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“Hey. How can I help you?” Her voice bounces off the tile floor, melodic with a slight Southern drawl.
“Um, I’m in town for the week and need a place to stay. The internet said you had vacancies.”
“Let me just check right here, hang tight—” She taps on the keyboard, nodding, a slight smile quirking up her lip gloss-lacquered lips. “Great news—you’re in luck. Bungalow Four is available.”
“Great.”
“Okay, then. You have any luggage you need help with? It’s not too far of a walk; you can park your car in the lot, right in front of your room. But I can get you some help if you want.” She screws up her lips, waiting for my response.
“No, I’m good.”
“Super. We have a café, plus a tiki bar, an ice cream shop, and of course, the swimming pool. That’s right here—” She pulls out a map, circling Bungalow Four and pointing out the rest of the amenities. “The cafe and ice cream shop close at eight p.m., but the bar’s open until nine, ten on the weekends. Unless Parker’s bartending, then he keeps it open as long as he’s got customers. We put out complimentary coffee and pastries in the morning, and we offer daily room cleaning.”
“Thanks.” I plunk down my credit card and she swipes it through, then hands me an actual metal room key.
“Try not to lose the key. We had to start charging for replacements because they kept getting swept away in the surf. I’ve been trying to talk my brothers into upgrading to an electronic system, but they’re stubborn as mules and keep jawing on about vintage charm.” She rolls her big blue eyes, then smiles at me like we’re in the same sorority or something. “Anyway, if you need anything, give me a holler. I’m here a bit longer.”
“Thanks—” I check her nametag. “Poppy. You’ve been very helpful.”
I head for the door, then pause and pivot back to the desk. “Actually, strange request, but do you know any contractors? Good, reliable ones who might be available to meet this weekend?”
She tips her head, twirling a strand of her honey-colored hair around her finger. “Sure do. My brother’s a contractor—when he’s not moonlighting at the tiki bar. I might be biased, but he and our cousin do most of the work around town, so they can’t totally suck.”
“Nice. Mind if I get his info from you?”
Poppy checks the desk calendar. “I can do you one better than that. Head over to the tiki bar and talk to him yourself. He’s on the schedule for tonight. Should be rolling in anytime now, although punctuality isn’t really his thing.”
CHAPTER4
Elise
Bungalow Four is a tidy studio, with a queen-sized bed, a tiny kitchenette, and an updated bathroom. The décor is beachy, and there’s a patio overlooking the ocean.
After a quick but luxurious shower, I towel dry my hair and throw on a black sundress. I haven’t eaten since lunch, but don’t want to risk missing the potential contractor. I figure I’ll have a short chat, then grab food.
Locking my room, I head in the direction of the Jimmy Buffett tunes. Now that the sun’s set, there’s a slight bite in the air and I regret not bringing a cardigan. Total mom vibes, but who cares? I debate turning back, but then I spot the bright string lights draping the tiki bar and realize it’s too late—I’m already here.
I grab a rattan stool at the end of the bar and peruse the plastic menu. As expected, no substantial dinner food. I settle on a glass of pinot grigio and wait for the bartender to come my way. His back’s to me as he flirts with two college-aged girls in tight bodycon dresses at the far side of the bar. I cross, then uncross my legs, my stomach grumbling even over the crash of the ocean waves.
“Hey, Elise, right?” The bartender taps the teak bar and my head pops up.
It’s one of the hotties from the dive bar, the guy who helped me with directions. “Uh, yeah, hey. I remember your name starts with a ‘P,’ but I don’t think it’s Peter.”
“Ha! Nope. Parker. Did you find the Bennett house okay?”
I nod. “I did. Thanks for the directions.”
“Cool. What can I get for you?” He gestures at the menu.
“Oh. A pinot grigio, please.”
“Coming right up.” He ducks behind the bar, then reappears brandishing a clean glass and the bottle of wine, pouring me a healthy serving.
“Thanks.” I take a sip, the cold liquid sliding down easily. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until this very moment.
Parker rests his elbows on the bar. The music switches over to reggae, and I take another long swig of wine. A light breeze rustles the palm fronds overhead.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I think I spoke with your sister at the front desk.”
