her flowered cotton print skirt. She sighed, and shot another quick glance out the window. “Maybe I was optimistic, but I’d hoped people would be eager to try out my new place.” She’d spent the past week putting flyers up everywhere and had paid for advertising in the Reporter, a local newspaper in Tavernier.
The three sisters and their mother had inherited the small guest resort, Paradise Cove Cottages, just over a year ago, and they’d already taken out a hefty loan to update the grounds and cabins. With the addition of her café, they were walking a tightrope. She couldn’t allow her dream to destroy her family’s business.
“Did you see the sign when you came in?” Taylor walked out of the kitchen. “It didn’t get blown away in last night’s wind, did it?”
Juanita’s dark brown eyes lit up with humor. “No. It’s plain as day.” She giggled as if proud of her American slang.
“Good one, Juanita.” Opening the front door that led out to a dirt parking strip, she saw the large neon sign hanging overhead glaringly clear. Taylor’s Café at Paradise Cove. And on the door a smaller sign. Now Open. At night the pink and green sign with a flamingo on the side flickered on and off. Not too tacky, but eye catching enough for travelers from the north to spot from the road while visiting the Keys.
The café was nestled among some raggedy old pines next to the street. Long and narrow, it fronted the Overseas Highway, the only road to and from Key West. People had to drive right past her door if they wanted to go farther south than Islamorada—although she couldn’t figure out why anyone would. It really was paradise, right here.
Taylor shut the door and faced the kitchen, pride warring with fear as she surveyed her domain.
Inside along the window were rows of wooden tables that sat four, and across an aisle were matching tables for two. The interior was painted ocean blue, and she’d kept to a nautical theme with fishnet hanging from the ceiling, and ceramic crabs climbing the walls. A giant tin rendition of a Sailfish hung behind the counter where her customers would order their meals.
It seated twenty-four people, but in the back was an additional outdoor area with a thatched roof and picnic tables covered in red and white plastic cloths. Little jars of fresh flowers anchored the cheap tablecloths down. The purpose for this extra seating was to entice travelers looking for free internet service along with a cup of coffee and a slice of pie.
Her stomach gurgled. She’d been up at five to bake her goodies for the morning crowd and had skipped breakfast with too much caffeine. Her nervous stomach was dancing around like a cricket on speed.
The front door opened with a clang of a bell and Taylor whirled around to see a friendly familiar face. She couldn’t be happier to see anybody in her life.
“Colt!” Colt Travis ran a small charter business in Islamorada, one of the fishing capitals of the world. However, charters were extremely competitive especially during the hot summers in the tropical Keys. Things picked up during tourist season—late October through April. “Please tell me you’re here for my fabulous breakfast? Being the very first customer, yours is free.”
“Naw. I just came for a cup of java.” He hugged Juanita. “How’s my favorite girl?”
Juanita slapped his hand with a dishtowel and giggled. “Taylor’s your favorite girl.”
He turned his wicked smile on her. “No. She won’t have me, so I’m hanging around, hoping to lure you away from Miguel.”
“You are a bad boy,” Juanita told him. “So, you’re here for breakfast? No?”
“Si.” He winked at Taylor. “Of course I am. I just dropped Jamie and Raul off at baseball camp, and I came to see how you’re making out.” He faced the counter and glanced at the chalkboard menu hanging on the wall. “So, what’s good?”
“You are,” Juanita answered. “Very good to Raul. He loves baseball and practices very hard.”
“He’s a natural. And Jamie likes to have him around.” His eyes swept over to Taylor, who waited with her hand on her hip, anxious for him to order. “What do you recommend?”
“Everything.” She couldn’t stop smiling. He’d just brightened her day. But then, he usually did. Easy-going, Colt had long shaggy blond hair, the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, a body that was shamefully hunky, and dimples to drool over. On t
he negative side, he was a babe magnet. Recently divorced, she’d watched him strut around town with a bevy of pretty women. Several months ago, he’d tried sniffing around her back door, but when she wouldn’t go out with him, he’d quickly moved on.
Her stomach rumbled again and she laughed, putting her palm to her belly.
“Sounds like you should eat too,” he said with a wink. “So what are we having?”
Suddenly she was starving. “I made fresh croissants this morning—good with sausage and eggs, or I have orange pecan French toast, or a cheese and mushroom quiche. Any of those appeal to you?”
“My mouth is watering already. How about the French toast? But only if you two ladies will join me.”
He’d gone for the sweet dish instead of the healthier choice, Taylor noticed. But then he and his son probably ate lean at home. “I guess we could—unless someone else shows up.”
He gave her his double-dimpled grin and raised a brow. “We could eat in the kitchen—if you’d have me.”
Her jumpy stomach did a triple-barrel somersault. Have him? Why did that sound so enticing? Must be the fact she was hungry, because no way was she going to add her name to the ever-growing list of Colt’s girls. Uh-uh. One day, when she had time for dating and romance, she wanted to be special. Singled out. Maybe it was that middle child hang-up, but she was fed up with leftovers.
Having heard the conversation, Juanita busied herself slicing the orange pecan French toast, warm from the oven. Taylor knew Juanita hoped for a romance between her and Colt, but it was not going to happen. They were friends, and both liked it that way.
“It’s comfy in the kitchen, come around.” She waved him toward the swinging door. “I don’t have a table for three in here though. You could take a seat out back if you like.”
Right Man/ Wrong Groom: Paradise Cove Series - Destination Wedding Book 1 Page 19