Page 78 of Sand in My Boots

“Scratch the whole ‘let’s find you a new man’ thing. I have a better idea.” She stands up, her hands clapping excitedly. “Yes, this is way better.” She gathers up her garbage and disappears for a minute, reappearing with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m going to go.”

Her nonchalance startles me. As much as I don’t want to be dragged out to the bar, I’m not ready to be alone tonight. Her company is as good as anyone else’s.

“Why? You could stay. We could watch a movie.” I’m not above pleading or bribery. Though it would have to be good. “I’ll clean up the mess.”

“Forget the mess. I’ll be back on Sunday. Have your bags packed. We’re going on a road trip.”

Only Elisa Langley would decide a trip is the answer to life’s woes.

“I just returned from vacation. I can’t leave again.”

She stares pointedly at me. “Consider it a work trip. For research.”

“Research?”

“Yep.” She pops the p, then leans over, hugging me again. “Be ready early Sunday morning. Leave all the details to me.”

“Elisa! This is not a solution.”

She’s already halfway out the door, but turns back around. “On the contrary.” With nothing else, she skedaddles through the open door, leaving me not knowing what the hell to think.

Why does she always leave things more unsettled than when she arrived?

Chapter 21

Cameron

I’ve found three new best friends: alcohol, my couch, and Netflix. Luckily for me, all three don’t seem to mind fighting for the role of “bestie.”

I can’t remember the last time I binge-watched so many seasons of one show. Possibly never. Before working at Whispering Tide, when I was bored, TV wasn’t my go-to remedy. Now, when I’m not working—if you can call it that—I’m on my couch, in comfy clothes, vegging out, bingeing whatever Netflix chooses for me. I started with Breaking Bad, watching all sixty-plus episodes in a weekend. I should get some kind of medal for that. It took commitment, dedication, and becoming one with my couch and delivery drivers.

When that was over, Netflix suggested something else, starting it without me clicking on it. Before I knew it, bam, I was hooked. Can’t tell you the name or what it’s remotely about.

Unfortunately, I had to get up on Monday for work, putting a real damper on my life. Not only did I have to stop watching TV, but I also had to shower and put on real clothes.

I’m grateful most of the recreation at the resort is a smooth sailing ship. Sure, I have to show my face every day, but I’ve oiled the machine regularly enough, it runs well without me. The other guys clarified that because it does, doesn’t mean it should. In their position, I’d say the same thing if one of them were acting the way I was. But can you blame me? My heart’s shattered into tiny pieces. I’ve tried forgetting Juli, but it’s nearly impossible. We spent so much time at the resort, memories of her show up everywhere.

“Earth to Cameron.” On my rounds today, I ended up at the concierge desk, and Keoni is currently trying to get my attention. His blue and white Hawaiian shirt does little to cheer me up.

“What?” Dialing back my attitude, I try again. “Sorry. What can I help you with?”

“There’s a couple who want some help booking a boat tour. They’ll be down in about five minutes.”

“Right. I’ll put my game face on.”

“That would be helpful. Don’t want to scare away the guests with your ugly mug lately. Want to talk about it?” My eyes shoot lasers at him. “If I don’t keep asking, it will seem like I don’t care. And I don’t want rumors to be flying that I don’t care.”

Spotting a couple heading our way, I spout, “Wouldn’t want that to happen. Your concern is noted.” I tamp down every thought unrelated to Whispering Tide as I approach. “Hi, I’m Cameron. What can I help you with?”

“My wife and I would like to take a boat tour around the islands. Nothing too small. She’s going to need room to get up and walk around. She doesn’t do well with sitting for long periods of time.”

Judgment aside, I grin. “I can help you with that. Let me grab a laptop, and I’ll meet you over there.” I point to the empty tables across the lobby.

“Great.” It’s the wife who answers.

I secure a laptop from the cart and stride over, assessing them on the way. Prices at Whispering Tide aren’t cheap, and we get all kinds of rich clients. These two stand out in shorts and a skirt paired with graphic T-shirts. As I get closer, I can read the shirt—Murrtham’s Tree Farm.

He’s got at least ten years on me, if I had to guess, and she seems younger than him by a few years.