Bliss Brothers: The Complete Series Boxed Set, page 44
It’s the first breakthrough I’ve had in weeks.
I pull Leta’s face to mine and kiss her, hard. When I give her an inch of space her eyes are dark with need and hope. I could say it, right now, because I feel it in every inch of my body, down to the tips of my toes. I love you.
“You’re a genius,” I say instead.
“Not really. All of those spreadsheets look terrible.”
“I didn’t even show you a spreadsheet.”
“Insert joke about spreadsheets here,” she says.
“Did you honestly just say that out loud?”
“Spread. Sheets.” She puts her hands together and spreads them apart. Somehow, it’s unbearably filthy.
“Get into the bedroom.” I stand up, reaching for my belt buckle. Leta’s eyes go wide. “Or else.”
“Or else what?” she breathes.
“Or else people might see me fuck you right here on this sofa.”
“Maybe I’d be into that.”
“Let’s find out.”
“No!” she squeals, sprinting for the stairs.
She’s naked when I get to the top, which seems like a magician’s trick, and I’m on top of her with an animal growl. It feels so right. That’s all I can think about as I push into her. She’s wet, ready, open for me, and it feels so right.
Right, right, right.
How could it be wrong?
14
Leta
One, two, three, four. That’s how many days go by. I’d stay in Charlie’s bed forever if he didn’t insist on going to work. So honorable.
On the fourth day it occurs to me that Charlie has paid an exorbitant fee to the builders. It has been seven days since they started work on the house.
I’m in the living room when Pete comes down the stairs, saying something into his phone that I don’t listen to. It sounds like building instructions, or something else. At the bottom he ends the call.
“Well, that’s a wrap.”
I blink up at him from my spot near the book tables. “What’s a wrap?”
I’ve dragged two of the available tables into the living room and put the piles of books on them. Once Pete was sure about the floors he gave the all-clear to give up on the outside tent, so I’ve been working in the living room for a couple of days. Everything upstairs is going to be a blank slate for me to move back into, the den is fixed, and I don’t have to keep all the books in the living room anymore.
“Repairs are a wrap. You’ve got a fully functioning bathroom, a section of pipes that have been replaced, and bedrooms that aren’t hazard zones from a compromised floor. He looks proud of himself. “Paint’s dry and everything. You can go upstairs whenever you like.”
“That’s—wow. That’s incredible.”
“It normally doesn’t happen this fast,” Pete admits. “Charlie’s been on my ass, pardon my language.” He laughs, loud and hard. “I think he’s trying to impress you.”
Charlie has other ways to impress me, but I blush nonetheless. “I’m sure he’d do the same for anyone else.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Pete winks at me, then heads out.
“Thank you,” I call after him. I’ll have to send him a gift basket of some kind.
He hasn’t been gone five minutes when there’s a knock on the door. It’s a confident knock but not obnoxious. I can’t believe Charlie still knocks.
“Pete just left,” I tell him as I open the door. “The upstairs is done.”
“I knew it would be.” Charlie’s eyes are full of satisfaction.
“He said you rushed him a bit.”
He rolls his eyes. “I did not rush him. I encouraged him with adequate compensation.” He steps inside. “And I didn’t want your house to be a disaster zone for any longer than necessary.”
“Should we go check it out?”
“You haven’t been up there yet?”
“I saw the den, but not upstairs.” The den is clean and new, all the surviving furniture pushed to the center to be more convenient for painting.
“It would be my pleasure to escort you.”
“So fancy,” I say with a laugh, and take his arm. Charlie leads me upstairs. At the landing it strikes me how much they traffic in understatements. The new floor in the hallway gleams. The hallway walls have been repainted in a fresh white. It tugs at my heart. Mari liked warm, earthy tones. Maybe she would have liked this, too.
Charlie walks next to me down the hall and steps into the master bedroom. It’s the same color white, and he stands in the middle with his hands in his pockets and takes it in.
“How are you going to decorate?” The white picks up the color on the leaves outside and volleys it all through the corners of the room.
“Probably neutrals. It’s better for selling,” I say without thinking.
Charlie pauses. “Are you going to sell?”
I come in behind him and stand near the window. It’s truly a blank slate, all this white. It glitters with possibility, but maybe that’s someone else’s possibility I’m seeing. Being gifted a home doesn’t mean I have to keep it. However…
“I’ve been thinking about it,” I admit.
“Is your mind made up?”
“No.” Charlie’s footsteps echo in the empty room. He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me from behind, and together we look out onto Cherry Street. It’s stupidly beautiful in the September sunshine. A future here flashes into a hazy vision in front of me. “No, my mind isn’t made up at all.”
“Why’s that?” His voice is a low murmur in my ear.
“I’m thinking of staying.”
His arms tighten a fraction of an inch. “Is that what your universe is telling you to do?”
“You know,” I say, leaning back into his chest, “in this moment, it seems like it.” One breath, then another. My breathing matches his. “What do you think about blue for this room?”
“Horrible. This room needs a lighter color. More neutral.”
“I think blue is soothing.”
“Then paint it blue.” Charlie’s laugh is a rumble.
“But blue is horrible,” I tease.
“Horrible for selling. Not horrible if you love it.”
I laugh, and he laughs too, a silent shake in my back.
Would he be standing this close, if he wasn’t falling too?
He wouldn’t. I know it.
With Charlie, it’s not about what he’s saying. It’s rarely about what he’s saying. I’m the one who likes to say things. When I die, people will probably tell stories at my funeral about how I would never shut up. That’s different with Charlie. Being in silence is easier with him. It’s not my favorite—silence will never be my favorite. I itch to turn on some music, even now. But it’s easier.
Probably because our communication can happen in other ways.
Speaking of that…
Charlie absently traces one finger down the front of my chest, a neat path between my breasts, and my nipples rise into peaks on the crest of a shiver.
“Did you like that?”
“I did like that.”
“You know…if you’re really going to sell this place, we should enjoy it before you do.”
“There’s no furniture.”
He gallantly takes off his shirt and lays it on the ground. “A blanket for you.”
“That’s not furniture.”
“Then don’t lay down.”
With one easy movement, Charlie turns me toward him and lifts me into his arms. My legs go around his waist and he backs me against the wall and turns my head with one hand so he can lick down the length of my neck. Sweet Jesus, it’s hot.
“God,” I gasp. “Who are you? You were never quite like this before. Kind—kind of like this, but different—oh, it’s—it’s so much more—”
“I’ve had a long time to think about what I would do to you if I ever got the chance.”
“Do to me?” A pleasure tinged with darkness moves through me like winged desire.
A wicked glint lights up Charlie’s eyes. “Yes. To you.”
“Like fuck me up against the wall with your hand around my jaw?”
He doesn’t answer with words.
15
Charlie
The meeting Roman has called in light of my recent text message starts on time. Driver’s the last to enter the room, looking down at his phone. Huck and Beau are already here. I stand at the back, Driver and Beau sit across from Roman, and Huck leans against the wall to the right of Roman’s desk.
“Holiday’s going with me,” Driver announces, apropos of nothing. “She’s finishing the packing. Let’s make this quick, all right?” No one says anything. “You guys are assholes.”
Beau laughs. “Good job, team. Solid burn against Driver. But I think we should discuss the man of the hour.”
“Who’s the man of the hour?” asks Huck.
“That would be our brother Charlie. He’s solved the mystery.”
“I haven’t. That’s why we’re having this meeting. But I did get a lead.”
“A lead?” Roman says. “Let’s get it out in the open.”
I tell them about the trust. I tell them about the rules, which we should all know about, but a few of us probably don’t. I tell them we need to find Asher.
“Did it take you this long because of your new lady friend?” asks Beau, waggling his eyebrows.
“She’s the one who gave me the idea, so you can all shut your mouths about her. It’s my private business.”
“Private business can be lucrative,” Beau says. “Just ask Roman.”
Roman is busy staring at me in disbelief. “This has been staring us in the face the whole time. How did we not think of this?”
“Probably because most of us have more exciting things to do with our lives,” says Beau.
“This is your livelihood, too,” Roman says, pointing a finger at Beau.
“Ah, yes, but I am resilient. There’ll always be another resort for me to land at.” Beau puts his hands behind his head and leans back in his chair. “So what do we do?”
“We’ve got to get into contact with Asher, obviously,” says Roman. “Charlie’s right.”
“I have an idea,” says Huck, whose skin is already tan from being out on the sailboats. He immediately stepped into head up a new configuration of watercraft, including kayaks, stand-up paddle boards, and little sailboats. It’s like he wants to be back, but he doesn’t want to be on land. “Let’s text him.”
“That’s my line,” grouses Beau. “This town ain’t big enough for the two of us.”
“I’ll get you a drink from the bar,” offers Huck.
Beau clicks his tongue at Huck. “You sly dog. You know a virgin Thunderstorm is the way to a man’s heart.”
“You are so weird. Do you know that?” Huck laughs.
“Who, me? I’m not the one who hired my best friend to work out on the docks with me.”
Driver looks up from his phone. “You hired your best friend, Huckles?”
“I hired Katie, yeah.” Huck stands up straight against the wall and folds his arms over his chest. “She knows her way around the water.”
“No one say anything about bathing suits,” Beau says in a stage whisper.
Huck’s face reddens, but he smirks at Beau. “Don’t say anything, guys. It might get Beau riled up.”
“Too late. I’m already riled up.”
“I’m the one who should find another resort to work at,” says Roman. “Gentleman, we have a goal. Let’s get on it.”
“Do our jobs?” asks Driver.
“Yes. And text Asher. I also emailed him, but it bounced back. No forwarding address.”
“Yeah, Roman, emails don’t do that,” says Huck. “Come into the present, old man.”
“I sign your checks,” Roman fires back.
“Actually, I think Charlie signs all of our checks,” says Beau. “Isn’t that true, Charles?”
“Our resort is losing money to a mysterious account hidden in the trust,” I say, loudly and slowly. “This is something we should figure out. And yes, Beau, I do sign the checks.”
“You heard the man.” Beau gets up from his chair. “Meeting dismissed.”
“Meeting not dismissed,” says Roman. “Driver, be prepared to cut your trip short if Asher shows up. Charlie, are we sure this isn’t a savings account we’re losing money to? It might not be…you know. What we think it is.”
“Embezzlement,” says Driver.
“Way to say it right out loud,” answers Beau. “Wait, by show of hands, are any of you embezzling money from the resort?” He keeps his hands pressed flat to his pants.
“You’re the one I ended up twins with,” I grumble.
“God’s gift to you,” Beau says with a wink. “Nobody’s raising their hands, by the way.”
“Okay.” Roman claps his hands together. “Meeting dismissed.”
We walk out of the office together and split off to separate destinations. I’m going back to Leta’s to tell her that I’m finally making headway.
“Hey.” Beau jogs a few steps to come level. “How’s things?”
“Fine. Good.”
“Nice job on that clue, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you in love with her again?”
I stop and face him. “You’re going to ask me that now?”
“Uh, yeah.” Beau gestures around. “We’re alone. And she’s been at your house, and you’ve been at hers, and…I wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”
“Yes.” A heady montage of Leta’s sighs and moans spins through my head. “Yeah, I’m more than okay with it.”
A grin spreads across Beau’s face. “Oh, my god. You’re happy, aren’t you? You’re happy she showed up.”
“I think this is going to go somewhere,” I admit. “I think…I might ask her to stay. Formally. With words.”
“Nice. That’s…yeah. You should do that. That’s great. Wait—where was she going to go?”
“Sell the house she inherited from her aunt, and—it’s a thing.”
“Got it. Keep me posted.”
I roll my eyes. “Naturally. You’re my first call.”
Beau winks. “I know it. I have a different thing on the beach. Stay strong.” He turns on his heel and goes.
“You too.”
“I’m always strong,” he calls back.
It feels good, admitting it out loud. It feels better to know it. Leta was the missing piece all along. Now that she’s back in her rightful place, I’m not going to let her get away. She’s got another week here at least, and I’m going to use every minute to convince her that Ruby Bay could be home. Maybe once all of this is settled and we figure out all the finances, I could…I could consider compromising. If I’d still have Bliss. I’m not going to give that up, either.
She’s sitting on her front porch when I get back, bobbing her head along to some music playing from her speakers. Her eyes meet mine and she smiles, but it’s not a bright one. A distracted thing.
“Hi.” I bend to kiss her on the temple.
“Hi. How was the meeting?”
“Good. We’re finally moving forward, as long as we can find my brother.”
“That’s good.”
Her phone rests on her knee, facedown, and Leta taps at the plastic case with her fingertips.
“What’s going on with you?”
She bites her lip and glances across at me from underneath her eyelashes. “I’ve had a call.”
16
Leta
I dream of the phone call.
It should have been a dream come true, this phone call, and it was—for a hot second. A woman named Margot Piazzi was on the other end of the line. Margot of art-scene fame. Margot of the most prestigious gallery in the city, and lots of other cities besides. Margot, Margot, Margot. She likes my wine nights idea.
In the dream, I say her name too many times and make it weird—in real life, I managed to hold it together. Because Margot Piazzi has heard of me. Me, Leta Quinn. She likes my studio and gallery, and she wants to work with me on opening more like it. A franchise opportunity, but one that benefits women artists.
“I would have called sooner, but I was on a retreat cruise.”
I wanted desperately to know what a retreat cruise is. Is it doing art on a cruise? If so, sign me up for the next one. But I didn’t ask, because Margot was busy telling me that we should sit down for a meeting at my earliest. She already has ideas for the branding—Joyful Pearl, based on the meanings of our names. I could do without the joyful, personally, but she has thought about this. She walked past my studio, and thought about it, and called me. Her rich self called me so we could come up with a partnership.
I wake up with a start, shouting yes into an empty room. Yes, Margot, I will marry you.
No. That’s not.
I put a hand over my mouth. If I woke up Charlie with an orgasmic shout directed at Margot…
But the bed is empty.
After I told him the news, he took me shopping for a bed. The old bed was old, so I let Pete throw out the mattress and salvaged the frame. Charlie helped me drag the frame back into the master bedroom and waited with me while the delivery guys came. He helped me put the sheets on and crawled into it with me.
He’s not here now.
I get up and pull on the infamous bathrobe, which must have been Mari’s. It was hanging on a peg by the door the night the wall exploded. It’s enormous and overly fluffy, but I tug it on over my tank top and shorts and go looking for my…
My what? My temporary lover? My boyfriend? That night on the sand, he definitely felt more like a boyfriend than anything else. More like a non-temporary lover.
I pad down the stairs.
He’s not in the kitchen, or the living room, or anywhere else. I go back up and squint at my phone on the bedside table, my heart thudding heavily against my ribs. It’s one in the morning.
Leta: Where are you?
I’m not expecting an answer, but one comes almost immediately.
Charlie: Home.
I pull Leta’s face to mine and kiss her, hard. When I give her an inch of space her eyes are dark with need and hope. I could say it, right now, because I feel it in every inch of my body, down to the tips of my toes. I love you.
“You’re a genius,” I say instead.
“Not really. All of those spreadsheets look terrible.”
“I didn’t even show you a spreadsheet.”
“Insert joke about spreadsheets here,” she says.
“Did you honestly just say that out loud?”
“Spread. Sheets.” She puts her hands together and spreads them apart. Somehow, it’s unbearably filthy.
“Get into the bedroom.” I stand up, reaching for my belt buckle. Leta’s eyes go wide. “Or else.”
“Or else what?” she breathes.
“Or else people might see me fuck you right here on this sofa.”
“Maybe I’d be into that.”
“Let’s find out.”
“No!” she squeals, sprinting for the stairs.
She’s naked when I get to the top, which seems like a magician’s trick, and I’m on top of her with an animal growl. It feels so right. That’s all I can think about as I push into her. She’s wet, ready, open for me, and it feels so right.
Right, right, right.
How could it be wrong?
14
Leta
One, two, three, four. That’s how many days go by. I’d stay in Charlie’s bed forever if he didn’t insist on going to work. So honorable.
On the fourth day it occurs to me that Charlie has paid an exorbitant fee to the builders. It has been seven days since they started work on the house.
I’m in the living room when Pete comes down the stairs, saying something into his phone that I don’t listen to. It sounds like building instructions, or something else. At the bottom he ends the call.
“Well, that’s a wrap.”
I blink up at him from my spot near the book tables. “What’s a wrap?”
I’ve dragged two of the available tables into the living room and put the piles of books on them. Once Pete was sure about the floors he gave the all-clear to give up on the outside tent, so I’ve been working in the living room for a couple of days. Everything upstairs is going to be a blank slate for me to move back into, the den is fixed, and I don’t have to keep all the books in the living room anymore.
“Repairs are a wrap. You’ve got a fully functioning bathroom, a section of pipes that have been replaced, and bedrooms that aren’t hazard zones from a compromised floor. He looks proud of himself. “Paint’s dry and everything. You can go upstairs whenever you like.”
“That’s—wow. That’s incredible.”
“It normally doesn’t happen this fast,” Pete admits. “Charlie’s been on my ass, pardon my language.” He laughs, loud and hard. “I think he’s trying to impress you.”
Charlie has other ways to impress me, but I blush nonetheless. “I’m sure he’d do the same for anyone else.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Pete winks at me, then heads out.
“Thank you,” I call after him. I’ll have to send him a gift basket of some kind.
He hasn’t been gone five minutes when there’s a knock on the door. It’s a confident knock but not obnoxious. I can’t believe Charlie still knocks.
“Pete just left,” I tell him as I open the door. “The upstairs is done.”
“I knew it would be.” Charlie’s eyes are full of satisfaction.
“He said you rushed him a bit.”
He rolls his eyes. “I did not rush him. I encouraged him with adequate compensation.” He steps inside. “And I didn’t want your house to be a disaster zone for any longer than necessary.”
“Should we go check it out?”
“You haven’t been up there yet?”
“I saw the den, but not upstairs.” The den is clean and new, all the surviving furniture pushed to the center to be more convenient for painting.
“It would be my pleasure to escort you.”
“So fancy,” I say with a laugh, and take his arm. Charlie leads me upstairs. At the landing it strikes me how much they traffic in understatements. The new floor in the hallway gleams. The hallway walls have been repainted in a fresh white. It tugs at my heart. Mari liked warm, earthy tones. Maybe she would have liked this, too.
Charlie walks next to me down the hall and steps into the master bedroom. It’s the same color white, and he stands in the middle with his hands in his pockets and takes it in.
“How are you going to decorate?” The white picks up the color on the leaves outside and volleys it all through the corners of the room.
“Probably neutrals. It’s better for selling,” I say without thinking.
Charlie pauses. “Are you going to sell?”
I come in behind him and stand near the window. It’s truly a blank slate, all this white. It glitters with possibility, but maybe that’s someone else’s possibility I’m seeing. Being gifted a home doesn’t mean I have to keep it. However…
“I’ve been thinking about it,” I admit.
“Is your mind made up?”
“No.” Charlie’s footsteps echo in the empty room. He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me from behind, and together we look out onto Cherry Street. It’s stupidly beautiful in the September sunshine. A future here flashes into a hazy vision in front of me. “No, my mind isn’t made up at all.”
“Why’s that?” His voice is a low murmur in my ear.
“I’m thinking of staying.”
His arms tighten a fraction of an inch. “Is that what your universe is telling you to do?”
“You know,” I say, leaning back into his chest, “in this moment, it seems like it.” One breath, then another. My breathing matches his. “What do you think about blue for this room?”
“Horrible. This room needs a lighter color. More neutral.”
“I think blue is soothing.”
“Then paint it blue.” Charlie’s laugh is a rumble.
“But blue is horrible,” I tease.
“Horrible for selling. Not horrible if you love it.”
I laugh, and he laughs too, a silent shake in my back.
Would he be standing this close, if he wasn’t falling too?
He wouldn’t. I know it.
With Charlie, it’s not about what he’s saying. It’s rarely about what he’s saying. I’m the one who likes to say things. When I die, people will probably tell stories at my funeral about how I would never shut up. That’s different with Charlie. Being in silence is easier with him. It’s not my favorite—silence will never be my favorite. I itch to turn on some music, even now. But it’s easier.
Probably because our communication can happen in other ways.
Speaking of that…
Charlie absently traces one finger down the front of my chest, a neat path between my breasts, and my nipples rise into peaks on the crest of a shiver.
“Did you like that?”
“I did like that.”
“You know…if you’re really going to sell this place, we should enjoy it before you do.”
“There’s no furniture.”
He gallantly takes off his shirt and lays it on the ground. “A blanket for you.”
“That’s not furniture.”
“Then don’t lay down.”
With one easy movement, Charlie turns me toward him and lifts me into his arms. My legs go around his waist and he backs me against the wall and turns my head with one hand so he can lick down the length of my neck. Sweet Jesus, it’s hot.
“God,” I gasp. “Who are you? You were never quite like this before. Kind—kind of like this, but different—oh, it’s—it’s so much more—”
“I’ve had a long time to think about what I would do to you if I ever got the chance.”
“Do to me?” A pleasure tinged with darkness moves through me like winged desire.
A wicked glint lights up Charlie’s eyes. “Yes. To you.”
“Like fuck me up against the wall with your hand around my jaw?”
He doesn’t answer with words.
15
Charlie
The meeting Roman has called in light of my recent text message starts on time. Driver’s the last to enter the room, looking down at his phone. Huck and Beau are already here. I stand at the back, Driver and Beau sit across from Roman, and Huck leans against the wall to the right of Roman’s desk.
“Holiday’s going with me,” Driver announces, apropos of nothing. “She’s finishing the packing. Let’s make this quick, all right?” No one says anything. “You guys are assholes.”
Beau laughs. “Good job, team. Solid burn against Driver. But I think we should discuss the man of the hour.”
“Who’s the man of the hour?” asks Huck.
“That would be our brother Charlie. He’s solved the mystery.”
“I haven’t. That’s why we’re having this meeting. But I did get a lead.”
“A lead?” Roman says. “Let’s get it out in the open.”
I tell them about the trust. I tell them about the rules, which we should all know about, but a few of us probably don’t. I tell them we need to find Asher.
“Did it take you this long because of your new lady friend?” asks Beau, waggling his eyebrows.
“She’s the one who gave me the idea, so you can all shut your mouths about her. It’s my private business.”
“Private business can be lucrative,” Beau says. “Just ask Roman.”
Roman is busy staring at me in disbelief. “This has been staring us in the face the whole time. How did we not think of this?”
“Probably because most of us have more exciting things to do with our lives,” says Beau.
“This is your livelihood, too,” Roman says, pointing a finger at Beau.
“Ah, yes, but I am resilient. There’ll always be another resort for me to land at.” Beau puts his hands behind his head and leans back in his chair. “So what do we do?”
“We’ve got to get into contact with Asher, obviously,” says Roman. “Charlie’s right.”
“I have an idea,” says Huck, whose skin is already tan from being out on the sailboats. He immediately stepped into head up a new configuration of watercraft, including kayaks, stand-up paddle boards, and little sailboats. It’s like he wants to be back, but he doesn’t want to be on land. “Let’s text him.”
“That’s my line,” grouses Beau. “This town ain’t big enough for the two of us.”
“I’ll get you a drink from the bar,” offers Huck.
Beau clicks his tongue at Huck. “You sly dog. You know a virgin Thunderstorm is the way to a man’s heart.”
“You are so weird. Do you know that?” Huck laughs.
“Who, me? I’m not the one who hired my best friend to work out on the docks with me.”
Driver looks up from his phone. “You hired your best friend, Huckles?”
“I hired Katie, yeah.” Huck stands up straight against the wall and folds his arms over his chest. “She knows her way around the water.”
“No one say anything about bathing suits,” Beau says in a stage whisper.
Huck’s face reddens, but he smirks at Beau. “Don’t say anything, guys. It might get Beau riled up.”
“Too late. I’m already riled up.”
“I’m the one who should find another resort to work at,” says Roman. “Gentleman, we have a goal. Let’s get on it.”
“Do our jobs?” asks Driver.
“Yes. And text Asher. I also emailed him, but it bounced back. No forwarding address.”
“Yeah, Roman, emails don’t do that,” says Huck. “Come into the present, old man.”
“I sign your checks,” Roman fires back.
“Actually, I think Charlie signs all of our checks,” says Beau. “Isn’t that true, Charles?”
“Our resort is losing money to a mysterious account hidden in the trust,” I say, loudly and slowly. “This is something we should figure out. And yes, Beau, I do sign the checks.”
“You heard the man.” Beau gets up from his chair. “Meeting dismissed.”
“Meeting not dismissed,” says Roman. “Driver, be prepared to cut your trip short if Asher shows up. Charlie, are we sure this isn’t a savings account we’re losing money to? It might not be…you know. What we think it is.”
“Embezzlement,” says Driver.
“Way to say it right out loud,” answers Beau. “Wait, by show of hands, are any of you embezzling money from the resort?” He keeps his hands pressed flat to his pants.
“You’re the one I ended up twins with,” I grumble.
“God’s gift to you,” Beau says with a wink. “Nobody’s raising their hands, by the way.”
“Okay.” Roman claps his hands together. “Meeting dismissed.”
We walk out of the office together and split off to separate destinations. I’m going back to Leta’s to tell her that I’m finally making headway.
“Hey.” Beau jogs a few steps to come level. “How’s things?”
“Fine. Good.”
“Nice job on that clue, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you in love with her again?”
I stop and face him. “You’re going to ask me that now?”
“Uh, yeah.” Beau gestures around. “We’re alone. And she’s been at your house, and you’ve been at hers, and…I wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”
“Yes.” A heady montage of Leta’s sighs and moans spins through my head. “Yeah, I’m more than okay with it.”
A grin spreads across Beau’s face. “Oh, my god. You’re happy, aren’t you? You’re happy she showed up.”
“I think this is going to go somewhere,” I admit. “I think…I might ask her to stay. Formally. With words.”
“Nice. That’s…yeah. You should do that. That’s great. Wait—where was she going to go?”
“Sell the house she inherited from her aunt, and—it’s a thing.”
“Got it. Keep me posted.”
I roll my eyes. “Naturally. You’re my first call.”
Beau winks. “I know it. I have a different thing on the beach. Stay strong.” He turns on his heel and goes.
“You too.”
“I’m always strong,” he calls back.
It feels good, admitting it out loud. It feels better to know it. Leta was the missing piece all along. Now that she’s back in her rightful place, I’m not going to let her get away. She’s got another week here at least, and I’m going to use every minute to convince her that Ruby Bay could be home. Maybe once all of this is settled and we figure out all the finances, I could…I could consider compromising. If I’d still have Bliss. I’m not going to give that up, either.
She’s sitting on her front porch when I get back, bobbing her head along to some music playing from her speakers. Her eyes meet mine and she smiles, but it’s not a bright one. A distracted thing.
“Hi.” I bend to kiss her on the temple.
“Hi. How was the meeting?”
“Good. We’re finally moving forward, as long as we can find my brother.”
“That’s good.”
Her phone rests on her knee, facedown, and Leta taps at the plastic case with her fingertips.
“What’s going on with you?”
She bites her lip and glances across at me from underneath her eyelashes. “I’ve had a call.”
16
Leta
I dream of the phone call.
It should have been a dream come true, this phone call, and it was—for a hot second. A woman named Margot Piazzi was on the other end of the line. Margot of art-scene fame. Margot of the most prestigious gallery in the city, and lots of other cities besides. Margot, Margot, Margot. She likes my wine nights idea.
In the dream, I say her name too many times and make it weird—in real life, I managed to hold it together. Because Margot Piazzi has heard of me. Me, Leta Quinn. She likes my studio and gallery, and she wants to work with me on opening more like it. A franchise opportunity, but one that benefits women artists.
“I would have called sooner, but I was on a retreat cruise.”
I wanted desperately to know what a retreat cruise is. Is it doing art on a cruise? If so, sign me up for the next one. But I didn’t ask, because Margot was busy telling me that we should sit down for a meeting at my earliest. She already has ideas for the branding—Joyful Pearl, based on the meanings of our names. I could do without the joyful, personally, but she has thought about this. She walked past my studio, and thought about it, and called me. Her rich self called me so we could come up with a partnership.
I wake up with a start, shouting yes into an empty room. Yes, Margot, I will marry you.
No. That’s not.
I put a hand over my mouth. If I woke up Charlie with an orgasmic shout directed at Margot…
But the bed is empty.
After I told him the news, he took me shopping for a bed. The old bed was old, so I let Pete throw out the mattress and salvaged the frame. Charlie helped me drag the frame back into the master bedroom and waited with me while the delivery guys came. He helped me put the sheets on and crawled into it with me.
He’s not here now.
I get up and pull on the infamous bathrobe, which must have been Mari’s. It was hanging on a peg by the door the night the wall exploded. It’s enormous and overly fluffy, but I tug it on over my tank top and shorts and go looking for my…
My what? My temporary lover? My boyfriend? That night on the sand, he definitely felt more like a boyfriend than anything else. More like a non-temporary lover.
I pad down the stairs.
He’s not in the kitchen, or the living room, or anywhere else. I go back up and squint at my phone on the bedside table, my heart thudding heavily against my ribs. It’s one in the morning.
Leta: Where are you?
I’m not expecting an answer, but one comes almost immediately.
Charlie: Home.
