Page 41 of On The Beach

Cato, Franco, Mick, and I made our way to the little restaurant down by the docks, arms loaded with our catch. Our booty was impressive for a day's work: three yellowtail snappers, two mutton snappers, and a grouper big enough to feed a small family on its own.

We definitely had enough fish for the four of us—and probably half the restaurant, too, according to Cato.

Franco nudged me as we walked, grinning. "You catch ayellowtail on your first go, Belle, and now you've got more dinner than we know what to do with."

Cato chuckled. "Hope you're ready for a feast."

We strolled up to the restaurant, a ramshackle beach shack with an open front and wide wooden beams wrapped in fairy lights. A few plastic tables and chairs sat scattered on the sand, and strings of shells hung from the rafters, clinking softly in the evening breeze.

Inside, the dim light bathed everything in warm shades of amber, flickering with candlelight and the deep green glow from the Bob Marley posters tacked along the walls. A reggae beat drifted from an old speaker in the corner.

I was introduced to Trina, the owner of the Driftwood Shack, a laid-back, beachside spot known for fresh-caught seafood, colorful cocktails, and a warm, easygoing vibe that keeps locals and tourists coming back.

Trina was a big girl with a laugh as large as her presence. She waved us in with a broad smile, her brightly patterned dress swaying as she pulled Franco and Mick into tight, affectionate hugs.

Cato was not a hugger. He high-fived her.

"Boys, look at yuh! Been too long, man!" Trina shook her head with mock disappointment. "Mick, yuh finally catch somethin' other than trouble, eh?" She gestured to the fish they'd brought, her grin approving.

"Shecaught a big one just for you, Trina." Mick patted my shoulder. "A yellow-tail."

"Hi, I'm Belle, the yellow-tail catcher." She shook my hand and guffawed.

She gave Mick an appraising look, then winked at me. "Well now, yuh lucky to be here, Belle. These boys, dey a handful, but good ones, ya know."

As we settled in, Trina took all our fish anddisappeared into the back, leaving us to the cool evening air and each other's company.

Franco, half-sunken in his chair, cracked open a beer and tipped it in my direction. "How are you likin' our island, Belle?"

"I like it a lot," I admitted, looking around at the quiet beach, the dim glow of candles, and the scent of fresh fish cooking in Trina's kitchen. "It's a whole other universe from my life in Cambridge."

"Ain't that the joy of it." Cato knocked his beer bottle against mine.

"Cheers to that." Mick added his bottle to the mix, as did Franco.

"You fit right in, though," Franco mused. "Usually, we have women; they want to know where they can get their fancy wine and all that bullshit."

"I've heard you can get fancy wine and all that bullshit at La Mer Lunaire," I replied, lifting my chin with mock sophistication. "Or is that just a rumor?"

Franco snorted, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, La Mer Lunaire is real alright—only the fanciest, priciest place around. Our man Mick here takes his…ah…more demanding women there." He gave Mick a sly look.

Mick rolled his eyes, brushing it off with a chuckle, but I felt a pang of something hot and uncomfortable flare in my chest. Jealousy? I had no right, of course. This was just a holiday fling. But the idea of Mick sitting across from someone else, charming her over wine and a candlelit table, didn't sit as well as I would've liked.

"Didn't take you for the fancy date type, Captain Mick,” I choked out the words, keeping my tone light.

Mick shot a look at me, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not."

"Yeah, right!" Franco snorted.

"He isn't fancy. He'sdriven,” Cato explained.

"To get into fancy panties," Franco chortled.

I laughed with them, but the image of Mick all dressed up in something other than board shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops for a woman all sexy and dressed up lingered in the back of my mind. I could do dressed up, I thought and wondered if I'd been too easy for Mick, and that was why he hadn't had to impress me with a place like La Mer Lunaire.

"All that expensive wine is a sham, and I prefer the Driftwood Shack," Mick said dryly.

"We all do," Cato agreed.

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