Page 19 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

I wait for her to finish the question, but she doesn’t. “How what?”

“How does it already feel like a home?” Her voice is full of awe.

Her question knocks me on my heels. Does it feel like a home to her? It feels like more to me. It’s the exact sensation I want to convey.

I shrug, not wanting to betray how meaningful the comment is.

“I’ve watched the renovations happen and I thought it would be soulless. But it’s not.”

“Thanks. I’ll be here for a long time. I want the place to reflect that,” I say.

“I’ll have to get your list of contractors. My place needs a few updates.”

“How long have you lived there?” I ask.

She bobs her head. “The math is fuzzy. My parents bought it when they were newlyweds. It’s mine now, outright. I moved in full-time about seven years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” I don’t know anything about her family situation.

She looks at me strangely. “Oh, they’re not dead. Just the world’s messiest divorce.”

“Right.” I wonder if that’s the reason she’s so against relationships.

“So, we’re good?” she asks, coming out of whatever surprised her so much.

“We’re good.” We’re good enough for now, anyway.

She moves to leave but turns back to me. “Oh, I was at Paradise this afternoon. It’s the beach bar I mentioned to you.”

“I do know it.” I might as well come clean. “I haven’t been yet. I should confess—the owner was the best man at my sister’s wedding.”

“You know Alex?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t tell him about us, did you?”

“No.” I narrow my eyes. I told her I wouldn’t.

“Oh good. I would rather no one know. I didn’t even tell Haley.” She sounds relieved.

She hides from her friends and overshares with me.Great. “You said that before.”

“It’s just…you know Alex—he can be a bit meddlesome. And if there was any hint of attraction between us, he’d play matchmaker. It’s his thing.”

That seems right. He introduced Brooklynn and her husband, Spencer. “Does he know where you live?” I ask.

“Yes, he’s been over a million times,” she says.

“Strange he’s never mentioned you to me, since he knows I bought this place.”

She rolls her eyes. “Exactly. No reason to give him more to work with.”

If he had told me my charter guest was my neighbor, that night would have gone differently. He had to know.

“Anyway, back to Paradise,” she continues. “My friend, Christian, owns Wendell Beach Rum Works. He had me taste his new batch. I think you’d like it.”

I look at her and smile. She was drinking rum and thinking about me. I’ve suspected she says one thing and thinks another. This is the moment when I have absolute proof. “Thanks, I’ll check it out.”

---