Chapter 23

Once I’ve texted Cat to let her know she doesn’t need to drive me to the ferry, I lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to feel.

I should be devastated. I should be angry. I should be…on a plane.

It’s not like I couldn’t have still flown home. I may not have a job anymore, but I have an apartment, friends, and family there.

But if Insight doesn’t need me right now, what’s the point? That was the reason I was heading home—to get back to my job. My sole purpose in calling Meredith was to ask her for permission to stay in Sunset Harbor longer. And she definitely signed off on that.

The initial shock has worn off, and now I just feel…weird. I should be feverishly job hunting right now, if nothing else, right?

Yes. I should be.

I grab my laptop to start scouring the web for listings in my field. But once I get to the search parameters, I pause. Do I look for something near my apartment? Mia and I have been living together for a while now, but she’ll be moving in with Austin after their wedding, which means I either find something new or pay the full rent on my own, which I don’t want to do. I’ve got enough saved up to get me by for at least six months if needed, but I’d rather not put a massive dent in my savings .

Which means I need to search for a new place to live and a new job. And that means I can widen my search to a larger area. I scroll out on the map, and the search radius goes from encompassing a small part of LA to almost the entire county.

I scroll even more until it covers Nevada and parts of Arizona and Utah.

Before I know it, the radius includes the entire US and parts of Mexico and Canada.

“Too big,” I whisper as little purple dots pop up all over the country, each one representing an open position.

I can’t help being intrigued by what my options might be in Boston or Baton Rouge or, hey, what about Cabo? I don’t speak Spanish, though, so that one’s probably out.

My gaze roams over the map, fixing on a spot in Florida, not far from Sunset Harbor.

“Don’t be crazy, Gemma,” I say. But I’ve already clicked on it, my eyes roaming over the salary details and experience requirements.

I slam the laptop lid shut. I can’t do this right now. I need some time to process things first, to unwind. It’s a lot to take in. What do I do instead, though?

A sense of freedom makes my skin tingle. No one knows my real whereabouts. And I think I’d like to keep it that way a bit longer.

I wake in the morning to a dead laptop beside me. It must have slid off my lap whenever I dropped off in the middle of the Turkish drama series I got sucked into.

I grab my phone, which is also dead, then flip off the twisted bedcovers and go find my packed charger. As soon as it powers on, a string of texts from Mia come through, wondering if I had to sleep at the office.

I blow out a breath, then tap her contact to fill her in on everything. Well, not everything…certain details are withheld based on lack of relevance.

Mia is horrified—about Insight, about my impending job loss, about the fact that I feel the need to remain in Sunset Harbor. But when I explain everything about Grams and the house and Eugene, she agrees that it’s for the best that I canceled my flight.

“Gosh, Gem,” she says. “How long do you think you’ll have to stay? I’m so sorry.”

Weirdly, I’m not. I’m almost too okay with it. “I’m not sure. I’m heading to the city offices soon to see what I can find about the property line. I’ll be working on that nonstop because, from what Eugene said, once that matter’s settled, we’ll have ourselves a contract. And apparently, the buyer plans to pay cash, which means the deal could close pretty soon—within a couple weeks.”

“Basically ideal.”

“Yeah. I mean, what would really be ideal is if Mr. Wallace were a forty-year-old family man with a boatload of cash, envisioning a happy place for his three young children to grow up instead of a money-driven investor planning to make the place unrecognizable. But we can’t have everything, right?”

“Right. The important thing is just that it sells quickly and for the amount Grams needs.”

After talking to Mia, I shower and get ready, then head to the city offices.

No one’s there except Mayor Barnes, so I knock on his half-open door.

“Miss Sawyer,” he says happily. “I thought you left yesterday.”

“I have a few things to take care of before heading home. It’s why I’m here, actually. I’m wondering where you might store documents about property boundaries. Old documents.”

He sucks a breath through clenched teeth. “That’s not my domain. Jane might know. She’s not here, though. We’re all gearing up for the big Fourth of July event.”

“Of course,” I say. “Any idea when she’ll be back?”

He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “I don’t micromanage her. No need to! She’s amazing at what she does.”

I hope she’s also amazing at knowing where the property boundary documents might be. I give up on getting any helpful information from Mayor Barnes. Maybe Beau can tell me where to find Jane since they’re so close. But Beau doesn’t know I’m still here, and I don’t know that I’m ready to tell him.

I go to Seaside Oasis, and the fiasco that is my life suddenly feels a little less crazy and awful.

When Grams sees me, she yells out in surprise.

“Bless that crooked CEO!” she says when I explain to her about Insight.

“Grams!” I scold, my censuring tone belied by the laugh I can’t suppress. “I’m losing my job. You realize that, right?”

“True,” she says, trying to tone down her schadenfreude. She puts up a finger. “ But you’re a smart, capable cookie, Gigi. You’ll get swooped up in no time! But not too soon. I’d like a little more time with you here. Speaking of cookies…Deedee! Do you have any more of those Thin Mints left?”

“About a fifth of a sleeve, I’d say,” Deedee replies from her place playing bingo with Lu.

“That’ll do,” Grams says. “This calls for a celebration. Gigi will go get them, won’t you? My walker is tired.”

“Naturally,” I say, getting up with a smile.

Grams grabs my arm and pulls me closer. “Deedee’s lying,” she whispers. “Check her bottom drawer for the box she thinks I don’t know about. ”

I take Deedee’s key and jog to her room, trying and failing to avoid Tristan Palmer on the way. I keep the conversation short, and he senses my impatience and lets me go after a couple minutes.

I bring back precisely one and one-fifths sleeves of Thin Mints, which Grams insists we enjoy outside, away from all the others who might expect us to share the secret stash.

“These were meant to last me until next season,” Deedee says as she opens the full box. “Oh well! YOLO, as Virginia likes to say.”

Deedee distributes the Thin Mints like she’s dealing a deck of cards.

“You shorted me,” Grams complains.

“I did not,” Deedee says. “We each got eight! Count again, sister.”

Grams winks at me. “It was worth a shot.”

We eat our Thin Mints while the women chat about the most recent gossip. I listen with amusement, but my mind begins to wander after a few minutes as I stare out at the swaying palms and clear blue skies. This isn’t a bad trade for my view at the office: the gray wall of the building next door.

My attention is pulled back when Lu mentions Officer Palmer.

Grams makes a sound of annoyance. “That Palmer pig has been eyeing my Gigi since she arrived.”

“Grams,” I say, feeling my traitorous cheeks heat up. Has he really had his eye on me since then?

“What happened to that Miami girl of his?” Lu asks.

I tense. Miami girl? Is that why he went there last week? To see a woman?

Doesn’t matter .

“He’s got a piece in Miami?” Grams asks, her mouth full of brown cookie.

“So they say,” Lu says, taking a miniscule bite of hers. “It’s why he goes there all the time. Someone he met while he was on the force there.”

Deedee nods to confirm. “He’s real close-lipped about it.”

“Just like his grandpa,” Grams mutters.

The conversation shifts down other avenues, and the time for questions about Miss Miami has passed. Not that I would’ve felt like I could ask them even if it hadn’t. Showing too much interest would be dangerous. Grams is too smart not to catch on.

I leave not long after and make another stop at the city offices in case I’m lucky enough to catch Jane. If not, I’ll be tempted to march in and start going through filing cabinets.

But my luck is in this time. Jane is at her desk, typing away at her computer. When I tell her what I’m after, she clenches her teeth. “I’ve been through all of those documents,” she says as she leads me to a big filing cabinet, “and none of them are older than about thirty years. I’m guessing the ones before that got damaged in that big hurricane that hit the island. What do you need the documents for?”

“An interested buyer,” I say. “It’s the one thing standing between us and a contract, I think. He basically wants confirmation that the dock is on our property rather than the Palmers’.”

She opens the cabinet. “He has a boat he wants to dock there?”

I hesitate, wondering how forthcoming I need to be about things. But I have no reason to hide anything. This is a house sale. A business transaction. “Kind of. He wants to rebuild the dock at the same time as he does the one next door. Connect them, I think.”

Jane’s hands pause in their flipping through the files, and her gaze darts to me. “It’s Mark Wallace?”

“Yep,” I say, keeping my voice upbeat.

Jane’s eyes stay fixed on me for a second, then she returns to the files without saying anything. She doesn’t have to. It’s obvious she’s not thrilled. She finally pulls out a group of folders and sets them on top of the cabinet. “If it’s here, it’d be with these papers. But I’d honestly be surprised.”

“And if it’s not?”

She grimaces. “You’ll probably have to get a surveyor out there.”

“Thanks for your help,” I say with a smile.

For the next fifteen minutes, I flip through the papers, quickly glancing at the names and dates. But she’s right. There’s nothing that goes as far back as I need. Of course. Nothing can just be easy or straightforward.

I thank Jane again and call Eugene on my way out to let him know I’m still around and that we’ll need a surveyor out here stat.

I grab a few food items from the general store—it’s no homemade chicken alfredo, but it’ll do—and head home. I set the grocery bags on the counter and start putting the perishable things away. Glancing at the backyard, I do a double take.

Beau is sitting on the dock, his legs swinging over the edge. He’s wearing shorts and a white T-shirt but no shoes. He almost looks like he’s…waiting.

Part of me wants to run away before he realizes I’m home. Two weeks ago, I would’ve felt confident to take on Beau Palmer—or any Palmer for that matter—and come out of the interaction unscathed.

I don’t feel that now. I feel unsure of myself, of what I want, of what he wants. Especially given whatever he has going on with this girl in Miami.

He glances over just then, his gaze fixing on me.

Busted.

I try to buck up some confidence and head for him.

“You don’t look surprised to see me,” I say, shutting the sliding door behind me.

“I’m not. I’ve got ears all over this island. ”

I slip off my sandals and take a seat next to him. Have his island ears told him why I didn’t leave yesterday? Or is there a chance he’s assuming I’m here for him? I feel the urgent need to clarify this matter.

“I lost my job,” I say, hoping he connects the dots.

“You mean your CEO lost everyone’s jobs on their behalves.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what I mean.” Tristan must have texted him. Do they text other things about me?

“Ironic,” Beau says, handing me a peach from the bag next to him.

“What is?”

“A PR firm going under because of bad publicity.”

I take a bite, and sugary peach juice dribbles down my chin. “Some choices are beyond fixing.”

He takes a bite from his peach and manages to keep from leaking peach juice all over like I did, but his lips glisten, and my mind wanders down forbidden paths for a few seconds, wondering what kissing him would taste like right now with some peach added in.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re not embezzling money from Sunset Harbor, right? I need to know your deepest secrets if this campaign is going to be successful.” Like whether you’ve got someone in Miami.

He turns his peach like he’s trying to find the perfect spot to bite next. “I’m way too busy handing out favors to the Sunset Harbor Mafia to embezzle money. You never sent me the folder, by the way.” He takes another bite, and I turn my head away. Focusing on his mouth isn’t helping anyone.

“I didn’t realize it was urgent,” I say. “I planned to do it once I got home. I’ll send it today.”

“ Or ,” he says slowly, his voice that’s way too casual, “since you’re here, you could keep helping me.”

I shoot him an unamused look. But inside, I’m saying yes .

“Did you know,” he says, “that your grandma filled most of the sugar canisters on the dining tables with salt last night because she thought the other team cheated at Charades?” He makes a sequence of tsk sounds. “I had to put in a lot of hours last night to help the dust settle.” He takes another bite of his fruit, his eyes on me.

“A lot of hours,” I repeat.

“When you work part-time, half an hour is the equivalent of an eight-hour work day.”

I struggle against a smile. “Right. And how do you know it was Grams? Seems like an unfair assumption.”

Beau’s dimple appears. “Seems like the most reasonable assumption in the world, if you ask me. Especially because we have video footage.”

I bite my lip. I’d actually love to see that footage. If anyone can handle such devious doings while using a walker, it’s Grams.

“So, you’re saying I still owe you.”

He takes the last bite of his peach, leaving nothing but the pit. “I’m just trying to make sure it’s all fair and square.”

“Mmhmm.”

He tosses the pit into the canal. Within seconds, there are fish nibbling at whatever bits of fruit are left. We both watch the feeding frenzy. I have no idea how long I’ll be in Sunset Harbor. I don’t know much of anything about my life right now. It might be nice to have some work to do while I’m here. The boundary issue doesn’t qualify since it’ll be in the surveyor’s hands.

Beau turns to look at me. “I’m really sorry about your job, Gemma. It’s completely unfair, and you deserve so much better.”

I swallow, feeling suddenly emotional—more so than I have since Meredith broke the news.

“But I’m glad you’re still here, even if the situation isn’t ideal.”

The situation looks almost too ideal, if you ask me. It has beautiful brown eyes, the best smile I’ve ever seen, and is somehow sitting so much closer to me than when I first sat down.

It also may or may not have a lady friend in Miami.

And so what? I’d be an idiot to give my mind and heart free rein when it comes to Beau Palmer, Miss Miami notwithstanding. It may feel like I know him well, but I don’t. He doesn’t seem like the two-timing type, but my CEO also seemed like a stand-up guy, and look where that assumption got me.

I don’t want to burn any bridges, though, particularly any bridges that might harm Grams’s life at Seaside Oasis. I can keep it together for her, right? I can help Beau get the footage he wants for his presentation to the city council, and maybe it’ll become clearer in the meantime what type of person I’m really dealing with. So far, Beau has seemed pretty dang good. Too good.

But no one stands up very well to thorough scrutiny. I’ll just look at working with Beau as putting him under the microscope. An electron microscope, preferably.

“Okay, fine,” I say. “I’ll help you more. Extra material to work with never hurt a PR campaign.”

He smiles and puts out his hand. “We’re back in business.”

I set my peach beside me and take Beau’s hand, wondering if I’ve just made yet another deal with the devil—and how much I care.