There's Always a Catch: Christmas Key Book One Read online

  “Oh, come on. There has to be more to it than that.”

  “Maybe a little,” she says, tilting her head thoughtfully.

  “You don’t say.” He gives her that same half-smile that he gave her when she said her golf cart was road ready. “You a Yankee fan?” He nods at her baseball cap.

  “Definitely.” Holly makes a sharp right into the driveway that wraps around behind the B&B. It ends in a sandy parking lot that’ll fit about ten golf carts. “You?”

  “Eh. I’m more of a Mets fan,” River admits, unfolding his long limbs and climbing out of the cart. He bends down so that he can look at her under the roof of the golf cart. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

  “Ha. Says you,” Holly shoots back, putting the cart in park. “My grandparents are from Brooklyn, and we’re die-hard Yank fans.”

  River laughs. “Got it, boss.”

  “I’m teasing,” she says. “But if we talk baseball, things might get ugly.”

  “Noted.” River pulls his duffel bag from the back of the cart and slings it over one shoulder. “Hey, you got any showers around this place? I smell bad enough to offend even a fellow Mets fan, not to mention a Yank-lover.”

  “Absolutely. Right this way.” Holly makes a grand sweeping gesture with one hand, leading River in through the back door of the B&B.

  “Thanks.”

  His tall, muscular body fills the narrow back hallway of the B&B as River follows her to the front desk. Holly tosses a backward glance and catches his eye; she feels her skin flush.

  “Okay, let’s get you all checked in,” she says briskly, stepping behind the front desk so that she’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Bonnie. Bonnie bumps her with one hip.

  “This is some place you have here,” River says, leaning forward to look at a framed picture on the wall of the lobby. It’s a shot of the original eight islanders, which includes a knee-high Holly and her gorgeous, petulant, unsmiling mother. Coco had been convinced to come along for the first month on Christmas Key, after which she’d unceremoniously bailed.

  Holly watches him from the corner of her eye as she pulls up the reservation on her computer. “Yep. I started the B&B when I got back from college. It’s mine,” she says. Bonnie bumps her again with a hip, giving her a look. “Um. Looks like we have you in the Seashell Suite.”

  “Sounds beachy.” River turns his back on the photo and drops his duffel bag on the floor. “Will you be mad if I get sand in the sheets?”

  Bonnie kicks her ankle behind the desk frantically. This sort of banter is right up her alley, and Holly knows it’s killing her to just witness it rather than participate.

  Holly shoots her a wide-eyed look that’s supposed to say “knock it off.” Instead, Bonnie takes it as “jump right in.”

  “Sugar, if you leave Christmas Key without sand in your sheets and a little bit of a sunburn on your unmentionables, then you haven’t really visited a tropical island, have you?”

  River gives a hearty laugh—straight from the gut. “I’ll get started on that right away, ma’am.” He takes the card key from Holly that she’s swiped for his room and looks her in the eye. “See you at dinner?”

  “I’ll be serving it.” She points him down the hallway toward the Seashell Suite. “See you at six.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Bonnie hisses at her after he’s gone.

  “What is wrong with you?” she hisses back.

  “Darlin’, this is it,” Bonnie says, turning to face her and taking Holly’s hands in hers. “The good lord is calling. He’s sent you a fine, strapping young man to bring a little excitement into your life, and you need to answer that call.” Her face is serious, like a doctor giving a grim prognosis. “I’m dead serious: Answer. That. Call.”

  Holly laughs lightly. “I need to get ready for dinner.”

  “Honey, go home and shave your legs and put on something cute.” Bonnie waves a hand dismissively. “Dinner is under control.”

  It’s not lost on her that an attractive young man who seems at least mildly interested in her has just landed on her island. But Christmas Key has to be her main focus for the time being, and she needs to keep her head clear while she deals with any lingering feelings between her and Jake.

  “I’ve got a few errands to run. Can you handle things around here?” Holly opens the cash register and takes a twenty and two fives. “I need to buy a few things from the triplets before dinner.”

  “Sure. Just bring me back receipts for that petty cash so I can have everything squared away before your mother gets here. I know she’ll want to see the books and ask a million questions,” Bonnie says, rolling her eyes.

  “Got it.” Holly gives her a salute on her way out the front door.

  “And sugar?” Bonnie says sweetly. Holly pauses, hand on the door knob. “You might want to put on some cute knickers and a dab of perfume—I think you’re dessert.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The dining room is set for nineteen. Key West pink shrimp with grits is on the menu. The B&B staff of five is still scrambling to get everything pulled together after a last minute kerfuffle in the kitchen over whether the fishermen’s first dinner should end with key lime pie or key lime tartlets. Bonnie finally settles it when she convinces Holly that the men won’t care a lick what shape their dessert comes in, so long as they’re washing it down with cold beer.

  Holly stands in the middle of the quiet room by herself for a minute, looking at the five round tables that are set for the fishermen. She and Bonnie carefully ironed and spread brocaded table runners stitched with turquoise starfish over the white linen tablecloths, and they tucked matching napkins in the shape of fans under the lip of each heavy white dinner plate. Holly personally made sure that all of the silverware was polished until she could see her own frazzled reflection on the knives and spoons. It might not be possible to keep up a 5-star restaurant worthy presentation for every meal during the fishermen's stay, but she really wants the first night to be special.

  With some coaxing, Buckhunter has agreed to tend bar for the evening, but with the caveat that he can excuse himself during dessert and run over to re-open Jack Frosty’s in case the fishermen feel like migrating down Main Street for a nightcap. Emily has also signed on for the same duties she does at the Jingle Bell Bistro for her parents: fill water glasses, bus tables, and make conversation with the guests. Holly's wearing black pants and a white shirt like Emily’s, and they both have aquamarine-colored aprons wrapped around their waists.

  “We ready in here, chief?” Bonnie asks, one hip jutting out saucily as she consults her notepad. She's holding a pen in one hand to use as a pointer to boss everyone around. Emily is close on her heels with a carafe of water.

  Holly stops smoothing and rearranging the tables. “I think we’re ready. We just need some men.”

  “Honey, truer words were never spoken.” Bonnie looks up from her notepad, lips pursed.

  Emily giggles, still holding the carafe of water.

  The first of the fishermen to arrive for dinner poke their heads into the door of the dining room.

  “This where you’re serving up the goods?” Bill Hammond asks, running his hands over his ample belly. He’s showered and put on a clean t-shirt, and as the men trickle in, it becomes apparent that jeans and t-shirts are de rigueur dinner attire in Oregon.

  “Come on in!” Holly says, picking up a silver pitcher of water. She fills the goblets on the tables, nodding at the fishermen as they amble in.

  “Well, I see a bar in the corner, men, so I think we’re off to a good start,” Bill says, hooking a thumb towards Buckhunter as he lines up bottles behind the portable bar.

  “Have you been to Florida before?” Holly asks one of the men. He hands her his empty glass to fill; the ice cubes clink against the metal lip of her carafe as she pours.

  “Nope. First time,” he says, taking the water glass from her. “Everyone warned me it was humid, but I guess you really don’t know what
that means until you get here.”

  “Kind of hits you like a brick wall, doesn’t it?” She reaches for another glass to fill. Holly chats amiably with the men as they choose seats at the tables, but she can’t stop herself from keeping one eye on the open doorway.

  “Am I too late for dinner?” River is suddenly at Holly's elbow, smelling of soap and shaving cream.

  She stares at him dumbly.

  “No, really—am I too late?” he asks, breaking the awkward silence when she doesn't answer.

  “No. I'm sorry, not at all.” Holly takes a step back and bumps directly into the wall. The icy water in her pitcher sloshes around, mimicking the unsettled feeling in her own stomach. “You’re fine—come on in. It looks like there’s an open seat right over there.”

  “Great, thanks.” River smiles and shoves both hands into the pockets of his black linen shorts. He looks at her appraisingly. “So, no Yankees cap tonight?”

  “Wrong blue. It clashes with my apron,” Holly says. She tucks her hair behind her ears with one hand, averting her gaze. “I hope you like shrimp and grits, and the bar’s right over there if you want to start with a drink.”

  "Hey, buddy," Bill Hammond says, slapping River on the back. He hands him a bottle of beer. "Got you a cold one."

  "Thanks, man." River takes the beer and smiles at Holly. "Thanks for feeding us so well--it sounds delicious."

  "Sure thing. Enjoy." Holly gives a small nod and hurries out of the room to help run the main course.

  “Ooooh, those men look good tonight!” Bonnie says in the hallway, blocking Holly’s path. She fans herself with one hand. “I’m glad I went home and freshened up, because I spy a couple of cuties in there I’d like to get to know better.”

  “I’m shocked,” Holly teases.

  Bonnie pats her fiery hair, her face nonchalant. “Honey, a girl's gotta have some fun. It can't be all work and no play around this place. And I'm not just talking about myself, you hear?”

  “Meaning?” Holly lowers her voice.

  “Meaning I think you should take my advice and get to know that tall drink of water a little better.” Bonnie wags a finger at her. “The electricity between you two could light up Atlanta for a week!” She puckers her lips and shimmies her shoulders like she's doing a Latin dance.

  “Bonnie, get out of town!” Holly laughs, wiping the condensation from the carafe off of her hands by running them down the front of her apron. “I’ve got enough on my plate right now.”

  “Listen, honey, I saw you two talking, and I can’t see where some good old-fashioned flirtation would hurt you one bit. But I can name one very hot Christmas Key police officer who might be less amused by it than I am.”

  Holly rolls her eyes. “Jake knows we’re not getting back together, Bon.”

  “I don’t care what he does or doesn’t know. Officer Zavaroni would love to have your Yankees cap hanging on his bedpost every night, and the thought that it might end up on some other guy’s nightstand isn’t gonna sit too well. I guess the real question is whether or not you’re up for an adventure.”

  The men’s laughter and conversation drifts out into the hallway.

  “Bonnie, you’re killing me here.” Holly shakes her head. “Listen, I need to get rid of this empty pitcher and start running food. If we survive salads, the main course, and dessert, we’ll have a drink afterward to celebrate pulling off our first big group of visitors, okay?”

  “That’s a deal, sugar. I’ll be at the front desk if you need me for anything.”

  In the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the steam from the giant pot of grits fills the air. Iris and Jimmy shout instructions at one another over the kitchen noise. Holly jumps right into the fray, stacking full plates of food up her arm like an experienced server, and knocking the swinging door open with her rear end on her way in and out of the kitchen. It’s time to get her head in the game and deliver the food to the tables. Thoughts of Jake, and daydreams about a handsome stranger who may or may not be flirting with her, need to go on the back burner for the time being.

  She has nineteen hungry men to feed, and the sooner she gets that done, the sooner she can shower and have a beer.

  And by god, she needs a beer.

  CHAPTER TEN

  As Buckhunter had hoped, the men decide to amble down Main Street to Jack Frosty’s after dinner. They leave the B&B with toothpicks wedged in their mouths, hands hitching up their shorts and jeans after stuffing themselves with dinner and dessert. Their good-natured banter echoes under the streetlights, leaving a trail of jovial laughter behind them.

  With the last of their guests out the door and wandering into a sultry evening, every islander on the B&B’s premises converges on the kitchen and dining room to whip things back into shape so they can join the fishermen for a cold beer at the bar. The mood in the kitchen is festive and upbeat. Holly laughs at Bonnie as she cha-chas around the giant stainless steel sink, snapping her dish towel at Jimmy Cafferkey and trying on a wonky Irish accent for size. Holly has been so intent on getting things lined up for their guests that she hasn’t even realized how excited her neighbors are about having new faces on the island. It’s validating to see that having visitors in their midst is so invigorating to everyone.

  In under an hour, they have the two professional-grade dishwashers running in the clean kitchen. The tablecloths and linens are sloshing around in the front-loading washers in the laundry room, and all the lights in the dining room are dimmed. In the bathroom, Holly strips off her server’s uniform and pulls on a pair of cut-off 501s and a striped tank top, then she follows everyone else out the front door.

  As they walk the few steps down Main Street to the bar, Bonnie pauses and waits, looping her arm through Holly’s so they can walk together.

  “Let’s have some fun tonight, okay, hon? You’ve done good work getting these guys here and settled in, and now you deserve a break.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you, Bon,” she says gratefully. “I mean it.”

  Bonnie reaches up and puts her finger on Holly’s nose, pressing it lightly like an elevator button. “Anything for you, sugar. You know that.”

  Arms still linked, they step up the rough wooden stairs and into the open bar on Main Street. The lights are on full bore, ceiling fans whipping the air around at top speed. River is admiring the rainbow of dirty, beat-up license plates from around the country that Buckhunter has nailed to a weather-worn wall, and strings of miniature Edison bulbs come from every corner of the room, converging overhead in the center of the room. It’s got a bright, carnival feel tonight, and the jukebox is blaring a country song.

  River stops at the bar, picks up two bottles of beer, and approaches Bonnie and Holly. “Ladies. One for each of you. Sorry if I just assumed on this, but you both looked like you could use a cold one.”

  “A longneck will always work for this gal,” Bonnie says, taking the bottle of beer from River. “Thank you kindly, stranger.” She bumps Holly’s hip with her own before leaving the two of them standing by the jukebox.

  “Excellent dinner.” River looks down at her intently. He’s standing just a hair closer than he needs to, and his eyes linger on Holly a beat longer than they should.

  “Thanks—and thank you for the beer,” Holly says, raising the bottle to her lips. Even at night, the humidity is still so intense on the island that the skin on her shoulders and collarbone glisten with a sheen of sweat. “You’re not drinking?”

  “I’m pacing myself. I feel like it would be bad form to start a fishing trip by emptying all the taps on the island. I’ll grab a Coke when the rush at the bar clears out.”

  “I can probably get you one sooner than that.” Holly walks up to the bar and leans across the counter. “Buckhunter!” she calls. “Can I get a Coke, please?”

  She takes the ice cold can back to River; he pops the top and sips the foam. “Guess you gotta know the right people, huh?”

  “Well, if you live here, you know a
ll the people.”

  “How many live here full-time?”

  “Hundred and thirteen. And we have a couple of part-timers who come from October through April.”

  “So only nut jobs like us visit during the summer?” He peels the fabric of his shirt away from his skin.

  Holly nods, the beer bottle poised in front of her lips. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. The only people who trek out here in the summer are nut jobs and my mother.”

  “Your mother?”

  “She’s coming down for a visit. Long story.” Holly takes a pull from her beer and glances around the bar. Jake is in the corner talking to Joe and Cap. She looks away quickly.

  “Hey, brother.” A guy in plaid shorts practically falls on River’s back as he looks at Holly through bleary eyes. The guy is obviously a few beers into his first night on Christmas Key. River slings an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, steadying him on his feet. “You fraternizing with the enemy here?”

  “I’m trying to bring her over to our side, Josh,” River says to his friend. He claps him on the back. “I just need to work on her a little bit longer.”

  Holly frowns. “Wait, I’m the enemy in this scenario?”

  “We all saw you in that Yanks hat,” Josh says, swaying on his feet.

  “It might be time to get you back to your room, dude,” River says. He looks around the bar for someone to help him out. “Hey, where’s your old man?”

  “My dad?” Josh looks confused. “I think he’s talking to that redhead.”

  “This is Bill Hammond’s son, Josh,” River says to Holly. “He doesn’t hold his liquor well. Which could be because he’s still a teenager—”

  “I’m twenty-two, man,” Josh protests. “I’m twenty-two.”

  “Yeah, well, you need to learn to pace yourself there, Joshy.” River takes the empty bottle from Josh’s hand and sets it on the bar. “Give me a sec, okay?” he asks Holly. He drags his buddy across the bar to where Bill and Bonnie are drinking their beers, and unceremoniously hands Josh over to his dad.