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“Didn’t you think it was romantic?” Gabi pressed.
“It wasn’t real.”
“But he came to your rescue, Caro! That means something.”
“Yeah, it means he’s a nice guy.”
“Exactly! You deserve a nice guy.”
“We both deserve a lot of things. Doesn’t mean we’re going to get them.” Life had taught me that lesson in spades.
What we had, we’d worked and fought for. Gabi had busted her ass in school to earn that scholarship that was the ticket to a new life off island. Rios and I had stayed to see that she made it that far. What we’d do once she’d left was still up for debate. We’d both learned not to count our chickens, so until Gabi was safely at Chapel Hill, we were sticking to the plan. That plan was to keep our heads down and avoid doing anything that might prompt our father to fuck everything up for her.
“I think you’re making a mistake. You’ve crushed on Hoyt forever.”
I kept my face bland even as heat crawled up my neck. “Says who?”
“Says those old school notebooks where you doodled his name in hearts.”
Why the hell hadn’t I burned those?
“It was a long time ago.”
“So you’re saying you’re not attracted to the sexy firefighter who came to your aid like a hero in a romance novel?”
“I’m saying we don’t live in a romance novel, so I’m not expecting a happy ending.”
“I bet a guy who looks like that is good at giving them,” Gabi muttered.
“Gabi!”
“What? I’m eighteen, not ignorant. You totally deserve a boatload of happy endings.”
Face flaming, I pulled into the driveway of the rental. “I’m not having this discussion.”
“Ah ha!” She pointed at me in triumph. “That’s proof that you are attracted.”
“It’s proof I’m breathing. Come on.”
As I slipped out of the car, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being on display, like some sort of spectacle for the islanders to gossip about, though I didn’t actually see anyone around. This entire row of cottages was vacation rentals owned by the company that hired me to clean. But Gabi was right; at least this time, the story flying around was a relatively harmless one. To me, anyway. A far cry from the dark whispers that usually followed our family. But mine was the last name Hoyt’s should be linked with.
Entering the code into the digital lock, I hauled my tote of cleaning supplies into the house and nearly dropped it. A wave of disbelief washed over me. The place was a disaster. The living room looked like the scene of a wild party—cushions were strewn across the floor, a couple of beer bottles had toppled over on the coffee table, spilling their contents onto scattered magazines. More empties were scattered around the room. In the kitchen, dirty dishes were piled high in the sink, food remnants caked and dried on plates and utensils. A faint, unpleasant odor of stale food and alcohol hung in the air, mixing with the musty scent of the sea. A trail of sandy footprints led from the front door through the hallway, as if the beach itself had been dragged in. The once pristine vacation home now resembled a college kegger, a stark contrast to the neat, welcoming oasis it was meant to be.
My heart sank at the sight.
Gabi stepped in behind me. “Holy shit. They aren’t getting their deposit back.”
“You’ve got that right. Let’s get started. It’s going to be a long day. I’m gonna be scrambling to finish this in time to make it to my shift at the tavern.” But maybe by the end, I’d have figured out what to say to Hoyt when I rejected his kind offer.
5
Hoyt
Boxes were everywhere. They seemed to multiply each time I glanced around the fixer-upper I’d had such burning ambition to renovate when I closed on the property. Now, standing amid the chaos of my stuff, the sheer scale of the project was finally sinking in. What had felt manageable in the abstract now loomed over me, a mammoth task that was going to take years. Not to mention money.
In the privacy of my kitchen—which didn’t appear to have been updated since the nineteen seventies and was weirdly truncated because of how some previous owner had chosen to divide the space—I was willing to concede that I might have bitten off more than I could chew.
Not that I’d admit that to Drew on pain of death. I was the elder brother. The one who knew what he was doing. And I’d find my way with the house. Somehow. I just needed to pick a starting point. Make progress on something.
