All I Do: Paradise Beach #3 Page 11

  She sidles up to me. She’s also got ice cream in her basket, but her haul is three giant tubs of plain vanilla.

  “What are you up to?” She peers into my basket.

  “Not much. There’s a new Netflix series I want to binge.”

  She fixes her huge, blue eyes on me and blinks. Today, her hair is the same color as her eyes, and I’m about to ask her what dye she uses when she points at my pizza. “Why don’t you put all that away and come have dinner with me. With us.”

  “You mean at your parents’ house?”

  “Yeah. Ma always makes extra. She sent me out to buy vanilla ice cream for the blueberry pie. And she made her special sancocho.”

  I blink.

  “Sancocho is a Puerto Rican stew. Ma’s half Puerto Rican, so sometimes she makes recipes from her abuela. It’s like a delicious beef stew with potatoes and stuff. And she’s making a lasagna, because she’s also half Italian. She makes a ton of food on Sundays because my brothers eat like feral dogs.”

  Oh, God. I love lasagna. It’s a food group all on its own. “Hmm. My mouth’s already watering.” I’m not the best cook, and haven’t had a home-cooked meal since I moved to Paradise Beach. I glance down at my frozen pizza, which suddenly holds the appeal of soggy cardboard.

  “So, what are you waiting for, lady? Put that stuff back and come home with me.”

  I chew on my cheek and we inch forward in line. “I rode my bike here. And, ah, what about Remy?”

  Some men don’t want to introduce women to their parents until they’re serious. And Remy and I will never be serious, because we’ve got our sex pact. That’s what I call it in my mind.

  Remy and Leilani’s Sex Pact.

  Nat waves her hand and snorts. “We’ll throw your bike in the back of my truck. And Remy? Don’t worry about his ass. He’ll be thrilled to see you. Anyway, Ma likes it when I bring friends home. I’m bringing you as my friend, not Remy’s… whatever you are.”

  Usually, men don’t want to bring their whatevers to their parents either, but I shrug.

  “Okay. Why not?” I say, setting off to put the frozen food back in the cooler.

  * * *

  A ball of anxiety lodges in my chest as I walk into the Hastings’ sprawling home.

  While Remy hasn’t told me much about his childhood, I know that he grew up in this house. And it’s not a surprise that the feel of the place is very much like him: open, warm, and laid-back. I imagine Remy as an adorable, dark-haired boy running through the rambling house. Will he ever tell me about his adventures as a boy? Or as a teen? Will we ever get to the point where we discuss each other’s pasts?

  And will I want to tell him more about mine? I’ve given him the Cliffs Notes version, featuring the palatable and not-too-depressing details.

  “Ma,” Nat hollers. “I found a friend at the store and brought her home.”

  I follow her down a hallway, peeking into a few rooms — a sunny living room with a huge, flat screen TV, a dining room with a large table set for at least twelve, a messy office — and into a massive kitchen that’s best described as having a beach farmhouse style. It’s done up with white cabinets and blonde wood, with touches of yellow everywhere — including a massive bouquet of sunflowers on a small table.

  The smell in the air — garlic and the tang of tomato sauce, laced with a hint of vanilla — makes my stomach growl with hunger.

  There’s only one person in the room, and she’s a slight woman with the longest, most extraordinary, silvery-black hair I’ve ever seen. She turns, and now I understand where Remy gets his stunning looks. Her eyes are the same amber color as Remy’s, and they positively glitter like the gem. She also has Remy’s tawny skin color, and when she smiles, her entire face lights up. The oversized, silver, chandelier earrings she's wearing are like teeny wind chimes.

  “Hi, I’m Ginger,” she says, extending her hand. She’s barefoot and wearing a long, gauzy dress that looks like a Moroccan tile pattern with bright yellows and blues.

  “I’m Leilani. It’s wonderful to meet you. Love, love, love your dress.”

  “Thank you. I love your name. Welcome to our home. Natalia, did you get the ice cream?”

  Natalia’s stuffing the quarts of ice cream into a jam-packed freezer. She pulls out a white plastic bag. “Bought the last three cartons. Can we get rid of this to make room? What’s in here, anyway?”

  “Wonderful. Yes, take that out. It’s marrow bones for Chunky. We can thaw them in the fridge. Leilani, your name sounds familiar. Are you Remy’s…” Her voice trails off and her lips turn up into a smile.

  “I’m Remy’s whatever, yes.” I let out a laugh, and when Mrs. Hastings winks, my heart surges.

  He’s mentioned me to his mom.

  “He’s been a little cagey about the details, but I can tell he's smitten with you,” she grins.

  I open my mouth, but can’t do anything but smile. He’s smitten? Squee. Oh, crap. I’m smitten too. Right now, it’s dawning on me that I’m thinking of Remy as more than a friend with benefits.

  “Oh, Remy’s smitten, all right,” Nat chimes in.

  “What is it that you do, dear?” Mrs. Hastings asks.

  “I’m a mermaid. Well, and a bar owner. I’m opening a mermaid-themed bar here on the island.”

  She claps her hands together and laughs. “That’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard. I love it.”

  Just then, more female voices waft into the room. I look over to see Isabella and Lauren strolling into the kitchen. Lauren squeals and rushes to my side, hugging me. Isabella’s holding Chunky, and I go to scratch his head. She hoists the dog into my arms, and I snuggle him while Nat pours several glasses of chardonnay.

  “He had a bath today, which is why he smells better than usual,” Isabella says.

  I press my nose to the top of his head. “Apricots?”

  “Yeah, I bought this new oatmeal-apricot dog shampoo. I wash him in the tub myself.” Isabella looks unusually proud of this fact and I don’t quite grasp why. Maybe she’s normally the kind of person who pays someone else to take her dog to the groomer. Of Natalia, Lauren, Kate, and her, she’s the one I know least. I suspect she’s a little shy, because she isn’t boisterous and chatty like the other women.

  Within minutes, we’re all talking and drinking wine. I feel so instantly accepted that I almost forget that I’m the whatever of one of the part-time residents of this house.

  “Where’s Kate?” I take a sip of my wine.

  “She’s in Rome, meeting Damien, who has his leave week from his contracting job,” Lauren says.

  “Oh, right. Awesome. That sounds like an amazing trip,” I say.

  Lauren grins. “I don’t think they’ll be doing a lot of touristy stuff. Max, who is like a Type A travel planner, did a whole itinerary for them. He booked them some swank hotels and tours at Pompeii and private sessions at museums. I told him they’d be better off with one suite and endless champagne from room service.”

  We all laugh, and Mrs. Hastings’ forehead crinkles with worry. “I can’t wait until he comes home. Six more months.”

  She puts her hand to her chest, and for a moment I think she’s going to cry. Nat rubs her back.

  “He’ll be home before Max and Lauren’s wedding in March, Ma. Just stay focused on that.”

  Talk turns to that wedding. Apparently, Max and Lauren are getting married not long after Damien and Kate's first anniversary.

  “The theme is winter beach,” Lauren says to me, stretching out her hand on the counter and tapping with her soft-peach tipped fingernail. “I need your address because I want you to come.”

  “Oh,” I say, surprised. These women really do seem to want to include me in their lives. Chunky squirms when he sees Mrs. Hastings pull something out of a bag, and I notice it’s a dog cookie. I set him down and he scampers toward her. What about his diet? Everyone had seemed so focused on that when we’d last talked. Maybe he gets a pass on Sundays.

 
; “It’s going to be so gorgeous, a sunset wedding,” Isabella pipes up, and she and Mrs. Hastings start talking about the best flowers for a beach wedding. Chunky stands in the middle of us, crunching his cookie bone. When he’s finished, he looks up at Mrs. Hastings with a pleading expression.

  “Only one, Chunk,” she says, wagging her finger.

  The front door slams, and as if a tornado has blown in, a man bursts into the kitchen. He’s older, with close-cropped, silver hair. I notice a heavy tattoo of four rectangles on his muscular bicep and wonder what that’s about. Remy had mentioned something about his dad being in a band in the early eighties, so maybe it’s from then.

  “Hey sweets,” he says, kissing Mrs. Hastings on the temple.

  “Angus, this is Leilani. Natalia found her at the grocery store. Isn’t that wonderful?” Mrs. Hastings says, taking her husband’s arm. I grin at her characterization, as if I were a particularly interesting product for sale.

  “Hey there,” Mr. Hastings says amiably, shaking my hand with the firmest grip I’ve ever felt. “Welcome.”

  “Leilani’s the girl Remy’s been spending time with,” Mrs. Hastings adds.

  A wry smile plays on Mr. Hastings’ lips, and I’m reminded of one of Remy’s cocky facial expressions. “Uh-hunh,” he says, nodding knowingly. “And what do you do?”

  “She’s a mermaid,” Mrs. Hastings interjects in an excited voice.

  Mr. Hastings snorts, then chuckles. “What is it with you ladies? My sons choose some unusual women.”

  “Speak for yourself, Dad. You’re the one who chose a yoga hippie nomad for a wife,” Nat says.

  “True. And I love my yoga hippie nomad.” He plants a kiss on Mrs. Hastings’ temple, and we all let out an awwwww.

  “But, a mermaid? Come on. What’s next? We’ve already got a princess.” He points to Isabella, laughing.

  “I’m no longer royalty and you know it,” Isabella says, laughing.

  “A princess?” I ask.

  “I’ll explain later,” she mutters in my direction.

  “Whatever. Once a princess, always a princess. And this one over here,” he waves his hand in Lauren’s direction, “I still don’t even understand what she does.”

  “Dad, she’s an Instagram influencer,” Nat says, rolling her eyes.

  Mr. Hastings looks at me. “Right. An Instagram influencer. What’s that in plain English? So, how are you a mermaid? How does that work?”

  I tell him about my bar as he gulps down a glass of water.

  “Is that like a strip club? I mean, no judgment, just asking,” he says.

  “Dad,” Nat cries. “No. It’s not a strip club.”

  “Definitely not that,” I say, cracking up while sitting on a stool at the island counter. There’s something about Mr. Hastings that’s both salty and hilarious. Maybe this is where Remy gets his sense of humor.

  As he’s grilling me about the mechanics of the mermaid tank, three big bodies saunter into the kitchen, which means that the once massive-seeming space feels rather crowded now.

  The first guy in looks a lot like Mr. Hastings, blonde, blue-eyed, and tall, with fawn-colored skin. I gather that’s Max, Remy’s oldest brother. He and Nat look a lot alike; their skin is lighter than their brothers’. They look like their dad.

  Then I spot Tate, who I’ve met. He wraps his arms around Isabella and kisses her forehead. A pang shoots through my stomach, because I love it when Remy kisses my forehead.

  And then suddenly, there‘s Remy.

  His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he spots me. I slide off the stool and grin stupidly. All around us, the others chatter at each other, ignoring the two of us.

  He‘s wearing a white T-shirt, which makes his skin look deliciously bronze. It looks like he got a lot of sun while out on the water today.

  His eyes rake slowly down my body. I’m in a blue and white striped romper. The shorts aren’t too short, but the top stretches across my chest, exposing my shoulders. I’m not wearing a bra, and wish I had worn a strapless one. Or a different outfit. Of course, I hadn’t planned any of this when I’d left my house.

  I recall that I wore this romper around Remy once, and he’d pulled the top down to devour my breasts. My face gets hot at the memory, and I grab a magazine on a nearby counter to fan my skin.

  Remy stands in the doorway, not saying a word. Not smiling, not speaking, not moving a muscle to greet me.

  Gah. Did I make a mistake by taking Natalia up on her offer to come to dinner?

  Chapter Sixteen

  REMY

  I should probably move out of this doorway and say hi to Leilani, but I can’t. And not just because Max and Dad are in my path, arguing over who caught the biggest fish today.

  No, it’s because Leilani is standing in my house (okay, my parents’ house), smiling so sweetly and looking so stunning that I don’t know what to do with myself.

  She looks like she belongs here. The way she’s fanning herself with Dad’s Guitar World magazine. How one of her elbows is casually propped on the island kitchen counter. How she takes a sip of her wine like this is her kitchen.

  My brain twists, trying to process it all. Namely, what’s she doing here? And is she trying to get in good with my family?

  And, most of all: Holy shit, I’m glad she’s here because I’ve been thinking about her all day while on the water.

  Ma walks over and squeezes her shoulder. She whispers something in Leilani’s ear. There’s that gorgeous smile. Leilani nods, then her gaze slides back to me.

  My heart pounding, I walk over. Better stuff my hands into the pockets of my shorts, because all I want is to touch her.

  “Hey, you,” I say, grinning.

  She looks at me with those big, blue eyes.

  “Hi,” she says softly. My hands are itching to touch her hair. But I keep them in my pockets.

  “Remy, do you want a beer?” my sister calls out.

  “Uh, sure,” I respond, not taking my eyes off Leilani. I study her face. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “I didn’t mean to surprise you like this. Sorry if it’s awkward.” All around us, my family is talking, laughing, and hopefully ignoring us.

  “Why are you apologizing?” Nat hands me a beer and I take a long pull. I don’t like this sudden tension between me and Leilani. Don’t understand it, either.

  Her shoulders lift. “I ran into Natalia in the grocery store. She asked me to come over. I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to weasel my way into meeting your parents or anything. I know that we have our pact.”

  The corners of my mouth lift into a smirk. “Of course, I wouldn’t think that. I know you’re all about the pact.”

  “I’m pro-pact,” she says, giggling.

  “Long live the pact.” I wink at her.

  She waves her hand dismissively in the air. “I mean, why would I want to meet your parents? Not that I didn’t want to, or have anything against them. But I wasn’t planning to ever meet your parents. It’s not like we’re getting married or anything. Lord.”

  "Right?" I guffaw loudly.

  She takes a huge gulp of wine and I think I catch a glimpse of an eye roll. “I thought I’d come because Natalia was so persuasive. You know how she can be. And because she made your mother’s food sound so appealing. I can’t resist lasagna and…” she flutters her small hand in the air again, “and the other dish your mom’s making. Smells delicious, doesn’t it?”

  I guzzle my beer. Why did my stomach feel so funny when she said that she didn’t care if she ever met Ma and Dad?

  “Yeah, Natalia can be like that. She doesn’t take no for an answer. And my mom’s dinners are pretty damn good, as you’ll see. Makes the best Italian-Puerto Rican fusion food in all of Florida. We’ve been trying to get her to open a restaurant at the resort for years, but she says she wants to cook for family only.”

  “Cool, cool.” Her nodding is a little too enthusiastic. We both swallow our drinks and eye ea
ch other. Usually when we’re together, we’re about to have sex, or have just had sex. Sometimes, we talk about her business, sleep, and eat. Okay, we watch movies, too. Then have more sex. We're good at The Sex.

  This is the first time we’ve been together since the pact began where getting horizontal isn’t a definite part of the equation. Clearly, neither of us knows how to act.

  “Hey, uh, want the grand tour of the house? This is where I grew up,” I stammer.

  “Sure, yes, that would be great,” she says quickly.

  As I’m calculating how long it will be before Ma serves dinner — maybe Leilani and I have time for a quickie in my old bedroom so we can clear this weird tension from the air — Tate, Isabella, and Chunky materialize next to us.

  “Oh, I’m down for this tour. I want to provide my own version of events while you narrate.” A laughing Tate tucks Chunky under his arm. “Let’s show Leilani where you and Damien used to pretend to be WWE wrestlers in the garden first. Or show her that photo album of you at the mermaid park in Weeki Wachee when you were like thirteen. You made us get pictures of you with all the mermaids. See how dreams come true, little bro?”

  Leilani lets out a genuine, sparkling laugh and pinches my side. I groan, loudly. Fucking Tate.

  So much for a quickie.

  * * *

  Over the next couple of hours, I watch as Leilani charms my entire family. While appetizers are passed around, she chats with Dad and Ma. They both love the idea of her mermaid bar. Then again, who doesn’t?

  As Nat serves the lasagna, Leilani sits in between me and Lauren. She ends up talking to her more than me. Apparently, they already have plans for some big social media push for Mermosa. They have an entire calendar laid out, one that Isabella, Nat, and Kate — who isn’t here — have helped with.

  “I’d love to get you in the water, Mrs. Hastings. Wouldn’t you like to slip on a mermaid fin?” Leilani leans forward and peers at Ma.

  “That’s an incredible idea,” Lauren says. “I think I could sell those photos. Maybe to a women’s magazine, or like AARP. To show that women are still sexy and adventurous after fifty.”