Brothers of Paradise Series

Henry raises his hands. “You both know I’m right.”

“I know,” I say. Ocean Drive is ahead, and I turn onto the road. It’s a short distance to Lily and Hayden’s house. Her oceanside cottage is next to it, where Henry and Faye are staying while they’re renovating their new Paradise house.

“Do you want to sail long distances again?” Hayden asks. His hand is on the side of my seat as he leans forward. “Try the Atlantic? The world?”

Henry scoffs from the passenger seat. “No. He has a business now. Right, Parker?”

I drum my fingers against the wheel. The old dream is still there, burning inside my chest from time to time. Of a crew and a ship and the open oceans. The boat we’d just looked at could do much, but not that. Open ocean is a different beast entirely.

“I might,” I say. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Haven’t decided on a lot of things. The only thing I know, right in this moment, is that I might have fucked it up with Jamie that night in the rain. By pushing her further than she was ready for.

You never have to obey me, I’d told her, and I’d meant it. Whatever had happened to put those shadows in her eyes, the jumpiness when she first arrived here, is something I can never contribute to.

I don’t know a single thing about Jamie’s ex. Not even his name. But I know that a man who leaves his clever, brilliant six-year-old daughter behind and her fierce, beautiful mother afraid is a man I despise.

“I need to think,” I tell them. About the boat. About whether or not I pushed Jamie too far.

She’d kissed me, but I’d devoured her in return.

“All right,” Henry says. He opens the door, but pauses with a leg out. “Are you joining for family dinner tonight?”

“Yes.” Little Jamie had asked me this morning if I would come and see the fort he’d built. I’d promised him I would, and I couldn’t break a promise like that.

My brothers, one by marriage and one by birth, walk side by side toward the large house. I watch them disappear through the front door. Faye and Lily had eaten a late brunch, and while Hazel was still too young to play with little Jamie, he still adored his cousin.

I could invite myself in. But today I feel like an imposter, a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. They’re settled, and married, and so deep in their blissful twosomes that it sometimes grates. And always, I’m the happy brother. The fun uncle. The supportive one.

The role chafes today.

My drive back takes me along the boardwalk, on Ocean Drive. Past the marina and the yacht club. I consider eating lunch there, but discard the idea with my next thought. I don’t want to play the role of boss either.

There’s only one person I want to impress, and until I figure out a way of apologizing for the intensity of my kiss, for crossing the line… until I know what to say to make it right, that door is closed.

That opportunity doesn’t come the next day. It’s a Sunday, and I’m not at the yacht club. I don’t know if she’s scheduled to work either.

No emails are exchanged. No texts.

On Monday, no one makes use of my garage, either. I leave the door open as I work out, just in case, but there’s only me and my own thoughts in the gym.

All she’d wanted was a brief, impulsive kiss, and I had made it clear it wasn’t impulsive at all on my part, but a slow, lingering make-out session that I’d clearly thought about for far too long.

How could she not be spooked?

I focus on my arms this morning, even if I know I’ll regret it the next day when Hayden and I take Frida out. But the burn is good. It rivals the frustration of not having said the right thing, that night, after the kiss in the rain. Of not having found the words.

I shower longer and hotter than usual and drive to the yacht club with my cap on over the wet hair. The cap she designed, the cap we’ll start selling in a few weeks.

I’d checked the shifts online. She’s working today.

Stephen and Neil could manage without me. So could the staff and the new chef. But I can’t stay at home, can’t relax, can’t wait to see her.

The club is calm when I arrive, and beyond the windows, the ocean is deep blue and calm. Last week’s summer rain passed as quickly as it came. I walk past her bike, locked next to the staff entrance. Think of Emma’s bike getting wet and the little teddy bear sticking out of the basket.

Stephen immediately accosts me in the hallway. One of the waiters quit after receiving a pre-season invitation for college on an athletic scholarship. Then Neil tells me one of the sailing instructors is sick with mono and he’s going to have to take her place for the week. And before I’ve had a chance to look around for Jamie, I’m in my office and knee-deep in the new menu specifications Kristen wants.

At one point, I see a slender brunette with a long braid down her back pass by my office, but she’s there and gone before I can call out.

My mood worsens after lunch. “Parker,” Stephen says, sticking his head into my office. Unusually, there’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. “We have a guest who requests to speak to you.”

“Requests?”

“It’s the man from earlier this season.” Stephen’s mouth turns down into a frown. “He got… handsy. You banned him.”

I get up from the chair. “Where is he?”

“In the entryway. I’ve told him I won’t seat him, but he won’t leave.”

“I’ll take care of him.”

John is part of Paradise Shores the same way all of us are, someone you wave at when you’re filling up gas or undocking at the marina. I’d never given him much thought.

Now I hate him.This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

He’s standing in the entryway, a salmon-colored shirt above white khakis. A set of car keys spin, over and over, in his hand. His eyes narrow when he sees me.

“John,” I say.

He smiles. “Hello, Parker. It’s been a while since I swung by.”

“Sure has.”

He leans in closer and spins his car keys one more time. “Look,” he says, “your head waiter here seems to have decided I’m to be permanently punished for the little incident earlier in the summer.”

“Oh, has he?”

The tension around John’s eyes relaxes and he nods. “Yes, yes. An understandable mistake,” he says. “I’ve been a customer here for decades. You know that. Hell, I sat right over there and watched you win your year’s junior regatta.”

“Of course. You’ve lived here longer than I’ve been alive. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, thirty-odd years or so, after I married Marie.” His grin widens. “She loves this place too, and so do the kids when they come to town. My youngest went to Yale. Just like you, right?”

Reminding me of how great guests they are. He’s pulling out all the stops, and a small part of my brain understands exactly why. The yacht club is an institution in this town. To be banned from it is no small thing. It means missing out on birthday dinners hosted here, retirement lunches, business meetings, lobster rolls in the sunshine after docking your boat.

“That’s great,” I say. “Please tell your wife and kids they’re welcome to eat here any time.”

His smile falters at the edges. “You’re standing by your waiter’s decision?”