All I Do: Paradise Beach #3 Read online

  * * *

  Remy pulls up to my house in his SUV and puts it in park — but doesn’t kill the engine.

  He turns to me with a grin and I hesitate. We’ve had such a perfect day together. Should I invite him in?

  “I hope I was helpful today.” I notice his hands are still on the steering wheel.

  “You were so helpful. Incredibly so. I really appreciate it.”

  “Good. I’m glad. We’ll talk in a few days, but don’t hesitate to call me if you need to, okay?”

  I nod, because I get the distinct impression that he’s got somewhere to be. My hand goes to the door. “I will. Thanks again. I’d invite you in, but you’ve probably had enough of me.”

  His gaze drops to my mouth. “I’d love to, but I promised Ma I’d go to her house tonight.” His tone is hoarse and growly, as if he’s trying to restrain himself. He reaches and touches my cheek with the back of his index finger. “Raincheck.”

  “Anytime,” I murmur, climbing out of the SUV with the hugest grin on my face. I give him a tiny finger wave as I make my way to the door, feeling a little self-conscious because my dress is wet from my bathing suit. We’d spent the last hour in the beautiful pool at his family’s resort.

  I can’t help but notice that he waits until I’ve unlocked the door and am safely inside.

  I let out a sigh. “Such a gentleman,” I say out loud.

  My phone chirps, and I reach in my bag while slipping off my flip-flops. This time, it is Mom.

  “Hey! I was going to call you tonight.” I put the phone on speaker and pad into my room, stripping off my damp dress and bikini. Resting the phone at the end of the bed, I reach for my fuzzy, white robe.

  “You sound happy,” she says.

  “I am, actually. The bar’s coming along well, and I’ve made a friend,” I practically holler.

  “Oh? Tell me. A male friend?”

  I glance at my hair in the mirror, pulling it back in a ponytail. “In fact, yes. We’re working together on a Chamber of Commerce project. He’s my age, single, and…”

  Dreamy?

  Sinfully handsome?

  Hilarious?

  I step closer to the phone. “He’s quite nice,” I say primly.

  Mom chuckles. “Quite nice, eh? I think I’ve heard that one before. Oh, Leilani. You’re just like me. You can’t resist a good-looking man.”

  I flop onto the mattress. “We’re just friends, Mom.”

  “Of course you are,” she says in a singsong, the one that’s both cynical and maddening. But, since I’ve just had an amazing day, I choose to ignore it.

  “How are you? You coming to visit soon? I haven’t talked with you in a week. You haven’t returned my calls.”

  She sighs. “Well, dear, that’s the thing. I’m afraid I won’t be able to come visit right away.”

  “Why not?” I frown and pick at a loose thread on the robe’s belt.

  “I’ve left Frank.”

  I sit up straighter. Thank God. Finally. “Oh, Mom! That’s great news. I mean, I’m sorry. But you know that I never warmed to Frank.”

  “I know, dear. But I haven’t told you the other piece.”

  My stomach sinks, because I know this probably won’t be good news. “What’s the other piece?”

  “Well, I’ve fallen for someone, and I’m moving in with him.”

  “Mom,” I yelp.

  “I met him at work. He’s an administrator. We’ve known each other for years and his divorce finally went through.”

  I grimace. “Oh, Mom, no. Why can’t you be on your own? You have the money.”

  “Leilani, you know how it is.”

  “No. I don’t know how it is. I left Brent and have been on my own for—”

  “For four months. And look at you, you’ve already made a friend.”

  I open my mouth to protest, to tell her that no, my situation is nothing like hers. But the words don’t come out.

  “Mom, I don’t know what to say. It seems a little sudden.”

  “You’ll get to meet him sooner or later.”

  “Hopefully later,” I grumble, the nagging feeling inside of me growing. I dislike the idea of Mom being with a new man, and downright hate the idea that she’s making any parallels between her new relationship and what I have with Remy.

  Chapter Eleven

  LEILANI

  Two weeks after my first meeting over pizza with Remy, I’m in the bar with a new set of tables and chairs I’d ordered. They’re plain wood.

  I’m moving them around, trying to decide if I like them and should order more, or if I should send them back and get something more 1950s retro. I’ve been reading a lot of books on branding, and I’ve come to think of Mermosa as having a retro aesthetic. Kind of like a campy sailor tattoo.

  Remy keeps threatening to get one of those, by the way. He says he’ll only get one if I do, and I’ll be damned if I’m not tempted. We probably would have by now, had there been a tattoo shop on the island.

  I’m in a good mood, bopping around to my Velvet Underground playlist that’s coming from the wi-fi speaker.

  Remy’s supposed to meet me here to help me decide on the furniture, but not for another hour. He’s been such a sweetheart these past couple of weeks, patiently answering all of my questions about the island, introducing me to contractors, and helping me move things around. He even gave his opinion on what color I should paint the walls. (Aqua, a color that made me cringe).

  I don’t get the impression that he’s some incredible businessman who’s going to take the stock market by storm anytime soon, but that’s okay. I chatter away about my business and he listens, offering his opinions, though he doesn’t get defensive if I don’t choose his preference. (I chose to paint the bar white).

  We’re in the friend zone together. And he’s my only friend here on Paradise Beach so far, if you don’t count the realtor who leased the bar to me and has brought over muffins on two occasions.

  Somehow, Remy and I have been able to keep our attraction at bay. Just barely, though. There are times when we look at each other and I’m convinced we’re going to kiss, when every inch of my body feels tingly and needy, desperate for his touch.

  When that happens, I make a joke. Or grab a cold drink. Or step several feet away. Because I’m reminded of my mother and how I don’t want to be like her, falling for every man that comes along.

  But I can’t stop the tension from crackling when Remy and I are together, and it’s drives me a little crazy. It happened two days ago, when we were going over the liquor license forms. We were here at the bar. Our shoulders brushed against one another’s. He looked over, I looked over, and for a solid minute, we stared at each other. A minute’s a long time to look into someone’s eyes. It’s like an eternity.

  I felt him leaning in, as if seeking a kiss, and I jumped away like a cat touching an unexpected slug with its paw. I don’t want to risk this friendship, especially not for a fleeting sexual fling. And not with someone like Remy, who clearly never wants to settle down.

  While he’s classy enough not to talk about his past conquests, I hear how he talks about his brothers settling down. It’s obvious that he doesn’t envision a life for himself like that. And honestly, I’m glad. A friend is okay. A man who wants me to cook, clean, and be a wifey? Naah. Not for me.

  So Remy and I are friends. With no (sexual) benefits. Although, I’ve wondered if we could work something out in that department, because sometimes I ache with need for him. Could we somehow make a pact that our friendship wouldn’t change even if we were to scratch each other’s itches?

  Because I’m horny. There. I admit it.

  But men get weird about stuff like that. Like when I’d first met Brent, I’d hoped to keep it casual. But he’d wanted so much, so fast, and I was swept up in the excitement of it all. So, with Remy, I’m keeping my mouth shut.

  As I’m dabbing at my forehead with a napkin and wondering if the air conditioner should be serviced, the
door swings open, allowing the bright, afternoon sun to leak inside the dark bar. It’s jarring, because I usually keep the lights low in the afternoon, partially to save energy, and also because it makes the space feel cooler.

  I look up, expecting to see Remy.

  Instead, it’s a woman. She has long, blonde hair, almost platinum, except for a fuchsia streak in front. She steps inside, and I’m surprised when she’s followed by three other women.

  And a dog. The pudgy one that had been on the boat the day I met Remy, I think. It’s hard to tell, because he’s not in a life vest.

  “Hi,” I offer cautiously.

  The blonde comes over to me, setting a messenger bag on the bar. “We haven’t met, but I’ve heard all about you. I’m Natalia Hastings, Remy’s sister.”

  “Oh!” I ball up the napkin and leave it on the table. “He’s told me all about you. You’re the one who creates the beautiful jewelry. Look!”

  I hold out my wrist, showing her the silver bangle with a delicate starfish. “Remy gave this to me. Said you made it. I told him to tell you that I love it. It was such a thoughtful gift. He totally didn’t have to.”

  Natalia exchanges a smirk with one of the women. “No, he didn’t, and Remy usually doesn’t give things like that to women. Which is why I wanted to meet you. And I wanted to bring the welcome wagon. Figured you’d want to get to know someone here other than my weirdo brother.”

  I giggle. She looks nothing like Remy, but her laid-back, brash attitude is very similar.

  She gestures to a woman wearing jeans, flip-flops, and a black T-shirt that says Lime and Salt in cursive. “This is Kate. She runs the tiki hut, near North Beach.”

  “Sorry. Hang on, let me turn Lou Reed down,” I say, going for my phone and tapping. I go over to Kate and shake her hand. “Lime and Salt, that’s your bar?”

  She nods. “The one and only. Come by anytime.”

  “And you’re married to Remy’s twin, right? And you were at the Chamber meeting?”

  “Sure am and sure was.”

  Natalia stands between the other two women. She rests her hand on the shoulder of a woman wearing an expensive-looking romper and gold wedges. Totally glamorous.

  “This is Lauren. She’s engaged to my brother Max. And this,” she waves her hand in the direction of a woman with pin-straight hair and a pink polo, “is Isabella. She’s with my brother Tate and works at the turtle sanctuary. So, you four can all talk about my brothers. Save the gushy stuff for when I’m not present, though.”

  We all grin, and I shake Lauren and Isabella’s hands.

  “You were on the boat.” I gesture toward Isabella, who is holding a small paper bag with twine handles, emblazoned with the logo of Perkatory, the coffee shop.

  “Yes! You are such a great swimmer. I loved watching you and can’t wait to see what you turn this into.” Her eyes go around the bar. There’s something unusual about Isabella, like she’s from another country. She has a formal way of speaking that I can’t quite grasp. Maybe she’s from a remote part of England?

  “And this little one was with you.” I bend down and hold out my hand in the direction of the dog.

  “That’s Chunky,” Isabella says. “He’s Tate’s dog. Well, our dog, but the whole family shares him.”

  The dog waddles over and I pet his velvety head. I look up at the women. “I think I’m in love.”

  Natalia rolls her eyes. “Watch out, or my mom’s going to add you to the dog-sitting list. He now has his own Google calendar.”

  I stand and cock my head. “Why?”

  Natalia shrugs. “He apparently can‘t be left alone. It’s one of those mysteries of Paradise Beach. Like Jack’s Grocery.”

  “Huh?” I ask. “What about it? That’s where I’ve been shopping.”

  “No one knows why it’s called Jack’s Grocery. No one named Jack has ever owned it,” Kate chimes in.

  I nod, not quite getting it.

  “My mother thinks that Chunky should never be on his own. We don’t really know why, and can’t get a good explanation out of her. So, we all pass him around. I assume that this will all change when one of these women bears a Hastings grandbaby.” Natalia shoots Lauren a pointed look.

  “Don’t look at me,” she yelps.

  I press my hands to my chest. “I’m so rude. Do y’all want something to drink? I have some sodas and beer in the cooler.”

  Lauren nods thoughtfully. “It is Saturday at three.”

  “Which means it’s five o’clock somewhere,” Natalia responds.

  “It’s always five o’clock on Paradise Beach, so beers it is,” says Kate.

  I practically skip to the cooler, where I have a six-pack of Remy’s favorite beer. I’d hoped to surprise him when he came over today, but cracking one open with these women seems like an excellent idea.

  When I come back out, they’ve settled around the lone, oval table. I begin popping tops, handing out the beers.

  “Thanks for coming over like this. That’s really friendly. I’ve been working non-stop to get this place going, so I haven’t had time to meet many people yet.”

  “To mermaids,” Lauren says, holding up her beer.

  “To a woman who tears my brother’s interest away from tarpon fishing,” Nat retorts.

  We all clink glasses and drink. “I dunno about that. Anyway, we’re just friends.”

  The raised eyebrows and small smiles tell me that these women think otherwise. Which makes me giggle. I miss having girlfriends, since I’d had so many at the park. But because I didn’t want Brent to know where I was going, I’d told only one friend where I was headed, and she’d promised to keep my new location a secret.

  For the next half hour, we talk about the bar and what I’m going to do with it. Turns out that Lauren has a huge social media presence and is teaching local businesses how to leverage Instagram. Mermosa is tailor-made for social media, she tells me.

  “Let’s do a video where you teach me how to swim as a mermaid,” she squeals.

  “I love that! Yes.”

  “I just created a whole social media calendar for another business here. Have you heard of Salty Sadie’s Pirate Cruise?”

  I nod. “I’ve seen the brochures around town.”

  Lauren talks excitedly about what she did for Sadie Garcia, and I notice that Isabella’s taken out what looks like a T-shirt.

  “We could do the photo shoot here,” she says to Kate. “The white walls would be a great backdrop.”

  Everyone turns toward Isabella. “What are you taking photos of?” I ask.

  She holds up the small shirt, which is printed to look like a tuxedo. “We were going to put Chunky in this shirt and take photos. It’s Mrs. Hastings’ birthday and we thought we could put him on the party invite.”

  I burst out laughing. “Does he like dog clothing?”

  “Chunky likes whatever people like. He’s quite an amenable little man,” Isabella answers.

  “You know, I recently saw another funny dog costume on Facebook.” I point to the coffee shop bag.

  “Tell us,” Natalia says.

  “Hang on. I think I have the other props.” I get up and walk behind the bar. It doesn’t take me long to grab scissors, tape, a long rubber band, a hole punch, and a clean, white, plastic, coffee lid.

  I set them on the table in front of the four women. “I’m kind of into stationary, so I have a lot of craft tools,” I say.

  They nod. “We are your people,” replies Lauren. “I’ve become a planner addict.”

  “Can I have the café bag?” I ask.

  Isabella hands it to me. Over the next fifteen minutes, I explain the dog costume that I saw online, and by the time we’re putting it on Chunky, we’re laughing uncontrollably.

  The door swings open, and we all look up.

  “Well, well. Look who it is. My little brother.” Natalia’s settling the coffee cup on Chunky’s head, like a hat.

  “Jesus, what’s happening here?” Rem
y grins and walks to the table. I open the final beer and hand it to him.

  “Thanks. Oh, no. No. What are you doing to that poor dog?” He looks down at the pug.

  I giggle. “He’s a…” I can’t talk because I’m laughing so hard. Remy puts his hand on the small of my back.

  “He’s a Pug-kin…” Kate rests her head on the table in hysterics.

  Lauren sets the dog on his feet. She’s wrapped the paper bag around his midsection so that the coffee cup logo is on his back. The lid is perched on his head. He looks up with his adorable, bulging eyes.

  “A Pug-kin spice latte,” she says through her cackles.

  Remy groans and laughs, turning to face me. Something about the scene, how relaxed it is, how close he’s standing, makes me giddy. I lean into him, pressing my face into his chest. Prickles of awareness flow through my body. Gah.

  He laughs against my hair, and then kisses my forehead. Ohh, hell. Forehead kisses make me melt. There's something both sweet and sexy about them. And the fact that he did it in front of his family…yikes.

  My resolve not to end up in bed with him is crumbling by the second. He slips his arm around me, and I begin to bargain with myself as he laughs and talks with his sister and the others. I listen, a grin on my face.

  What if we have sex and we remain friends? What if we decide beforehand that this isn’t a relationship? Then it won’t be a serial monogamy situation — it’ll be friends with benefits — and I’ll separate the sex from love…

  Chapter Twelve

  REMY

  “Remy, look at the Gulf. My goodness, it’s beautiful right now. It’s so blue.”

  We’re in my truck and I’m bringing Leilani home following an afternoon of working on the interior of her bar. When I’d arrived, my sister and my brothers’ girlfriends had all been there, and somehow, they’d invited Leilani into their posse.

  Which, like everything else involving her, was adorable. I’m glad Nat took my advice to visit her, and I’m doubly pleased that she brought Lauren, Kate, and Isabella. As much as I enjoy being with Leilani, I know she’s yearning for girlfriends. She’s talked about how much she misses her friends at the mermaid park.