TWO
Max
I spot the woman from my balcony and I’m instantly captivated.
She's staring at a piece of paper, a riot of long, near-black wavy hair tumbling over her shoulders. The wind kicks up and blows it back from her face. An enormous hard-sided black suitcase is parked near her feet, which are strapped into gold sandals that lace up her ankles.
She turns her head toward the resort building, then rattles the paper in her hand, glancing at it again with an adorable furrow in her brow. She's probably lost. No small surprise, because the signage here is a disaster. There used to be signs for Riverside rooms and Garden View rooms but they must have come down during the renovations.
We still have a mountain of work before we’re done, and here we are, hosting the first Hastings family wedding in our half-renovated hotel. A wedding that was thrown together in mere weeks.
Classic, for my crazy family.
Another glance at the gorgeous brunette in the cream-colored sundress makes me grin. I must be desperate. It's been two years since I've been in a relationship, and I'm man enough to admit I hate being single.
But I’m not here in Cypress Grove to fall in love. Especially notthisweekend.
Though I’ll say this for Cypress Grove: it gets into your head. The air down here, the quality of the afternoon light, the way everything seems to slow whether you want it to or not. My mother would say it’s the springs — that the whole area carries an energy, that you can feel the aquifers if you’re paying attention.
I grew up with that kind of talk and I’ve never bought it. Still don’t. But I also concede that I’ve slept better here this past month than I have in the past two years in New York. I don’t have a clean explanation for that, so I’ve filed it under climate and left it alone.
There’s still much to do. I’ll deal with the signs before the wedding. Right after I send a million emails, hire a new landscaper, and talk to City Hall about the remaining permits.
Dad left all these tasks to me.It's your business, preparing properties like this for sale,he'd said when I arrived a month ago.Work your magic.
I couldn't say no. Not to Dad. I promised to oversee the renovations and get the highest price for the resort so he and Mom can have the best retirement possible. Dad would do anything for her, and I would too. After running this place and raising five kids, they deserve all that and more.
Whether I'll live up to Dad's standards is a different matter altogether. It always has been.
This isn't a regular project. It's practically my childhood home. And as each week passes, the idea of selling the Magnolia Grand becomes more bittersweet. Dad's a pretty difficult boss, and that has me stressed, too.
And now life, and the renovation, has ground to a halt because my little brother's decided he's in love and absolutelyhas to marry this girl one week before he ships off to the west coast as a contract firefighter.
It’s too much to deal with. I'd rather think about the woman down there.
She takes out her phone and taps furiously with her thumbs, a fierce scowl on her face. I wonder who she knows in the wedding party. One of Damien's friends? One of Remy's friends, more likely. My brothers aren't exactly shy, retiring types when it comes to women.
Or maybe she's a friend of the bride's.
I should go help her. Although she'll probably be gone by the time I make it downstairs. I could call down — she's only fifteen or twenty feet below me.
I loosen my tie as I watch her, then undo the top button of my shirt. I'd overdressed for the meeting with the lawyers in Orlando and now it's time to put on cargo shorts and blend in with the locals.
As I'm rolling up my sleeves, one of my younger brothers dashes into view from the direction of the pool. I whistle, and he looks up. The woman glances around suspiciously, trying to figure out where the sound came from.
“Bro,” yells Remy. I roll my eyes because he does that thing. Everyone'sbroordudeor some crap. He waves his hands wildly. “Bro, have you seen Mom?”
I ignore him because the woman is staring up at me. I casually lean against the railing and grin, hoping she'll smile back.
“Hi. Are you lost?” I call down to her.
Remy makes an impatient snort. I think he might have stomped his foot, but I'm too busy watching her.
She opens her mouth to respond, but before she gets anything out, my brother steps forward.
“Bro, I need Mom. I thought she was here a minute ago.” Good lord, he’s such a child. There's a six-year gap between us but there might as well be a century.
The woman shoots Remy a grimace, then stares up at me with the same expression, grabs her suitcase and stalks off with a huff. Or tries to. The wheels aren't working, and she mutters something I can't hear. I watch her disappear between two squat palm trees, dragging the suitcase over the stone walkway. It makes a loud scraping noise.
