By the time we reached the restaurant’s open-air terrace, I was in love with the resort. As the smiling hostess led us through, the ceiling fans turning lazily overhead seemed to mock my tight-wound stress. The view framed by the arched openings was all endless ocean and bright sky.
A tall, tan man rose from the corner table as we approached. His white linen shirt was rolled at the sleeves, his eyes bright with a genuine smile.
“Corinne,” he said warmly, kissing her cheek. “You’re glowing.” His gaze shifted to me, and I had the brief, absurd sense that I’d been caught in some kind of spotlight. “And you must be the artist I’ve been hearing about.”
“That depends,” I managed, matching his handshake. “If you heard good things, then yes.”
Clifton’s laugh was low, easy. “All good things.” He gestured to the table set for four. “Please—sit. I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and ordered for us. The chef's signature dish.”
Lunch was grilled snapper with mango salsa, a citrus-bright salad, and bread still warm enough to steam when torn open. It was all as delicious as it looked and smelled, no surprise.
And as far as Clifton was concerned, all accounts were accurate. His charm was intoxicating and his knowledge of art intimidating. His questions came between bites. Where I’d studied. What drew me to the Keys. What I saw in the colors here that I didn’t find anywhere else.
I told him about Minnesota lakes in summer, an art residence in Florence in winter, the way the light here could shift a whole palette in an hour.
“That’s a fascinating way to put it,” he said, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
When the plates were cleared, Violet went over to the sideboard where my wrapped paintings leaned like the shy guests at a party. My heart was pounding in my chest so hard I could feel it pulsing in my ears when Clifton took the first parcel in hand, stripping the masking tape with care. The paper fell away with a soft crackle.
He set it on the windowsill beside the sideboard and stepped back to take it in, head tilting slightly. Without comment, he unpacked the second. And the third. And so on, until all five were lined up in a row. His silence stretched long enough to make me fear I’d faint.
“Beautiful,” he said at last. “You capture movement, even in stillness. That’s rare.”
“Thank you.” My voice felt weak.
He studied me then, like the next question mattered more than the ones before. “Tell me, how large a work can you produce?”
The honest answer was… not that large. Not without taking up my entire little bungalow. But the words that came out were, “As big as you want.”
Corinne’s brows arched, but she said nothing.
“Good.” Clifton’s smile was all satisfaction. “Because I have a wall that’s been waiting for you. But we can work up to the big daddy,” he said, a deep laugh bellowing. “Why don’t westart with five more, around 4x6 feet?” He looked to Violet for confirmation on the size estimate.
“For the backside waterfront suites, over the sofas?” she asked. “That’s probably about right. I can measure and let you know,” she told me.
All I could do was blink and nod, the shock holding my tongue hostage for several seconds. I got my wits about me as we lingered for coffee and key lime pie, talking about colors and possible themes. Clifton caught me off guard when he asked my pricing for pieces of that size. My deer-in-headlights look must have been a dead giveaway that I didn’t have an answer prepared, because he let me off the hook fast. “You can send us a quote. I just like to have an idea going in. As long as it’s not five figures each, we won’t have an issue.” I nearly choked on my cappuccino. He wasn’t joking. And I was officially a professional artist.
Violet walked with Corinne and me back toward the launch. “I hear you snagged yourself a Rodman brother too,” she drawled, finishing with a wink. “Well done.”
“It’s still new, but so far so good,” I said, regretting that there’d been so much bad mixed in with the good in our short relationship, and regretting more that I couldn’t tell them about it.
“New or not, it seems like you guys are getting pretty serious,” Corinne smiled. “I honestly wondered if he or Reef would ever find a woman. Before Reef moved to the houseboat, they were almost completely inseparable. And neither of them seemed to care about anything but fishing, beer, and their dogs, of course.” Her eyes rolled.
“They say twins have a special bond,” Violet added.
Corinne let out a giggle. “Thankfully they’re not so much likeconjoinedtwins these days.”
I stood there, mute as a mime, unsure of what to say when the truth wasn’t an option. Their special bond could be broken along with my heart if Kai found out I’d slept with his twin.
CHAPTER 20
KAI
The Whistle was humming in that slow, steady rhythm it got before the late-night crowd. Tables were half full, the rest waiting for locals who’d drift in once the more respectable establishments turned them out. A couple of old-timers hunched over the pool table in the corner to the right, the click of the balls punctuating the lazy shuffle of the jukebox as “Sweet Home Alabama” bled into “Margaritaville.” The smell of stale beer and hot pizza mixed with the salty tang of fishermen who hadn’t yet gone home to shower.
Jasmine beamed from behind the bar, her dark hair falling over one shoulder as she pointed toward a high-top tucked off to the side by the dart boards. A handwritten “Reserved” sign was taped to it. The spot was perfect—secluded from the rest of the patrons, yet close enough to the bar that she could weave in and out of the conversation.
Reef and Spence were already seated across from me when she brought three cold IPAs, condensation glistening on the bottles.
