Chapter 5

Tristan runs a hand through his blond hair and takes a seat at the desk, clasping his hands and meeting my gaze frankly. “You expressed concern yesterday about how your grandmother would be treated here, and I reassured you. But the truth is, Gemma, that we took a chance accepting her. I know this island means a lot to her, which was a big factor in our agreeing to it. We want her to be able to remain on the island she loves, and to do it on her terms as she ages. But to have such a serious situation happen so soon after her arrival…” He grimaces.

“What are you getting at?”

He breaks his hands apart and puts them out, palms up. “We simply don’t have the resources to be keeping the type of close eye on our residents that I’m concerned your grandma will require. We exist to provide support to seniors to allow them the most independence possible given their stage of life; we aren’t here to, for lack of a better word, babysit, or to deal with behavioral issues.”

“So, you’re kicking her out?”

He sighs and sits back in his swivel chair. “Not yet. I need to consult with my dad about what legal action Mr. Crane’s family could potentially take against us. We have a scheduled meeting tomorrow.”

Great. There’s no way that meeting ends with Grams still living here. Mark Palmer has always butted heads with her.

“So, he still runs things here?” I ask.

“No, but he’s involved, of course, and takes a deep interest. Kind of hard for him not to when he lives so close. Anyway, I wanted to let you know the situation. I understand you’re trying to ready the house for sale.”

“And you think I should hold off,” I say, watching him closely.

“I don’t know. But I’ll have a firm answer for you tomorrow, okay? Just…see if you can talk to her. It’ll be tough to argue for keeping her here if she doesn’t show any remorse for what happened—and if she intends to continue trying to change company policy.”

“I understand,” I say tersely. It goes against everything in me to say those words to a Palmer.

That’s the most annoying part. He’s been perfectly nice this whole time. And just as reasonable. It would have been great if he’d been rude and dismissive—or if he was discriminating against Grams in a way that meant I could sue the Palmer empire for all they’re worth.

Instead, I walk out of his office worrying Grams’s hours at Seaside Oasis are numbered—and I grudgingly understand why.

I find Grams in the cafeteria again, sitting in front of a plate of loaded nachos. It’s half eaten, but she’s holding her stomach like she already had too much.

“Can’t get seconds without finishing firsts, Virginia.” Beau’s gaze meets mine. “After her first bite, she assured me she’d want a second plate. But that’s the trouble with starving yourself. It shrinks your stomach. Don’t worry,” he says as he gets up from his chair. “You’ll work back up to it.”

Grams gives him the stink eye, but Beau is unfazed by it. I wonder if anything can pierce that good-natured armor.

“I’ll be at the front desk, Gemma,” Beau tells me. “No rush.”

My mouth opens wordlessly because I have no clue why’s he’s offered up this unnecessary information—until I realize I have no way home because he drove me here. By then, though, he’s already walking away.

“Well?” Grams says, folding her arms over her stomach and shifting toward me.

I pull in a big breath and let it out slowly. “It’s not good. Tomorrow, we might be packing up everything you just unpacked.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“There are other retirement homes, Grams.”

She shakes her head vehemently. “I’m not leaving Sunset Harbor.”

“Then you can’t lead hunger strikes full of people with diabetes and heart disease. Even then, you might not be able to stay. Tristan has to talk to his dad about their legal liabilities. They’re worried Mr. Crane’s family could sue.”

Grams snorts. “Clarence was fine. He wanted an out from the strike, so he pretended to feel faint.”

“And was his blood sugar monitor also pretending?”

Grams has no response for that.

“You really want to be here?” I ask.

“I do. All my friends are here.”

“And your enemies.”

“Gotta keep ’em close.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “You’d better be on your best behavior, then. And you’ll have to say sorry to Tristan—and Clarence, of course. I’ll do what I can, but even then, there’s no guarantee you’ll be sleeping here tomorrow night.”

Grams’s gaze studies mine for a few seconds, then she plants a quick kiss on my cheek. “Poor Gigi. Has to clean up her grandma’s house and her messes. I’ll try to behave myself.”

That’s as good as I’ll get from her. I know she means it too, but Grams’s good intentions aren’t always as strong as her temper .

I get up, and she stops me with a hand on my arm. “Is that pig driving you home?”

“Your cart wouldn’t start, so I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Her lips press together. “Don’t you let that boy-in-blue pull the wool over your eyes. A wolf in sheep’s clothing—that’s what he is.”

“Two references to wool, back to back,” I say, impressed. I put my hand over hers and smile. “Don’t worry about it, Grams. I’m safe.”

She nods, and I kiss her hairspray-stiffened roller curls, then head to the lobby. There’s a group of residents huddled around Xena, petting and praising her, while Beau looks on with folded arms and an appreciative expression.

He takes the hat in his hand, leans over, and puts it at a jaunty angle over the dog’s head. The crowd loses their minds.

And, honestly, it’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

The dog, not Beau.

My gaze flicks up to him. To be fair, he’s not so bad either. That smile is truly killer. He could probably hand out speeding tickets like candy, and as long as he’s smiling, people would thank him.

Wolf in sheep’s clothing , Gemma.

I head over to him, and he apologizes to the crowd about having to break up the Xena admiration party.

We head for the doors, and I step out into the stifling midday heat, the dog on my heels. The humidity hits like a brick wall, making my skin tacky.

“Gosh, I hate this island,” I say as we reach the golf cart parked in front of the doors.

“Why?” Beau asks as we take our seats and the dog makes the jump up—with effort.

I shoot Beau an unamused look.

“I’m serious,” he says. “Why do you hate it? ”

“I don’t particularly want to be arrested for slander, but thanks for asking.”

“You can’t get arrested for slander. It’s a civil offense, not a criminal one. And the island would have to press charges.”

“Wouldn’t put that past it,” I mutter, stroking Xena’s fluffy fur.

He chuckles as the cart gets going. “You have some feelings on the topic, I take it.”

“Gee, you don’t miss much, do you?”

“Not much, no. If you don’t want to discuss it right now, though, we can change the subject.”

It’s not that I don’t want to discuss it. It’s that I don’t understand why it needs to be discussed. Does he really not understand why I dislike Sunset Harbor? It’s like Satan not understanding why everyone dislikes hell.

A very smiley, attractive Satan, which is the most dangerous Satan of all.

“Did you manage to talk your grandma down?” he asks.

“For now, I think.”

“That’s good. She’s torturing herself needlessly trying to get alcohol reintroduced at Seaside. It’s a losing battle.”

I clench my jaw. The Palmers think any battle against them is a losing one.

“Maybe you don’t know my grandma well enough,” I shoot back.

“Trust me. I know your grandma.”

My need to argue the point gets commandeered by my curiosity. “What did she get arrested for?”

He shoots me a quick glance. “You really want me to tell you?”

“I mean, it’s public record, right? You might as well save me the trouble.”

His grin grows. “I don’t know. Her mugshot is pretty good.”

“I’ll look it up. But just tell me. ”

He hesitates for a second, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Public indecency.”

My eyes balloon.

“She was swimming topless at the beach,” he explains. “Someone told her to put her top back on, but she wouldn’t, so…”

My face is bright red, and I cover it with my hands because Beau—and others, apparently—have seen Grams topless. A laugh bursts through my hands, and I lower them. “That has Grams written all over it.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” He steals a smiling glance at me, like we’re sharing a joke.

Grams would be highly disappointed. But then, maybe she shouldn’t have gone topless at the beach.

I force myself to get serious again. “Your brother wants to kick her out.”

He frowns. “I don’t think that’s what Tristan wants. I think he’s worried about the liability she is.”

“He’s talking to your dad tomorrow, and call me cynical, but I don’t think that conversation ends well for Grams.”

“Yeah, probably not.” He passes his house and pulls into Grams’s driveway.

“You could’ve parked in your own driveway, you know. I’m perfectly capable of walking thirty feet.”

“I was worried you’d faint because of the heat,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

I don’t dignify that with a response, instead getting out of the cart.

“Hey,” he says.

I face him expectantly.

“Maybe I can help,” he suggests. “With your grandma.”

I lift a brow, unsure what exactly he’s offering.

He shrugs. “I could try to smooth things over with my dad—make sure she gets another solid chance. ”

I stare at him, searching his face for the wolf behind the wool. I’m sure it’s there, but this is a crazy good disguise. I hate hot Satan. I can’t be selling my soul to the devil, though, no matter how attractive he is.

“And why would you do that?”

His brows pull together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s the catch?”

He looks at me for a second before responding. “I mean, there was no catch, but now that you mention it, maybe we should make it a fair trade.”

“Is this you accepting a bribe?”

He laughs, pulling the hat from his head and running a hand through his hair. It’s a dead sexy move. “I don’t want your money.”

“Then what?”

He looks pensive for another few seconds. “Let me take you around the island—show you all there is to love about it.”

I break my gaze away, giving a breathy laugh. “I know the island, Beau.”

“Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t.”

I don’t respond right away. Is this his way of asking me on a date? And if it is, would it be worth Grams getting another chance at Seaside Oasis?

“Am I even allowed to say no?” I nod to indicate the gun holstered at his waist.

He follows my gaze. “Afraid of my water gun?”

“Is it really a water gun?” I’ve seen very realistic-looking ones.

His hand covers the handle, and there’s a look in his eyes I can’t place. “No. But it wouldn’t join us on our island exploration anyway. I’d be going as Beau, not Officer Palmer.”

Why do those words make me feel a little breathless? “That doesn’t help me much right now, though, does it? I think there’s an unwritten rule you’re not allowed to say no to a date with someone carrying a gun.”

“Who said it was a date?”

My cheeks warm as I try to extract my foot from my mouth.

“This is a matter of island pride,” he proclaims. “I can’t accept anyone hating Sunset Harbor—it’s bad for community morale, and it presents a safety threat.”

I put my hand to my chest. “Me? A safety threat?”

“Definitely,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “Besides, I don’t want you turning away perfectly good home buyers with anti-Sunset Harbor rhetoric. What do you say?”

I don’t respond right away. Not only do I not want to accept help from Beau Palmer, I don’t want to go on a Sunset Harbor tour where he’s trying to convince me to like a place I’ve resented most of my life. Besides, if anyone could make me like Sunset Harbor—not that they could—it wouldn’t be a Palmer.

But what about Grams? A Palmer is the only one who can smooth things over and make sure she gets to stay at Seaside Oasis. It seems selfish of me not to do what I can to ensure that happens. And it’s not like Beau will only hold up his end of the deal if he’s successful transforming my opinion of the island. That would be a lost cause.

“How long would this island exploration last?” I ask, doing my due diligence to make sure I’m not agreeing to a multi-day operation.

Beau thinks for a few seconds. “Let’s say four hours. An afternoon and evening.”

“You realize you’re chasing waterfalls with this, right? It’s not like the jury’s out on my opinion of this place.”

“The jury is always out when it comes to people’s opinions. But, at the end of the day, it’s your opinion. I’m just doing my part. Presenting my evidence. To a hostile witness,” he adds with a wink.

“Har har,” I say. Little does he realize that he’s the evidence. “ What happens if you fail at smoothing things over with your brother and dad?”

“I won’t fail.” That confidence kills me, but I believe him. “So, are you in?”

I wait a second, then step toward him and stick out my hand.

He grins and takes it.

I’m officially selling my soul to the devil.

For Grams.