Page 42 of Old Flames

“Now is not the time to start taking my advice,” Ayesha admonished her. “I’m living vicariously through you both. That’s the only reason I agreed to this trip.”

Vicky brought her hand to her mouth. “You mean to tell us that you left your high-earning husband and your well-behaved children just to hang out with us losers?”

“Yes,” Ayesha admitted. “I’m not proud of it.”

Jules laughed. “You missed us and our sloppy, slutty ways!”

“Oh, stop!” Ayesha said with a roll of her eyes. “And if you want to know what I think, here goes. You won’t find love if you don’t give anyone a chance. Correct me if I’m wrong, but neither of you have been in a relationship longer than a month or so.”

“That’s generous,” Jules said. “Three weeks tops!”

The quip hid or revealed her nervousness. Jules feared Ayesha was coming dangerously close to the truth: Neither Vicky nor Jules had the stamina to run the long-distance marathon that was a stable, committed relationship. They’d find a reason to clock out, any excuse to cut off a man was valid. He worked too much, he had no ambition and didn’t work enough, he talked too much, he had poor communication skills and left them guessing, he had a weird laugh, he didn’t laugh at their jokes.

Ayesha cut through their bullshit. “You’re holding each other back.”

She and Vicky were each other’s significant others. So long as one could count on the other for friendship, companionship, and emotional support, they likely wouldn’t seek it elsewhere.

Sebastien arrived with his tequila and lime. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Our tragic love lives,” Vicky answered.

“Not now, ladies,” he said. “We’re here to escape our problems, not solve them.”

Jules studied Sebastien, maybe for the first time since meeting him. “What problems are you escaping?” she asked.

“Wedding planning,” he answered. “Why do I feel like I’m being led to slaughter?”

“More likely a virginal sacrifice,” Vicky said.

“In that case they got the wrong guy,” he said.

“Jitters are normal,” Ayesha told him then turned to Vicky and Jules. “As for you two, there are only two suitable and single men on this island. Quantities are limited.”

Sebastien cackled. “Get them while supplies last!”

A woman in a Ron Jon Surf Shop T-shirt elbowed her way toward them. She hollered over the music. “They say you’re a bunch of horror writers! Like Stephen King!”

Sebastien’s expression turned key lime sour. They could fall off the edge of this flat earth and never escape the long shadow of Stephen King.

When they were alone in the ladies’ room, reapplying lip gloss and fluffing their hair, Jules gently approached Vicky. “I’ve never known you to second-guess yourself when it comes to a man. What’s going on? Is this about Big Money and Kit Kat?”

“God no,” she said. “This trip is a trip. I can’t sleep. I’ve been dreaming about my grandmother, crazy vivid dreams. She screams at me, repeating everything she’s ever taught me. I get the sense she wants me to clean up my act.”

Jules was stunned. Why hadn’t Vicky mentioned this before? Could her “crazy vivid dreams” be linked to her own experiences since arriving in Key West? Or . . . more specifically . . . checking into The Aurora?

“Have you tried the gummies you’ve offered everyone?” Jules asked. “They may help.”

“I trashed them,” Vicky said on her way out the door. “They were making it worse.”

Outside, the group had reconfigured. Vicky ran off with Matty. Ayesha and Sebastien were at a table, deep in conversation. Leo was at the bar, phone in hand, scrolling. She joined him and noticed he was thumbing around a Wikipedia page.

“Leo,” she said with a heavy sigh, “I’ve been observing you these last couple days and I’ve concluded that you’re just a big nerd. I hate to break it to you.”

He didn’t bother denying it. “Don’t tell the others. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“My lips are sealed.”

He glanced up at her, eyes resting on her lips. “Did you know this structure was built in 1917?”