The tray of breakfast and coffee is slid on the desk, followed by the snap of fresh sheets being unfolded. She gives no comment about last night. It’s almost as if I dreamed the whole thing. The fitted sheet pops against the mattress, and she’s moving faster, like she can’t wait to escape me. A few minutes later, she picks up the used linens from the floor and grabs my used towels.
“Do you need anything else?” she asks from the doorway, holding them.
“I’m good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Have a great day, Mr. Banks.”
The door clicks shut before I can respond. Her footsteps move down the hallway. This morning was a quick in and out, with no room to chat about anything else. I should be grateful she’s making this easy. Maybe I read her wrong.
I take my breakfast on the balcony, thinking back to how she was eating raspberry chocolate from my fingers. The distance between that and now is, well, night and day, I suppose.
By ten, I’ve read four more chapters without retaining a word, so I grab the mermaid key chain and leave. The Captain’s Room walls are starting to close in, like the ones in my corner office. I pass no one on my way out.
The boardwalk is packed today. Families push strollers while couples walk with matching sunglasses and shopping bags from stores on Main Street. A guy plays guitar on the sand with his case open. I toss a twenty in the case because he sounds good. It earns me a smile and a harder strum.
I eat lunch near the pier, where a local talks me into ordering a grilled mahi sandwich and a locally brewed beer called Sunrise Beach. It’s better than half the restaurants in Midtown.
The guy beside me asks if I’m visiting, and when I explain I’m here for the summer, he tells me about hidden gems to check out around the island. Apparently, there’s a secret trail with a waterfall called Hidden Cove that only the locals visit. When he leaves, he shakes my hand like we’re old friends.
In my world, a handshake is a prelude to a pitch, a favor is usually a deposit on an IOU, and kindness without a motive is a concept I understand intellectually, but have never experienced, except for here.
Nobody on this island knows my net worth or that I run a trillion-dollar company my great-grandfather built. Right now, I’m just a guy in board shorts, eating a fish sandwich. I blend in, and no one questions it. I just hope it stays that way.
On the walk back to the B&B, I pass a mint-green VW van parked at the end of the boardwalk with its side doors propped open and bookshelves built into the walls. A sign on the side saysSalty Pagesin bright letters. A mini goldendoodle sleeps on a fluffy animal bed near the front tire. I’m glad to know there’s a bookstore within walking distance because I will need more to read when I finish my thrillers.
Past the tourist shops, the boardwalk opens up to some bait shops. In the distance, I think I see a farmers market.
“Mr. Banks,” a deep voice says from behind me.
I turn, and a tall guy with dark, wavy hair stands a few feet away, wearing all black even though it’s ninety degrees outside. He’s younger than me by at least ten years, and is built like he works out regularly. His amber eyes are locked on mine.
This is Dayton Copeland, and he helps run a wealth management company in New York. I’ve known him for a few years, and he’s one of the few people outside my inner circle who’d recognize me without a suit.
“Dayton,” I say, keeping my voice low as I glance around. “Did someone send you?”
“No. I grew up here. Paranoid much?” He crosses his arms, and his watch catches the sun. “Are you hiding from someone?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not hiding. I’m on vacation.”
“In Coconut Beach? I thought St. Barts was more your style.” His tone is almost bored.
A family walks past, and I wait until they’re out of earshot of our conversation. “Look, I need this to stay between us. Nobody here knows who I am and they cannot find out.”
“Why?”
“The paps will show up within forty-eight hours, and I’ll lose my peace and quiet. I need this time to just be so I can work through my burnout.”
Dayton studies me. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you.”
He cracks a smile. “No one here would care.”
That almost makes me laugh. “I’m not worried about anyone who’s on the island. I don’t want anyone outside of the island to know I’m here, if you know what I mean. If it gets out, my summer will be ruined.”
“Understood. How long will you be here?” Dayton asks.
“Until the beginning of August.”
