Page 77 of The Romance Adventure

“Started what? A war?”

“You might say that, but not everything has to be you against us. You started to repair the resort as instructed. We’re not going to forfeit or fail to fulfill Chip’s wishes,” my brother says as if my involvement was half the battle.

My gaze floats over to the Bible, still on the counter. “Yeah, well, I assure you nothing has become of the Bible or the bonfire or whatever else he meant in his letter.”

“You sure about that? Because if I’m not mistaken, that woman with the paint-splattered rose-colored glasses has served up the cleverest brother a slice or two of pie.”

He doesn’t need to add the word humble pie for me to know what he means. I’m an investor, not a gambler, and shouldn’t have taken this risk with Isla. I shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t still be here.

These thoughts burn me up inside. With a fiery glare cast in Magnus’s direction, I grab the Bible and stomp upstairs. I don’t come down until I hear his truck drive away. And when I do, I locate a lighter and a newspaper. I’m going to set the past—both recent and distant—alight.

After building a bonfire on the beach, I light the single match from the Mermaid’s Chest matchbook and toss every thought of mine into the blaze. In goes my grandfather’s wishes and the foolish treasure hunt he set my brothers and me on in the will. The kindling between Isla and me goes into the flames, sending them higher. I don’t believe in love. I never will. Opposites don’t attract. They repel, and I cannot have that woman in my life.

The fire roars and every time I think about my parents, the will, or Isla, I stare into the flames, burning everything away, including love.

I remain there until I’m nothing more than an ember, letting the fire take everything, including my last remaining slivers of hope.

Then, in the dying firelight, my thoughts return to the family Bible—the genealogy and the passage from the Gospel of Matthew. When I get back to the house, I open it. After scanning the family tree, printed on the inside cover, I return to Matthew’s passage. My grandfather left this for me as a reminder of what’s truly important, or rather, Who—our Lord God and my family.

I’d venture to guess that at times in his life, Chip put the treasure hunt above all. That’s why I don’t want anything to do with it. If it’s even real. My thumb holding the Bible’s pages slips and they all flip to the left.

Wedged against the spine is a folded piece of paper. I open it to see a faint sketch of a crown, tipped with three “tears,” one of which is a pearl, reminding me of the conversation in the law office about pearls of wisdom and the parable with the pearl of great price, and that everything comes with a price.

Message received, Chip.

Portions of the conversation he had with me at the Mermaid’s Chest return to me like tattered pages from my very own book—one I thought I’d kept in pristine condition.

Chip had asked me what I was willing to pay for success. He told me that nothing was worth more than my relationship with God and our family. He told me to be the glue—to be sure we stuck together no matter what.

The problem is, I don’t think he picked the right man for the job.

Isla

CHAPTER 19

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and I’m so excited, I just can’t hide it. I sing along with my own lyrics to the song on the radio. I’m in the kitchen at Beans & Books, shaping the last clump of the Rice Krispies treat mixture into a heart. All I have left to do is drizzle them with chocolate and dust them with little pink and red sprinkles.

Who’s the Valentine’s Day queen? That would be me. Even though Royal isn’t particularly romantic, he won’t be able to help himself when he tries one of these. By helping himself, I mean repay me with kisses.

The guy isn’t particularly talkative, though he’s not nearly as quiet as Magnus. Nor is he in touch with lovey-dovey feelings, but the man can kiss. Maybe that’s his love language. Translating what he can’t put into words into the best, deepest, most generous kisses on the planet.

We haven’t seen each other since the day of the storm at his place when I panicked after seeing the news report about Gavin’s death. But I cannot stop thinking about Royal’s lips on mine.

I’ve been trying to live in this little island bubble and leave the bad decisions of previous relationships behind me on the mainland. While Gavin’s death is tragic, it’s no secret that he had a lot of enemies. I just hope Dax doesn’t come to me for consoling—he’s the last person I want to see.

With music playing, I bop around the kitchen, excited to shower my sweetheart with love. Giving my eyes a little roll, I can’t believe I went from dating a loser like Dax to finding a winner like Royal. He’s the embodiment of confidence and cleverness. Sure, he could use a little humility, but we’ll work on that.

I should be warm and fuzzy all over, overflowing with love as I lick the chocolate off the spatula after I’m done with the drizzling, but two things linger in the back of my mind.

Dax’s brother was found dead, which is tragic and I feel bad. But it’s not my problem. However, a little itch that’s just out of reach reminds me that my ex has a way of making things my problem, like the not-so-little issue of using my address as the site of his criminal activity. And let’s not forget the quite big issue of the almost-forgery.

Then there’s Gerome Glandman, the McGregor brothers’ family enemy and rival resort owner, who wants me to paint him a mural. He stopped in the café earlier, inquiring why I haven’t gotten started.

When he told me how much he’d pay, I had to pick my jaw up off the floor along with a stack of books Nutmeg sent scattering when Mr. Glandman came in. Her fur stood on end and she hissed before dashing away—not holding up her end of the agreement from when I painted her into the mural on the bookstore’s wall.

“Thanks for nearly ruining my chance to make some money, Nutcase,” I whisper to the cat in case Bean is nearby.

I still haven’t committed to the mural at Platinum Shores, but the offer stands. Would I be a fool to say no? But I don’t want to think about that right now. The stress of the dual situations presses against me from both sides like two moldy slices of bread, sandwiching me in the middle.