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CHAPTER FOUR
Humming along to Justin Bieber (on the radio—I swear), I lean over the bathroom sink and carefully finish off my eyeliner. Today has been ... long. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and mwah my freshly painted red lips.
Be still. Medí-fucking-tate.
Maybe Flynn got it wrong—maybe this place just isn’t the one for me.
Since my morning run-in with the sexy cab thief, I’ve been sunbathing—that damn song kept popping into my head. Swimming—saw a shark—okay, a shark-shaped log—whatever—I nearly died. Done some yoga—done more yoga—and then some more yoga. I’ve even been out for a walk.
The place is postcard-perfect alright.
Just not my kinda perfect.
Four weeks of this is gonna drive me insane.
I just don’t do still. And I don’t fucking meditate.
I twist to make sure there are no lumps where I’ve tucked my loose-fit black tank into my short black tube-skirt then spritz my perfume. It’s musky jasmine, and rose scent fills the small but surprisingly sleek, white-tiled bathroom. Ready.
All hope of having any sort of fun on this vacay is riding on this open mic night. I glance at the creased flyer by the sink. The Beach Hut is open all day. If it’s cool, it might just save my summer.
A message pings from my cell on top of the king-sized bed as I pad though to the bedroom, the worn, terracotta floor tiles cool under my bare feet.
Just checking in. Mom’s boyfriend left. She’s comatose on the sofa ... I’m staying safe ;) in case you were worried. N
I perch on the edge of the bed and puff out my cheeks as a sad sort of relief fills me. She’s safe—until the next dead-beat comes along.
If she ... no, when she gets this scholarship, she’ll really be safe. I hit reply. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure it happens.
Thanks for checking in, sweet. Now get practicing. Talk tomorrow. S
I look around my home for the next few weeks. Stone walls, glass doors leading out to the porch.
Beautiful. Serene. Kinda boring. Still. Maybe I should try the whole staying still thing. Maybe I shouldn’t go out tonight.
Something on the porch table catches my eye through the patio door. That wasn’t there before my shower.
I don’t waste any time investigating.
Lips pursed to the side, I fold my arms and stare at the odd little package on the table. A pack of blister Band-Aids and a stick of sunblock ... I move the sunblock to see what’s beneath. A flyer for The Beach Hut. My gaze flicks to the stubbornly-closed front door of my neighbor.
Cute. I guess. If you like that sort of thing. I wander back inside and grab the flat sandals I bought especially for this trip. Black leather with a wide ankle cuff. Way more kick-ass than your everyday sandal, they bring a happy grin to my face. Fuck staying still. I’ll do that tomorrow.
Sorry, Flynn. I glance up into the already pinkening sky. I guess I’ll be still and meditate tomorrow.
He wouldn’t mind.
“You came.” The pregnant woman from the ferry hops off the tall stool she’s sitting on by the bar when she spots me on the terrace. Her simple red sundress and the unruly knot of curls on the top of her head make me relax instantly. She’s my kind of people.
The bar opens out onto the beach. Natural wood chillouts with white cushions and tables with wicker chairs all set up on the pristine white sand. A smile breaks across my face as she nears me. This place is special. “Some hut you’ve got here.” I raise my voice to be heard over the music coming from inside. “Whoever’s singing is pretty good.”
She grins and twists to look back at the busy bar. “I can’t take the credit, this is all Felix. Except the singing. Felix doesn’t sing. Well ... he does ... but only in the car.” By the time she returns her attention to me her cheeks are pink and she’s wearing the same loved-up, dazed look she wore on the boat. “I didn’t get your name yesterday, I’m Laia.”
“Stan.” I copy her odd little wave. She’s cute in a nervous puppy kind of way.
“Stan. Great.” She clasps her fingers over her bump. “You look like you could do with a drink, Stan.”
“A drink would be great.” I shrug the strap of my guitar case up my shoulder. “Lead the way.”
