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He stared at me and didn’t look hurt, just surprised. I wanted to apologize, but I said nothing, and Jason left to fill orders.
Jason had irritated me, true, but I hadn’t wanted to insult him. That wasn’t me. Why had I even come? To the Sky BarorSt. Claire? Maybe I should have put my foot down with Mr. Cohn. He couldn’t have forced me to go. I could have forfeited the trip, not boarded the plane, stayed home for a weeklong staycation.
Now,thatsounded depressing.
I took my sangria glass and walked down a well-lit path to a bench that had an amazing view. The bench was framed by trees covered with the same white lights as along the path. The sunset was even better than I could have imagined. As the sun disappeared, I thought about what Jason had said.
Don’t you have a dream?
I didn’t dare give voice to my dream. It was foolish and fiscally irresponsible. Small businesses started and shut down every day, and the business I wanted? I wouldn’t get three years before losing my life savings. Success would be out of my control. The thought gave me heart palpitations.
I refused to risk everything—my financial security, my future—on a whimsical dream.
The music played and laughter filtered through the warm air, but I felt alone. Maybe I should have asked Adam to come with me this week.
Adam, my most recent ex-boyfriend, wanted to get back together. Amanda and Jane liked him, but... well, I don’t feel much of anything when I think of him. He wasfine. Had a good job, was responsible, practically perfect on paper... except there was no chemistry. No romance. My heart didn’t beat for Adam.
He was comfortable, and I didn’t want comfortable. I hadthat in my work life already. I wanted passion and fun. To look forward to dates, not find excuses to avoid them.
Maybe my expectationsweretoo high. Impossible dreams, just like my dream of owning my own business.
Enoughwoe is me. I faced the most gorgeous view I’d seen, and I would enjoy myself, dammit.
I rolled my shoulders, stretched my jaw, and practiced smiling. Then I took out my phone to film my book review. I would edit in the book cover before I posted it online.
“Hi, it’s Mia. I’m on vacation—my first real vacation in years—on a beautiful Caribbean island! Isn’t it gorgeous?” I panned the camera around, then turned it back to me. “I’m here toraveabout the book I read on the plane...”
I gave a two-minute review, which was the sweet spot—neither too long nor too short. I saved the video to my phone because the resort Wi-Fi didn’t reach the top of the mountain. I’d edit and post it when I got back to my cottage.
Done with that happy chore, I pulled out Diana’s book. I reread the previous chapter because I’d been distracted by the notes. Then I started chapter four, really got into the story because Gabrielle, the heroine, was smart and sassy and everything I wished I could be.
Five pages into the chapter, Diana’s script practically screamed at me.
The old man should mind his own business. Someone needs to shut him up.
A chill ran down my spine. Was she talking about the mentor character in the book who was trying to get Gabrielle back together with her ex? Or someone here, on the island? Was it a threat?
I flipped through a couple pages to see if there was any more about the old man. At the end of the chapter were several cryptic notes.
A little heart withMy #1 won’t be here until Tuesday!followed by a sad face.
Totally broke, he’ll help.Followed by the number 77.
Then:1419 is worth at least $100K. Maybe more.
Under that:Finally! Scored with the big cheese. Hahahaha. 2012, future deal.
2012? That was more than a decade ago. How could it be a future big deal? I was getting a headache trying to figure out Diana’s shorthand.
The last point on the list was interesting. There was no doodle, no numbers, no dollar amount. Only the commentmeet two-face @ 8 Sun.
Who was two-face? Diana left early Sunday on the ferry—was she meeting someone on St. John at eight in the morning? Or was she supposed to be back for a meeting on St. Claire at eight that night?
Before I could think more about this information, the DJ announced that the last shuttle back to the resort was leaving in ten minutes. The sun was gone; only a thin dark red line now edged the ocean. I wanted to get back and find the lagoon since, surprisingly, I wasn’t tired. As I started up the path, I heard three female voices gossiping in hushed tones. The scent of marijuana drifted down.
I stopped, not wanting to interrupt. Eavesdropping had become a really bad habit today.
A server I’d spoken to earlier—a young woman named Leesa—said, “Did you see what Mrs. Craig was wearing? No one over fifty should even attempt such a thing.”