Page 38

Breakfast.
I was late to breakfast with cigar-smoking Luis. I felt awful. Not just because I detested being late for anything, but because he was expecting me and probably thought I’d bailed on him.
I jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth, quickly pulled my hair into a messy bun, and slipped on shorts and a tank top before half running to the Blue Dahlia for crepes.
Before looking for Luis, I glanced to the bar, hoping to see Jason.
He wasn’t there. A pretty woman in her early twenties with caramel skin and sun-bleached hair was busy prepping the bar. Doug was drinking a Bloody Mary at the bar with one of his friends, their spouses nowhere in sight.
Of course Jason wasn’t working; he’d worked last night. He had to sleep sometime.
I spotted Luis at a table drinking coffee from an oversized mug and staring out at the ocean. I sat down across from him. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I said.
He turned to smile at me. “I heard you had a busy night.” He flipped a second mug over and poured me coffee from the carafe on the table. The smell made my taste buds leap with joy.
Did everyone know about what happened? Did they know I had walked back to the resort in my pink underwear? I supposed my state of undress was a minor point of gossip considering the dead body on the beach.
“It was eventful,” I murmured.
“Go get your breakfast before the chef closes up. He’s stubborn, won’t stay open a minute past nine. I’m ready for a mimosa. What would you like? I recommend the pineapple or guava. Both mmm.” He closed his eyes and kissed his fingers.
“Pineapple, thank you.”
The chef was indeed grumpy. I couldn’t make up my mind, so asked for one of each crepe. Strawberry, mango, chocolate, blueberry, and a ham and cheese. He looked at me as if wasting food was the greatest sin, so I said defensively, “I’m starving, and they smell so good.”
Both statements were true, and I gave him my best smile.
He didn’t smile back. He prepared the five crepes with quick, sure hands, sprinkling powdered sugar and fresh whipped cream on the chocolate, pureed fruit over the fruit crepes, and a sprinkling of cheese and onion over the ham and cheese.
I thanked him profusely, then went back to the beachside table where Luis had returned with the mimosas.
Luis smiled and held up his flute. “To new friends,” he toasted.
I clinked his glass, sipped, then dug into the crepes.
“Oh. My. God,” I said through a mouth full of blueberry crepe.
I spent the next five minutes in silence. I really was famished, and Luis didn’t seem to mind that I was stuffing my face.
I followed Luis’s gaze to the beach. The ocean was mesmerizing. The water rolling in and out, clear near the shoreline, bluer and more vibrant farther out.
Nelson and Anja Stockton were walking hand in hand, just out of reach of the water. They each wore hats to protect from the sun, and Anja rocked a long animal-print skirt and loose blouse. Her jewelry sparkled in the morning sun. Diamonds at dawn, I thought with a half smile. Wholly impractical and flashy, but for some reason, Anja was able to pull it off.
Far down the beach, two families with kids played, the occasional squeal of happiness reaching my ears. Near where I sat yesterday, a yoga class was wrapping up, six women facing a super-fit male instructor all in white. Hmm... Ireallyneeded to make time for yoga on the beach.
“Okay,” I said after I had eaten most of the fruit crepes, “I need to slow down. You’re right, these are amazing. Would he give me the recipe?” I was a decent cook. I just didn’t have anyone to cook for. A brunch might be fun. Invite Jane and Amanda to my place, tell them all about my trip—the lagoon and finding the dead body would definitely be the highlight—and make these crepes.
“No,” Luis said with a chuckle. “He’s prickly. But I will get it for you.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
He laughed at my comment, which seemed odd, but Luis wasn’t the usual guest here. I wondered if he was the father of one of the employees, remembering what Henry said about employee housing on the south side of the dock.
I heard rather than saw CeeCee walk in and squeal as thecrepe stand was being carted away. “Oh, Trevor! We missed the crepes!”
I glanced over as CeeCee rushed the angry chef. “Are you sure you couldn’t just make a couple of your yummy crepes forme?” She batted her eyes and smiled hopefully.
The chef started yelling in a language that sounded like French. He pushed his cart out of the Blue Dahlia while continuing to rant.