Page 18 of Grand Escape

“Oh, there’s the turtle farm you won’t take me to see.”

“The concierge can arrange for a tour.”

“It would be with Tony, my damn luck.”

“He doesn’t do those. Only airport pickups for VIPs.”

We wound all the way to the other side of the island before we reached Camila’s.

“Stop here,” I called out, and the driver slammed on the brakes.

As Adam and I hopped out of the van, I tried to see the place through his eyes.

Camila’s was a whitewashed shack with a porch full of tables and mismatched chairs. Strands of twinkle lights were strung around the trim, and red-and-white-checked tablecloths covered the tables. The place was filled with locals, eating and drinking.

Spotting an open two-top in the back, I said, “Come on.” I hurried to claim the chair in the back, looking out, and Adam sat across from me. “It’s a seat-yourself kind of place, no reservations, no attitudes, no airs. Mostly locals, but a few of the better concierges send guests here.”

“I can see that,” Adam said. “I like it. Feels like home.”

“No Tito’s, but plenty of rum.”

“When in Rome,” he said, having an answer for all of my challenges.

“Hey, Ry,” our waitress said as she arrived at our table. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Shell, how are you? I saw your dad, and he said your mom’s getting her fill of Weez.”

“Mom wants to retire but Dad needs the help. I want to help more at the coffee shop, but he says no. Of course, he likes me home with the little one during the day, but she’s about to start kindergarten, and I like to stay busy. And you know, Ricky’s home at night.” Without waiting for me to reply, she moved her focus to Adam. “Hi, I’m Shell. Just Shell, like a seashell. Who are you? New to the hotel?”

“Adam’s a guest,” I said in a clipped enough tone to get her to cool it. “He met your dad too.”

“Best coffee,” Adam said, obviously putting it all together.

“It is. Welcome to Camila’s,” Shell said, her ponytail of dark curls swishing behind her. “What can I get you to drink?”

As she gave me a death glare, I said quickly, “Rum runners.”

“Coming right up, babe,” Shell said with a wink, and I knew she wasn’t going to let this go.

No matter how much I tried to keep my distance, Sam and his tight-knit family managed to always ignore it. They kept sucking me into their family vortex regardless.

Adam studied me as if he were drinking me in. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I’m pretty sure you can do that all on your own.”

“You bet your ass, I can, but it’s way more fun with you.”

“Did you look at the menu?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation in a more neutral direction, not wanting to encourage Adam and his broken heart.

“Don’t have to. I’m just going to tell your friend to bring everything she recommends.”

“Knowing Shell, she’ll bring the whole menu.”

“Well, then she’ll get a big tip.”

I shook my head. This guy.

“Now, tell me about those fast-as-hell legs of yours. Running wasn’t always a hobby for you,” Adam said, apparently deciding to redirect the conversation himself.

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