Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Minutes later, Mick, Ron, and Will show up, and another round of greetings ensues.
I force a smile and pretend I’m none the wiser to their recent plans for a mass exodus. From what Rebel and Skye heard, they received rejection emails from Wolf Hotels the same afternoon Ronan submitted his approvals—and disapprovals.
They showed up ready to work the next day and, according to Frank, no one seems sour or disgruntled, so maybe it really was a matter of chasing the shiny new thing. Still, that prick of guilt lingers every time I see anyone I sabotaged. It’s quickly followed by the sting of betrayal.
Amanda never showed up for her Monday shift, making up a story about needing to leave the state to take care of an ill relative. AJ called me on Sunday afternoon to tell me he was taking a job at Wolf and he wouldn’t be able to give me two weeks. He thanked me for employing him. There wasn’t much else to say.
Jeremy hasn’t said a word, but I know through Rebel that he’ll be working Friday and Saturday nights at the Wolf beach bar—a ritzy courtyard overlooking the water that serves a menu of martinis and other complex cocktails at twenty-five bucks a piece. Apparently, he’s been studying the manual front and back all week. He’ll do well there, and I’m happy for him.
Frank wedges his giant body into the chair beside me. “You stopped trying to murder them with your eyes yet?” he murmurs, quiet enough for only me to hear.
“Trying.” It’s especially hard to fake nice with Ron. He’s staying in Surf’s Up for the summer. I run into him every morning while feeding the birds.
“Try harder. You gotta let it go.”
I know. “Skye made Gigi’s chili recipe. Crock-Pot’s on the counter inside.” There’s always something on the stove around here in the summer, with enough to feed a dozen mouths.
“I’ll grab a bowl in a bit.” He rotates his wrist.
“How’s it going over at the compound?”
“Fixed the outdoor shower and a rotten board on the steps. Gonna get Rolland to throw another coat of paint on the trailer. Freshen it up.”
“Good idea.” Gigi inherited that property two decades ago from a lonely army vet named Bobby who had a soft spot for her. He was highly paranoid and had the place fully fenced and wired against trespassers, making it secure for our needs. Hence, the nickname compound. It’s only a block away from the beach.
Bobby’s trailer was a plain gray single-wide that Gigi insisted on jazzing up with robin egg-blue walls and yellow trim. It serves as an office and resting spot for the staff during the long, hot summer days.
“How you doin’ with the tiki boats?” he asks.
“Fine. Tired.” I’ve had to play captain every day this week, taking groups out to Starfish Island where I drop anchor with countless other boats and babysit for four hours while they swim and drink and laugh. I used to love it. Now, I find it exhausting, always needing to be “on” for vacationers, striking conversations, regaling them with fun facts.
And that’s all on top of everything else I have on my plate.
“Your banana boat is booking up.”
“Told you it’d be a hit.” Frank turns his trunk of a neck this way and that to stretch what I’m sure are aching bones. True to his promise, all the Sea-Doos and rental equipment are moved, repaired, cleaned, and ready to be hauled back and forth to the beach daily. Just in time, too, because the first big influx of tourists starts next week, and it only gets busier from there.
So far, it seems the Sea Witch has avoided a crisis. But we’re not out of the woods yet. “I hired a new girl to replace Amanda. She starts tomorrow. Her name’s Lara.”
“Hope she’s better than the last one.” He chugs his water. “Anyone else come in?”
“A woman named Sage for the tiki captain job.”
“And?” Frank’s bushy eyebrow arches. “What’s wrong with her?”
He can read me so well. “She was high as a kite so … I’m thinking no.”
He chuckles. “How’s next week’s schedule?”
“Two sails every day. Losing money every day we don’t have the third float out there.” I’ve had to block the calendar so we don’t book more than we can handle.
“I hear Cody’s available.”
I snort and beer shoots out my nose. It’s a moment of hacking before I can clear it out of my system and then I’m laughing. “Okay, I needed that.”
“Why? Is there something else buggin’ you?”
I know what he’s really asking about. He hasn’t brought up that day he caught Ronan at the house, and I haven’t mentioned it.
“Nope. All good,” I lie.
Frank clinks his water bottle against my beer. In sixteen years, I’ve never seen him touch a drop of alcohol. “One day at a time, Parker.”