Page 59 of Release Me

I’ll change my ways starting tomorrow.

30.Sloane

Mermaid Beach, Florida

“Beginby taking cleansing breaths to shake off the day’s stresses and be truly present for these next ten minutes?—”

A skill saw whirrs, cutting off my online yoga instructor’s soothing voice. I grind my teeth. Will the construction ever end? They’ve been building that bloody hotel for years. At least it’s not the constant hammering today. I can’t sit out here and enjoy the gulf breeze on those days.

“Now let’s roll our body up and head into our downward facing?—”

“I’ll park wherever the hell I want. I live here too!” Cody’s raised voice carries out an open window a moment before our front door slams.

So much for shaking off the day’s stresses. With a heavy groan of defeat, I flop backward onto my yoga mat and wait for my fiancé to march out here and complain about our tenant.Again.

The late-afternoon sun is warm, the palm trees providingno more than dappled shade over the white sand. The summer’s unbearably humid heat is around the corner, so I’ll enjoy this while I can as I study my little beach house.

I owe it all to my grandmother, Ruby Parker, affectionately known to all as Gigi. She bought this home and the land it’s on forty years ago when she moved back to Florida from O‘ahu, freshly divorced and with a young daughter—my mother—in tow. Back when Mermaid Beach was nothing more than a quaint fishing community.

When Gigi signed the property over to me eight months ago and moved into Palm Oaks, a home for the elderly twenty minutes away, she warned me not to skip a year of maintenance or this place would start fading away like a derelict shack and, as usual, she was right. The sun and salty sea air from the Gulf have done a number, washing out the turquoise siding and leaving the white porch floor raw in patches. At least the silver metal roof I installed last fall looks new.

“Frank’s being a prick again!” The back door swings open and slaps shut as Cody plows through, Gatorade in hand, his cut arms on display in a tank top. He’s fresh from the gym and still sweaty.

“What now?”

“I parked my truck like I always do, and he told me to move it.”

“You mean, you backed up to his porch so he can barely squeeze out his front door?” Frank has lived in a trailer on our property for fifteen years, since Gigi hired him to help run the Sea Witch, a coffee and rentals shop on the beach. I arch a judgment-laden eyebrow at Cody. “I told you to stop doing that.”

“I’m not parking near the coop. The birds shit on my hood!”

“They shit on your hood, anyway.”

“Yeah, ’cause Frank trained them to do it.”

I roll my eyes. “How has Frank trained a bunch of chickens,whose brains are literally the size of marbles?” Though it’s hard to ignore the fact that they seem to target Cody’s fire-engine-red Dodge Ram while Gigi’s old Jeep Cherokee, painted the color of a clear summer sky, remains unscathed.

Cody trots down the eight steps to the sand. “I don’t know, but I’m tellin’ ya, I’ve had enough of him.”

“That’s too bad for you because Frank’s not going anywhere.” We see each other every day. We celebrate holidays together. He’s family to me.

“Unless he decides to leave.” Cody’s voice rings with challenge.

Tension cords my muscles. I know where this is heading if I push it—a huge fight about Cody doing his damnedest to make Frank feel unwelcome. I don’t have the energy for that battle today, so I steer the conversation to a safer topic. “We need to paint the house before high season. I figure between the three of us, we can have the whole place done in no time.”

“That’s actually what I want to talk to you about.” He bends over to press a kiss against my lips before pushing his hand through chestnut-brown hair. His thick mane was the first thing I noticed about him, followed quickly by his bright crystal blue eyes and flirtatious smile.

“Painting the house?” I say doubtfully. Cody is a lot of things—charming, spirited, attention-grabbing gorgeous—but eager to do physical labor is not how I would describe him.

“No. Aboutsellingit.”

My jaw hangs. “Did someone drop a weight on your head at the gym?” Gigi signed the beach house over to me so I could call it my own, not so I could cash in.

He crouches beside me, his face earnest as his palm smooths over my bare thigh. “Come on, babe, you’ve been complaining nonstop about that hotel.” He gestures behind me to where it looms in the near distance. “It’s not even open yet. Imagine how much worse it’s gonna be? How much busier? You won’t be able to sit out here anymore without beinggawked at by strangers on the beach. It’s not gonna be the same quiet place anymore.”

My stomach knots as he voices my ongoing worries. We’ve been fighting the powers that be since the first notice went up on the vacant lot five years ago but have gotten nowhere, evidenced by the modern behemoth that now waits to house wealthy tourists.

Cody peers at me. “Look, I really didn’t want to say anything, but you haven’t been yourself lately and people are noticing.”

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