Page 46 of Save Me (The Wolf Hotel Mermaid Beach #2)

T he hefty green wing chair is against the window facing out, and all I can see is an elbow and a ball of yellow yarn on the floor beside her.

Hey, Gigi,” I call out as we step into her room.

“Sloane? I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“I know, but I got off work early.”

A wrinkled hand reaches out to collect a wad of bills from the table beside her. She waves it in the air. “I won a hundred and fifty bucks off those feckless twats, Larry and Hank. I let them think they’re sharks, but I’m the real shark.”

Behind me, Ronan chuckles.

“Is that Frank?”

“No, it’s Ronan.”

A pause and then, “Well, don’t just stand there. Help an old girl out. They pushed me in here too close, and now I’m trapped!”

Ronan swiftly rounds me. “Hold on tight.” Seizing the top corners of the headrest, he tips the chair back just enough to swivel it around on its hind legs, earning a whooping sound from Gigi.

“There, that’s better.” She abandons her knitting project and smooths her hands over her pale blue slacks.

Someone’s pleated her hair today and secured a small yellow butterfly clip above her left ear.

“Now, where were we? Let’s get a good look at you, young man.

” Her blue eyes lift to appraise Ronan’s face.

“Huh. You are as handsome as in the pictures Sloane showed me.”

“She showed you pictures of me?” Amusement laces his voice.

“Yes, from the Henry Wolf file.”

Ronan’s eyebrows pop as he regards me. “She has a Henry Wolf file ?”

“ Had . Hush, Gigi.” I dangle the small paper bag of scones in the air before setting it on the small table beside her.

“I think my granddaughter is trying to buy my silence.” Her bony fingers peel open the folded top enough to lean forward and inhale the fresh-baked scent. “It’s working.”

I laugh. “Okay, officially, Gigi, this is Ronan. Ronan, this is Gigi.”

“The Original Sea Witch,” Ronan says, and a wave of déjà vu hits me then, bringing me back to the day he walked into the rental shop.

“Now, just an old witch.” A mischievous spark ignites. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Not as much as I’ve heard about you,” he counters.

“Well, pull up a chair, and let’s compare notes, then.” She gestures toward a nearby stool. “Hope you brought a scone of your own because I don’t share. Not unless Nurse Ratched shows up, and then this is all yours.”

I can barely contain my excitement as I reach forward and collect his hand. “He will, but first, Gigi, there’s something we want to tell you.”

October

“Frank, can you bring the ladder around back when you have a sec?” I holler, knowing he can hear me from his trailer’s stoop where he sits, scattering corn for the hens before work.

“For what?”

“Just bring it, please?” The shed is behind Rainbow Alley, and the ladder is long and awkward.

Heavy footfalls sound as he trudges around to find me standing at the foot of the porch.

“Where’s the ladder?”

“Where it belongs until I know why a pregnant woman needs a ladder to do yoga,” he throws back, nodding to the mat stretched out on the sandy ground.

I point up. “Because that siding looks loose.” The hurricane that came through west of Mermaid Beach last week brought plenty of rain and wind with it. The guys have been cleaning up downed branches around the property for days.

He follows my aim. “Okay, so then I’ll go up and take a look at it when I’m back later. Or get Ronan’s ass up. Does he know what you’re doing out here?”

“He went for a jog.” I add in a sullen tone, “And I don’t have to run everything by him. Or you.”

“ Stay off the ladder.”

“ Fine .”

His brown eyes drag over the turquoise walls of the house, the rich color noticeably faded. “You should start thinking about when you want us to paint. I know we usually do it in the spring, but next one’s going to be hectic.”

“I know.” I smooth my hand over my growing belly.

I’m due in February, and it’ll be all I can manage to keep up with preparing for high season with a newborn.

Nothing will get done around here. “I was thinking maybe next month? Storm season will be over, and it’s always quiet then.

” It’s already quiet now. Skye and Rebel left for their last year of college in August, and Lara stepped up in a big way to allow me a break.

So big that I’m trying to find a way to keep her on even part-time.

The beach chair crew has mostly packed up and left, leaving Rolland to manage the few chair rentals until Frank and Ronan haul everything into storage.

Even Ron is gone. The inflatable banana boat was a hit and paid for itself many times over, but the kids are back at school.

Plus, Bailey has her USCG Captain’s license so she can cover the odd last-minute weekend booking.

I officially let Jeremy go to his full-time bartending position at Wolf last week, but he’s already talking about how he can swing both jobs next summer. We’ll see if he feels the same way when the time comes .

Bailey’s turned into a fan favorite, her five-star reviews nearly canceling out the bad ones Frank’s earned us.

Her seasonal contract with us is coming to an end too, but she’s asked if she could stay in the trailer off-season, and I’ve agreed.

I love having her around, and I’ll need every extra pair of hands in the coming months.

Ragged breathing draws our attention to the beach, where Ronan saunters up, bare-chested and skin glistening, his hat on backward as he chugs the last of his water bottle.

My body responds instantly, craving his touch, even though I had it not an hour ago.

“Hey,” he says through pants, his eyes drifting over my little black yoga shorts and matching crop top. “What are you two doing?”

“She asked me to bring the ladder over so she can look at loose siding,” Frank announces.

“Tattletale!” I accuse.

“ What ?” Ronan groans with frustration. “Come on. I thought we agreed, no ladders for now.”

“I was just going to?—”

Bailey’s howl of laughter cuts in to my poor excuse. “Play with the bull and you get its horns!”

“Just wait until you lose a bet, Bails,” Connor warns, always one to hand out a nickname.

“That’s Admiral to you.”

The sound of gravel crunching is the only warning we get before Connor trudges past in nothing but a paisley floral swim thong and his running shoes, muttering to us, “No big deal.”

My jaw drops .

“Tongue back in your mouth, Sea Witch,” Ronan scolds.

“I wasn’t!” But there is very little left to the imagination, as his bare ass cheeks lift with each step, covered only by the fluorescent orange T at the top.

Bailey jogs past in her running gear, her phone aimed to record the entire sordid event. “Rebel and Skye are gonna love this.” They became fast friends the day Bailey started. They talk nearly every day.

“Tell ‘em to eat their hearts out.”

“Yeah? I’m sending it to Britt, too. What should I tell her?”

Connor groans. This buffoon has never shown a shred of embarrassment, but he might actually be close this time.

Meanwhile, Ronan’s jaw clenches, as it does every time there’s any conversation that involves his little sister and his best friend.

“Where are you going?” I’m unable to keep my laughter at bay. These two have struck up a strange friendship.

“To grab a coffee at the Sea Witch,” Bailey says.

“He’s not coming in the shop like that!” Frank bursts.

“That’s okay, he can wait outside and greet your customers!” Bailey grins as she rushes to catch up.

“That’s about four miles each way, and Connor’s not in shape for running,” Ronan muses.

And it’s past the hotel. I check my watch. It’s early, but there’ll be people out. “He’s going to be hugging his knees by the time he gets there.”

“Great, because Connor’s hairy ball sac is what customers want to see when they come for their morning coffee,” Frank mutters, marching away. “No fucking ladders, Parker!”

“O- kay .” I roll my eyes as I resettle in a butterfly pose on my mat. “What do you have planned for today?”

Ronan stretches his arms over his head, his gaze drifting out to the emerald - green water—still warm despite the cooler temperature. “I was going to get Tiki Three out of the water this morning so Frank can do his thing before we put it in storage. Then I have a meeting at the county office.”

“Yeah? How’s that looking?”

“They seem very open to reconsidering the limited vendor licensing for Starfish Island.”

“I’ll bet.” Bedsheet Gate has earned us notoriety around town.

The last thing Councilman Sanders wants is a new banner strung up, highlighting his company’s monopoly of the sandbar concession business.

The town is doing everything they can to appear unbiased and honest, now that people know the councilmembers have been personally benefiting from Gayle Anderson’s charity.

Mayor Wilson resigned a week after the infamous day, which tells us there’s dirt to uncover, and it likely goes beyond the Wolf Hotel.

Gayle Anderson, on the other hand, still hasn’t admitted to any wrongdoing, and every time the question comes up, her go-to response is to list every unfortunate soul who has ever benefited from her charity. She is careful to never speak about the Wolf Hotel organization.

A few of the other councilmembers have posted weak statements of their own, claiming any benefits their family may have seen from funds donated by Henry Wolf are strictly a coincidence.

At the same time, Councilwoman Reeves’ daughter’s trip to Paris was quietly canceled.

Reeves has since launched a PR campaign to focus on keeping Mermaid Beach’s small-town charm.

Of course, none of the shit splatter has landed on Henry, his publicity firm and lawyers spinning it far away from him.

We took the bedsheets down the morning after Henry came to declare his losses as a show of good faith. The damage had been done. True to his word, no lawyer has so much as breathed the word lawsuit in our direction.

Repositioning myself on my hands and knees, I stretch my neck and angle my body into a cat-cow pose. “What do you think the chances are that we’ll have Sea Witch vendors at Starfish next year?”

“Almost guaranteed,” comes the raspy answer, confidence in his voice.

“I’m still running numbers and poking around to see what sells, but I think we can turn a profit within the first two months.

After that, it’s all gravy. And Henry has agreed to have the concierge staff recommend our cruises.

Belinda’s head will explode if she’s still around next season and hears about it. ”

I smile, listening to Ronan. He might have felt clueless in his position at the hotel, but he’s stepped up at Sea Witch, looking for ways for us to expand and make money. “Thank you, Director.” It’s an honorary title, much like Bailey’s Admiral status. Ronan gets a chuckle out of it.

And when I think about the career he gave up for me, for us, my heart swells with love and gratitude.

I can’t believe there was a time that I thought Ronan was wrong for me, that trusting him would be a mistake.

He’s everything I hoped he might be and more—loyal, reliable, protective.

He still draws attention from women wherever we go, but he only has eyes for me.

And for our unborn son, spending evenings with his ear pressed against my belly before his mouth is pressed against every other part of me.

He’s been to every doctor’s appointment and didn’t waver a beat when we flew to Indianapolis in August to meet his parents and tell them the news.

Ronan Lyle may not have seemed like father material when we met, but I couldn’t imagine doing this without him.

“How much convincing did Abbi need to—do.” My voice falters as I roll over onto my butt to face Ronan, only to discover a tent in his shorts. “ Seriously ?”

“What?” He scoffs, as if the question is ludicrous. “You thought you could put your ass in the air like that and not get a reaction from me?”

“Yeah, because I’m so sexy right now.” I rub my expanding belly. I was barely showing until a month ago—more bloated than anything—and then suddenly, I popped.

“This clearly says you are.” He slips his hand in to the front of his shorts, pushing the material down far enough to reveal his hard length in a lewd display.

“Ronan!” There are beachgoers walking along the shoreline at all hours of daylight.

“Relax, no one can see, Sea Witch.” With a lingering stroke, he tucks himself away.

“I need a shower. You coming?” He doesn’t wait, sauntering toward the side of the house, where the outdoor stall waits.

I can’t count how many times we’ve had sex in that thing since he’s moved in, often with the curtain wide open, as if it feeds his salacious tendencies.

In fact, I can’t remember the last time I just showered in it.

I hold off for a few beats, pretending I have an ounce of self-control around that man, before I climb to my feet and run after him.