Page 22 of Grand Escape

What would he say about my slowly—or not so slowly—falling for a guest after forty-eight hours and change? It was absurd.

Deep in thought, I’d almost walked right past my destination and would have had it not been for Tony’s deep, “Hey,” getting my attention.

“Hey.” I took in a shirtless, very built Tony bringing his tea pitcher outside to set in the sun. “Making your witch’s brew?” I asked, knowing Tony couldn’t go without his sweet tea. He’d grown up in Georgia, and needing the sweet concoction was in his DNA.

“Thank God, I never worked in a cold weather place,” he said with a laugh.

“Your sun pitcher wouldn’t know what do with itself.”

“This bad boy has been everywhere with me,” he said, pretending to hug the pitcher before setting it in the sun to brew. “Although I will say, your simple syrup makes it way better than plain old granulated sugar.”

“I knew I was good for something,” I said as I sat on the ledge outside his villa.

“Did you come to yell at me?” Tony asked, leaning into the doorway.

I shook my head. “You know I can’t stay mad at you.”

“Because you think I’ll pick up the bottle?” He shoved his hair off his forehead and looked away from me.

“Don’t fish for compliments. No, I can’t stay mad at you because at the end of the day, you’re you, and you’re all I have.”

“What about Fancypants? You have him now?”

“Tony, don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling me into a hug.

“I stink,” I told him, but really, I wasn’t sure about an almost-naked me hugging a shirtless him. The optics were bad, especially among the staff.

Pulling back, we stood facing each other a moment in a nonverbal showdown.

“It’s okay,” I said finally, shrugging off the whole situation. “I know you’re protective, but I’m just having a little fun. It’s been a while.”

“Whatever you want to call it, but remember he’s leaving soon.”

“How could I forget? That’s the line in the sand. Guest versus employee.”

“If you’d made a different decision all those years ago, you’d be a guest.”

I felt the muscles in my throat tighten. “Eh, I like being an employee. Being a guest is fleeting. When you work here, you never have to leave.”

“I know you say that, but it’s a charade, Ry.”

“I do mean it, and I know who I am.”

“Got it.” Tony raised his hands in surrender. “I’m actually off to a meeting. I’ll catch you later.”

As he headed back inside, I asked, “Want me to go with you?” I’d be happy to call off work and go with him. His AA meetings were important, and I wanted to support him.

“No, I got it. You go do your thing.”

Well, that didn’t end like I’d hoped, but it wasn’t like either of us were going far. This was our home.

A few hours later, I’d successfully sweated out the rest of the rum and was behind the bar making a tray of strawberry margaritas for a bachelorette party of sparkling, glistening, pampered princesses.

“Steerrr it up,” the girl waiting at the bar sang. “Why don’t you steerrr it up?” She mimicked Bob Marley’s Caribbean accent when saying the word stir, swaying her hips like a can-can girl.

Admittedly, my hips were swaying to the music too. I’d worked here long enough to adjust to the same tunes on repeat. These days, they brought a quiet comfort to me.

---