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“Yeah! In, like, a beefy black Tom Holland sort of way.”
I’m frowning at the unusual mental picture that draws when she declares, “Aha!” and thrusts a paper into my hand.
Excitement flickers at the prospect of a replacement for AJ. “Devon McCloud,” I read aloud. “Wait, why does that name soundsofamiliar?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him around,” Skye says.
“Devon McCloud.” I skim the résumé. When I see the last line, it clicks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Why? What’s wrong with him?”
“Well, for one, he’s a friend of Cody’s.” Not close, but one, nonetheless. Enough that the name means something. “This guy worked at Neptune’s one summer.” The ice cream shop has served Mermaid Beach for decades. “He got into it with the owner. So he quit and as a parting gift, he flipped the main power breaker off at closing time and opened all the freezer doors. The owner came in the next day to hisentire inventorymelted. On July4 weekend.”
“Ouch.” Skye’s face pinches. “That’s criminal.”
“Can you believe he actually included them as a reference?” He probably figured I wouldn’t go back five summers to check. “See?Thisis what I’m left with. Potheads and ice cream murderers.” I crumple the résumé into a ball and aim for the trash basket in the corner, my hope deflated.
“Have no fear. The next one will be a dream come true. I can feel it in my bones!” Skye hollers after me as I trot down the flight of wooden stairs to the dock. It jiggles beneath my steps as I trudge towardTiki One, already wishing the next four hours over.
Jeremy is backing out of his slip, his group of bikini-clad partygoers chair-bobbing to the music playing over their speaker. Meanwhile,Tiki Threesits idle in its space, losing us money every day it’s not open for reservations.
“Ahoy, Captain Sloane!” Jeremy hollers from his driver’s seat.
I feel his effervescent mood from here. I wave back, but his rapt focus is already on navigating into the steady flow of traffic. Someone once called Mermaid Beach’s harbor waterfront the Watery Wild West, and I can’t argue with them about that. During high season, the channel is teeming from dawn till dusk, with everything from skilled sailors in their yachts to inexperienced boaters renting pontoons. We’ve had more than one bump-and-nudge over the years. The fishing charter next to us, Eddie’s, lost a boat and half their dockwhen a group from Louisiana got confused by their throttle and crashed.
My sandaled feet hit the floor of the tiki boat with a soft thud.
A curly blond mop of hair pops up over the ice trough. “Hey, boss.”
“Hey, Will.” I toss my bag onto the captain’s seat and push aside any lingering resentment. “How we lookin’?”
“Uh, let’s see … You’re gassed up, engine’s purring. You’ve got Solo cups, lots of ice, bottle opener, straws, trash bags …” He rhymes off the inventory list, counting down items on his fingers. “Yup, that’s it. You’re good to go.” He caps it off with a grin, his shirtless torso tan and muscular. But all my guys are in shape—minus Rolland. Lugging equipment in ninety-degree humid heat all summer along will do that to you whether you want it or not.
“Perfect.”
“Even crammed an extra bag in there.” Will slaps the top of the Yeti cooler.
“It’s a hot day, so we’ll probably need it.” I chug a mouthful of water, acutely aware of his bright gaze dancing over my bikini. While I’m used to my staff ogling me when my back is to them, they’re not usually so overt about it. Maybe this scant outfit was a bad choice. Oh well, too late now.
“Need anything else? ’Cause Frank wants me back at the compound to do repairs on the umbrellas.”
A never-ending task. “You’re good to go.”
“’Kay, see ya later, boss.”
“Actually—” I blurt, then falter. “You like working at Sea Witch, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s always a good time. Love the guys. You’re awesome.” He flashes a crooked smile. “Why?”
So innocent, so nonchalant, like he didn’t try to stab me in the back.
“No reason.” Frank is right. I need to stop taking this whole thing so personally and be thankful I still have a team, though threadbare. “Better get out there before Frank calls.”
“Yikes. See you on the other end.” He skitters away, grabbing his cast-off T-shirt on the way.
I test the engine to confirm no issues and then spend a few minutes double-checking supplies and setting up the speaker for music until the sound of approaching steps and laughter draws my focus to the incoming group.
It’s not a bunch of guys after all, but three couples. That’s ideal. They’ll be too busy with each other to bother me. A hulking blond in a white tank top is lugging a case of beer in his arms. Hey, wait—he looks like Ronan’s mediocre friend?—