Page 4 of Gator

“Uh, I think so,” she said. Dylan looked down at her hands and frowned. “Ouch.”

“Ouch? Fuck, you’re bleeding! Let me get medical.” He turned to go back inside, but she gripped his forearm.

“No! No, please don’t. I’m okay. I just need to wash them,” she said.

He gripped her elbow, roughly leading her toward the outdoor kitchen space. Standing over the basin, he gently washed her hands, checking for any embedded rocks. When he was done, he took a towel and wrapped it around her hands.

“Are you alright now?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Really, I am. I spill things on me or someone else at least once a week,” she smiled. He looked down at her pretty face and nodded. She wasn’t someone he’d seen before.

“I’m Ian William Dougall. Cam and Kate are my parents. Everyone calls me Gator,” he smiled.

“Gator? You don’t wrestle them, do you?” she frowned. He laughed, shaking his head.

“No, I don’t wrestle gators, although I do wrestle the occasional pretty girl,” he smiled. She nodded, smiling at him. “You didn’t give me your name.”

“Dylan. Dylan Meeks. I’m the new chef at the cafeteria. Oh my gosh, look at your suit! Let me help you get cleaned up.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, shaking his head. “I was about ready to head home anyway. The food was great, by the way. That’s saying a lot considering we had Mama Irene, George, and Sara all these years.”

“Thank you.” They just stood awkwardly, staring at one another. “Well, I need to get back. Thank you for cleaning up my hands.”

“No problem. I’ll see you around,” smiled Gator. She nodded, dashing back into the tent. Gator turned and headed down the path toward the docks, stopping once and looking back with a smile.

CHAPTER TWO

Dylan Meeks smiled up at the man she knew as Uncle Hanz. Her parents had died in a plane crash when she was only three, leaving Dylan alone and frightened. Although Hanz was not a blood relative, he was her father’s business partner and the only person willing to take on the raising of a small child.

As a young girl, she was given every opportunity. She took dance lessons and violin. She painted. She traveled with a nanny in the summer to see other countries and learn about culture. She never had to ask for anything. It was always there for her when she needed it.

By the time she was in high school, she’d made the decision to become a chef. Her uncle was more than happy to provide for her education, sending her to the best culinary schools in the world. When she returned from Europe at twenty-three, she was a changed woman.

No longer the petite little girl with freckles and pigtails, she was a sophisticated woman. Her black hair was cut in a clever style, her big green eyes seemingly glowing on her face. She’d filled out to mature curves. Her uncle was shocked to see her, kissing both cheeks and hugging her.

“I’ve missed you, Uncle,” she laughed.

“You’ve grown up,” he smiled. “I’m glad you’re home. Will you be staying here?”

“For now, if that’s alright,” she said.

“Of course, it’s alright. This is your home,” he smiled. The beautiful beaches of the Hamptons stretched below the massive deck. It was always her happy place to be near water. She closed her eyes, letting the sun soak into her skin, the spray of saltwater licking her body. She turned to see her uncle staring at her.

“What? Is everything alright?” she asked.

“Yes. Yes, everything is fine. It’s just that you’ve changed a great deal. You’re no longer a little girl. You’re a young woman,” he smiled. Dylan tried to smile, but something in her gut churned.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“I’ve arranged for you to have some interviews at a few restaurants in the area,” he said, smiling at her.

“Oh, well, I appreciate that, but I don’t think I’ll be staying long. I want to get some experience in creole cooking. One of my fellow classmates works in New Orleans, and that sounds wonderful to me.”

“New Orleans?” he frowned. “That’s very far. You should stay close to me.”

“Uncle, I appreciate that, but really, I want to find my own way.”

“You know,” he said, walking closer to her. He reached out, rubbing one hand up and down her arm. Dylan felt a wave of disgust and thought she might be sick. “You’re a grown woman now, Dylan. I don’t think you need to call me Uncle. After all, I’m not really your uncle. I’m just a good friend. A very dear friend. Just call me Hanz.”

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