A Fine Mess (Over the Top) (9 page)

That doesn’t stop Meryl.

“Sounds like she’s a nice girl—smart, talented, beautiful. The kind who won’t have you calling me about a strange rash you’ve caught. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending you don’t want something more with her. You have to grow up sometime.”

“First, that growing up thing is bullshit. I’m fine with who I am. Second, I want more, I told her as much, but”—I fan my hand through the air—“look around here. The reason we don’t know most of these people is because relationships in this family don’t last.” When she frowns, I add, “Except for you and Finn. You guys are solid.”

She swirls her wine and watches the alcohol cling to the sides. “Your brother was far from celibate when we met. He sowed his oats, and then some. But he would never do anything to hurt me or the girls. You guys were raised the same. The only way you’ll hurt Lily is if you blow her off.”

The spliced families filling these rooms should be reason enough to end things before they start, but Meryl may be onto something. Pushing Lily away could be more damaging than testing the waters. Or maybe I just want an excuse to make her mine.

Instead of answering, I down the rest of my drink, and she nods for me to follow her into the great room. The cream couches and glass coffee table haven’t changed since I grew up, but the abstract painting over the fireplace is a nice addition, black and white lines cutting through bold splashes of red. If I had to say anything good about my father, it would be that he didn’t skimp on Mom when it came to alimony. He rakes in the bucks doing the type of consulting job no one can explain. His long hours kept him away from every baseball game I ever played. And most birthdays. But my mother has maintained her country-club lifestyle.

I nod to my uncle Joe and the mousy woman next to him, unsure if we’ve met, then I refill my drink and search out my mother. Evelyn West is in the kitchen, making sure the catering company is doing its job. Her dark hair looks freshly colored, her cream blouse and black slacks perfectly ironed, as she warns a server not to pass the hors d’oeuvres in front of Cousin Larry. He’ll likely devour the tray.

She glances over and smiles. “I was starting to worry.” Arms wide, she rounds the granite island and pulls me into a hug. Like Hazel, she places both hands on my cheeks. “You look tired. Have you been sleeping?”

A mother always knows. “Some. Not much.”

“Work?”

“No. Work’s good. We’re hiring a new designer. Should take some of the pressure off. And Kolton’s thinking about growing our online business. Offering different things people can’t get in-store.”

“Well, if it’s not work, it must be personal.” The hope in her voice is unmistakable, along with the twinkle in her green eyes. She never pushes me about settling down and starting a family, but she’s not shy about it, either. “Is there a woman I should know about?”

The girl who has my heart. The girl in Central America.

The girl I should have claimed.

After Nico and Meryl, I’ve had my fill of sharing. “I’ll let you know when and if there’s a woman. I need to ask, though—Finn said something about Dad calling more. Looking to spend time together. I don’t trust him. You know anything about why he’s pushing things now?”

She twists the pearls around her neck. “You’re too hard on your father. He has more time now, finally working less, and he wants to get to know his kids again.” She pauses, a hint of something puckering her brow. “There are things I never told you about that time, when everything fell apart. If you gave him a chance, you’d see how wonderful he is.”

“Wonderful?” I force my voice to stay level as the last server clears out. “Maybe you’re forgetting I saw what that man reduced you to. I was there in the aftermath, not him. I cleaned up his mess. I was eight years old, and I took on the job of making you happy while he was busy sleeping with half the city.”

“Don’t use that tone with your mother.”

I whip around. Jack West looks calm and collected in his blazer, gold cuff links in place. But his jaw is twitching like mine does when I’m pissed. Which is odd. The past few years, my mother has invited him to these parties, claiming it was important for us to see our father. She’d often stare at him longingly, I’d ignore the man, and he’d have a nice visit with his buddy Glenfiddich. He would never have come to her rescue, never have stepped in the middle of our conversation. Something is going on with him, and whatever it is, I want no part of it.

I glare at him. “You lost the privilege of talking to me like that years ago. And I don’t know why you’re all over Finn these days, but you can’t waltz into our lives and assume the role of father after twenty-two years.”

My mother twists her pearls again, shooting furtive glances his way, and I fist my hand. “I left Nico with the twins. I should make sure they haven’t covered him in makeup.”

Ignoring my father, I nod to her as I leave the room.

After I top up my Scotch, I join Meryl at the doorway to the playroom/study, dance tunes pumping from within. The scene eases all tension from my shoulders, and I barely refrain from snorting. Hazel’s facing the bookcases, away from us, Finn and Nico behind her, the guys busting a move like they’re on the set of
Grease
.

I shove my drink toward Meryl. “Keep quiet,” I say as I pull my phone from my back pocket. Talk about a Christmas gift. Grinning, I video the boys. Nico does some move with his hips while he swings his arms, and Finn nearly trips over his feet. The whole thing lasts maybe two minutes, but thanks to the miracle that is the smartphone, I’ll be able to embarrass them for years.

Hayley, who’s playing DJ, stops the music, and Nico wipes his brow along his massive forearm. He freezes when he sees me with my cell. “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing.”

I wink, smug as hell. “Call me Tic Tac again, and your buddies at the precinct will be sharing popcorn while watching this in your break room.”

Fucker
, he mouths as Hazel tugs his arm.

My inner child high-fives me.

“That was worth the price of admission,” Meryl says, laughing. She knocks my arm with her elbow. “I was thinking about what you said before, about Lily and not pursuing her, and I wanted to offer one last piece of advice. I promise I’ll shut up after this,” she adds.

I nod, exhausted from my lack of sleep and this shit with my dad and knowing that Lily’s away and I’m not with her. I should be with her. She said point-blank she knows the risks of getting involved with me, and she wants to try anyway. So why am I holding out?

“You’ll do whatever you want in the end,” Meryl says. “You always do. But if you don’t stop worrying about what might happen, you’ll lose her. She won’t wait around. A girl like that moves on, and I’m guessing you’ll hate yourself if that happens.” She shrugs. “That’s all I’ve got. Now get in there and dance with your nieces.”

But I don’t move.

I’ve never known regret, because I’ve never denied myself. If I do that now, if I keep pushing Lily away, I’m guessing the unknowns will eat me alive. Kolton, Nico, Meryl, even Lily, all think I can do a relationship. Finn has made it work. He’s in a stable marriage with an awesome woman, and Meryl watches him with the girls like he’s Captain America. If he can do it, there’s no reason I can’t, which means I’m wasting time when I could be with Lily.

Fuck it. Done. Decided. This waffling thing is for other guys. I need to see Lily. Not call her. Not warn her. I need to feel her, touch her, breathe her.

Superpower wish: flying.

I need to book a flight to Belize.

The porch railing in front of me is only three feet tall, but the posts may as well be prison bars for all I’ve ventured out. I tuck my knees to my chest as I stare at the view: sapphire sky, white sand, palm trees, a wonky dock that extends into the Caribbean Sea, a monument to the lazy island.

As beautiful as Belize is, I should have cancelled this trip.

When I arrived yesterday, instead of letting the warm air wash over me, I froze. I stood at the small airport, suitcase in hand, barely able to blink. Golf carts whizzed by—the main transportation on the island—people smiling, families rushing, and I couldn’t move. I realized I’m not brave like Shay. I’m not independent like Raven. I’m me. Nervous. Scared. Out of my depth. I would’ve run back inside to change my flight home, but that would have meant moving. If a cab driver hadn’t approached and asked where I was staying, I’d probably still be standing there.

Which might have been best.

When I got to my room, rose petals scattered in the shape of a heart decorated the four-poster bed, a bottle of champagne waiting on ice. I’d forgotten to inform the hotel I was no longer celebrating my anniversary, and a twinge of regret resurfaced.

Kevin and I haven’t spoken since our breakup, and I miss him. Not romantically, but the void is there. In time, maybe soon, I’ll call him and see if we can salvage our friendship.

Reef, the resident German shepherd, nudges my hand, and I stroke her coarse fur, dry from the salty air. She lies at my feet with a sigh, the only friend I’ve made so far. Yesterday’s outing involved a hundred paces into town. A man passed me on the street, leering in a creepy way, and I hurried back to the hotel and went to bed without eating.

I shake my head at myself as the couple staying beside me ride their rented bikes through the sand. They dismount by their porch, groceries in hand. The shorter of the two men waves to me, his wedding band glinting in the sun. “Beautiful day.”

“Yeah” is my verbose reply.

He pauses a second, then hooks arms with his partner, the two of them disappearing into their room. Casa Carole is a two-story boutique hotel with six suites, all identical. I picture them stopping to kiss in their living space, or hurrying to one of the two bedrooms at the back, the heat and sun having fired their passion. If Sawyer were here, I bet he’d light me on fire.

There’s been no call since that day at work. No texts or e-mails. Whatever processing he’s doing, he’s keeping his distance, leaving no clues to his headspace. I’ve only thought about him more. I’ve relived our kiss. Again.

And again.

…And again.

I’ve progressed from infatuation to obsession, every couple seen since my arrival like salt in an open wound. I close my eyes and breathe deep.
Barbecue.
The smell of grilled meat drifts through the air, and my belly rumbles. If I don’t leave the property soon to get food, they’ll be writing an article titled “Canadian Girl Eats Furniture in Belize.”

I go inside and pad across the terra-cotta tile floor, wicker furniture and fish paintings accenting the warm decor. I down a glass of water in the kitchen, then retreat to the bedroom at the back and pull a white skirt over my bikini bottoms. One glance at the four-poster bed and my imagination vaults back to life, the scene filled with Sawyer.

Broad shoulders. Trim waist. Tight backside.

Maybe it’s because I know Sawyer has experience or that he leaves women wanting more. Whatever the reason, he’s filled so many seconds, minutes, hours of my time with naughty thoughts. To look up at him, his thighs pressed against mine, his hips guiding mine—what kind of heaven would that be?

Odds are it will never happen.

I slather sunscreen on all exposed skin around my tank top and skirt, then I grab my purse and hurry outside. Reef is still lying on my porch, blocking my way. I pause, my vulnerability from my outing last night still fresh. But another whiff of barbecue floats by, and hunger pains twist my gut. I inhale so deeply my chest hurts, then I step over Reef.

My flip-flops slap against my heels, each stride easing me away from the comfort of my room, my legs quickening as I go. The road is made of hard-packed sand, dividing the beach from a strip of low-rise hotels. Locals are out in full force, the action in the water a thankful distraction from my loneliness. Groups dot the shore, shrieks of laughter floating on the wind, little bodies jumping through the waves, T-shirts clinging to skinny limbs. Two boys shoot at each other with water guns, unbridled joy on their faces. I smile, too, the culture and sun and freedom buoying my mood.

I make it to the central square that separates the hotels from most of the restaurants, pride swelling in having gotten this far. The scents of grilled meat increase, urging my feet toward the food vendors. Then I notice the other booths. Tables are packed together, teeming with wood sculptures, jewelry, and hair accessories. Vibrant textiles are piled high.

“All handmade,” one man calls.

“Beautiful necklace for you,” promises another.

I want it all.

I pick up a sculpted bird, its slender neck tapering into a smooth head. I brush my fingers over a beaded bracelet. A fabric headband. An embroidered purse. Four purchases later, I make it to a food stall and take my fish taco to a quiet spot on the beach. Warm corn tortilla, charred snapper—I devour the deliciousness in seconds. Then I examine what I bought.

An old man slips his knife over wood to forget the woman he lost.

A girl sits among her friends, weaving her thread to the rhythm of their chatter.

Waves crash, seagulls squawk, and my pulse regulates. Then a couple passes, hand in hand, love in their eyes, and my loneliness increases.

I hoped being here would help me forget Sawyer, but it enhances the hurt. If he were with me, I’ve no doubt we’d be having the time of our lives. He’d drag me through shops, stopping to talk to every person who smiles our way. We’d sip margaritas in a restaurant and dig our toes in the sand. We’d make use of that four-poster bed.

Instead I’m sitting by myself, missing him.

I pull my phone from my purse to text Raven. With Shay’s move to Vancouver, she has enough on her plate without worrying about me.

I’m pathetic
, I write.

I close my eyes, the constant wind cooling the sun’s rays on my skin.

My phone buzzes:
I need specifics to form a proper diagnosis.

I’m in Belize. It’s stunning. And I can’t stop thinking about Sawyer.

That’s not pathetic. That’s normal. But you don’t owe him squat. You need to meet some people and have fun, which means getting over your shyness. Have you met anyone cool?

Raven never minces words. When I mentioned I’d be keeping the reservation, she said, “Why? You won’t end up leaving your hotel room.” I guess my friends know me better than I know myself. Odd, considering how much I hide from them.

There are a couple guys staying beside me who seem nice.

TWO guys? Sounds like the perfect distraction.

I roll my eyes.
They’re a couple. Married, I think. But you’re right. I can’t spend the whole trip like a leper. I’ll ask if they don’t mind a third wheel for dinner.

It’s easy to write it, another thing to invite myself to dine with strangers. Better that than spending the rest of the trip eating alone.

You got this
, she texts.
Have fun. It’s only a week.

Raven’s right, but as I put my phone away, her words lose their comfort. Sawyer said we’d talk when I get back, which means his official “I can’t do this” speech is only six days away. If he were willing to try, he would have contacted me before I left. Something, anything, to let me know he was thinking of me. To wish me a good trip, even. I heard nothing.

Maybe I can move here and be known as the freaky girl who lives on the beach.

I stand and dust the sand from my legs and skirt and make my way back to the hotel, still thinking about Sawyer’s lips and Sawyer’s hands and Sawyer’s body, which I never got to see. As I turn toward my hotel, I’m imagining him shirtless, my tongue exploring the grooves of his chest. Dazed, I walk toward my suite.

Then all air leaves my lungs.

“Hey, Lil.”

Those two words nearly send me toppling, and I drop my shopping bag.

Sawyer is here. In Belize. On my porch.

His short-sleeved button-down shirt blows in the breeze, his canvas shorts and sandals exactly what a vacationing man would wear. A vacationing man in Belize.

My eyes sting. Tears fall, and he rushes over and lifts my sunglasses onto my hair. He rubs the wetness with his thumbs, his brow pinched with worry. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re here,” is all I manage.

The sun suddenly seems brighter, my skin warmer.

He grins. “Yeah. A week was too long to wait until you got back. I wanted to have that talk sooner.”

Oh my freaking God,
he’s here
. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You free right now? If you have plans, I can come back.”

His hands are still on my cheeks, his gaze traveling to my lips. And lower. He wouldn’t have flown six hours to tell me we can’t be together. There’s only one reason he came. “Now is good.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Then he kisses me, deep and thorough, and colors burst behind my eyes. His thumbs travel to my jaw, his fingers curling into my neck as his lips move against mine. Perfection. Sweet, hot, delicious. Our tongues swirl as the kiss intensifies, a flurry of emotion—the rightness of it, how in tune our movements are—lightening my limbs. He groans, telling me everything I need to hear without saying a word, and I grip the fabric at his back.

Two soft kisses later, he pulls away. “That about covers it. Anything you’d like to add?”

More like subtract: his shirt, his shorts, his boxers. I stare and stare, shocked he’s here, that he kissed me, that he’s ready to try. Unequivocally shell-shocked. “Not much. But what changed? I was sure you’d decide to stay friends.”

He keeps his hands on my face, dragging his fingers up and down my neck. Gooseflesh everywhere. “Nico and Meryl talked some sense into me, but I’d have reached the same conclusion eventually. If I don’t try this thing with you, I’ll regret it. You’re what I want, Lil. It’s been you since Aspen. And you were right when you said I’m not my father. Seeing Finn with Meryl and the girls at the party kind of brought it home. But you and me, we have to do it right. This isn’t some trial. You’re not someone I met last week. It means we don’t date other people. You’re mine, I’m yours. Anything else is a deal-breaker. What do you say?”

He flew six hours to see me, has confessed his feelings, and is offering me a future. I’m practically floating. “Are you asking me to go steady, Sawyer West?”

He grins. “I believe I am.”

“Yes,” I say as I lean back toward him, needing an anchor. “Yes.” This time whispered against his lips.

“Thank God,” he says against mine.

This kiss is rougher, hungry mouths starved for a taste. Teeth scrape. Noses brush. I whimper—an unfamiliar, needy sound—unsure how I lasted all these months.

Sawyer is my boyfriend.

Eventually, I ease back. “If we don’t stop, we’re never leaving here.”

His eyes are the darkest I’ve seen them, heavy with lust. He pauses, then flicks his head to his suitcase. “I should drop my bag inside, then you can show me around. You must be loving the town.”

The smells and sounds of the beach rush back, the salt and the sea reminding me how wrong he is. “Not exactly. Being here on my own was harder than I thought. I’ve barely left the room.”

He watches a few golf carts drive by, stray dogs lolling in their wake, then he shakes his head. “I really am a jackass.”

“What does this have to do with you?”

He kicks the sand. “I knew this type of thing would be hard for you, traveling on your own. I should’ve said something, or removed my head from my ass earlier. We could’ve flown down together.”

Of course he knew. He knows I can’t set my alarm clock ending with an even number. He knows I invent stories about antiques. And he still came.
You’re mine, I’m yours.
How did I get this lucky? “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and we’ll have a blast. Together,” I add.

He nods. “I like the sound of that.”

I pick up my shopping bag, push past him, and open the door to
our
suite.

Smiling, he takes in the space. “Which room are you sleeping in?”

“The far one.”

He breezes in, not pausing as he passes the first room. He doesn’t falter, doesn’t ask permission. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed and nods in approval. “Maybe we shouldn’t go out yet.” He winks at me.

And my throat dries. I’ve pictured this moment a thousand times, Sawyer and me finally able to look and touch and do all the things we’ve imagined. But I haven’t had sex in a year, and Kevin’s the only man I’ve ever been with. Suddenly, I’m sure I’ll disappoint him. “You know, now that you’re here, I’d kind of like to get out. If that’s okay. And, I don’t know, maybe make some dinner reservations? We should celebrate, right? And eat. Like, eat later. But we should book something.”

Oh, God, kill me now.

He walks toward me, closing the distance in long strides. “I’m hungry for a lot of things, Lil. Food isn’t high on my priority list, but it’s not the worst idea.” He slides his hand around my hip and cups my backside. “I’ve waited this long,” he whispers in my ear. “What’s another eight hours?”

I clench my thighs to stanch the building heat. He’s here. In Belize. In my suite. Near my bed.
Eight freaking hours.

He pats my backside and takes my hand, pulling me toward the door. “I met your neighbors when I was waiting for you, Tony and Jonathan. They’ve booked a snorkel trip tomorrow with a private company. I’d love to go, if you’re in?”

I’ve been here twenty-four hours and have managed one word to the couple. Sawyer’s here twenty-four minutes and has arranged a trip with them. Instead of frustration, gratitude blooms in my chest. I may not be the type of girl who makes conversation with strangers easily, but Sawyer will push me to socialize more, have me laughing instead of chewing my fingernails. The right person in your life is meant to bring out the best in you, the parts otherwise hidden. I glance at
our
bedroom.