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I motioned to the waitress to refill my iced tea. I would give him five more minutes.
“Anything else I can get you while you wait?” she asked. I looked over her shoulder and saw that cute little reporter at the hostess stand. For a split second I wondered if she had followed me here.
“No, I think I’m good.” I smiled.
The reporter followed the hostess through a maze of tables. I watched her navigate on those high heels. Her legs were long and slender. Still gorgeous. Still a reporter.
As they approached she shoved her sunglasses on her head.
“What are you doing here?” She looked startled.
“I have a lunch meeting. What about you, Miss Paige?”
She turned toward the hostess. “I’ll find my table in a second.”
“I’m having a lunch. I like this part of the beach. The view is nice here don’t you think?”
“It is. Very pretty. Dining alone?”
“I am. I’m working on a story. Who is your meeting with?”
I pushed the menu to the edge of the table. “Why? Thinking about writing about my lunch habits?”
“Since I don’t know your name that’s going to be difficult.” She lowered herself in the seat across from me, her eyes set in determination.
“I have a meeting.” I pointed to where she sat. “You’re in someone’s seat.”
“Why don’t I keep you company until he or she shows up? Maybe you could tell me what your involvement is in the Beach Combers Cove development while we wait.”
I laughed. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. I don’t mix business and pleasure.”
She squirmed slightly in her seat. “I thought you said you had a meeting.”
“I do. That is purely business.” I leaned forward. “You are the pleasure part.” The words had the effect I wanted. Her face flushed, and she twisted those pouty lips together.
She ruffled through her bag and withdrew a small pad of paper and a pen. She clicked the end. “I’d like to ask you a few questions. If you purchase the Beach Combers land, what do you plan to do with it?”
It was always the first question any reporter asked me. What was I going to do with the precious piece of land that held so much history or so many memories? I had heard it a hundred times.
What people didn’t seem to understand is that there was never going to be new land for me to harvest. Land didn’t materialize out of thin air, and I hadn’t figured out how to create an island yet. I had to find what was already out there. Sometimes it meant tearing down a hundred year old house. Sometimes it was destroying a rat-infested apartment slum. Some projects people welcomed, but it was the ones like this. The ones like the Palm Palace, places that people were sentimental about, that caused the most problems.
“You know what I think, Miss Paige?”
She stopped clicking her pen and looked at me. “What?”
“People are too attached.”
“Attached? What do you mean?” She stopped clicking her pen. The flecks in her hazel eyes darkened.
“They get caught up in ghosts. Why hold on to something that is old and falling apart when you could make it new and full of value again?”
“Because some people find value in the past.”
I tapped my fingers on the table. “Too much I think.”
“So will you at least admit that you are interested in the land deal? It’s going to be public record soon enough. This is your opportunity to tell the developer’s side of the story—before anyone else gets their spin on it.”
The sunlight from the window caught her hair, turning the strands almost a honey color. It was distracting; she was distracting.
