Page 11 of Must Have Been Love

Slowly she stands up, and if I’m being honest it’s painful to watch. I swear I feel every twinge and ache reflected in her expression as she straightens her legs.

“Hello.” She offers me a smile. “You must be Wayne’s daughter.”

“I am.” I smile widely at her. “Do I look like him or something?”

“No.” She shakes her head, and I feel deflated. “You’re all the talk on the island WhatsApp. What are you doing with Ayda?”

I look down at the little girl. “Is that your name?” I ask her. “Ayda?”

She nods.

“She walked into the bar. I’m trying to clean it up,” I call out to the woman. “Do you know where her parents are?”

“Well her mom’s dead.” The woman shrugs.

My mouth drops open. This is the brutal island honesty that I was promised, but somehow it feels bad. I think about putting my hands over Ayda’s ears, but she doesn’t look perturbed at all by this woman’s words.

“And her dad is probably at work. Her aunt looks after her mostly.”

“Do you know where her aunt is?” I ask, trying to sound patient.

“No. You could try calling her.” The woman winks at Ayda.

Who winks back.

“That would be a great idea,” I say. “If I knew her name or had her number.”

“I tell you what, I’ll text her,” she says, and finally I let myself relax.

“Great. Can I leave Ayda with you while she waits to get picked up?” A rush of hope goes through me.

“Oh no, dear.” She shakes her head. “I have things to do.” She pulls a phone from the pocket of her housecoat and taps on it like an expert. “There,” she says. “I’ve told her that you have Ayda at the bar. You two might as well go back there and wait.”

“But you don’t know me,” I say. “I’m a stranger. I could mean danger.”

“You’re Wayne’s girl,” she replies. “Now why don’t you two go get to know each other?”

“She won’t talk to me.”

“She won’t talk to anybody. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

I glance at Ayda, who doesn’t look at all upset at being talked about so directly. “You want to come back to the bar?” I ask her, warily.

She nods, a smile lighting up her face.

“Well okay then.” I look at the woman. “Thanks…” I trail off.

“Eileen,” she says, pointing at the sign on the guest house. “Obviously.”

“Thanks, Eileen,” I say, then under my breath I mutter. “Obviously.” Taking Ayda’s hand in mine once more, the three of us – Ayda, me, and the hound from hell – head back to the bar to wait for her aunt.

four

SKYLER

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” a pretty brunette shouts out as she rushes into the bar ten minutes later. Ayda is at the counter happily coloring a house with a red crayon. Her dog is lapping at a bowl of water I gave him, still standing guard over his little ward. The only time he’s let her out of his sight is when he decided to go around the counter to grab his toy rat.

“I’m so sorry,” the brunette continues. Wait, is this Ayda’s aunt? I frown, because I expected somebody more like Eileen. Somebody older and more… responsible. Not someone who looks like she’s my age or younger with her hair flying behind her, a t-shirt reading ‘please don’t make me do stuff’ printed across her chest. It’s knotted at her waist, revealing her perfectly toned stomach, and like me she’s wearing cut-offs.

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