It means it’s up to me to orchestrate another run-in. This would be the third time.
Kyanne and Lawrence are at the studio today, though. When I schedule long weekends, they generally choose a day to go in and fully sanitize the photo studios more deeply than our usual of just the things they touched after each appointment. Then they tackle any paperwork that might have stacked up.
It’s not open to the public, and I pay them double for today.
Booty Boudoir Studio is one of the very few not-resort-owned businesses. However, I don’t own the studio, and all my business is run through the resort. Kyanne and Lawrence aremyemployees. I pay them. It’s one of the few reasons I keep thebusiness my own instead of selling out to the resort, as they offer every year.
I like the control over setting my own hours and hiring my own employees. Paying them what I think is fair. Giving them bonuses when I want to. I like controlling what my schedule looks like and what I charge for my services. It means appointments like Larson’s, when he just walked in and stayed for almost three hours, don’t get a double charge, and I could stay after hours if I chose.
There are positives. There are also negatives, like filing and paying my own taxes. Business licenses. Honestly, it’s enough of a hassle with them that I’ve considered selling out many times. Their offers get better and better every year.
The owners of the resort are pretty cool, though. There’s no pressure, no force, no threats. If I want to sell, and they want me to, then the offer is huge, and they promise nothing will change except the parts that I hate. I actually trust that they mean that.
I’m hanging on, though. With pretty green glittering claws.
I’m regretting taking the days off, though. Now I’m home with nothing to do but think about Larson. I didn’t exactly shoot my shot yesterday. I think Tomy is on to me. He didn’t let go of Larson once the entire boat ride, never mind let him out of his sight. If I hadn’t stared at Larson as obsessively as I did, I might have seen Tomy glare at me several times.
He likely did. If I were him, I’d have glared. I’d have done more than glare. I’d likely have made a scene. Yeah, I’mthatperson.
Sighing, I drop onto the kitchen stool with an island newsletter in front of me. Announcement of Ciara accepting the newly established Environmental Appeal Department’s management position. Since the drama went down with Taylor’s nitpicking a few months ago, there’s been a whole lot of rearranging.
Taylor meant well. I know he did. We all know he did. It’s unfair to say that his every concern—like the size of a pebble on the manicured walks and the length of grass—is unimportant. His concern didn’t come from control. It came from a place where he wants our islands to be stunning. Not just for us who live here, but for everyone who visits.
And thus, the Environmental Appeal Department was created with Taylorworking forCiara. It’s really cool of the owners to take the tiniest of things into consideration, and instead of dismissing the height of mailboxes, they assigned people to take on the task of making sure the islands are breathtaking.
In the very next section is a ‘formal complaint’ about Riley Harvard’s United Kingdom flag in his front yard.We’re not England. He shouldn’t be flying another country’s flag.
Smirking, I open the newsletter and find a schedule of events. Then a ‘missed connection’ where Pemona would really like to reconnect with Bessy because they hit it off when they ran into each other at the park outside the library while walking their cats.
Some people might think our newsletters and dramatic town meetings are overboard.Immature,even. Restricting. Someone from the outside might complain about the shortage of housing and the lack of career choices.
But here’s the thing. It’s a choice to live on Kala. A choice. It’s a choice to read the newsletters and attend town meetings. If this isn’t for you, then you can leave. We don’t want negative assholes here anyway, so if life on Kala isn’t the way you want to live, then go the fuck away.
We find it entertaining. We enjoy being in everyone’s business and arguing about who’s dating whom. We also go to bat for someone like Cash, who was punched by his asshole of a brother, who has an ugly chip on his shoulder.
Before the news of that happened, I had never known Cash. But like so many residents, I stopped by the place he’d been staying with his best friend, Lie, and Lie’s boyfriend to bring him flowers and a magazine. I also told him I’d happily take a bat to his brother’s head if he’d give me the word.
That’s the kind of place this is. We’re family. Even those you aren’t friends with are extended family so far removed that maybe you don’t know them, but when they need you, you’re there. Yes, there’s silly drama and ridiculous things like in this next section, where Mr. Morley is looking for a very specific seabird that may or may not exist, but that’s the fun of Kala.
Everyone else can go live their boring lives and leave us alone.
When I turn the page, my heart jumps because there’s talk about sports. Not hockey. We don’t have a hockey rink and therefore no hockey team, as I told Larson the other day. But seeing mention of sports makes me think about him.
I sigh. I’d been doing so well, not thinking about him and losing myself in the amusement that comes with reading the weekly newsletter.
I drop my chin into my palm and look out the sliding glass door into the backyard. I have four days to figure out how to tell this man I think he belongs to me. Four days.
I’ve never been accused of being a quiet person, so it makes sense for whatever I do to be loud. Perhaps my shot was the evening he was at my studio after hours, when we were alone. How had I not said anything then?
Probably because I was so fucking overwhelmed and overstimulated with all my damn blood in my dick from being around this naked, sexy man for three hours. I hadn’t been able to think clearly if I tried.
It wasn’t just that he was Larson, the man I’m convinced is mine. I’ve never had someone in my studio who let me posethem however I want. He was the perfect puppet, moving his body into whatever position I asked him to. Even if he weren’t the object of my obsession, those would be my favorite shots. The ones that truly display my artistic eye.
Images that are burned into my mind with no sign of fading. Because they’re Larson, my chest aches.
“I need to do something,” I mutter and scrub my hand over my face. “He has to be mine!” If I let him leave Kala without at least telling him how I’m sure that he’s my soulmate, I’ll never see him again. I can’t let that happen.
I already have his schedule for the day. I know where he and Tomy will be. But I’m not a very good stalker. Trying to be something I’m not isn’t working out. I’m loud and bright and demanding. It’s always worked for me in the past.
