Stormy Paradise: A Second-Chance Romance Beach Read (Sweet, Sexy Shorts Book 14)

by Kaylee Spring

  Stormy Paradise

  A Second-Chance Romance Beach Read

  Kaylee Spring

  Copyright © 2020 by Kaylee Spring

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Free Book?

  Also by Kaylee Spring

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Holly

  Warm breezes sweep away any of my remaining stress the moment I step foot outside Honolulu Airport. Even with all the hustle of travelers swirling around me, stand completely still, like a stone unmoved by the river flowing around it. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath.

  A few days of this air, and maybe I’ll find a way to piece myself back together.

  At the Rent-a-Car kiosk, I splurge on a convertible. This is a trip I’ve been dreaming about half my life, after all. There’s no way I’m about to roam the streets of Hawaii in an economy number.

  “You here on your honeymoon?” the worker behind the desk asks, not even looking away from the monitor as she asks a question probably burned into her memory by now. She’s bored, and I can’t blame her. Who’d ever want to be inside on a day like this? I can’t imagine that even the locals tire of this weather.

  “I’m here by myself.”

  This gets her looking up. One side of her mouth scrunches together; this isn’t a response she’s programmed to deal with. So I just shrug my shoulders and fill in the gaps for her.

  “Call it a trip of self healing.”

  With customs and paperwork and pressurized air behind me, I finally toss my suitcases in the back of the fiery red Mustang. After settling into the driver’s seat, I can’t help but smile to myself. It’s an unfamiliar gesture after so many tears, but that’s in the past now. And I’m determined to leave it there.

  After pulling up my address for the next week on the GPS, I start my own playlist going. It features over a hundred songs I’ve chosen after many meticulous hours, knowing that my time here is precious and that every note must count.

  The first on the queue is cheesy, terrible, and I would never want my friends to learn that I know all the words by heart.

  So as I pull out on the highway, I sing of sponge cakes and lost saltshakers, my voice probably scaring away any wildlife or fellow tourists when I come to stop at red lights, but I don’t care.

  But it’s a long drive up the coast to the secluded area where I rented a whole house just for myself. And it only takes four songs into my epic playlist for my mind to wander back to Jessie.

  What could have been.

  What should have been.

  What absolutely wasn’t.

  In an instant, I’m back to that singular night where a three-year relationship fell apart in under half an hour.

  “You’re moving again? For a job?” I ask, my incredulity so thick that you could scrape it off my tongue. “After you begged me to move here six months ago for a different job?”

  “I can’t lose out on this opportunity,” Jessie says. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime position. I’ll be the head of my own—”

  I’m not about to let him paint his own masturbatory fantasy about what he’ll accomplish if only he can get this job. I’ve heard this whole spiel before. Hell, I’ve lived through every stage of it.

  “Once in a lifetime?” I cut him off with his own words. “It’s not even once in a single year. You know used that exact line on me before we moved across the country for your amazing opportunity here, right? And I followed you. Even though I had to give up my friends and my job at Plus! Magazine, which I loved, by the way. And while you were basking in the glory of your company dinners and corporate retreats, I spent every minute looking for another job. I could have fallen into a mighty big abyss of self-pity, but I didn’t. Do you know how many job applications I filled out? Want to guess?” I give him only two seconds to shake his head in a flabbergasted manner before I answer my rhetorical question. “257. I counted them. That’s how many it took. That and four months of rejections and no phone calls. Three interviews in which I never heard back. Three! And finally, after all that time, I got a new job. Sure, it’s only for a local newspaper. It’s not as good as the one I had back in Cali, but I’m writing again. And now, after all that, you’re asking me to move again?”

  All Jessie can do is give me a look. A look that says everything the words he can’t find never could. A look that’s leaving me with an ultimatum: move again or move on. On from Jessie who has been everything I ever wanted, but nothing I needed.

  And I didn’t know it at the time, but that night would be the last time I spoke to him. The last I ever saw him. By the next morning, he was crashing on a friend’s couch. And a week later he was on a plane to his new once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  Leaving me abandoned.

  Alone.

  Forgotten.

  A long blink and I’m back in the present. Back on Hawaiian pavement, my crimson convertible sheening in the tropical sunlight. On my way to a retreat where I can finally focus on self-healing.

  And half an hour later, I pull into the driveway. And check the GPS. And check my email confirmation.

  Then I consider crying.

  The listing for this house was a lie. The photos were taken from sneaky angles to make it look larger and closer to the actual surf. Instead, I’m facing the wrong way in a tiny shack that would be more appropriate for college-aged surfers. Inside is a grimy bed, a bathroom with the toilet missing its seat, and a kitchen that’s not even large enough for two people to stand in. To top it all off, the shower is on the outside and looks over a house between me and my dream view of the beach. My neighbor’s abode is a colossal structure with a fire pit, pool, and everything else I could ever want on my dream vacation. But I’m stuck in a shitty surfer shack.

  As I stand out on the pathetic deck, trying to gaze around the behemoth house that has the view I should have, that’s when it happens. Besides an asteroid striking or an earthquake sinking the Hawaiian islands to the bottom of the ocean, the only thing that could really ratchet this moment from shitty to irredeemable.

  Because I could make do with this hut. I could still enjoy the hiking and sunset beaches and surfing lessons. With enough phone calls, I might even manage a partial refund on top of that. But what I can’t deal with is my neighbor.

  Who happens to walk out on the adjacent balcony—the one that’s perfect in every way—but him?

  Jessie.

  Only one thought passes through my brain as he turns and notices me.

  What the f—?”

  Chapter 2

  Jessie

  The ocean waves rolling over the sands and then retreating. The wind passing through my open-air veranda in this picturesque Hawaiian seaside cottage. A bottle of 21-year-old scotch sitting on the kitchen counter. A gift from myself I picked up at the duty free shop. A gift I’ve already drunk half of and it’s not even the early evening yet.

  Even if I came to paradise alone, I’ve got no reason t
o feel sorry for myself. After all, this was all my choice.

  I’m the one who took off the moment the deal closed. Didn’t even stay for the after party. No one’s going to blame me for that either. The past three months have seen me putting in 18-hour days. My office sofa has become my bed. My secretary, Elaine, may as well be server, maid, and substitute mother all in one.

  Again, I can’t even complain about the job. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I studied finance. And when I chose my dream job right on Wall Street over my long-time girlfriend, that was also my choice. No one was twisting my arm. No one but a huge pile of money, all the respect I could ever hope to earn, and the fulfillment I was so sure achieving my dream would bring.

  Only somewhere along the way, I lost something.

  Something. Or someone.

  Either way, I chose Hawaii as my getaway. And not the hotspots with the high-rise hotels. I’ve had enough of those traveling for the investment firm. Besides, Holly used to go on about how the moment we’d saved up enough money, that she wanted to fly to Hawaii and stay somewhere remote. Close to the mountains and the beach, far away from all that touristy stuff. She’d talked about it so many times, showed me pictures on blogs, and teased me with island music that the idea ingrained itself in me. So when I finally had the chance to get away from the city, to go absolutely anywhere in the world, I chose the backside of the big island.

  And I didn’t even bring Lacy. Or Steph. Or Meredith. Or any of the other half dozen girls who’ve warmed the other half of my bed the past few months when I actually found the time and energy to rouse myself to the task. They would have leapt at the chance for a free trip to Hawaii. And I would have been guaranteed wild sex every morning and night, as long as I kept them entertained and fed and touted around to all the high-end shops.

  But I didn’t invite any of them. Which leaves me alone on this gorgeous beach, nothing but my scotch to keep me company as I somehow manage an ample heaping of self-pity.

  That’s when I feel that odd sensation of being watched. A tingle on the back of my head that has me turning around to confirm what I’m sure is just half-drunken paranoia.

  And there she is.

  “Holly?”

  I don’t place my glass of whiskey down. Don't look for my sandals. Anything that would take my eyes off her silhouette for even a fraction of a second is discarded as I walk in a trance across the perfectly manicured backyard and through a gate that leads to her yard of weeds and sand and miscellaneous shells and cigarette butts.

  And no matter how close I get, this mirage doesn’t evaporate.

  On the other hand, I don’t think she’s taken a single breath since our eyes locked. It’s only when she’s right in front of me that I place my glass on the rickety handrail of her tiny terrace and use my now free hands to grip at her upper arms.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask in a tone that couldn’t possibly be misunderstood as anything but awestruck.

  That doesn’t prevent the slap that shakes my alcohol-steeped brain about in my skull. When I recover, my hand coming up to rub my left cheek, she goes for its counterpart. This one I block, but she strains against my hold on her wrist, growling through gritted teeth, “What are you doing here?”

  Her face is pure betrayal as her arm quivers in my grip. Her every fiber is straining to attack me. Because I can see as plain as the Hawaiian sunlight that there’s not a single iota in this woman’s body that doesn’t loathe me.

  I don’t allow it to show on my face, but I didn’t expect this level of resentment. Which is stupid, because if I were sober, I would have known to expect this. In fact, I might have been smart enough to not come over here at all, because I should have known that there is no variation of this scenario where I get what I want.

  Because what I want is the one thing I can’t have anymore.

  Holly.

  Chapter 3

  Holly

  I don’t know how he did it, but Jessie calmed me enough that when he lets go of my wrist, I don’t immediately pummel him. In fact, he manages to get me to sit on the lumpy sofa. He hasn’t said anything, which means he hasn’t answered my question.

  “I asked what you were doing here. Aren’t you supposed to be in New York, trading stocks and sipping cocktails at the Plaza?”

  Jessie sits back on the corner of the bed, which is just across from me. With his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, he stares at me like I’m some long-lost treasure he thought he’d never see again.

  “I’m here because of you.”

  My eyes go wide at this. “You’ve been stalking me? After you left me high and dry in South Carolina?”

  He shakes his head. “No, not like that. I mean, I came to Hawaii because of the way you used to talk about it all the time. When I finally closed my big deal and was looking for a place to get away from the city, I kept thinking about how you said nothing could be better than a house overlooking the waters, with the mountains behind you and all that jazz. That’s what you were always saying. ‘All that jazz.’ Remember?”

  His ploys to make me feel nostalgic or play up that he remembers little pet phrases of mine are not working the way he probably intends them to. Because all I can see is how he’s stolen my vacation from me.

  “What you’re telling me is that you’re so unoriginal that you had to go and copy my dream trip?”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s because I’m unoriginal. I was missing you and—”

  I can see it on his face. The moment these words slip, he knows that was the wrong thing to say.

  “You were missing me?” The energy coursing through my body won’t allow me to simply sit down any longer. I stand up in one swift motion and cross the two steps across the tiny shack until my finger is pointed inches away from his nose. “You’re not allowed to say that. You’re not allowed to say anything after the way you left.”

  “I’m so—” he begins to apologize, but I cut him off as swift as a sword in those cheesy kung fu movies we used to love watching.

  “I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to see you. And more than anything, I don’t want to spend another second of my dream vacation thinking about you. So what you’re going to do is you’re going to walk back to your perfect beachfront house, and you’re going to stay there. You’re not going to look this way or even think about talking to me. And if you see me on the beach, you’re going to turn the other way. It shouldn’t be that hard. You’ve had plenty of practice leaving me behind.”

  All these words fall out of me like the inevitable vomit after a night of mixing liquor with beer. And at the end of the mental unloading, I’m tired. So I simply jab my finger towards the door and attempt not to blink until Jessie is walking back up to his side of the fence.

  I watch him through the back window as he disappears inside. That’s when I finally breathe. When I collapse onto the creaky floor, all those terrible emotions from that first time he left me flood back into parts of my heart I thought were watertight now. After five minutes of tears, I force myself to stand. I wipe my cheek and throw my suitcase open. Unpacking is soothing. With each bottle of lotion I place on the minuscule bathroom sink and each outfit I place in the dresser that looks like it teleported here from the seventies, I’m marking my territory, no matter how pathetic it may be.

  When I finish, I’m exhausted but at the same time my legs are restless. I could lie in the grungy bed and hope I’m not eaten alive by bugs while I struggle to fall asleep, knowing Jessie is not even fifty yards away. Or I could set out in the opposite direction and look for something to eat while simultaneously exploring my new neighborhood.

  I go with the latter.

  My feet lead me straight out the front door and onto the main road. Out of my peripheral vision, I can just make out the silhouette of the house Jessie is staying in. But I ignore it and march straight on, my footsteps pounding on the asphalt of the tiny unpainted street.

  The sun is right in my eyes, not far
from setting as I continue my unmarked vigil. And even though it takes far too long in such a picturesque setting, my thoughts slowly slide from focusing on Jessie to the island around me. To my right are these gorgeous volcanic mountains unlike anything we have back home. And I determine then and there that Jessie’s intrusion on my vacation isn’t going to hinder a single thing. Especially not my plans to hike and enjoy the beaches frequented only by locals.

  Which is my next destination.

  A left turn leads me onto an even smaller residential road, and at the corner of a cul-de-sac, there’s a faded sign pointing to a path between two houses. This leads to the roaring ocean. At the end of the path, I slip out of my sandals and carry them on my way to the water.

  After years of imagining this moment and dozens of hours spent traveling here, the waves splashing over my ankles may as well have miraculous healing powers. I close my eyes and just focus on the water lapping at my shins. Squeeze my toes and squish sand between them. Feel the warmth of the setting sun on my cheeks.

  And I breathe, letting out all the weight I’ve been carrying.

  My life back home is far from perfect, but for the next week, I’m determined to live a new life. One without shitty men who leave you for a job. One without worries of rent and health insurance premiums. No bills to pay or gyms to feel guilty that I haven’t gone to for a month.

  I’m in paradise, and I’m going to suck the marrow from my time here.

  With this determination encircling my heart like a protective layer, I open my eyes. And find myself face-to-face with the one aspect of my reality I just can’t seem to escape.