by Jade Kerrion
“The point of a vacation is to not have a plan. I’ll soak in the sun, catch up on my reading, and do nothing in general.”
“As a writer who sells books for a living, I’d have to say I don’t consider ‘reading’ doing nothing.”
“As a teacher, I agree. Thrillers aren’t my usual genre, though. I read romances.”
“Ah, happy endings.” There it was again, the self-mocking curve to his smile. “Love ‘em.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Really?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I would, if you didn’t smile weird.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Smile weird?”
“I’m a third-grade teacher. I have a built-in lie detector.”
“I’ll have to watch my smiles, then.”
And your eyes, she thought. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Rio. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, in between your word counts.”
He managed an injured sniff, but his eyes twinkled. “There’s more to writing than meeting a word count, but as it is, I’ve nailed my word count for the day. Would you like a tour of Key West?”
“I…” She thought of the wedding ring she had hidden away among her toiletries. Time to start over, and it always begins with conversation. “Sure, sounds great. Right now?”
“It’s almost dinnertime, isn’t it? Key West’s top-rated dining establishment isn’t open for dinner, but we can check it out tomorrow for lunch. Meanwhile, there’s an excellent crab shack down that way.”
She followed the direction of his pointed finger. “Along the beach?”
He nodded. “We don’t even have to head out to the road to get there.”
“Do I need to change?”
He looked over her turquoise sundress and the pair of sandals dangling from her fingertips. “You might be overdressed, but no one will say anything about it.”
Marie laughed. “I’m already loving it here.”
“You will,” Rio agreed. The quiet, almost pensive tone in his voice surprised her. He looked out at the ocean set against a darkening sky. Instead of a blazing, fiery sky, sunset on the eastern shore of Key West was a graceful, subtle fade to black. “There’s company and laughter if you want it, but there’s also solitude when you need it.”
“Is that what drew you here?”
“The first time, I came out here with someone. She hated it; I guess she was looking for something classier—maybe like Napa Valley or the Hamptons. Laid-back beach culture wasn’t really her thing, but I loved it.”
Marie drew a deep breath. There was no reason, she supposed, to ask about the woman Rio had visited Key West with the first time. If his use of the past tense wasn’t enough of a clue, the finality in his tone was. “I’ve wanted to come to Key West for years, and finally, here I am.”
“What took so long?”
The muscles on her face tightened, drawing her smile into a straight, hard line. “My ex-husband didn’t want to. I guess he wasn’t into beach culture either.”
Rio was briefly silent. “Is this your first holiday without him?”
She nodded.
“We should make it memorable, then,” Rio said.
“We?”
“It’s the neighborly thing to do, right? It’s this way; come on. A little walk on the beach before dinner should whet your appetite.”
There was, Marie reflected later, a rather significant difference between Rio’s definition of “little walk” and her definition of “little walk,” although she hadn’t fully kept track of the half hour that passed as Rio told her about the people and places of Key West.
“I love ‘Lil Dave’s,” he said. “Pete, Dave’s grandson, runs the place now—big, garrulous man, with a smile that comes from his heart and reaches from ear to ear. If he comes by our table, count on your crabs getting cold while he regales us with stories from those good old days, when the crab shack was literally a little hut on the beach.”
“I bet he has pictures.”
“And he isn’t afraid to share them. He’ll also tell you about the ingratitude of the younger generation. His son, known as Lil Dave, even though his name is Evan, is an undergraduate pre-med major at the University of Miami, and is acing his classes.”
Marie laughed softly. “And Evan’s ungrateful because he wants to be a doctor instead of take over the crab shack?”
“Oh, Pete has no trouble with the concept of Evan becoming a doctor. He just wonders why Evan can’t be a doctor and run the crab shack at the same time.”
Marie adopted her best imitation of Dory, the blue Tang from the Disney movies. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly have the time to take on a new project—oh, look, a new project!”
Rio exploded into laughter that curled an unfamiliar swirl of delight and anticipation in Marie’s stomach. “You do that so well!”
“I’m a third-grade teacher.” Marie waved the compliment away. “Dory and Olaf make regular appearances in my classroom, usually when the kids least expect it.”
“It must be hard, keeping thirty kids engaged for hours at a time.”
“What about you—putting words on a page, hoping to keep thousands of people engaged for hours at a time?”
“It’s different. I write for me. I write the story I want to read. You’re not teaching for you. You’re creating something—lots of things—greater than yourself.” He paused and looked out over the darkening sky. Streetlights cast a glow over the sand, enough to light their way while leaving most of the beach shrouded in the embrace of the night. The sound of waves lapping against the shore provided background music more soothing than any lullaby.
“It’s amazing,” Marie murmured. “To think that you can fall asleep to this melody every night.”
“And wake up every morning to a sunrise that would inspire even the most unartistic person to attempt to capture it on canvas.” Rio smiled. “It’s why I live here—on this side of the island. I prefer the sunrise to the sunset.”
“Having the start of the day, instead of the end of the day, in front of you.” Marie drew a deep breath of salt-tinged air. “I guess it’s why I’m here.”
“Was it rough?”
She jolted. “What? My divorce?”
Rio nodded.
Was it? Marie sighed. “Technically, no. He initiated it. We did all our communication through our lawyers. He didn’t fight for the apartment or anything in it, didn’t argue about the alimony. Nothing. It was as if he wanted it to be over as quickly as possible.”
A frown drew a faint furrow on Rio’s brow. “Was that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I thought he’d put up more of a fight.” Pain spiked through her chest. “For me. For us.”
“I’m sorry.” Rio’s voice was like aloe vera gel spread over a sunburn, soothing and cooling. “Sometimes, good things end.”
“It hadn’t been good for a while,” Marie acknowledged. “Although, I had hoped it would be again.”
“Some broken things can be fixed,” Rio said.
“And others can’t.” She looked up at him. “How do you know the difference?”
He shrugged. “Damned if I know. I probably wouldn’t be here if I knew the difference.”
“Ever been married?”
Rio shook his head. “No one’s crazy or desperate enough to have me. Writers make unreliable partners. When the muse seizes us, we can disappear for weeks on end, emerging only for a dash of coffee, if that.”
Marie laughed. “That almost sounds worse than sending my husband—ex-husband—off to war in Afghanistan. At least he called regularly.”
“He was a soldier?”
She nodded. “He came back changed.” Marie raised her face to the night breeze. Drawing the salt-infused air into her lungs countered, however briefly, the lasting ache in her chest. “Our marriage fell apart; it wasn’t entirely his fault. I couldn’t change either to accommodate the person he had become.”
Rio was silent for a moment, and when
he spoke, it seemed as if his voice was cooler. “Sometimes, the change is more than people bargain for. It isn’t fair—to either of you—but then again, life is rarely fair. At any rate—” He grinned, although Marie sensed less warmth in his smile. “The past is in the past, and we should make your first date memorable.”
“How did you know it’s my first date?”
“Just a guess. It is, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “I haven’t been up to it, not back home. I was busy too. School.”
“Of course,” he said.
“Is this a date?”
“Close enough. You’re single and unattached. So am I.” He raised his head and nodded toward a lighted building. Laughter and music emanated from it. “And here’s the crab shack. Have you worked up an appetite yet?”
Marie pressed her rumbling stomach. “Yes,” she said, surprised at the return of her appetite. It was probably the bracing night air and the change of company.
The wait staff at ‘Lil Dave’s welcomed Rio like an old friend. The proprietor, Pete, larger in life than even Rio’s description of him, showed them to a table in a cozy nook, farthest from the noise and bustle of the entryway and the kitchen. “What can I get ya?” Pete asked. “Got the freshest crabs on the menu. Clams and mussels too—cooked in a to-die-for garlic sauce, if that’s more to your liking. I can send some bread around—toasted—to dip in the sauce. The plates that come back to the kitchen have been licked clean.”
“Well,” Rio asked Marie. “I recommend the crabs, of course, with a beer, or white wine, if you prefer.” He looked up at Pete. “Got any oysters?”
“Fresh from the bay. Got them off the plane just hours ago.”
Rio looked at Marie, and when she nodded, he said, “We’ll take a dozen to start, and a crab sampler for two.” He winked at Pete. “And if you can toss in a plate of that garlic sauce and toast—”
“Anything for you, buddy. Wine or beer?”
Marie shrugged. “I’m not much of a drinker. Do you have iced tea? Unsweetened?”
“I’ll have a beer, then,” Rio added.
“Got it.” Pete grinned. “The bread will be coming right up. You just holler if you need anything, all right?”
Marie looked around as Pete hefted his surprisingly graceful bulk past the tightly packed tables. “Quite a crowd.”
“It’s about right for this time of year. At the height of tourist season, the line goes out the door and around the corner.” Rio’s gaze flicked across the room, resting on each table and each person. His attention darted back to Marie often enough to create the illusion of attentiveness, but Marie picked up on the subtle difference. Her husband—ex-husband, she mentally corrected herself—had watched strangers in much the same way Rio did, with edgy wariness, but without Rio’s practiced ease.
“Were you ever with the military?” Marie asked.
“No, never,” Rio said, pausing long enough to nod his thanks at the waitress who brought their drinks, bread, and a shallow dipping bowl of garlic sauce to the table. “I’ve never been much of a team player. Writers are solitary folk.”
Marie sipped from her glass of iced tea. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I need to borrow sugar.”
“Writers aren’t great cooks either, at least this one isn’t.” Rio frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I have sugar in my kitchen.”
“Don’t you do any cooking at all? It must get tiring eating out all the time.”
“Lots of places will deliver food. If you want a list—”
“Oh, no.” Marie held up her hands to ward him off. “I want to get out. I want to see places, do things. I didn’t come to Key West to stay cooped up in my beach cottage, however cute it is. What do you suggest I do tomorrow?”
“What do you want? Nature or culture?”
Marie was about to answer when she heard a distinct voice, faint amid the hum of the crowd, say, “Yeah, good night. See you next week.”
She stiffened. No, it couldn’t be.
Phil?
Marie twisted around in her chair and searched the room. Could she have imagined it?
“Something wrong?” Rio asked.
“I thought I heard a voice I recognized. That way.” She pointed toward the window.
“There’s a private party room back there with its own entrance. What day is it today?”
“Sunday,” she replied, puzzled by the sudden change in topic.
Rio shrugged. “It’s probably the AA folks coming out of their weekly meeting.”
“AA?”
“Alcoholics Anonymous. Pete lets them use the room for free when no one else has it reserved. What did you hear?”
“Oh.” Abashed, Marie settled back into her seat. “Just someone saying good night. It sounded familiar, that’s all.” Phil? No, it couldn’t be. Phil hated Key West. He would have never come out here. Besides, he had issues aplenty, but alcoholism wasn’t one of them. She shook her head. “It was probably my imagination.”
“Are you sure?” Rio studied her through narrowed eyes. “You look pale. Shaken.”
Marie forced a smile. “It’s my first night in a new place on my own. Key West isn’t a dangerous place, is it?”
“Are you expecting problems?”
She hadn’t expected Rio’s direct question. “No, I’m not, but it is my first time away in a long time.”
“Nothing to worry about. Most of the cottages are occupied, and there’s a live-in employee, who takes care of maintenance and odd jobs around the grounds. He doubles as the security guard at night. Besides…” Rio reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. “You’re not alone.”
Chapter 3
You’re not alone.
Rio’s words lingered with Marie even after she bid him good night and closed her cottage door. Smiling, she leaned back against the wooden door. Dinner had been good, especially for someone like her who had been out of the game for as long as she had. Rio hadn’t flinched from discussion of potentially sensitive topics, like that of her failed marriage, but for the most part, he had been careful to keep things casual and friendly. She didn’t understand the veiled caution in his eyes, but whatever his reason, it was okay by her. She didn’t need to be rushed and hurried into a relationship, even if it was only friendship. She had resigned herself to the fact that Phil—her childhood sweetheart, and her first and only love—would take time to get over. Heck, she was even imagining his voice.
With a quiet sigh, Marie kicked off her sandals and walked into the bathroom. A nice long soak with candlelight and a book would calm her nerves. She spun the hot and cold faucets, but nothing came out. She frowned. No water? Ugh. She picked up the phone and pressed the number for the front desk.
A woman responded within a few rings. “Coastal Escapes, this is Lucy. How may I help you?”
“Hi, I checked in this afternoon, and I’ve just realized I don’t have any water.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. There’s no water coming out of the faucets. I can’t take a bath.”
“Oh.” Lucy hesitated. “If it’s not too late for you, I’ll have our maintenance guy take a look at it right away.”
“Sure, sounds great,” Marie said.
Before she hung up, she heard Lucy speak to someone on the other end. “It’s Sunrise Cottage. Says there’s no water. Can you check it out, babe?” The woman giggled. “And hurry back. I’ll keep the bed warm for you.”
Marie felt a little twinge of guilt for calling the night staff away from their more pleasurable distractions, but after a day out with a handsome man—and feeling ever so slightly guilty about it, as if she were somehow cheating on Phil—she desperately needed to unwind with a glass of wine and a warm bubble bath. With any luck, the maintenance guy would fix the water problem quickly and go back to his amusements, leaving her to hers.
Minutes later, a heavy hand pounded against her cottage door. She hurried across the living
room and flung the door open. Marie’s heart froze in her chest. Her lips moved, shaping inaudible words until she finally forced out a single tremulous sound. “Phil?”
Curse words tangled in Phil Casteen’s mind and clogged his throat. “What are you doing here?” Mentally, he cringed at his brusque, accusing tone. He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way, but it had.
He hadn’t meant for many things to happen the way they had turned out.
Marie stammered. “I’m here on holiday. What are you—?”
“I work here. I came to fix your bath.”
“Oh.” Looking dazed, she stepped back.
Phil shoved aside the confused flurry of thoughts, even though he couldn’t do anything about the wrenching pain in his chest. He walked to the bathroom and turned the faucets. Nothing. Not even a drip of water came out. The mains were probably off. The workmen who had turned them off the prior day to work on the sprinkler system around Sunrise Cottage had probably forgotten to turn them on.
“Be right back.” He stomped past a wide-eyed Marie. The darkness of the night welcomed him. It was warmer and safer than the bright lights of Marie’s cottage that seemed to shine into every corner of him—most especially the corners he was trying to hide. He walked around the back side of the cottage and gave the main faucet a few quick turns.
Simple fix. He ground his teeth. If only the rest of life were as straightforward.
He strode back to the cottage, brushed past Marie who stood at the doorway, and went to the bathroom. This time, water gushed out of the faucets, both hot and cold.
“You’re all set up.” He turned to look at her.
Big mistake.
She stood against the wall, her hand pressed lightly against her throat. To protect herself, he realized. Once, more than a year ago, when he hadn’t been in control of himself, he had backhanded her across her face, and then wrapped his hands around her neck. Her face turned red. Her eyes bulged. Her hands flailed at him, too weak to push him away.
The sharp reflection of light off her wedding ring, however, had pierced his eyes. He had recoiled for a brief moment—the moment he needed to regain his senses. What was he doing? He had pushed to his feet and turned away, his shoulders shaking. When she tried to steady him with a hug, he shoved her away. She shouldn’t be around him. He was bad for her. Dangerous for her. He couldn’t control himself. Couldn’t stop the voices in his head—the explosions, the screams.