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“Good thing I’ve added vetoing my dates to your job description then, huh?” I say half jokingly as I refresh my computer screen. I no longer trust my gut where men are concerned.
Another cruise booking appears. “It’s like everyone woke up from hibernation all at once. At least we’re getting bookings, even if we don’t have staff.”
“Hibernation sounds good.” Frank checks his watch. He’s been here since 5:00 a.m. “Other side’s locked up for the day. If you don’t need me, I’m gonna head home and grab a few hours of sleep.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later. Hey, can you stop by Dollar General and grab me some more poster board?”
“No, Sloane.” He shakes his head fervently. “This isn’t healthy—” His scolding words are cut off at the ding of the doorbell, as two brawny male customers step inside.
“The bros are back in town,” Frank murmurs under his breath, earning my elbow. If there’s a type that annoys him, it’s the loud, obnoxious twenty-somethings whose mamas have told them they’re God’s gift to the world enough times that they wholeheartedly believe it. Their type flocks here for guys’ weekends like perverts to a wet T-shirt contest.
I can’t tell if these two fit that mold. They’re certainlyfit. The blond has to be a gym rat, given the size of his chest and arms. The tattooed one is also built, but not nearly as bulky. He certainly doesn’t scream frat boy or easygoing, his angular face stony, his eyes hidden behind aviators.
I splash on my customer-friendly smile, despite my sour mood. “Can I help you two with something?”
“Yeah, this whiny little bitch needs a coffee before he’ll let me eat.” The blond jerks his thumb at his friend, showing off perfect teeth with his grin. I’ll bet that gets a lot of women giggling like fools.
The dark-haired guy’s hard expression doesn’t so much as crack, as if he’s used to his buddy’s digs. Or he’s just had a really long day.
“Coffee shop is on the other side, and it’s closed.” Frank folds his brawny arms.
“See?” Blondie smacks the other’s chest. “What’d I tell you. It’s officially beer o’clock.” He looks around. “You don’t serve beer here,do you?”
“Nope,” Frank says with forced patience.
The blond scans the white shiplap-clad space, waving a hand at the beach chair and umbrella set up in the corner. “What’s all this about, then?”
I’ll bet this one’s a lot to handle. But I may as well promote us while they’re here. Surely they have thick wallets. “We rent them out to tourists. We also rent paddleboards, and we now have Jet Skis available.Andwe do tiki bar cruises, if you and your friends want a tour around the area with a drink in your hand.”
“Hence theBrews and Cruiseson the sign,” he muses.
“Exactly. We still have slots available for this weekend. It’s a great way to spend an afternoon.”
Frank taps the wall next to him, plastered with bikini-clad groups toasting drinks and splashing water for the camera.
The blond edges over to investigate the customer photos with interest. “Where’s this at?”
“Starfish Island. It’s about a ten-minute ride out, past the …”
While Frank describes the idyllic spot where tourists linger for hours during high season, the other guy meanders to my desk with a lazy stride. “Connor can be loud and annoying, but underneath it all, he’s a mediocre friend and an exhausting roommate,” he says by way of greeting, his voice deep and raspy.
I chuckle at his dry humor. “You’re lucky to have him.”
“That’s what he keeps telling me.” The guy’s attention lands on the framed photo hanging on the wall next to me. “‘Gigi, the original sea witch,’” he reads out loud. “Who was she?”
“Sheismy grandmother. That picture was taken in front of the shop the first day it opened, almost forty years ago.” I smile at Gigi back then—her blond hair tied back in braids, a traditional lei hanging around her neck.
He slides off his aviators. “Disney or Greek?”
“Huh?” I manage, caught off guard by both his question and his piercing green eyes.
He smirks. “Which version of sea witch?”
“Oh … I don’t know. It was what my grandfather called her.” I stumble over my answer. Since when are bros interested in plaques and family history? “He was Hawaiian, and he believed in mermaids.”
His gaze drifts over my face, as if searching for hints of island ancestry in my ashy blond hair and olive skin. “And sea witches, apparently.”
“Apparently.”