They’d kayaked around Christmas Key in their spare time, joked flirtatiously, and made dinner together. The sex has always been great, and it all made sense. And right there is the heart of the issue for Holly: the whole thing has always felt too easy, like the fact that they’re both young, attractive, and single is enough to cement their relationship for life. And it’s not. But if not Jake, then who? Or does there even have to be a man in her life at all? Maybe Pucci and Marco are enough for her right now.
With a last look at the water, she tugs at Pucci’s leash gently to get him moving again.
Bonnie is still out when Holly gets back to the air-conditioned office with lunch. She sets the bags and the drinks on her desk and gives Pucci a dog bone from the jar on top of her filing cabinet, which he takes back to his dog bed and hides protectively under one paw.
“I’m not going to steal it back from you, boy,” she says to him. “It’s all yours.”
She opens the styrofoam container of soup from the bistro, stirring it with a plastic spoon while she stands in front of the white-framed windows that look directly out onto Main Street. Holly has a great view of all the action from her office, so she eats her soup right there, watching her neighbors as they putter around in golf carts, moving in and out of the coffee shop and the gift store in their knee-length Bermuda shorts and sandals.
Clinging to the edges of the blue sky are dark, angry clouds. On her walk back from the Jingle Bell Bistro, Holly could feel the humidity hanging in the air as the storm approached. When the temperature and the humidity both climb as high as they do in the summer, being outside in the heat feels like swimming through hot syrup. She looks at her watch in between spoonfuls of soup. It won’t be long now before the violent rains and cracks of lightning rip through the trees on the island, sending sheets of water flying sideways at the windows, and temporarily filling the gutters with what seems like three feet of water. When it’s over and the skies have cleared, she’ll go home and sit on her lanai again, listening to the cicadas and looking at her guava and lemon trees in the yard. It’s a pretty good life, being the mayor of paradise.
Holly tosses her empty soup container and spoon into the trash and gets back to work.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The untamed feeling of the island at night is one of Holly’s favorite things about Christmas Key. Nightfall on the island brings out the nocturnal animals. Twigs snap in the trees as they move around, their eyes like lasers pointed at the humans who congregate merrily in a wood shack on the water. The moon casts a long, luminous reflection across the Gulf, and iguanas and geckos crawl up the trunks of palm trees and skitter under fallen logs. Because she knows every one of her neighbors and doesn’t fear pirates or boogeymen, Holly loves being out in the pitch-black darkness of the slithering, pulsating jungle at night, looking up at the unfettered sky of stars above.
Fiona bowed out of a night at the Ho Ho Hideaway at the last minute by claiming a summer cold, but Bonnie is more than happy to join Holly at Joe Sacamano’s beachside bar. She pulls into an unmarked parking spot in the sandy lot at the Ho Ho next to Holly’s golf cart, shuts off her headlight, and touches up her lipstick in the rearview mirror by the light of the moon.
The women link arms as they trudge up the steps of the bar. “Ready, sugar?” Bonnie asks, clutching Holly’s elbow.
“Ready for a beer? Absolutely.” Holly takes a deep breath and steps up to the bar, her small, orange purse tucked under one arm.
The Ho Ho Hideaway opens directly onto the sand and the ocean, and because of its proximity to Holly’s property, she can easily walk along the beach between her house and the bar if she wants to. She and Jake have walked that very bar-to-house route many times after imbibing a little too much of Joe Sacamano’s homemade rum, or over-indulging in Arnold Palmers spiked with Cap’s potent moonshine.
“Can I interest you in a shot of my special Christmas Key rum?” Joe Sacamano asks, flipping over a wet shot glass and slamming it on the counter like a dare. “Made from 100% Florida sugarcane and aged in oak. It came out really sweet and rich this time. First shot’s on the house.”
“Hit me,” Holly says, flipping her loose hair over one shoulder and setting her purse on the counter. Joe pours a shot and slides it across the bar. She tosses it back, feeling the warmth of the liquor slide down her throat and work its way through her. “Mmm, butterscotch,” she says appreciatively.
“You think?” Joe beams with pride. “I wasn’t sure if I was tasting caramel or butterscotch. Damn good though, huh?”
“Really good. You ought to bottle that and sell it, Joe. Maybe make a few extra bucks.”
Joe laughs and pours her another shot. “An old geezer like me? I got no need for a storefront and all that headache. I just want to make my booze and pour it, then play my guitar for all of my rabid fans.” He spreads his hands expansively, laughing because the bar crowd is essentially the antithesis of a group of rabid rock fans. With his cropped, snowy curls and lazy grin, Joe is widely considered the best looking older man on Christmas Key, a distinction that barely fazes him after the years he spent on the road playing guitar with some of the biggest acts of the sixties and seventies.
“Did you bring your lady friends with you?” Joe asks casually, capping the bottle of rum and setting it on the counter in front of him.
“Just Bonnie…” Holly spins around, searching the crowd of islanders gathered near the railing that overlooks the beach. The sound of the ocean in the darkness beyond the bar is a roaring, soothing repetition of crashing waves. “Well, we came in together, but it looks like I already lost her.”
“I’m sure she’ll turn up. Social butterfly, that one, eh?”
“The most social butterfly I’ve ever met,” Holly agrees, knocking back the second shot of rum. “And I noticed you two sitting together at Candy Cane Beach on the 4th of July. Very cozy.” She winks and sets the glass down, putting her hand over its open mouth as Joe reaches to uncap the bottle and pour her a third drink.
“Let’s talk more about this idea of yours to sell my rum,” Joe says, eyes twinkling.
“Nice change of topic, Sacamano. Very deft.”
Joe laughs, caught. “Ah, well. Worth a shot. But in my vast experience, I do know that distracting a woman once she’s got her teeth sunk into something is like trying to whistle at a tiger to stop it from charging a deer.”
“So I’m the tiger, and you’re the deer here?”
“I am a deer in headlights here, milady. Admittedly.” Joe sets her empty shot glass in his copper sink behind the bar.
“So?”
“Nothin’ to it, Mayor. I love all women, and all women love me.” Joe backs up, smiling benevolently as he looks around his bar. “I am a man of the people.”
“Oh, jeez.”
“I’m just not interested in settling down with anyone—probably ever.” Joe leans forward on the bar, placing his elbows on the shiny burgundy tile that covers the bar top.
“I know what you mean,” Holly says drily, unsnapping her purse and searching for a tube of lipgloss. “I’m not too keen on settling down myself.”
“Really? Ever?” Joe stands up again, assessing Holly with as serious face. “A woman as young and beautiful as you shouldn’t rule out love, doll.”
“Well,” Holly says, dropping the lipgloss into her purse and snapping it shut. “I just shot down what was probably my only chance at love and marriage because he had the nerve to propose, so…” She shrugs.
“Eh, don’t beat yourself up over that one, kid. If it’s not there, you can’t force it.” Joe runs a hand through his white curls from his forehead straight over the crown. His gold pinky ring glints under the low lights of the bar.
“It’s not him—it’s me. It has to be,” Holly says. “He’s a great guy, but I don’t think I’m the marrying type.”
“You never know.” Joe grabs a rag and wipes the bar top. “I didn’t think I was the marrying type either, but that didn’t stop me
from doing it a time or two.”
“Or three,” Holly teases.
“Ouch. Yeah, I guess there are a few ex-Mrs. Sacamanos roaming around out there,” Joe says, chuckling, “but I think I’ll stop at three.” His eyes scan the crowd, landing on Bonnie just as her gales of laughter rise above the commotion of the bar and the crash of the waves. “I’ve had some fun with a lady or two in my day, and at this point I’m just as content to keep Louise as my main squeeze until the end.” Everyone on Christmas Key knows that Louise is Joe’s Fender, his favorite guitar and the apple of his eye.
UB40’s “Red, Red Wine” comes on over the speakers and Holly gets up. She pushes her stool in and rubs her lips together, spreading the lipgloss around. “Well, I defer to you in all matters of marriage and relationships, Sacamano. I clearly have no idea what the hell I’m doing, and I’ve made a bit of a mess for myself by breaking up with a guy I still have to share a tiny island with.” She tucks her purse under one arm. “But if you ever want to talk about selling that hooch, stop by and see me at the B&B sometime. I’ve got some ideas to advertise and market it.”
“Will do, Miss Baxter. And just in case you feel like mucking things up a bit more, our favorite officer of the law is here tonight.”
Holly shoots him a look. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“Eh,” Joe tips his hand from side-to-side, weighing the damage. “You two were pretty hot and heavy on the dance floor, and if memory serves, it was my Don Henley impression that set things off. So I’d say it was either pretty bad, or really, really good.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her suggestively.
“Jesus, Joe.” Holly puts one hand over her eyes so that she won’t have to look at him.
“Aww, I’m just messin’ with you, Mayor. Jake’s out there wandering the beach with a bottle of beer,” he says, nodding past the railing at the dark shoreline beyond. “Probably stargazing or drowning his sorrows. Or both. You should go find him.”
“Thanks for the shots, Joe.” She pats the bar before walking away.
Holly winds through the small crowd, smiling at the Cafferkeys. Iris and Jimmy toast her wordlessly with bottles of beer. Maria Agnelli has carved out a corner of the room as her own personal dance floor and she’s swaying to UB40 with her eyes closed, one hand holding her loose skirt up above her wrinkled knees, the other balancing a tequila on the rocks as she dances.
“You like reggae, Mrs. Agnelli?” Holly leans in, holding onto Maria’s elbow so that she won’t startle and spill her drink.
“I love all kinds of music!” Mrs. Agnelli says loudly, opening her eyes and smiling up at Holly. “All of my children were conceived to different music.”
“No—stop it, Mrs. Agnelli!” Holly shifts her clutch purse from one armpit to the other.
“It’s true: little Frankie was born nine months after Alfie and I got our first Sinatra album,” she says, her eyes merry from the drink. “Our Doris came about because Alfie and I couldn’t get enough of that Doris Day song ‘Choo Choo Train.’ And then our surprise baby, Paulie, joined us after the British Invasion. I just loved those cute Beatles,” she says, sipping her drink.
“That’s…a lot of information.” Holly pats Mrs. Agnelli on the shoulder. “I need to find Bonnie now; I think she got away from me again.”
Mrs. Agnelli nods and keeps dancing, giving Holly a wave.
Holly glances around the bar. No Bonnie. A smart woman would take herself home after two shots of rum and call it a night, but knowing that Jake is just down on the beach pulls her in that direction, as much as she wishes it didn’t. She salutes Cap across the bar and makes her way down the steps in the dark. With her flip-flops in one hand and her purse in the other, she stands on the cool sand, listening to the sound of the music from the bar as it merges with the rolling of the waves.
Sitting by the water in the moonlight, legs pulled up and elbows resting on both knees, is Jake. He’s got a bottle of Corona in his left hand; it dangles between his legs as he holds it by the mouth loosely.
“I thought you were buying me my first beer.” She strolls over to where he’s sitting.
Jake turns his head and glances up at her. “So go put one on my tab.” He takes a swig of his beer, then digs a hole in the sand with the bottom of the bottle. He lets the beer rest there.
“I’m just teasing. Joe bought me a couple of shots of his new rum.” She tosses her flip-flops on the sand and sets her purse on top of them.
“Wanna watch the waves with me?”
“Might as well.” The memory of waking up in Jake’s arms the night he stayed over is still fresh. Holly drops to the sand next to him, intentionally leaving about a foot and a half between them. They sit there quietly for a couple of minutes, enjoying the water and listening to the clink of bottles and the laughter of their neighbors coming from the bar behind them.
“Sounds like things have been pretty busy around the old B&B.”
“Yeah?” Holly wraps her arms around her bare legs, chin resting on her knees. “More gossip on the street?”
“Not really, I just asked Bonnie how things were going while we were in line for coffee this morning. And every time I drive by the B&B, I see you at your desk working like a madwoman.”
“Things have been busy. It’s good.” Holly doesn’t really feel like engaging in work-talk on a Friday night, so she lets the amicable silence engulf them again.
Jake takes a long pull on his bottle of beer, and Holly admires his strong profile. The navy blue night sky looks like a blanket that’s been hole-punched a million times so that pinpoints of bright light can flood through.
“Jake,” she says, leaning over and nudging him with her shoulder. He grunts and takes another drink of beer. A relationship discussion might be as much of a mood-killer as work-talk, but it can’t make things much more awkward than they already are. “I feel like I don’t know…how to be with you yet. I’m really struggling here.”
Jake nods, still not looking at her. “It’s only been a couple of months, Hol. We’re figuring things out.”
“I know. But I thought it would be easier.”
“Us living on this island and just sleeping together when the mood strikes is never going to make things easier.” Jake turns to her, smirking. “But I am willing to keep trying that if it’s working for you.”
Holly leans into him, bumping his shoulder with hers again. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do.” He stares out at the water, still holding the bottle of beer between his knees.
Joe Sacamano cuts the music and plugs in his electric guitar on the small stage he’s created inside the Ho Ho Hideaway. Holly and Jake listen as he taps the microphone and asks the crowd if they’re ready for some rock and roll. Everyone claps and hoots.
“Remember what happened when Joe did his Eagles set?” Jake says. “Are you willing to take that risk again?”
Holly looks him in the eye and holds his gaze. “I think I can handle it.”
“Okay, well, proceed at your own risk, Baxter,” he says, taking another swig from his bottle of beer. “The combination of moonlight and music seems to be your undoing, and I’m not sure if I feel like putting out tonight.”
Holly throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, please. You always feel like putting out!”
Jake swirls the beer around in the bottle. “It’s good to hear you laugh again,” he says.
“This is how I want it to be all the time, Jake.”
“I’m not sure that we’re going to be able to swing that, Holly. At least not without the rum and beer.” He holds up the bottle. “And I’m pretty sure that the mayor and the only cop on the island can’t just be drunk 24/7.”
Holly leans back into the sand and rests on her elbows. The thin tank top she’s wearing rides up, leaving a couple of inches of bare skin between her shirt and the waist of her denim skirt. “Probably not. But if you’re really going to stay here, then we have to figure out how to be friends again.”
“Just friends? You know that’s not what I want.” He looks her in the eye, holding her gaze with intensity.
Joe launchs into a cover of “Let’s Stay Together” in the bar.
“Did you pay Joe to play this one?” she asks, shaking out her wavy, air-dried hair behind her.
Jake tips back his beer bottle, drains it, and sets it on the sand. “I only wish I was that smooth.” He stands up and brushes off the back of his shorts. “Wanna dance?” She looks at him skeptically. “Just as a peace offering,” he assures her.
Holly stares at the hand he’s holding out to her. Does she want to dance? Does she want to do more than dance? Does she want to wake up in Jake’s arms? Does she want to get back together and pretend that she’d never had second thoughts? It could all be so easy…in that moment she’s not sure what she wants, so she reaches out and takes his strong hand. “Sure. But just as a peace offering.”
They move into position slowly, each fumbling for the other as Jake takes her in his arms. They let the notes of the song wrap around them as they sway in the sand, Holly’s head coming to rest on Jake’s chest while Joe croons in the distance.
“You’re right—this is hard,” he admits, pulling her closer. “I’m still totally confused every time I see you. We’re supposed to live together on this island, but not together. And when you show up at a village council meeting in a see-through dress and wet hair, I can’t decide if I want to yell at you for tormenting me, or throw you over my shoulder and take you to bed.”
Holly snorts. “You’re such a caveman.”
“You turn me into one.” Jake pulls back from her to look down into her eyes. “For some reason I just want to protect you—to keep you safe—but then you turn around and throw it in my face. You’re maddening, woman.”
Holly smiles. Her heart rate kicks up a notch or two. They’re dancing so close that she can feel the whole length of Jake’s hard body pressed up against hers.
There's Always a Catch: Christmas Key Book One Page 7