Page 129 of The Business of Love Box Set 1: Books 1 - 4

PETER

A fter some persistence, Katie finally handed over her bag of fruit.

It was much heavier than I expected, and I made sure not to carry it with my wounded shoulder.

She walked alongside me, her gold sandals catching the sunlight with every step, and told me she worked at the honeymoon resort on the island.

“It’s called the El Cartana,” she said dreamily. “I’ve been there for about four years now as their honeymoon coordinator.”

“Honeymoon coordinator? Now that’s a job I didn’t know existed until right this minute.”

She laughed. She had a pleasant laugh. It was light and bubbly and reminded me of the way water sounded in a shallow creek as it bubbled over rocks.

“Yes, a lot of people say that to me. It’s my dream job really.

But it doesn’t come without its inconveniences.

Like having to run down to the market to buy fruit to satisfy a demanding guest, for example. ”

“And in so doing, get yourself taken out by a clumsy oaf,” I added.

Katie glanced over at me and smiled.

She was a beautiful young woman. She was tall, close to five foot eight, I would have guessed, and she had long tanned legs and white-painted toes.

I noticed little bandages wrapped around her pinky toes and wondered if she was a surfer or something.

Perhaps she’d cut herself on coral or burned herself sliding off her board.

“I’m equally as clumsy as you, it would seem,” she said.

I doubted that was true. She had no idea what I was capable of when left to my own devices.

Katie tucked a loose strand of brown hair that had fallen free of the tight bun secured at the nape of her neck. “You’re new on St. John?”

I nodded. “Is it obvious?”

She nodded at my bare arms and legs. “The sunburns are kind of a giveaway.”

“Touché.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Just a few days,” I said.

She nodded knowingly and shielded her green eyes from the sun as we hooked a left toward the parking lot where my truck was. “Who are you here with?”

“Nobody,” I said.

She looked up at me, obviously surprised. “A solo traveler?”

“Yup.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Well,” she said, “solo travel suggests a lot about a stranger.”

“Enlighten me.”

A breeze picked up and pulled the strand of her hair she’d just tucked behind her ear free.

She put it back in place. “For starters, there’s always the assumption that you’re running from something.

A lot of people who travel alone, at least those who I’ve spoken with who end up at the El Cartana, have escaped something back home and traded whatever that was in for a slice of paradise here. ”

I blinked. How did she have me pegged so quickly?

“But there’s more than that,” Katie said.

I appreciated how she didn’t pause to pry and ask if that was the case—if I was running from something.

She was the sort of woman who felt easy to talk to but I didn’t want to come out of the gate confessing how old, weak, and forgetful my father had become, and how much of a burden that had been on me over the years as I watched him slowly wither away into a shell of the man he used to be.

Yes, I was running away.

“I’ve also met solo travelers who are looking for independence,” Katie said.

“Usually, this is a sign that something has changed in their personal or professional life and they’re looking for a clean slate.

Tropical waters, sandy beaches, and twenty-four-hour service at a resort is a nice way to reset.

But you’re not staying at a resort, are you? ”

I shook my head.

She nodded like a fortune teller reading my palm. “I didn’t think so. Which means I’m a little out of my depth here. But there’s one other thing, perhaps the least common.”

“And what’s that?”

She shrugged. “Solo travelers are also running toward something.”

“Toward what?”

“Change usually. Something new. Something they haven’t done before but have always thought about in the back of their minds. It’s a good way to reset and remember who you are and what you want. St. John is good for a little soul searching.”

Soul searching. Is that what I’m doing, running toward change?

Katie glanced at a white leather watch on her wrist. It had a gold face and a diamond trim and there was no doubt in my mind it had been an expensive purchase. Had she bought it for herself? Perhaps. She was a career-driven woman obviously. Or had a man bought it for her?

I gave my head a shake as we approached my “new” old truck. Who was I to be wondering if she was single or not? I’d barely known her for eight minutes.

Still, I wondered.

We reached my truck and I tugged the passenger door open.

It tended to stick but I didn’t have to work too hard for it today.

It opened with a groan and I lifted the bag of fruit into the middle of the bench seat before stepping aside to let Katie climb in.

I closed the door after her and walked around the hood before sliding in behind the steering wheel.

By that point, she had her seatbelt on and was grimacing at her watch again.

“Pressed for time?” I asked.

“Quite. I’m sorry. I know that’s rude.”

“Not at all. You’re on the clock. Let’s get you back there before these clients of yours realize you’re gone.”

Dirt and dust followed in our wake as we made our way down the road.

Katie gave me directions toward the El Cartana, which was about a twenty-minute drive from town so long as one adhered to the low speed limits on the island.

Most locals putted around on scooters which were also available for tourists to rent.

It made a serious reduction of traffic on the roads, but we inevitably ended up stuck behind a slow-moving tour truck like the one I’d come into town on the other day.

“Shit,” Katie breathed. “I always get stuck behind these things at the worst possible time.” She slumped back in her seat.

“I can go around.”

She shot me an intrigued but cautious look. “Technically, you’re not supposed to do that here.”

“Technically?”

A smile curled the corner of her lips, and for the first time, I realized she had dimples—or rather, one dimple. It pressed into her left cheek but not the right. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Who would I tell? I don’t know anyone here except for you.”

She smiled in earnest and gripped the handle in the passenger door like we were in a Formula One car or something. “Proceed, good sir.”

I chuckled. “Don’t worry. This thing can’t go very fast. I think the engine is half rusted out of it anyway.”

I waited for the road to straighten out before making my move.

We pulled out into the lane of oncoming traffic, which was empty as always, and I hit the gas.

The truck roared, the exhaust popped, and Katie laughed uproariously as we sailed past the truck.

She stuck her head out the window and waved at the driver while calling out genuine apologies.

I ducked back into the lane and kept up my speed so we could put the truck far behind us.

Katie fell back against the bench seat in a fit of giggles. “I can’t remember the last time I went over thirty miles an hour in a car. This island is the definition of slow paced.”

“Where did you live before you came here?”

“Nashville,” she said.

“Ah.” I nodded. “That explains the southern twang.”

“Twang?” She rolled her hand through the wind out the window like she was riding an invisible wave with her palm. “I suppose I don’t notice I still have an accent.”

It was faint, but it was there, and it made her a complex creature. She was a sophisticated businesswoman as well as a sweet southern belle. She had a carefree attitude but also struck me as a serious go-getter.

“You’re from California?” Katie asked.

How was she able to riddle me out so effortlessly?

“Los Angeles,” I said. “Please tell me I don’t have one of those hipster vibes or something. What tipped you off?”

“Turn right up here,” she said, nodding at a fork in the road. “Are hipster vibes a bad thing?”

“Oh God.”

She snickered. “Maybe it’s the hair. But it suits you. And the linen shirt. I don’t know. I guess I’m just good at picking out where people are from. I’ve been doing it for a long time and I know the clues.”

“Clues?” I followed a curve in the road, and suddenly, we emerged from the dense foliage on either side of the road.

Spread out before us was the ocean, wild and blue and speckled with white sailboats.

The road wrapped around a cliff face and climbed steadily upward, and I noticed lights running along the side of the cliff.

This must be the resort property.

“Clues like how people say certain words or even how they walk,” Katie explained. “You walk like a Californian.”

I frowned, puzzled. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

“Neither. It just is .”

“Do you walk like a Nashvillian then?”

Katie burst out laughing. “What? A Nashvillian? What is that?”

“I couldn’t think of the word for people from Nashville.”

She laughed harder and I started to snicker. Had I just made an ass out of myself in front of this beautiful girl?

It didn’t matter. She was laughing.

“I don’t think there’s actually a word for it,” Katie said. “I think we fall under the overarching Tennesseans .”

“I prefer Nashvillian.”

“It sounds like the name of a bad guy from a movie.”

“A little,” I admitted.

The road wrapped around a jutted-out piece of cliff and leveled out. I drove my beat-up truck through a grand front gate with cameras mounted on two white concrete posts. Matching carvings of Roman women wrapped in shawls had been carved into the posts and trimmed with gold paint.

The drive was lined in palm trees and covered in shade.

It led to a massive roundabout in front of the hotel lobby, which was a glamorous, massive structure that seemed to rise out of the jungle itself.

Valet drivers dressed in all white stood at the ready while bellboys ushered carts of luggage from car trunks to the front doors.

“Damn,” I breathed. “This is a nice joint.”

Katie opened her door and slid out onto the pavement. She fixed her dress and dragged the bag of fruit out of the truck. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone refer to the El Cartana as a joint before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

She shouldered the bag and braced herself against the side of the seat. “Do you have a minute? I want to repay you for helping me out today. I would have been in hot water if I hadn’t gotten back so quickly. You have no idea how much you helped me.”

“I don’t need anything, I’m happy to help.”

“I never said you needed it. But here’s a tip for staying on this island, Peter.” She paused and leaned into the truck, a coy smile tugging at her full pink lips. “When someone offers you something, accept it graciously.”

I nodded. “Noted.”

Katie smiled approvingly.

I gestured at the hotel. “What are you waiting for then? Go get my reward.”

Katie threw her head back and laughed as she made her way to the front doors. I watched her go. Or rather, I watched her backside go. I chastised myself for it the whole time but I couldn’t help myself. She had a great figure.

Hell, from where I was sitting, she had a great everything.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Peter. It was just a ride, not a first date.

I didn’t have to wait long for her to return. She pushed out of the front doors and jogged back to my truck. She came around to my window and draped her forearms on the frame. Then she handed me an envelope.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“A signed certificate for a free one-night stay here at the hotel,” she said a little breathlessly. “There aren’t any available rooms until two weeks from now. I hope that works?”

I blinked down at the envelope before I looked up at her, shocked. “Katie, I think this is a little extravagant. All I did was drive you twenty minutes down the road. I’d have taken a cup of coffee or—”

“I wanted to do something nice and I have the power to do this.”

“I wasn’t finished,” I said.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Go ahead.”

“I also would have taken a chance to go for a drink together,” I said, surprising myself with my own boldness. “I know you’re busy, but I could use a friend on the island. You know, someone who could tell me what to do and what not to do and introduce me to some folks.”

“How about tomorrow night?”

I stared at her and she stared back.

I cleared my throat. “Tomorrow night. Deal.”

“Meet me at The Wreck at eight.” Katie put her hand on my good shoulder and squeezed lightly. “See you then. Thanks again for the help!” She turned from the truck and hurried back up to the front doors, pausing to look back and wave as I pulled away.

The Wreck at eight. Was it a restaurant? I assumed so.

As I made my way back to my cabin, I replayed the events of the afternoon in my head, tracing the memory of her smile and the way her nose crinkled when she laughed.

Is this what I’m running toward? A girl?