Page 42 of The Romance Adventure

“No, but you do all those things. I think you can handle revitalizing a resort.”

“There’s a lot of baggage here.”

“I thought you said there aren’t any ghosts or squatters. In other words, the place is empty.”

“Har har. The place is a dump. We’d all be better off to see the slate wiped clean.”

“But it’s charming in its way, well, once we get it fixed up.” Earlier, I read a little plaque that explained that Chip constructed much of the resort from salvaged ship parts, plus driftwood and other reclaimed items from seafaring expeditions.

“It’s no longer charming and inviting. More like it spent too long out at sea and washed ashore in shambles.”

“True, it’s leaky and spooky.”

“Dank, dark, damp. It’s a lot of work, Strawberry Shortcake.”

“I’m ready to roll up my sleeves.”

We’re on the edge of town where there’s a sandy path. Royal gently drops me back onto the ground.

“You’re wearing a tank top and a skirt. How’d you ride on my back with—?” He points at Bean’s skirt.

“It was a temporary tunic-style situation. Moving on, because let’s just say you haven’t seen me at my best wardrobe-wise since we’ve met.”

Royal’s shoulder lifts an inch. “I don’t mind what I’ve seen.”

“Paint splatters, smoothie slop, sleeping in my truck, and sweating all afternoon? No, I clean up much better than this.”

His lips struggle between a smile and keeping whatever he’s thinking to himself. “What if I wanted you to show up to work on Monday all cleaned up?”

“We start tomorrow, and that could probably be arranged.”

On a sigh, he says, “But no high heels. Work site hazard.”

“Understandable.”

We start walking toward the center of town, where Royal’s brothers remain by the boat, standing around laughing. I realize they probably don’t have anywhere to go. There are loads of resorts on the other islands, but the Driftwood was the only one in Coco Key. Never mind a work site hazard, sleeping there would be a health hazard. I should ask Bean if Mr. Edmonton would mind if they stayed in one of his guestrooms, considering he’s not yet back from the hospital.

As we near the guys, the light mood, the setting sun, and the laughter filtering from the McGregors in the distance seem to instantly frost over like a winter cold snap, even though that’s never happened this far south.

My sister sweeps the step in front of Beans & Books. Leaving Royal to catch up with his brothers, I scuttle over to her in my bare feet.

“Looks like you have a story to tell,” she says.

Nodding, I reply, “I’m also eager to hear how the call with the Brazilian coffee company went, but I have a big ask.”

“How big?”

I glance over my shoulder at the McGregors. “End to end, about twenty-five feet long, my estimation’s about nine hundred pounds. Maybe a little less.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t think those guys have a place to stay tonight. Do you think Mr. Edmonton would⁠—?”

She holds her hand up before I can finish. “No way. Not the McGregors. I warned you. They’re trouble.”

I arch an eyebrow and cock a hip. “I am aware, as I had to spend all afternoon with them, inform them their grandfather passed away, and left them with what amounts to a treasure hunt—which three out of the four seem fairly skeptical about.” I go on in great detail, outlining everything that transpired.

“Didn’t look like Royal troubled you much.”