Page 225 of Out of Left Field

“You know, Everett, this could be an opportunity⁠—”

I cut her off. “Good night, Moms. Love you.”

“Love you too.” She laughed.

I powered down my phone now that we were officially stuck so I could save my battery for the morning. “My folks can’t come out till morning. Any chance you have a room available?”

Willa blanched but didn’t say a word. Roan stroked his chin. “Look, we’re not ready for guests, but my sister has been working day and night to get this place back to the way it used to be. I’m sure we have a couple of rooms you could stay in for a night. In the morning our boat will be back and we’ll get you squared away.”

“What do you think?” Whatever Willa wanted to do, we would do. If she wanted me to call in a helicopter, I’d do it. But there was something about this place…I kind of wanted to stay. Maybe it was simply the fact that here we were away from our normal lives. I could pretend to be the version of myself that might actually be worthy of Willa. Maybe Jeri’s plan wasn’t so terrible after all.

Willa shrugged. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I don’t think it will be. Only one way to find out. Come with me.”

We followed him up a path from the restaurant into a line of trees. Everything was familiar, like from a fuzzy dream. I remembered the Conch and the beach. Even the trees brought back memories. “I used to eat at the Conch as a kid. Is it under new management?”

Roan shrugged one shoulder. “Guess you could say that.” The dirt path gave way to large pavers lined with LED lights. “My family has owned this island for five generations, but my grandfather lost it in a bet when I was a kid. Ownership just reverted back to us.”

That explained a lot.

“I’m trying to get the Conch up and running like it did back in the day while my sister is tackling the inn.”

Palm trees swayed overhead as the sky quickly turned darker. Below us were at least three cabins that overlooked the beach and ahead of us loomed what looked like a large three-story house that had seen better days.

“Samuel said the food was good and he was right. We really enjoyed everything. You’ll have a line of boats waiting for a spot soon.”

Roan stopped and turned back to face us. “You know Samuel?”

Willa inched closer to me and I grabbed her hand again, mostly because I wanted to hold it, but also because she seemed a little nervous. “I’ve known him my whole life.”

Roan’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?”

“Everett Anson. My family owns the marina on Calusa Key.”

Roan grunted, recognition in his eyes. “Our boy scout troops went camping together.”

I snapped my fingers. “That’s why you look so familiar. Roan Adelaide. Fuck, it’s all coming back to me now.” I definitely remembered him as a kid, but nothing afterward. “You were the kid I played horseshoes with.” Every time we stopped in for lunch after a morning of fishing my parents would send me outside to play until the food was ready.

Roan laughed. “Yes I was! I was in charge of entertaining kids who were bored and waiting for food.”

We shook hands. “Man, that was a long time ago.”

“Seems we’ve both taken a few unexpected roads along the way.” His gaze strayed back to Willa but didn’t linger. “Well, now you’re not just random guests. You’re VIPs. I’m sure Val has a bed or two that will do. She’s been obsessed with getting only the best for the guests, which means I’m still sleeping in a fucking hammock at the bar.”

The front door was heavy and old. The hinges creaked as Roan pushed it open. “Like I said, we still have lots of work to do.”

“There better not be ghosts here,” Willa whispered. “I don’t do ghosts.”

I laughed until we stepped inside. The house still had that smell. Old wood and time but mixed with the unmistakable scent of bleach and fresh paint. It was exactly the kind of place that would have ghosts. The kind that died from yellow fever or that pirates left behind.

I definitely wasn’t going to tell Willa that this island used to be called Keelhaul Island because pirates most definitely stopped here on their way to Tampa and there were many, many stories of it being the starting point of that particular kind of torture. If there were ghosts on these islands, they would definitely haunt this one.

“Val? We, uh, have guests!” Roan tried to make it sound exciting.

He failed miserably.

A woman I vaguely recognized popped out from a room down the hallway. Her dark hair was braided back and there were paint splatters all over her clothes. “Guests? We’re not open, Roan!” Her eyes flew over us, half panic, half questioning.