2. Noah

When I jumpedin the water to help the swimmer in distress, I hadn't expected to end up entwined on the beach with Cat Keene, the one girl I wouldn't mind wrapping my arms around on this tiny island. She'd felt way out of my league in high school, and that definitely hasn't changed. Our tumble in the sand had my blood pumping way harder than my workout allotted for, and it took a good deal of time standing on the beach and waiting for my heart to slow before I could search for my shoes.

I still don't know why she was flailing around in the ocean, screaming and coughing like she was drowning, but she was pretty annoyed when I dropped everything and ran to help her.

Well, I didn't drop everything. My pockets weren't empty, so my phone is now at the bottom of Sunset Harbor's beach line, buried in the sand. Maybe a crab has taken it. Or an octopus. Do we have those here?

I have no idea. I didn't pay much attention in marine biology.

It doesn't take book smarts to discern that Cat was hiding something when she ran away, her face all streaked with black like she had forgotten she'd put makeup on and rubbed her eyes repeatedly. We're talking zombie eyes. I had no idea if it was better to warn her or not before she fled. I have sisters. I've seen plenty of mascara mishaps.

Yeah, I should have warned her.

Cat can say she's fine all she wants, but what I saw was definitely some level of distress. Even-keeled people don't scream in the ocean or swim in their sneakers. Besides, I know the woman can swim. She dated my next-door neighbor Jake for a few years when we were teens. I spent half of my high school years at boarding school in Massachusetts, but when I was home for holidays or long weekends, I saw Cat. A lot of Cat.

I doubt she ever saw me, though.

She basically took up residence at Jake's pool back then, and I have a good view of his backyard from my bedroom terrace. I'm not a stalker. I just like the view up there. Since we aren't on the Florida-facing side of the island, it's pretty much just turquoise blue ocean as far as the eye can see. It makes for some great sunsets and snooping on your neighbor's high school parties, if you're a creep.

I'm not a creep, either. I just love sunsets. And you can't help but look when your neighbors are shouting the lyrics to "Baby Got Back" or playing shriek-infested games of Marco Polo.

It was a good day for me when Jake went off to Yale.

The parties stopped. I had peace in my room again. No more distractions while I hung out with my boarding school friends over Halo or got lost in World of Warcraft.

Holding my running shoes by the laces, I inhale a deep breath of sea air and jog back to my family's private beach. It's mostly used by the resort patrons, but there's a little cove they don't know about. I spend most of my time there when I'm visiting Sunset Harbor.

Now that I'm here for the entire summer, I'm going to have to find other ways to blow off steam. Not too much steam or my therapist won't be thrilled, since I'm supposed to be taking a break, but enough to keep me from going stir-crazy. I need Dr. Stein to be happy so she writes me a favorable report at the end of the summer.

I climb the wooden steps up to the resort, then pass the infinity pool, sunshade cabanas, and wall of windows looking into the restaurant. The walkway turns toward the resort, but I keep straight and unlock the gate to the seaside path toward the house I grew up in. I wasn't planning to stay in the house all summer, but a friend needed my suite at the resort while she hides from paparazzi, and the house is empty anyway.

The big, giant, echoey beach house has too many rooms and too much space for one guy. I hate being here alone, but not as much as I hate being here with my entire family. Generally, I don't mind being by myself—I'm pretty used to it. But this house? It's a glaring symbol of everything that's gone wrong in my life.

Currently, it's the center of my parents' divorce arguments, which makes climbing the back porch steps from the path to the house unpleasant. I saw more texts come through our family thread this morning, but I stopped reading them about a month ago. Now I really can't read them, since my phone is chilling in the ocean somewhere. My older sister has an Android, so that group chat won't come to my iPad. For all I know, Mom has claimed the property already and is en route with her squad of wealthy wives to trash the place in Dad's honor.

I can't think about it anymore. The irritation is raising my heart rate again, and I can't have that.

Just trying to keep my anxiety from mounting is anxiety-inducing all on its own. If I want to keep my position as a well-respected CEO of my tech company, Scout, I need to get a handle on it in the next three months.

Board of directors' orders.

I stop in the kitchen to make a protein smoothie, then carry it upstairs. A long, hot shower will chill me out and remove the sound of Cat's panicked screams from my head. Maybe it will get my mind off Mom and Dad's divorce negotiations and my impending job loss, too.

Wow, I'm a real catch. No wonder Cat ran from me like I carried a bucket full of camel spiders.

Not that she'd be interested if I carried a bucket of baby goats or something else women universally seem to adore, though. Apparently, she hates me. The disdain in her eyes on the beach earlier spoke volumes to how she feels about my particular brand of human. I have no idea what I've done to earn that scowl, but there's no mistaking her intent, since it didn't show up until she seemed to recognize me.

I toss my running clothes on the floor and turn on the shower. Ten minutes in, the steam isn't doing anything to push Cat out of my head. When was the last time I saw her before today? A few years ago, at least. We were at the public beach on the south side of the island. She'd been there with friends playing volleyball, and I was pretending to learn how to surf from my sister's boyfriend. He clearly didn't know what he was doing, but I let him think he was teaching me so I didn't seem like a jerk. Our family's reality show had been filming us at the time, which meant best behavior all around.

Most of my life has carried that theme. People are watching: chin up, shoulders back, monitor what you say, and keep your face neutral. Dad's two most repeated phrases are don't do anything to give the family bad press and keep an eye out for gold diggers.

Ironic, given who he's dating right now.

Cat's life has always seemed the opposite of mine. She's carefree, cheerful, and nice because she wants to be and not because her dad stood behind her with a stick, prodding her into good behavior. I used to be envious of her sheer freedom to be whoever she wanted to be and how much her uncle supported her. That envy transferred straight to Jake when they started dating, and I realized I didn't just want Cat's life. I'd wanted her.

Teenage me had a fat crush on this girl. Can you blame me? She wasn't just sweet and outgoing and fun; she was just as beautiful then as she is now. It had to have been two years ago when I last saw her on the beach, but I distinctly remember watching her jump into the arms of a tall blond guy and kiss him after her team won the volleyball game. She's probably married to the guy now. Someone called Bradley who makes kombucha and plays the piano and recycles his Wall Street Journal. You know, perfectly well-rounded.

Why is this guy living in my head? I don't even know him. The day I saw them on the beach, we hadn't even talked. I remember chatting with my good friend Tristan and a few other island friends on the opposite team, but Cat hadn't even acknowledged me. The guy didn't either, but he clearly hadn't grown up here or I'd know him. He'd worn board shorts and no shirt and acted like Cat was his property. Apparently, that's all my brain needs to spin a stupid backstory for him.

Go home, anxiety. That's enough for today please.

I give myself another ten minutes in the shower, closing my eyes and dropping my head back under the water to soothe away my stress.

Did I have a crush on Cat back in the day? Yes.

Did she notice I existed? Nope.

Does that even matter now? Not at all.

Except for the fact that my stupid heart went buck wild when we went down on the sand. Hello, tangled legs. I can't push that image out of my mind no matter how hard I try. It's much better than reliving her gargled screams.

When the shower has been on longer than I care to admit, I shut it off and towel dry. My iPad rings from my dresser, so I wrap the towel around my waist and move to answer it.

Mom is calling. Her name and face flash across the screen. It's a photo from her 60th birthday party a few years ago, blonde hair pulled back into an elegant style and pearls encircling her throat. I reach for the iPad, but my hand hovers before making contact. I can't talk to her now. I just chilled out, and the last thing I need is a forty-five minute diatribe on Dad's latest trip to Cancun with his newest model "friend."

Guilt slithers in, though, and I reach for the iPad again just as it stops ringing. Well, I tried.

I'll call her back when I'm dressed. Or when I have a phone again. My second-in-command, Gina, wants to go over the latest updates on our new dating app, and I told her I'd make time for her this afternoon.

I pull on pants that are appropriate for the office, then search the closet for a good tie to go with my blue shirt. I probably brought too many clothes to Sunset Harbor for a summer-long move, but I like to be prepared for anything. This also means needing to worry about laundry less often. Since I'm not good at laundry, that's important.

Mateo usually handles those things for me, but he can't be out here all the time while we're trying to launch the app. He might be my personal assistant, but I'm happier when his focus is on the office.

I reach for a tie and pause when a thud draws my attention. It sounds like it came from downstairs, so I lean toward the closet door and listen.

The front door snaps shut.

Think of the devil. Mateo must be early. Or?.?.?. is he? I think I told him to meet me at the office for the meeting with Gina. But he tends to know what I need before I do half the time, so he's probably here with a paper that needs an ink signature or important dry cleaning or a sandwich.

Man, I hope he's here with a sandwich. I didn't realize how hungry I am until now.

Footsteps tap up the exposed wood staircase.

Tossing the tie around my neck, I slip my arms into my shirt and start toward the hallway. "I hope you brought me something to eat."

Stepping into the shaft of sunlight from the long window in the hallway, I'm aware of three things in rapid succession:

First, it's not Mateo. It's a woman.

Second, her shriek tears through the house, shrilly reverberating through my bones.

Third, she has a bucket in her arms, and she throws its contents at me, drenching me in warm, soapy water.

I hope it's soap, at least, and not poison. It does smell like Dawn.

"You?" she squeals. I don't know why, because my eyes are stinging from the soap, and I can't open them. "Noah Butt—" She clears her throat. "Why are you here?" she asks, her tone sounding more whiny than scared.

Her voice sounds familiar. I scrub my hand over my face and squint.

I make out a woman, average height, slender, with a frowning, scowling forehead, blonde hair thrown up in a ponytail, and—if I'm not mistaken—bright red cheeks.

Catalina Keene. Inside my house. Holding a now-empty bucket.

Weird. "Did you follow me here?" I ask, clearing the water from my eyes.

She straightens, leaning back slightly. She's changed her clothes since jumping in the ocean. Now she wears a baggy Princess Peach T-shirt and shorts. It was obviously a stupid question.

"I'm here to clean." She says this like it's obvious. She has a pair of yellow rubber gloves in one hand, so maybe it is.

At least that explains how she has the code to my parents' house. I wipe a hand over my face to get rid of more water. "You're the cleaning lady?"

She crosses her arms over her chest, and the sassy pose proves she still doesn't like me. What did I do? "I've been cleaning your parents' house for the last few years," she says.

Every new word that comes out of my mouth is digging my hole deeper and deeper. I check out her hand and don't find a ring. Guess she didn't marry Beach Blondie.

Does this mean she's single? Would it matter if she was? She's still staring at me, so I better say something. "They didn't tell me."

"Why would they?" Her eyebrows pull gently together in genuine confusion.

My ears warm. Idiot. Why would my parents think to tell me that some random island girl was hired to clean the house? They don't know we knew each other—kind of—in school. That my sister Olive used to be her friend until I slipped and mentioned I thought Cat was cute. The next day they weren't friends anymore.

My parents never kept tabs on my sisters' friends, and they certainly didn't keep any on mine either. Not to mention no one comes here much anymore, so I doubt Cat's in regular communication with them.

But still, they should have given me the schedule. What if she'd walked in on me in the shower? Or getting dressed?

"I'll be here for the summer," I say. "They didn't tell me when you'd be cleaning or I would have made sure to stay out of your way."

Her eyebrows hitch up. "The summer? All of it?"

I'm still dripping on the floor, but she doesn't seem to notice, so I don't mention it. "Yeah. Until the end of August."

Cat puffs out her cheeks and blows a long breath. "Okay. Good to know." She does a sweep of my clothes, her eyes widening as if just noticing she threw a bucket of water on me. Her eyes linger on my chest, and I have to actively avoid flexing. "Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry about the water. You startled me, and?—"

"Don't worry about it."

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. "Let me help you clean that up."

I raise an eyebrow and glance down. "You want to help me with my wet shirt? Or did you mean you want to dry my chest?"

Her cheeks go pink. "No. I mean, yeah?.?.?. that's not what I meant."

She's cute when she's flustered.

"I need to get back to it," Cat says.

"Cleaning? Or ogling me?" For the first time probably ever, I feel like I have the advantage over her.

Her cheeks are really red now and I love it. "I wasn't ogling. I was looking to see how much damage I did."

"None, as you can see." I put my arms out to the sides to showcase that I'm perfectly undamaged. Physically. It pulls my shirt open further.

Cat checks me out again before her eyes snap to mine. "We use a Google calendar to keep the schedule, Mr. Belacourt. If your parents need to add cleaning days or anything, they do it there, and I move them if I need to. Maybe if you request access to that, you can let me know what days I shouldn't come while you're here."

Mr. Belacourt? What the actual heck? If that's her attempt to keep things professional, it's a little too late for us. But she's clearly uncomfortable. Maybe if I get her info, I'll have a way in. A form of communication. I can text her. "Can you send it to me?"

She pulls out her phone and taps a few times before glancing up. "Email address?"

Well, that ruined that plan. I was hoping she'd have to text me the calendar. I rattle off my email address, and she finishes typing it into her phone.

"If this is a bad time, I can come back another day."

"I'm just heading out," I tell her. "You're welcome to stay."

"Just leave your wet clothes in the bathroom, and I'll take care of them," she says, turning back down the stairs. Probably to refill her bucket and not at all because she needs to get away from me as fast as humanly possible.

I watch her walk down the stairs, her hair bouncing with each step. My instinct is to follow her, but my brain knows better.

It's not smart to mess with island girls, no matter how cute they are or how pretty their smile is or how much I want to make them laugh. Island girls like Cat want to stay here forever, and I definitely don't.

I do what any smart guy would do in my shoes. I turn and walk away from her, and I try really, really hard to push her out of my head.