Page 16 of The Romance Adventure
“Yeah, and I’m living in your guest house.” Just when I thought I’d finally gotten it together—with multiple murals under my belt and several contracts ready for my paintbrushes—things went south, literally.
“I don’t own the place.” Bean gazes at the floor.
“Sis, you own a business. You live in this house. You probably have your own wing.”
“I clean in exchange for my room and board.”
“And you’re his legal assistant, run the bookstore, and—” I waggle my eyebrows.
“Stop. Trust me, it’s not like that. No seriously. It’s not. I’m not looking for love. I have Nutmeg and that’s all I need.”
Our friend Jackie has been in hot pursuit since he met her at my birthday party and kissed her under the piñata. Then she said, Sayonara. I hold out hopes that someday they’ll have a HEA.
“Me neither.” But I don’t have a cat, so I can’t even count on being an old cat lady.
“Get some rest. If you need anything, I’ll be at the bookstore.”
“I was hoping we’d bunk together like old times. Have a pajama party.”
“We will, once you’re able to stay up late.”
“Fair point. I’m kind of a walking, talking, snoring disaster.”
Bean tilts her head from side to side. “Watch out for the McGregors. They’ll be here anytime now. You’ve been warned.”
“Are we talking a Dax-level of slimy ineptitude and sketchiness or Mr. Edmonton’s elderly cantankerousness?”
“They’re on an altogether other level.”
As soon as she closes the door behind her, I crash onto the plush bed with a pillowtop mattress. It’s pure luxury and deeply appreciated after the frantic escape and long drive.
My phone beeps in my back pocket. Face down, I contort my arm to get it out. Dax’s name scrolls across the screen. The situation is trying to slap me in the face—and not a soft pat either, more like attempting to take off a sweaty sports bra after a workout.
With a single swipe, I power off my phone. “Toodles,” I say with a yawn.
I wish I could say the last three weeks were a dream. More like a nightmare if I leave out the painting parts. I’m relieved to be here and not have to face the stark reality I left up north. I only hope it doesn’t catch up with me.
Royal
CHAPTER 6
Years have passed since I drove off the mainland and onto this particular stretch of road, bordered on both sides by water, but my distaste for the area remains firmly in place.
Sure, it’s objectively beautiful with the turquoise sea, soft white sand, lush vegetation, and palm trees hanging lazily over ocean vistas like they have nothing better to do.
But I called this place home for too long. Too many memories hide behind the sunsets and hope-filled moments I’m better off forgetting.
When I roll past the pathetic Coco Key sign, red flags, sirens, and flashing lights demand I turn back, but I ignore the warnings in my mind and continue into town.
Unsurprisingly, without the Driftwood Resort’s influence, the town is in shambles. The place takes a beating from a few seasonal storms each year, but this is downright pathetic.
The Sip & Scoop sign is missing its S’s and the C, so it says ip & oop. Sand drifts like snow across the road. The pelicans have taken over, and trust me, what they leave behind is not polite.
I cannot imagine the state of the resort. “Chip, get it together.”
With the cash the old man has squirreled away, he could hire people to at least trim the palm trees around here. After all, he owns pretty much all the property on this island except for a few houses and shacks.
The Island Blooms florist hasn’t just seen better days, it’s the equivalent of Strawberry Shortcake living in her truck and taking a bath in a public restroom. The potential is there, but she could do better.
