Page 8 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

“The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”

—Mark Twain

I considered the main outdoor bar options from two perspectives: comfort, and the ability to meet single men.

The circular bar in the center of the pool, accessed by a bridge, would make me feel onstage. It was a focal point of the

resort. I noted that Doug, David, and their friends sat under an umbrella table, laughing. Another couple—a fit forty-something

man and a woman ten years younger—sat with an older teenager who looked exceptionally bored. The girl wore jean shorts and

a hoodie and stared at her cell phone, clearly not wanting to be there. When the man turned his profile to me, I recognized

Andrew Locke, the very handsome, slightly-too-old-for-me former baseball player who had a girlfriend.

I shielded my eyes and squinted. His girlfriend was the rude woman from the gift shop. Silky brown hair cut stylishly to fall

perfectly on her shoulders, large designer sunglasses, long tanned legs. She leaned over and kissed Andrew. The teenager got

up and left.

The pool had the benefit of allowing me to show off my cute bikini. But everyone was in couples or groups, and swimming solo would make me feel even more isolated.

The Blue Dahlia connected the main resort building to the beach with the bar dividing indoor and outdoor seating. Dahlias

of every hue—except blue, which didn’t exist in nature—filled colorful vases on the tables, with additional displays of the

flower mixed with wide, green stalks in tall urns in the corners.

I crossed the threshold. The lazy overhead fans moved the flowery scent of the dahlias and jasmine around. Neither too cold

nor too hot, as if the island itself was the perfect temperature.

The honeymooners—I still didn’t know their names—had their faces together in the corner, alternately talking and kissing,

ignoring their rapidly melting drinks. Hadn’t I just seen them making out in the lobby? I didn’t see the Stocktons—I would

have enjoyed getting to know them better. Maybe because Nelson had the same sensibilities as I did about the hang glider,

or maybe because Anja seemed genuinely friendly.

I approached the buffet of snacks and selected plump grapes, cheddar cheese, and a spear of fresh fruit I didn’t recognize

that made my mouth water. Pineapple-glazed meatballs on toothpicks smelled great, so I took a few.

“Ohmigod, this is amazing,” a woman said as she approached the buffet. “I just can’t .” She picked up a plate and put one fruit spear on it. I glanced at my very full plate and bit my lip, but didn’t say anything.

The woman—a little younger than me and pretty in an exaggerated way with dyed blond hair, too much makeup, and boobs that

might have been fake (but I wasn’t going to touch to find out)—spoke rapidly. “I’m Candace Tremaine. My friends call me CeeCee.

My boyfriend and I have been here since Friday, and I swear I’ve already gained five pounds. And I’m going to the gym every

day!”

I spied the bar, but CeeCee blocked my path.

“Did you just come in today?” CeeCee asked. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m Mia.”

“Where’s your boyfriend? Husband? Girlfriend. ” She winked and laughed. “I had a girlfriend once. It was great, you know? Have to try everything once! But I prefer men.”

“Me, too.”

I immediately second-thought my response. Did she think that meant me, too , that I’d once had a girlfriend but preferred men? Or that I just preferred men? Or...

“And,” CeeCee continued, “this is the most amazing resort, isn’t it? Have you been to the Sky Bar yet? Or the waterfall? Ohmigod, it’s incredible! We went there Sunday—you

have to go with a group because the trail is totally dangerous and someone actually died there years ago because they went at night and fell—and the water is, like, totally clear and the staff packs a picnic and

it’s so romantic. Oh, right, you just got here. Maybe the four of us could picnic together!”

It took me a beat to realize she was asking if I wanted to double date. “I’m here alone,” I said.

CeeCee frowned deeply, seemed genuinely sad for me.

Or maybe I was reading my emotions in her expression.

“I’m so sorry. Oh! I know! Do you like yoga?

The morning class is great . Trevor runs a super-huge business empire, so he works half the day.

Maybe we could meet up tomorrow?” She seemed hopeful.

Before I could respond to her invite, she waved at a man who walked into the bar. “Oh! There’s Trevor. Trevor!”

Trevor was twice CeeCee’s age, early fifties. Hair more gray than brown. Dark eyes. A firm jaw and no-nonsense expression.

He didn’t smile, and a chill ran down my spine as he walked up to us. I tried not to instantly judge people, but I didn’t

like this guy.

“Candace, I thought you were at the pool.”

“I was , but I got antsy. This is my new friend, Mia. Mia, this is Trevor.”

CeeCee beamed. Trevor did not.

“Nice to meet you,” he mumbled. “Shall we rest before dinner?” He took CeeCee’s elbow.

“Oh, yes,” she said, then winked at Mia and mouthed, “ Sex .” Then she giggled and wrapped her arm around Trevor’s waist.

I felt like I’d just listened to an audiobook on double-speed. CeeCee was friendly, and I had the impression that what you

saw was what you got. A younger, chattier version of my Grams.

I walked over to the bar and sat on a stool, looking for the bartender. I was more than ready for a drink.

A man rose from where he had been squatting while organizing bottles under the bar. My mouth dropped open, so I put a grape

in it and chewed. This was the man from the lobby, the sexiest man on the island, the demigod. My fantasy. He wore no wedding

ring, nor was there a telltale white band of flesh where one had recently been. Fate or divine intervention, I didn’t care—this

was a sign from the universe to take a risk and enjoy myself.

“What may I get you?” he said, his dimples deepening. He, like most of the staff, wore a white shirt with the St. Claire logo

embroidered on the pocket. “Wine? Something more fruity? A mai tai maybe?”

I stared at the name under the logo.

Jason.

Jason was the name of the insane hang glider. Jason Mallory, our head bartender and part-time entertainment.

Fate, you are a bitch.

“Still thinking?” Jason asked. “May I recommend...”

“Pina colada, please.” My heart was pounding. Just my luck that the cutest single guy on the island was also insane.

“One pina colada coming up,” Jason said.

His experienced hands moved across the bar, grabbing bottles, shakers, mixers.

“I saw your... stunt.” Why had I said that. Why, why, why? I didn’t want a conversation. He was gorgeous but he was reckless.

I weighed the pros and cons. I didn’t know if I could have sex with a crazy daredevil no matter how pretty he was. Though

it would probably be fun. Wild. Adventurous.

I should only care about this moment in time, but I wasn’t wired to live in the moment. I blamed my father and my Grams. They were yin and yang. I was the spot trapped in the middle.

He stopped what he was doing and tilted his head in confusion. “Stunt?”

I waved my right hand vaguely in the direction of the cliffs.

He grinned, and my heart skipped a beat. How many beats could it skip before it became a medical emergency? The blender whirled

at high speed for a few seconds. Then he poured the frothy white beverage into a hollowed-out pineapple with a skewer of fruit

and a bright pink straw. A chunk of coconut, a chunk of pineapple, two strawberries, and three cherries. Practically dinner

on a stick. He placed it on a coaster in front of me.

I took a sip. Heavenly. I smiled and took another sip.

“I’ll take you up anytime you want.”

“Up where?” I was still tasting the pineapple and coconut and rum and feeling decadent and surprisingly happy. I ate one of

the cherries.

“Hang gliding.”

“Hang gliding,” I repeated. I pictured myself jumping off the cliff. In my vision, my body soared straight down into the mouth

of a hungry shark. I shivered.

Jason’s smile widened. Had he noticed my reaction? Read my mind?

“I teach a class a couple mornings a week. A small group... or we could do one-on-one.”

One-on-one... I shook my head to clear the image that popped to mind: Me, Jason, naked.

“I’ll pass.” My voice cracked.

“It’s fun.”

I ate a pineapple wedge, chased it with more pina colada. Yes, Jason Mallory looked like fun. And where would that get me?

Grams had a lot of fun in her twenties and ended up pregnant and didn’t know who my dad’s father was. Fun was... fun . But there were consequences. I felt wholly out of my element. All I knew was that there had to be more than one unattached man on the island. Someone less...

“It’s risky,” I said. “Dangerous. And you’re... you’re...” I twirled my fingers in circles to indicate his acrobatic

loops, but stopped when I realized it was the universal sign for crazy. “The loops were insanely risky. The resort insurance

must be through the roof.”

“Insurance?”

“The captain said you were part of the entertainment, so I assume this is your job.”

Jason laughed, and I immediately repressed my smile. I might not be able to help being attracted to the man—he was gorgeous,

and he had to know it—but I didn’t have to succumb to his charms. I wanted risk-free sex. A man like Jason Mallory was not risk-free. If he behaved wild in life, what would he do in bed?

My insides nearly exploded at the thought. So I stared at my drink, sipped, let out a low moan of pleasure. I kept drinking,

trying to forget that he was watching me.

“I’m just the bartender,” Jason said lightly. “I hang glide for fun. Water ski. Windsurfing—that’s probably my favorite. We

even have a helicopter. There’s nothing better than seeing the island from a thousand feet up. Well, maybe something .” His tone was light and all too sexy.

I choked on a cherry. Coughed, drank more pina colada.