Chapter Four

Devin

Something happened. Right at the very end of our conversation, she’d gone pale, her eyes held a shadow that hadn’t been there moments before. But just as quickly as it had come, it vanished. Like a door opening, then slamming shut before anyone noticed.

The smile she gave me was her public face, the one she used to retreat behind. But I’d bet a helluva lot of money things churned below the practiced facade. I acknowledged the need to know what she struggled with wasn’t going to go away. The thought of her in pain ripped through me like a bullet and I wanted to wipe away whatever thoughts, memories, or feelings she was having that brought the haunted look I’d just seen in her eyes.

Jesus, this roller-coaster ride I’d been on since last night had gone full corkscrew and I didn’t know which way was up. Emotions I’d thought long boxed and preserved, only to be taken out on special occasions to relive, re-experience, had burst from the neat confines of my past. It wasn’t even a consideration to try and coax them back into place. What had begun as a whim to stay longer had now taken on more importance.

She took great pains to fold up the half-eaten bagel in the waxed paper. The very one she’d practically made love to when we first sat down. She flicked a glance from under long dark lashes. “You didn’t say. Did you want another cup?”

I hadn’t realized I hadn’t answered the first time. “No, thanks.”

She walked over to the coffee machine and poked through the cups with one finger.

I wiped my mouth with the napkin and balled it up with the remnants of my wrap. Scraping the chair back, I stood and cleared my throat. “Have lunch with me.” It wasn’t much of a question but more of a pronouncement, and I regretted the commanding tone. I opened my mouth to rephrase it, but before I could, she replied.

“I’d like to, but I can’t,” she said with a soft, apologetic smile over her shoulder. “I have to drive up to Clearwater to shoot a baby.”

“Shoot a baby? That’s not legal, is it?” I teased, glad to be able to shift the moment. She had her game face and I had my humor. Maybe those things were our coping mechanisms.

“Yeah,” she chuckled, pushing her mug under the coffee spout. “It’s a little side service I offer to my best clients. But I like to keep it on the down-low, know what I mean?”

I put my hands up, palms facing her. “Hey, I know nothing, I see nothing, I—”

“Okay, okay. I think I can trust you with the truth.” She winked. “I go up to a client’s house every Sunday or Monday, depending on…well, things.”

“Where did you say you went? Clearwater?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a bit of a drive, isn’t it?” I cleared the table of garbage and tossed it in the trashcan. “And why do you go up there every week and the parents don’t come to you?”

She didn’t answer immediately and when I looked up, I found the light in her eyes had dimmed. “The baby’s terminal,” she said softly. “They want to record every week with him…while they still have him.”

A lump grew in my throat. I couldn’t speak. My brain slowly processed what she was doing and why, as well as trying to absorb the depth of emotion on her beautiful face. “Micki, that’s—that’s…” I exhaled and shook my head. “I just don’t know what to say,” I ended uselessly.

She gave me a look of understanding. “It’s a privilege, believe me. To help preserve these moments for these amazing parents… and I hope…no, I believe that by doing this, it’s made these past few months easier for them. They can concentrate on the baby’s needs. I can capture every step he’s made…no matter to what end.”

Empathy and compassion welled inside my chest as I watched her turn to look out the window, a pensive look on her face. I quietly watched as she stood with her own thoughts.

“How long have you been going up there?”

She kept her eyes focused on some object out the window. She answered without turning around. “It’s maybe over three months now.”

My mind raced back to when we’d been deeply in love and our future was out there. We’d talked about names for our babies. She wanted two, and I wanted four. We’d settled on three, until she’d researched middle children and her mother convinced her middle children had issues. How ironic I’d remember that, after our conversation of earlier.

“It’s an incredible thing you’re doing, and I’m both in awe and humbled right at the moment.”

She scoffed, still only visible in profile to me. “I’m a photographer. I take pictures. That’s all I do.”

How could she not understand the scope of what she was doing? What that meant, even to someone like me? “You capture moments in life.” What she was doing was huge, in my opinion. It piqued my interest why she may not see that. I hesitated to push, but I was a “go big or go home” kind of person. All she could say was no.

“Dinner?” I asked.

She turned to face me. “Sure,” she said, her voice softly muted. “Dinner would be nice.”

My heart sped up. “How about you text me when you get back? I’ll be ready whenever you are.”

“Sounds good.” A sweet, slow smile curved her lips. “I’m glad you made it to the wedding.”

I was beyond glad I’d made it to the wedding. I hoped I’d be able to put it into words to tell her. “Me, too. Drive safely on your trip.” As I moved to walk toward the front door, I paused at her side, looking down at her upturned face. I’d never wanted to kiss a woman as badly as I wanted to right now. But something delicate was taking root, and I had to treat this very carefully.

Reaching for her hand instead, I lifted it to my lips and brushed the lightest of kisses over the top of her knuckles. I watched as her pupils dilated when I rubbed my thumb lightly across her hand. With one last hard look at her lips, I turned and walked to the door before I lost my head.

Not one to lounge around poolside in normal circumstances, plus being on the same island as Micki, brought my pent-up energy to a whole other level. I decided to explore more of Mimosa Key and see if I could get to know a little about some of the locals. But first, it seemed wise to start with the Barefoot Brides ladies. The professional connection between the consultants and Micki promised a veritable fountain of information, and I wanted to tap it. The unusual circumstances of meeting up with Micki demanded unusual measures, and I wanted to find out as much as I could about what her life was like here on the island. Time was a luxury I didn’t feel I had.

Lacey, a strawberry-blonde with warm brown eyes and freckles, manned the front desk. I’d met her last night when I’d extended my stay and learned she was the owner of the resort. I debated engaging her in conversation but decided at the last minute not to. She was a business woman and I figured she’d refrain from any conversations that could reveal personal information. I knew intuitively her business integrity wouldn’t offer any loose tidbits. Instead, I asked where I could find the Barefoot Brides office.

“Right down this hall.” Lacey pointed to her right with a cordial smile. “We’d certainly love to see you consider our resort for any wedding needs. Are you interested for yourself?”

I gave her a wide smile. “Maybe.”

Following her directions, I made my way to the door of the Barefoot Brides offices. Tapping once, I pushed it open.

“Well, hello there again,” Gussie called out brightly from behind a desk. I tried to hide the look of confusion on my face because I could’ve sworn last night she was blond. Yet today she had jet black hair. A pair of hot pink glasses, encrusted with rhinestones across the front, caught my attention. “Can I help you?”

Ripping my attention back to my mission, I smiled casually. “Actually,” I stepped inside and let the door close behind me. “Uh, I’m just curious, you could say. I was impressed with my cousin’s wedding last night and wanted to learn more about what you do. Not,” I added, “that I have an immediate need or anything, but I have friends that…sometimes, you know. Get married.” Jesus, Dev. Really?

“Thank you for the compliment.” She beamed with pride. “We do try. And I’m glad you have friends that get…married.” Her smile was friendly, but her lips twitched at the corners.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, well, it shows. So…if someone were to decide to come here for their wedding, who handles what and who are the best vendors out there that you don’t already provide services for?”

She stood and walked around the front of the desk. “Please.” She indicated the chair. “Have a seat and let me get you some brochures. This will give you an idea of the scope of our services, as well as vendors that we use and have thoroughly vetted over the years.” She gathered up several cards and a small folder with the Barefoot Brides logo on the front. Handing them to me, she continued. “I think you’ll find that we offer a full range of anything you could want in a destination wedding, along with, of course,” she winked, her false eyelashes batting as she did, “the preeminent talent here at Barefoot Brides. We like to think there isn’t a wedding we couldn’t make into the most memorable occasion in a couple’s lifetime.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” I agreed. “Thank you for this.” I tipped the handful of paperwork she had given me.

She sat back down behind her desk. “Is there anything specifically you had in mind? Or any particular questions about a possible event here?”

“I was curious about the outside vendors that you said you work with. Obviously, like florists or musicians or…photographers. If, and I do mean if, I were ever so lucky as to get married, I’d want the best of the best, naturally.”

“Oh,” she gave me a sly look, “I don’t think there’s a question of if you were to ever be lucky enough. I’m guessing you just haven’t found the one yet.”

Oh, I’d found the one. The question was, could she want the same thing I did? “I was specifically interested in photographers.”

“Oh, there are a few that we highly recommend. There’s Caroline Murphy Events. She’s been here for ages. Then there’s Micki Dawson’s Studio—she was the photographer from last night, by the way. Her work is uh-mazing and she’s such a love, too.” She lowered her voice to more hushed tones. “Sometimes the artistic ones can be a little…you know, different. But not her.” She sat back in her chair like she’d imparted some grand secret.

“Yes, I saw her working last night. Has a couple of assistants working with her, it looked like?”

“Oh, yes. Full service and perfection is her trademark. The girl works all the time, I swear.”

“Pretty lady, too,” I added, watched her closely for any push-back. It was a calculated gamble, taking it in that direction, but no risk, no reward.

Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “She is,” she agreed with some hesitation, but deftly changed the subject. “Do you have your girlfriend or fiancé with you or nearby? We could set up a meeting to look around and see how we can best fit and serve your needs.”

I sensed I’d gotten as far as I would with Gussie. For now. “She’s not in town today, but she will be later.” Standing, I reached out to shake her hand and indicated the handful of pamphlets she’d given me. “Thanks for your time, and these.”

After driving around for half an hour or so, I could see the allure of the island and well imagine its residents had some quirky personalities. Most towns did.

A hunger pang rumbled in my stomach, reminding me I hadn’t exactly overeaten this morning. A Shell Station and mini market were coming up on the right. A quick Coke and snack for the road, and I’d be out exploring some more. I had time to kill before Micki would be back in town and I wanted to learn as much as I could about life on Mimosa Key in the meantime. Inside, I helped myself to the self-service drink fountain. While my drink was filling, I overheard two women chatting near the counter.

“She went out with him again? Oh, my God, Charity, he’s such a —” I couldn’t clearly hear what adjective the woman used since she covered her mouth with her hand, but it sounded remarkably like she’d said dick. I smiled, looking back at the machine, absently fitting the plastic cover on my drink and grabbing a straw. As I made my way to the counter, two curious pairs of female eyes zeroed in on me.

I would never proclaim to be an expert on women, but those were two keenly assessing gazes if I ever saw one.

“Good morning, ladies.”

Both smiled in tandem, the short, frizzy-haired one behind the counter turned out to be Charity, her name badge making that bit of information clear.

“Morning,” she replied with a curious smile. Her friend, who was even shorter, stood mutely to the right of me and continued to stare. She reminded me of every clichéd neighbor who smiled and waved to everyone…and knew everything that took place on the street.

I turned to smile at the silent one. She blinked twice then snapped her mouth shut and turned away, but not before I saw her face go beet red.

“Haven’t seen you before,” Charity noted, as she rang up my purchases. “First time on the island?”

That she could pick out the fact that this was my first time here was impressive. Which cemented the idea that she, too, knew everybody’s business. “Yes, as a matter of fact it is my first time. Beautiful place. I’ve been out to see more of it.” I handed her my credit card to pay for my drink and protein bar. I figured it wouldn’t take too much to get her to play tour guide.

“It’s beautiful here, alright. People are coming left and right, checking it out. Sure hope we don’t get overrun with too many new people. Have you checked out the stadium? You look like you might enjoy sports. Baseball’s our game, here.”

“No, I haven’t gotten around to that yet. I’ll make a point of checking it out. Thanks.” Grasping at the first thought that came to mind to direct the conversation where I wanted it to go, I offered, “A cousin of mine got married at Casa Blanca last night and he’s already eager to start a family. He’s going to be such a great dad, I’d really like to gift him with a photography session for him and his wife…when the time comes, of course.” I gave them what I hoped to be a winning smile. “Anyone in particular you’d recommend?”

“Ohhh,” the shorter lady cooed, her cheeks still high with color. “Well, there are a couple of studios here. One is,” she turned to Charity, “you know who I mean, Caroline what’s-her-name.” She turned back to me with the air of someone about to impart a great secret. “Now, I’m not talking bad about her or anything, and she takes right nice pictures and all, but she’s a little,” she made a circular motion around her ear with one finger, “you know…”

“A little different?” I supplied, with a knowing nod. “I hear you. No, that wouldn’t be what I’d want.”

“Mm hmm, that’s right,” she agreed. “There’s another guy, Ritch Harvey, but he’s pretty much retired and only does nature shots nowadays anyway, I hear. And there’s Micki Dawson. She takes beautiful pictures and she seems, you know, normal.”

From behind the counter, Charity snorted, her arms folded over her chest. “Yeah, she’s normal. Sweet, but for a while I wondered about her when she was dating Clint Thurman. According to him now, if you can believe him.” Charity gave her friend a meaningful look. “Clint swears women only date him for his money.”

The short one chimed in. “Now, that’s what I was just saying! But he’s such a—” She caught herself and stopped talking, her eyes darting between Charity and me.

Hair on the back of my neck prickled to life, but I kept a pleasant smile firmly on my face. The visceral reaction hearing about someone that sounded like a dick and Micki together in the same conversation bothered me. Not that I had any right or basis to feel that way, but I chose to ignore trying to rationalize it out. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

Charity shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t pretend to know everyone’s love life, but it is a small island, after all.”

She clammed up, and I wanted to shake her for more. Fortunately, Short Stuff to my right came to my rescue.

“Oh, Charity,” she gushed. “You do, too, know everything about everyone in this place. How you keep up with everyone, well, it’s amazing.”

Charity snorted. “I do not, Denise. Everyone knows Micki dated him for a while but rumor has it she dumped him and he was pissed. Went around telling tales afterwards, which I just think was in very poor taste for a gentleman to do that.”

“He doesn’t sound like a much of a gentleman to me if he went around telling stories,” I inserted, thinking I may have just found the conduit for the entire island’s underbelly in this little mini mart. I’d bet cash money she knew a ton, and what she didn’t know, she’d speculate on until it became accepted as truth.

Charity gave me a you’ve-no-idea kind of look, and I decided I’d pushed enough for now.

Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I picked up my purchases and turned to leave. “Thanks, ladies. It’s been lovely chatting with you. I’m sure I’ll see you again.” If I were the gossiping kind, this place would be a mecca for juicy stories.

I spent the better part of the next hour checking out the Barefoot Bay Bucks baseball stadium complex. Interesting mix of a petting zoo, shops, and, judging by the families with young kids running around with a baseball in one hand and a hot dog in the other, a picnic area. The thought of real food hit me square in my midsection. The protein bar I’d had earlier had since worn off, but a hot dog didn’t appeal. I meandered around the town for a short bit before I came up to a nondescript building that people were coming out of with doggy bags. Slowing down, I looked around for a sign, but I couldn’t find one. Yet these people were obviously coming out of a restaurant so I pulled into the first parking space available and followed them to the door.

The inviting aroma of spices drifted on the breeze straight to my nostrils and my stomach rumbled in reply. I could be wrong, but my olfactory system said Mexican. A hand-painted sign in a corner read S.O.B. I had no idea what it meant but decided it was perfect. The best food was usually found in home-grown diners only patronized by locals, and this place ticked off all the boxes for that. Two minutes later, I was sure I’d made the right choice. The place had no menu, just a posted list of items and, since Mexican was one of my favorite foods, my mouth fairly salivated for the carna asada I’d ordered.

Several curious glances came my way as I waited for my order. I figured I stood out in the crowd, but I didn’t care. Who knows what you’ll learn or hear if you’re friendly?

I was only halfway through my carne asada when I overheard Clint Thurman’s name come up in a conversation two tables over. I turned as inconspicuously as possible to try and catch the gist of what was being said. The place wasn’t exactly made for fine dining so the din of noise made it damn near impossible to hear clearly, but I was able to get he was dating someone named Josie and then something about money. Two irritatingly loud men came in, and I lost any hope of hearing more.

Irritated for no good reason, I wadded up my napkin and threw it on the plate. Questions rattled in my head about Micki’s dating life since her divorce. I realized I had no idea about who or what she was looking for. Had she not remarried because she was looking for someone with a lot of money? A tiny seed of uncertainty began to grow. She’d said part of why she’d married her ex-husband in the first place was because she’d believed he had everything she wanted. But she said she’d realized how wrong she’d been. Still…what if she’d only been wrong about him and not what he offered?

When she’d dumped me twelve years ago, I don’t think she realized I knew the reason why. She’d tried to be gentle. Some bullshit about her going to school and not wanting to hold me back, which was total crap because we both knew at the time I was merely drifting through my life at that point. I’d graduated two years ahead of her and was happy just surfing every minute I could and subsidizing that passion by working in a boatyard. Not exactly the stuff that reeks of a future success story. And she knew it.

Funny thing was, I never hated her for wanting more. Why shouldn’t she? But what she couldn’t have known then was she was the reason I did become a success. I wanted…no, needed…to prove I could. That had been the catalyst and I vowed one day, I’d thank her for it.

But now there was a shadow of doubt that clouded my thoughts and I hated not knowing the truth. Who was Micki Dawson now?