Page 6 of Sincerely, Mr. Braden

Dad: We’re fine. Glad you’re safe. Now throw away your phone and go have some fun.

I send a private text to Becca.

Me: How is Dad? He says he’s fine, but after your mosh pit outing, he might be sore and not telling me. Have you checked his arm today?

Becca (group thread): That looks amazing! Like Dad said, all is well. Toss the phone and go get into trouble.

Becca (private thread): He’s FINE. I checked his arm last night and I will check it again when I see him this afternoon. Stop worrying. Put on your bikini and strut down the beach like you own it.

Me: Strut. Right. Got it.

I’ve never strutted anywhere, whereas my sexy sister has that maneuver down pat. But I do plan to spend the day down by the water.

Becca (private thread): Remember, we’re manifesting a hot guy and wild sex!

Me: As if I’d jump into bed with a guy I just met.

I send an eye roll emoji.

Becca (private thread): You only live once! Remember, NO WORK! Be safe, be dirty, and send details.

I shake my head, knowing I won’t do any of those things, but I’m smiling as I head back inside. I grab my bags and head down a hall at the opposite end of the house from the master bedroom in search of another bedroom. I find a second master suite, exactly like the first, save for the body wash, toiletries, and cologne, and there are beach towels on the bed. Perfect.

After unpacking, I change into my bikini and put my sketchbook, colored pencils, ereader, phone, sunscreen, and a towel in my beach bag. I head into the kitchen to make a sandwich and snag a bottle of iced tea and a piece of fruit while I’m there. Then I put on my sunglasses and wander down to the lounge area by the water.

As I stretch out in the sun on one of the loungers with my ereader, guilt and worry creep in. In an effort to push those unwanted companions away, I remind myself that everyone deserves a vacation and that reading and relaxing are what normal people do on vacation. Then I try to focus on my book.

Ten minutes later, my brain is still circling my father. In all of the anxiety and excitement of getting here, I forgot to make sure he took his medication. I zip off a quick text.

Me: Did you remember to take your meds?

Dad: Yes. I told you to put the phone away.

Me: Putting it away now Love you.

A red heart pops up.

My father never types out I love you. He says it sparingly, but heartfelt words are not his love language. Being a curmudgeon is.

Turning back to my book, I read the same paragraph three times before giving up. My brain keeps darting toward home. I reach for my phone out of habit but stop myself from picking it up. Instead, I close my eyes, focusing on the smell of the sea, the feel of the salty air on my skin, and the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, but I still can’t quite relax enough to enjoy it.

Most people would give anything to be lounging on a beautiful island, with no work and nobody to look after, yet here I am in paradise, and I have absolutely no idea what to do with it.

I sit up and reach for the one thing that always brings me comfort. My sketchbook and colored pencils. It doesn’t take long for me to disappear into the world I’m creating.

I stay down by the water until my stomach begs to be fed. As I gather my things, I’m surprised to see it’s almost six, and I’m shocked that I haven’t heard from Seth. I usually have a full inbox by now. I guess he really meant what he said about not working this weekend.

I zip off another text to Becca to check on Dad, and her response rolls in as I’m shouldering my bag. She swears all is well and admonishes me for checking in again. She has no idea the sheer will it took me to keep from texting earlier.

Slipping my feet into my flip-flops, I put my phone in my bag and pat myself on the back for semi-relaxing. As I head up to the villa, I vow to be better at relaxing tonight.

By the time I step inside, I’ve decided on a simple dinner of cheese and crackers, a little fruit, and a glass of wine or two on the terrace as the sun goes down. I kick off my flip-flops by the patio door and head into the kitchen for a snack to tide me over until after I shower. I reach for a banana but stop myself. I’m on vacation. Why not live a little? I grab a pint of chocolate ice cream and a spoon and lean against the counter to take a few bites.

Fifteen minutes later, it turns out my good intentions were no match for my taste buds. I ate half the pint. I’m heading out of the kitchen when the front door opens. I spin around, startled, and my lungs stall as Seth Braden walks in. He drops a suitcase on the floor and closes the door. Clearly not having spotted me yet, he pulls out his phone and thumbs out a message.

Shitshitshit.

I quickly and silently snag my phone from my bag and silence it as he thumbs out a text. It’s stupid to think he’d text Taylor when he thinks Taylor is here. My pulse skyrockets, the gravity of my predicament hitting me full-on. Seth Braden is here, and Lord help me, he’s even more handsome in person. He’s bigger, broader, his dark hair even thicker than it looks in pictures, his jaw stronger and scruffier.