Chapter 7
I wake and slip out of bed before Nixon even stirs. This time when I change from his button-down to my bikini top, his eyes aren't drinking me in, and I can't help but feel a tinge of disappointment. I was such a fool last night thinking I could open up to him and tell him I still had feelings. It hadn't gone well when I told him the first thing. I don't know why I ever thought it would go over well last night.
I sneak out of the room in silence to let him sleep as long as he wants. It's early, the sun just dawning over the horizon, but Millie is awake in the kitchen, making coffee. She looks up at me with a warm grin as she fills a mug with black brew and slides it across the table.
"Sleep well?" she asks, and I'm reminded of the slight language barrier. Trying to talk to locals is painful, but at least my sunburn isn't anymore. Nix's miracle cure of lotion on my fiery skin actually worked, and now I have to tell him thank you for helping me instead of rubbing it in that aloe vera is better.
"I slept okay, thank you." The first sip of the hot coffee is bitter and awful, but I drink it anyway. I'm more of a three sugars, extra froth sort of gal, but I can see Millie is trying to be hospitable. And I don't shy away from her pile of eggs and bacon when she slings it onto a plate in front of me.
"Eat... Long day," she says, her broken English so charming.
I shove the eggs into my mouth wishing for some salt, but I think back to Nix's words last night at the little dive where we had seafood and drinks. He lied to her, told her we were planning our wedding and got stranded. The fib rolled right off her back; she believed it without hesitation. I wondered what made her look at the two of us and think that. If it was the way we were frustrated and bickering like two old married people, or if she noticed the way I look at him.
In my heart there's this niggling little seed of affection I never could quite snuff out. It's why I hate his success so much, fought to be the best, to outdo him. Not because I hate him as a person, but because I love him. Because the one man I've dated that I just can't get out of my fucking head is the one I can't have and it infuriate me.
"Is good?" she asks, nodding her head upward with a grin.
"Mmmm, so good," I tell her, and I'm not lying. This food is better than anything they fed us on that ship all week. Better than the fish tacos Nix insisted I ate at that dive, and better than starving.
Stirring behind me catches my attention and I glance over my shoulder to see Nix strut out of the bedroom. His shirt hangs open in the front revealing washboard abs, and his pants are tented in front slightly, a morning erection I wish I hadn't seen. Millie grins at him and nods as she gestures.
"Sit, sit." Her shuffle-walk as she plates more food for him entertains me. She's like this old mama bear who has no one to care for, eagerly bustling around this tiny shack with joy. She sets the plate in front of him and bounces back to the counter to get a mug and fill it with coffee. He settles down next to me, a little too close. I can still smell his cologne on my skin from his shirt, but the cloud of it wafts around me now thickening the gravity that pulls me into him.
"Wow, this looks delicious," he comments as he takes a fork offered to him and digs in. He barely looks up at me as he devours the proffered food and I admire how hearty his appetite is. I'm staring, but I don't even realize it until I glance up at Millie whose hands are cupped over her mouth, eyes watering with tears of joy as she watches us. She's probably giddy with memories of her love for her husband while entertaining what she thinks is a couple newly engaged. I wish that were true.
"Oh! I feed animals..." Millie's muttered exclamation draws Nix's attention. He wipes his mouth and gestures.
"We can do it. We'd love to help." The offer is out before it can be rescinded and I scowl at him for roping me into chores around this place, but it's the least we can do. She gave us free room and board and an offer of a ride to Grand Caymon Island. Besides, doing chores around here beats sitting and waiting for her husband to arrive with his boat. All that would accomplish would be more bickering with him or some very uncomfortable conversations, which I'll be happy to avoid.
Chapter 8
I swing the rusty latch on the wooden gate to the goat pen shut with a satisfying clank and dust my hands off on my jeans, smudging away the remnants of hay and dirt. The morning air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew and earth. Millie is busy heading off to open her quaint little diner for the day, while her husband remains conspicuously absent. I had hoped he might have slipped in quietly during the night, but alas, no such luck.
In his continued absence, I offered to pitch in with the morning chores, inadvertently roping Lainey into the task as well. She's taken charge of the chickens, which is where she's stationed now, likely amidst a flurry of feathers and clucks. With the goats munching away on their breakfast, I meander down the winding, gravel-strewn path toward the chicken coop, the sunlight filtering through the trees and casting playful shadows along my way.
I walk up in time to see a young boy talking to her. They seem to be struggling through the language barrier but it appears to me that he is here to deliver a package for Millie. I stand at a distance watching. Lainey is smiling, and that smile is gorgeous. I thought she hated children, so her smile doesn't quite fit the circumstance. But it's not faked. It reaches her eyes. And when she cracks a joke he understands, they laugh together.
"Who's this?" I ask, making myself known. Lainey turns around with her remarkable smile, seeing me and batting her eyelashes. It appears that she blushes, but with the bright red sunburn I can't really tell. What I know is she's gorgeous. I'm smitten.
"Oh, this is Francis." She gestures at the boy who grins and waves. "He came to bring this box of egg cartons for Millie. The locals save them and she fills them and sells her eggs in them." I think about how that's a lot of information to communicate when they can barely understand each other, which only makes me think she's all that much more amazing.
"I go now," Francis says, pointing at an old beat-up bike tucked behind a palmetto plant. It's faded paint job and bent frame speak of better days, but he's proud of it as he pulls it up and mounts it, riding off toward the road ahead.
"Bye, Francis," Lainey calls. "Thank you for being helpful." She sets the box on a worktable behind the old bungalow and reaches into a large barrel. When her hand emerges, she is carrying a scoop full of chicken feed. Her shoulders are still bright red, and with the sun coming up, they'll need cover or she'll end up with sun poisoning.
"You were pretty good with that kid." I lean over the fence that keeps the chickens from wandering the island and watch as she slips through the gate.
"Yeah, he's a good kid. Cute too. I'll end up having little towheads though, but I'd love to have a little boy or girl with dark brown hair and brown eyes like that." She absently tosses seed on the ground and chickens swarm her, pecking near her feet. She yelps and jumps up, moving away from them, but they're underfoot. She stumbles around and I chuckle for a second before moving to help.
I swing the gate open and barge in, careful to not let any chickens out as I shut it. "Look, like this," I say, reaching out to take the scoop. Lainey turns her back on me and continues scattering seed when the feeder across the pen is clearly empty and that is where she should be putting it. She scowls at me and I back off, heading for the bin to see if there is another scoop.
