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From the community garden to the volunteer beach cleanup, Ginger Hastings is a one woman cheerleader for the island. And did I mention gorgeous?
"Hello!" It's eleven at night, and she's radiating happiness. As disappointed as I am to not immediately get naked with Damien, I can't help but grin when Mrs. Hastings folds me into a fierce hug and steers me into the kitchen.
There's no time to take in the Hastings' decor, because Mrs. Hastings is fluttering around like Tinkerbell, consuming all the oxygen in the room. She's practically sparkling, she seems so joyful. It's difficult to imagine her with heart problems because she's so effusive.
"How's your mother, dear? Such a terrible thing, breast cancer. And how are you doing, running the bar?" Literally everyone on the island knows our business, I swear.
"She's doing much better, thanks. And she asked about you today."
"She did? Oh, well tell her I'm fine. Good as new. Only a little heart scare." She brushes her mane of long, silver hair out of her face. Mrs. Hastings is tiny, bubbly, and very much a hippie. Tonight, she's wearing black leggings and some sort of yellow paisley poncho with silver embroidery that hangs nearly to her knees.
"Ma, we're going upstairs to watch a movie. We'll be in the den." I notice that Damien emphasized the wordden. I fight the urge to giggle, feeling like we're teenagers sneaking around.
He opens the fridge. "Kate, you want something to drink? Beer? Water? Juice?"
"Water would be great, thanks." As much as I wish I could have a drink to calm my nerves, I won't. I shouldn't be drinking at all, not with my condition, but sometimes I slip up, like that first night Damien walked into the bar.
Just then, a loud snorting noise comes from the corner of the kitchen. I swivel my head in its direction.
"Damien, take Chunky up with you, please. I'm going to bed since you're home now." Mrs. Hastings goes to her son and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.
"Can't he stay downstairs with you?" He scowls.
"No dear. You know how your father feels about dogs in the bedroom. Good night, Kate. Tell your mother I'll give her a call this week."
"Will do." I give her a little wave as she glides out of the room. I'm small, but Mrs. Hastings is at least two inches shorter and twenty pounds lighter than I am.
There's another snort, and that's when I see the source ofthe noise: it's a pug. An extremely fat, extraordinarily cute, pug dog. I snicker.
"I take it that's Chunky?" It's impossible not to laugh when looking at the rotund canine.
Damien sighs. "Yeah. My brother Tate adopted him last week. But he's out night fishing so Mom and Dad are babysitting. Tate's put him on a diet, and Mom thinks he needs to be watched at all times. Like he's going to steal food or something."
This dog looks like an obese seal. He's not stealing anything but the love I have in my heart for all dogs. My bestie Lauren and I had talked about getting a pupper in Chicago, but since she travels a lot and I was planning on going with her eventually, we'd held off.
"Aww. Is he friendly? Looks like we're babysitting him tonight. I adore dogs. Especially pudgy muppets like Chunky."
"Yeah, he's super friendly. He's a great dog." Damien pauses, scratching his chin. "Mostly."
I approach, and Chunky pants in excitement when I stroke his sable-coated fat rolls. "Well, let's get him upstairs. He's a good boy."
"I'll carry him. Here, hold the water. I don't want you throwing out your back."
I giggle as I follow him up the stairs. With Chunky tucked firmly under his arm like an oversized pillow, Damien leads me into a large room that's dominated by an overstuffed brown sofa. There's a giant TV on one wall and assorted books, game consoles, and magazines strewn about.
"This is basically where Remy and I live. Well, I do, when I'm home. Remy lives here, at least when he's not on the boat."
"How is your twin?" Remy's a champion fisherman, has been ever since he was a teenager. Because he was in so manycompetitions, he'd been homeschooled by Mrs. Hastings—which is why I knew Damien well, and his brother not at all.
"He's okay. He's out with Tate tonight on that fishing trip."
Damien settles the porky dog into a plaid dog bed on the floor and presses the square-shaped foam with his hand.
"Check it out; it's orthopedic."
Laughing, I plop down in the middle of the sofa, resting the drinks on the coffee table. I can already tell that the Hastings home has a cozy, loving vibe. Photos of Remy holding various fish line one wall, and photos of their gorgeous sister Natalia line another.
"You didn't want to go out on the boat tonight?"
