Chapter 3

Kenna

"Thank you so much," I murmured, collecting my messenger bag and jacket from the seat beside me. The rideshare driver just dipped his head and went back to scrolling on his phone. I couldn't complain. He'd gotten me to the lawyer's office right on time, even if his lack of conversation skills made me grind my teeth. If I was going to be talking to myself, the least he could do was mutter something back so I didn't seem so crazy.

I slammed the door and tried to shimmy between the car and an oversized truck parked right next to us. Damn thing was huge, taking up the entirety of the parking space as if the owner felt he was due more than his fair share of space in life. Fishing poles stuck out the back of the truck bed, along with a larger than necessary Salt Life sticker on the back of the cab window. I'd seen quite a few of those on my ride over from the airport. Didn't know what the salt life was all about and I hoped I never did. I was only here long enough to collect whatever Aunt Maeve had left me and be on my way.

I thought I'd made it through when something snagged my blouse and yanked it, nearly choking me.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked the universe at large in a quiet, bubbling rage. I yanked my blouse loose from the fishing line, resulting in a hole the size of a quarter on my shoulder. The charms on my old bracelet let out a soothing tinkle, but nothing could calm the beast that I'd become this last week.

A crack of lightning had me wincing and looking up at the darkening sky. Rain began to pelt my face with alarming speed. I ran, hole and all, my ballet flats slipping and sliding across the blacktop but getting me to the overhang outside the front door before I fell. Every time I thought I'd hit rock bottom in the last few days, something else came to laugh at my delusion and push me ever closer to a new level of rock bottom. I was stuck in some sort of free fall from hell. My current rock bottom was walking into the lawyer's office soaking wet with a hole on my shoulder.

"Hello, can I help you?"

I had to hand it to the secretary, she kept a straight face the whole time she checked out the hair plastered to my head, the mascara dripping down my cheeks, and the squeak from one ballet flat that did not appreciate being soaked.

"Yes, hello. I'm Kenna Ryan, here to see Mr. Cheatum?"

"Kenna Cugly?"

I tried to hold in the grimace. "Was Cugly, now and forever more Kenna Ryan." The one good thing about my impending divorce would be giving up that married name.

The pretty woman smiled, standing up and reaching into a file cabinet to produce a stack of napkins. "He's just in there"—she pointed to a door—"but here are some napkins first." She winked. "And good choice on the name change."

"Bless you," I murmured, taking a few from her hand and attending to my face and then my hair. Thankfully I'd worn it pulled back, so the rain wouldn't cause it to dry in a hornet's nest of curls. Even after a sizable stack of used napkins littered her desk, I was sure I still looked a fright.

"Go ahead on in. I got this."

I couldn't muster up a smile, but I pointed at her as I backed down the hallway to the closed door she'd pointed out. "I like you."

She laughed. "Same, Ms. Ryan."

I twisted the knob and swept into the office, seeing a large man in a suit behind an even larger mahogany desk, along with another man in a leather chair. Both stood, but it was the suited man who came forward with his hand extended.

"Ms. Cugly, lovely to meet you. I'm Mel Cheatum."

My entire hand got swallowed in his. "Nice to meet you too, but it's Kenna Ryan. Not Cugly."

"Oh, pardon me. Kenna Ryan it is."

My gaze flicked past his arm to the other man, but Mr. Cheatum didn't offer an introduction. Instead, he moved his large bulk back behind his desk and I moved to the only empty chair in the room. Next to the mystery man. And speaking of mystery, the guy avoided looking at me as he sat again, which meant his eyes were hidden by a weathered baseball hat pulled low over his brow. But what I had seen of him when he stood up had certainly caught my attention. He was tanned to a color almost as deep as these leather chairs, his T-shirt hugging his body in all the right places. Whereas middle age had started nipping at Justin's heels, this man had escaped its grasp entirely. Tattoos peeked from under the sleeve of his T-shirt, but I ripped my gaze away so as not to stare.

Mr. Cheatum cleared his throat, and I focused my attention on him. I was only here to read the will, deal with any of my aunt's effects, and then skedaddle on home to patch my life back together again. Hot mysterious men no longer mattered to me. Tanned or otherwise.

"Maeve was hoping you'd be here with your mother also."

I tipped my head. "My mother had her reasons for not coming, but I have her permission to speak for us both."

Mr. Cheatum nodded and opened the single file folder sitting on his desk. He slipped on a pair of glasses. "All right, then. Let's get started."

I gave the man sitting next to me side eye. He didn't move a muscle or give any indication that he was getting up and leaving us to this private conversation. Perhaps just a week ago, I would have kept my mouth shut, but I'd reached my limit on male bullshit several days ago. Swiveling in my chair, I drilled the side of his head with my gaze.

"Aren't you leaving?"

The man finally looked my way, and I wished he hadn't. His eyes were a rich brown, flecked with enough gold to take my breath away. He didn't just look at me, he looked deep into my soul.

And found me lacking.

"No."

He swiveled back to the lawyer as if that one-word answer was enough to satisfy a woman teetering on the edge of a full emotional breakdown like me.

"Get. The fuck. Out."

Yes, apparently I was hurling F-bombs everywhere these days.

Mr. Cheatum lurched to his feet, the chair underneath him rolling back and hitting the wall with a bang. His eyes were wide behind the lenses of his glasses. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I didn't do the proper introductions." He came around his desk, a bead of sweat sliding down the side of his forehead. "Ms. Ryan, this is Dec Boggs. He's also here for the reading of the will. He and your aunt were friends."

I narrowed my eyes at the offending man, only getting angrier when he lifted his gaze again. This time with a smug little smile on his handsome face.

"So, if you don't mind, I won't get the fuck out, sugar."

His voice held the kind of sultry twang that had always made me melt into a puddle. Sadly, I was too salty these days to melt over a man any longer. Ha! Would you look at that? Maybe the salt life was for me, after all.

"I liked you better mute." I smiled back at him and we had a bit of a staredown. I did not like this man, and Dec Boggs clearly did not like me.

Thankfully, for the continuation of this meeting, Mr. Cheatum cleared his throat and his chair let out a wheeze as he sat back down. We turned our attention to him as he began to read the will. I ignored the legal jargon as I fumed in my seat. I knew I was angry about a whole lot of things, but it felt really good to focus all that anger on the man next to me, as irrational as it was. When the lawyer finally got to the meaty part, I tuned back in.

"I request and direct that my property be bequeathed as follows." The lawyer peered at us over his wire-rimmed glasses. "My house at 777 Pierside Avenue, Sunshine Key, goes to Kenna Ryan-Cugly. All remaining bank accounts and investments are to be turned over to Kenna Ryan-Cugly so long as they remain hers and not her husband's."

My jaw dropped. Aunt Maeve wasn't one to mince words. She'd had foresight I wished I'd had. Justin was the kind of slimeball you didn't want to leave money to, that was for sure. He'd just buy more diamond bracelets with it. A tiny worm of excitement offered the first full breath I'd taken in days. Maybe with the money from Aunt Maeve's estate, I could get my life in California back on track, regardless of whether I got my job back. Justin would take half of everything that was ours, but he couldn't get his grimy hands on Aunt Maeve's estate. My brilliant aunt Maeve.

"Captain's Boat Club goes equally to Kenna Ryan-Cugly and Dec Boggs, to be owned and operated for exactly one year from the date of my death before it can be sold by either party."

I gasped, not understanding what my ears just heard. Mr. Cheatum kept right on going.

"Upon my death, I direct that my remains stay on the fireplace shelf in their original container, wherever Kenna Ryan resides."

I sat up straighter in my chair. Aunt Maeve wanted me to keep her remains in my possession the rest of my life? I hadn't even thought about that detail, but I was pretty sure I could do that. A bit creepy, but doable.

"Upon my death, I direct Dec Boggs to maintain my plants on my personal property until his death, their death, or the sale of my house on 777 Pierside Avenue, whichever happens first."

The man next to me let out a soft groan. Mr. Cheatum placed the papers back in the folder, took off his glasses, and laced his thick fingers together on the desktop.

"Any questions?"

I snorted, the sound loud and unladylike in the old-fashioned office. "Yes, several."

Mr. Cheatum dipped his head. "Please ask whatever is on your mind. Maeve kept me up to speed on her affairs for many years."

I darted a glance at Mr. Boggs, finally accepting that he wouldn't be leaving the room anytime soon. Not when we were both named in Aunt Maeve's will. Sadly, I only managed a call to Aunt Maeve once or twice a year without Mom's knowledge, which didn't exactly allow for keeping up with her life. I hadn't realized she'd been friends with such a shady character.

"What is this boat club?"

Mr. Cheatum glanced over at Mr. Boggs, who cleared his throat and answered me instead. "It's Sunshine Key's only boat club. Established in 1980 by Maeve. She started with one fishing boat and expanded it from there. Now it rents out over twenty boats every single day to tourists and locals alike."

I swiveled in my chair. "You seem to know a lot about it."

The man looked at me like I'd sprouted a dorsal fin from my forehead. "Well, I live here in Sunshine Key and I was friends with Maeve, so yeah."

"So, why don't you run it and send me the fifty percent royalties." I had no intention of running a boat club. Or staying in Sunshine Key. "I can pay you a fee for the day-to-day management."

Mr. Cheatum interrupted. "That was covered in the first half of the will." The part I hadn't been listening to. "If you don't live in Sunshine Key for a full year, running the boat club with Mr. Boggs, you forfeit your right to everything your aunt left you in the will."

The reality of the situation hit me like an ocean wave to the face. The kind that sprays up your nose and burns so badly your eyes water for two straight days. I had a life in San Francisco. A fractured, sad little life that was currently on life support, but it was a life, dammit. I couldn't just give it all up to live out here in some small town on an island that didn't even show up on most maps.

"Stay here? In Sunshine Key? For a year?"

The two men in the room just let me stew in my hissy fit for long awkward moments.

Dec Boggs finally stuck his hand out between our chairs, brown eyes dancing with humor at my expense. "Welcome to Sunshine Key, partner."

I rolled my eyes and stood, ignoring his outstretched hand as my wet ballet flat squelched in the silence. "I need some time to think."

"Of course, of course," puffed Mr. Cheatum. "Here are the keys to the house. They're yours. Conditionally, of course."

He stood and handed me a key ring. I wrapped my palm around it, feeling too overwhelmed to carry on this conversation. Too much had happened in too short of a time period. I needed sleep and food, and then I could sort all of this out.

"I'll be in touch," I murmured, exiting the room with my head held as high as I could manage under the circumstances.

Mom: Did you make it? Did the old witch leave you anything worthwhile?

Me: Not quite sure yet. I'll let you know.

Mom: She better not have left the house to a charity. That would be just like her.

Me: She did. The charity is me.

Mom: Oh, honey, you're not a charity. You just hit a bit of a bump. All the best triumphs in life come right after hardship.

Me: I'm ready for my triumph.

Mom: Good girl. Go grab your triumph by the balls!