Page 7 of Must Have Been Love

“Hudson, how are you?” Richard booms out.

“I need you to run a check on somebody,” I tell him.

“Sure.” He doesn’t blink at my brash tone. Probably because I pay him a hell of a lot of money not to. “What’s his name?”

“Her name is Skyler Brown. I want all the background.”

“Brown as in Wayne Brown?” Richard knows about my desire to buy The Salty Dog. If he were my therapist and not my lawyer he’d probably remark that it’s part of my need to be in control of everything. But luckily he isn’t and he knows better than to question me.

“Yep.” I’m still thinking about that fucking stud above her lip. I have no idea why I’m so fixated on it. “She’s just arrived on Liberty. I want to make sure she’s not bringing trouble with her.”

I glance out of my window. The rain has eased even more as I’ve been sitting here. It’s a light mist now, enough to give some visibility out of the window. We’re only a few weeks away from spring turning into summer and reaching our busiest time of the year. It’s our first full year of being open since the huge renovation project that took place on the nineteenth century hotel last year. Guests will be paying a hell of a lot to stay here on Liberty. Every suite in the hotel has been decorated to the highest standard.

We’re delivering luxury, privacy, and the promise of good weather. Luxury will include a bar near the center of town that will help my guests feel at home.

Not The Salty Dog. And not a bar run by a manic pixie dream girl with a stud in her lip and an attitude on her mouth.

That mouth though…

Swollen, pink, delicious. Christ, I could show her how to use it.

“Anything else?” Richard asks. He sounds amused.

Was I actually staring out into space then? Thank god we’re not on a video call. I don’t stare out into space, I don’t fantasize about sex. I have it hard and fast and then I move on.

“That’s it,” I say. “Make it quick, please.”

“It’ll cost,” Richard points out.

“And you know that I can pay.” Because yes, we extended ourselves with buying all the available real estate on the island, but after this year it will start to pay off. I have investors, I have money. What I don’t have is the time to think about women who are of no interest to me.

“On it,” Richard says, and I end the call without saying goodbye. I’ll have the report in my hands by the end of the week and be escorting that damn woman off the island shortly after that.

Then everything will be calm and under control. The way I like it. And I’ll never have to think about lip studs again.

three

SKYLER

Everything in the apartment at the back of the bar is neat and tidy. I suspect that somebody came in after my dad died – or once he went to the hospital – and cleaned it up, maybe expecting him to come home and wanting the place to be ready for him.

I feel like I’m intruding as I pull open the closet and see his clothes hanging in there. I grab a sweater – old and chunky with some holes in it from overwashing – and sniff the sleeve.

It smells clean, yet there’s also a hint of the salty air. Like he pulled this on and walked along the ocean. My chest tightens, because I’ll never see that.

I’ll never get to see him again.

I know so little about him, really. My mom never talked about him when I was growing up. He’d flit in and out of my life like some kind of distant relative, arriving unexpectedly, leaving quickly, and never letting me get to know the man who supplied half of my genes.

I manage to find some fresh bedding and change the sheets, then I unpack my suitcase and hang my clothes in his closet, where there’s plenty of space because he was apparently a man of few clothes.

I still don’t know why he requested that I stay here. Did he want me to have somewhere to finally lay down some foundations? Maybe he knew that I’m just like him, never able to settle, always moving onto the next thing.

From the earliest age I drove my mom crazy by never sticking at one thing for long. We tried ballet and t-ball and every other hobby you could give to an elementary school kid, but none of them seemed to fit me.

And then, at school, I was a daydreamer. She’d roll her eyes every time I brought home a progress report.

Skyler would be doing much better at English if she didn’t spend most of the class staring out of the window.

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