She finished making the sandwich, wrapped it. “You talk to your siblings and I’ll talk to my husband and daughter. I think we could work something out.”
Beckett hadn’t expected it to be this easy. “That would be great.” He grabbed a pen by the cash register and a napkin, jotted his number down. “This is my number.”
Mrs. Angelo put the sandwiches up on the countertop.
“Are you hiring for the summer season?” Mrs. Angelo asked as Beckett paid for the meals.
Adam sat at a table waiting.
“We’re running on a low budget. We could definitely use some help, but we don’t have a lot of free cash.”
She nodded and Beckett told himself he didn’t need to be embarrassed. Business ventures took time. Especially one that wasn’t his own. Their own. He might prefer to keep to himself more than Jilly, but he knew that these people, the town of Smile, or a good portion of them, were rooting for his family.
“My nephew, he needs…” She pressed her lips together, the wrinkles at her eyes creasing deeper. “How can I say this politely? Some direction. Some focus. You still do guided hikes?”
“We do.” Beckett wasn’t sure how he had ended up being the main tour guide. Despite his enjoying them, the hikes cut into a lot of other things.
“He’s coming to stay with us for the summer. He’ll work here, but we don’t want him to have idle time. What do you think about letting him lead some hikes? The fresh air, it’s good for young people.”
Smiling, Beckett thought about Presley’s first hike and then the joy on her face when they’d gone fishing today. “Even if they don’t realize it.”
“Yes.” She stared expectantly.
“I’ll speak with my brother. Meanwhile, if you could get your nephew to email a résumé to the lodge?”
“I can do that.”
He said goodbye, high on the success of the conversation. It didn’t escape his notice as he and Adam ate their sandwiches that the person he wanted to share this with was Presley. She had a keen business sense and had helped the lodge within twenty-four hours of being there. She’d get a kick out of his quick thinking. He could picture the smile on her face when he told her and knew, right then, that he was in big trouble.
He’d need to keep his distance if he wanted to keep his heart. There was no other choice: no more kissing Presley Ayers.
Sixteen
The rapid-fire texts from Ms. Twain made it impossible to pretend life didn’t exist outside the island. Seeing no other choice, she pressed her boss’s contact on the phone.
“Finally, you call me back.” No “hello” or “thank you.”
Presley sank down on the front porch. She pulled her sweater around her to ward off the morning chill. The bed in the lodge was more comfortable than the one in Beckett’s cabin, but somehow, she’d woken this morning earlier than usual with a restlessness she couldn’t shake.
“Ms. Twain, I am on vacation. On an island. With spotty cell service and boat access only.”
“The Shefflys are staying with us. She says you always get them the best dinner reservations.”
The aftereffect of tossing and turning last night was feeling especially snippy this morning. At least where her unappreciative boss was concerned. Presley’s mind kept wandering to Beckett and how he hadn’t said goodbye. How he hadn’t said… anything. Not that he needed to. He didn’t owe her anything. But she couldn’t ignore the little stitch between her ribs when she thought about it.
“Presley?” Ms. Twain’s tone was sharp.
Right. The Shefflys were repeat guests who preferred to have Presley as their personal concierge. “Yes. She likes to try new things but he prefers old favorites.”
“Everything I suggest, she argues. You can make bookings from there?”
Mel, Richard, Morgan, and Bo set up bocce ball on the lawn. Eventhough she was a morning person, it was too early, in Presley’s mind, for games that required focus. She’d never played, but she’d seen it before. Her parents were more museum and open-air market people than lawn game enthusiasts. They were high-rise apartment people who loved having a great selection of restaurants within walking distance. Presley had ended up the same without giving it any thought. She’d never had a reason to think outside that particular box.
Frustrated that her boss had broken the tranquility that seemed to come with the island lodge, she bit back her sigh. “Yes. I’ll do that. How many nights are they staying?” The porch creaked behind her.
“Six more.”
“I’ll take care of it and email the information,” Presley said.
