“Have a seat, you’ve got time before your first clinic. How are things looking at Pelican Pointe? I had a meeting with the contractor yesterday. Villas #10 and #11, the ten-sleepers, should be ready for occupancy in the next two weeks. That’s a whole month ahead of schedule,” Mr. Cunningham said.
“That’s great. Did you loop in marketing and reservations? They should start advertising and really talk up the renovated kitchens and new appliances. I read inConde Naste Travelerthat vacation rentals for the holidays are on the uptick. Thanksgiving is right around the corner.”
“I’m impressed, Jonathan. Looks like there might be a hotelier underneath all of that after all,” Mr. Cunningham said waving his index finger up and down pointing to J.P.’s tailored charcoal gray golf pants and white heathered polo.
“Let’s not push it, Mr. C. I was readingTravelerbecause the floating green at Coeur d’Alene was the cover story. Imagine how many balls those divers fish out of the water each season?” J.P. laughed, trying to change the course of the conversation, regretting that he let it slip he read the magazine and paid attention to industry trends.
Over the past seven years, J.P. worked as the head golf pro at Liberty Oaks Golf Course. He was the sought-after instructor at the acclaimed course for beginners, seasoned golfers, and every level of player in between. His many years on the PGA tour circuit helped elevate the course’s popularity among professionals, amateurs and talented youth who had potential to grow and maybe one day compete in the ambitious sport. His congenial personality set a tone of camaraderie that was evident in the clubhouse and on the greens. J.P. effortlessly ran the course with little direction or distraction; and Mr. Cunningham often, and not so subtly, suggested that his managerial skills and style would easily transfer to bigger business models.
“Just like this golf course, Low Country Hospitality and my philanthropies aren’t going to run themselves when I die. Or worse, retire.” Mr. Cunningham laughed at his own joke.
“Since I don’t see either of those two scenarios happening any time soon, I think all of your business ventures are just fine with you at the helm.” J.P. nervously took a swig from the water bottle he was holding.
J.P. always got uncomfortable when Mr. Cunningham nonchalantly talked about death, retirement, or J.P. taking on a larger role in his mentor’s operations. J.P. considered himself an expert at golf and people. In his mind, the two went hand in hand and were the reason why the golf course enjoyed such success under his direction. He enjoyed the latitude and freedom Mr. Cunningham afforded him in running the prized greens, but the thought of taking on a larger role in Mr. Cunningham’s vast organizations terrified him. J.P. had Mr. Cunningham on a pedestal and didn’t imagine anyone was capable of climbing the podium he stood atop.
“Anyway, Pelican Pointe looked great when I stopped by to drop off the bikes and beach chairs. The exterior of all the units has been powered washed, the grill area is being kept clean, and the landscaping is under control. Do we need to post Alligator Safety signage around the koi ponds?” J.P. asked.
“I’ll place the order today. They should’ve been up. We don’t need the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources hassling us. Two enough?”
“That should be fine,” J.P. agreed. “Also, I asked Jose to keep an extra eye on the chlorine levels in the pool. I noticed one of the renters may have been having a reaction,” he continued.
“Trade magazines and paying attention to visitors. How about that?” Mr. Cunningham nodded and smiled.
“I wouldn’t say I was payingattentionto any visitors. It was a mere observation. I mean,” J.P. stuttered not realizing he was smiling like a goof and uncontrollably tapping his right foot.
“Looks like I struck a nerve! Who is she?” Mr. Cunningham let out a belly laugh.
“Who’s who?” J.P. coolly questioned, making a conscience effort to still his foot and make a serious face.
“The girl. I’ve seen it before Jonathan. Some woman has gotten into that usually cool, calm, and collected head of yours. I may be elderly but I’m not an idiot.” The older gentleman pulled his glasses down to the brim of his nose and peered over the lenses like he was staring through J.P.’s soul.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Old Man.” J.P. rolled his eyes. “Remind me why I open myself up to this harassment every morning.”
“Because I cut your checks,” Mr. Cunningham said matter-of-factly and slid his glasses back up to his eyes.
Last word,J.P thought.
“Let’s go, Cliff. This man is looking to stir trouble for us,” J.P. joked as he sprung to his feet and made his way to the door.
“Don’t forget I’m driving down to Georgia tonight to check out that chain of family-owned resorts on Jekyll Island. I think I’ll spend a few days exploring the area and assess if it’s worth the investment. Why don’t you and Cliff stay at the house? I’m having work done in the master suite on the first floor and hate to have workers coming and going when I’m out of state,” Mr. Cunningham said.
J.P. saluted with his right hand. “You got it, boss.”
Twenty-One
Kenny’s head was partially underwater and the rest of her body mid flip-turn when she heard wind chimes ringing from her phone indicating the forty-five-minute workout was over. Today was the first day since she started swimming that she was still powering through the water when her alarm went off. It was also the first time in fifteen years that she bookended her laps with the half-somersault tumble to change directions.
She waded to the side of the pool where her phone and Swell bottle lay on a towel. She dried off her hands, took a long swig of water, and picked up the device to swipe off the alarm.
Text from Hailey: TGIF! Wi-Fi 2day @ noon. Need ½ hr.
Kenny hadn’t gone nearly two weeks without a reliable internet connection since her eleventh birthday when her parents surprised her with an AOL TV keyboard that hooked up to the box television set in the family room. What surprised her most about the past twelve days without the luxury was that she barely missed it at all.
Text to Hailey: Great! Do I need to be at the villa?
Text from Hailey: Nope!
Kenny was relieved. The temperatures were expected to hover in the low nineties complimented by a sky filled with sunshine, so she planned to spend the afternoon on the beach. She hadn’t slept much the night before and was looking forward to taking a long nap on the sand. The insomnia was a combination of trying to squash the new crush jitters that intensified with each unintentional run-in with J.P.—which further intensified with the pool boy’s delivery of Miss Luana’s key lime pie cookies—and Muffin Evans’s proposition that she author a light-hearted, romance novel.
