Page 17 of Resorting to Romance

“Just a job I did.”

“Hmm. No problem. Cut out early. I’ve got things covered here. Want me to keep Shaka with me and walk him back to your place when I lock up?”

“Would you?”

“As long as you won’t miss him too much being separated for those few hours.” Ben winks, amused with himself.

“I think I’ll survive.”

Ben chuckles.

I bend to scratch the dog behind his ears before I realize whatI’m doing. Then I hightail it out of the shack before Ben can tease me for going soft on that mutt.

I borrow a golf cart from the corral at the resort. It’s a perk of being an employee here, since cars aren’t allowed on Marbella. The day is sunny by now and people are out walking, riding bicycles, and gathering on the beach to my right. I drive away from the south side of the island where Alicante Resort is situated, past residences, and into the distinctly different area we call the North Shore. The shops here are quiet and smaller, not suited for tourists, but staples for the local residents. The whitewashed wood fronts give off a traditionally beachy vibe. Then I steer into the neighborhoods with houses on lots with smaller yards. Beyond these is the section of homes which used to belong to the wealthier families who first inhabited Marbella.

On one corner sits the inn. A sign hangs over the white picket fence surrounding her property: Mila’s Place. The full wrap-around porch has a swing and several seating areas. The steps, the same ones I ran up just last night, are broad and welcoming. And the double front doors open into a great room where she has her reception area and some furniture for guests. Board games and books are tastefully set on various side tables and coffee tables throughout the room.

I park the golf cart and walk up the stairs, into the main room. No one is at the reception desk, but I hear noise in the kitchen, so I walk through, calling out for Mila as I approach the doorway.

SIX

Mila

You’ve got someone standing beside you

that’s stronger than the one standing against you.

~ Steven Furtick

“Now I just put in the chocolate chips!” Noah exclaims.

He grabs the open five pound bag and begins to dump far more than the required cup into the dough.

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Not so many.”

“Mom. You can never have too many chocolate chips. Trust me.”

“Noah.” I laugh. “Where did you come up with that?”

“Auntie P.”

“Of course. Well, you can’t believe everything Phyllis says to you.”

“Cookies?” Kai’s voice interrupts the moment between Noah and me. He’s leaning against the doorjamb between the kitchen and the main room, smiling.

“Hi, Unko. We’re making cookies. Wanna help?”

When Noah met Kai, he was only three years old. One day,I can’t even remember how long it was after they had met, Kai told Noah to call him Uncle Kai. But Noah couldn’t say his Ls very clearly, so it came out,Unko.Somehow, that stuck. Noah doesn’t remember a time when Kai wasn’t in his life. They share a bond that’s as close as family, often making me feel like I’m intruding on a private joke they’ve shared.

“Help you make cookies? You don’t have to ask twice.” Kai pushes off the wall and walks to the sink to wash his hands.

He turns on the sprayer, tests the lever, and opens the cabinet to check the pipes under the sink, obviously looking for any sign of residual issues after last night’s flooding.

“Looks good,” he assures me.

Then he glances around at the floor. “Call Jason and have him assess the water damage as soon as you can, okay? Just to be sure.”

“I already called him this morning.”

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