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“Must be nice to be able to call the shots.”
She leaned up on one elbow to look over the back of the couch so she could see him. “The lack of a degree doesn’t seem to be hurting you.”
“Who knows where I’d be if I had an education?” he said. “What you’ve done means a lot. You should be proud of yourself.”
He seemed sincere, as though he truly admired what she’d accomplished. She wasn’t used to that. Although Remy was quick to give lip service if the subject ever came up, she could tell he wasn’t impressed by law school or even that she’d passed the bar on her first attempt. He thought what he was doing was so much harder—and more admirable. Invariably, he ended up pointing that out. “It’s not too late. Will you ever get your GED and maybe a bachelor’s?” she asked.
“I doubt it.”
Dishes rattled as he cooked. “Why not?”
“That ship has sailed. At this point, I wouldn’t have the patience. Did you sleep okay?”
“I did. You?”
“Like a rock.”
She’d actually awakened twice and listened to the wind rattling the windows, trying to determine if the storm was truly abating. In the dim light of the lantern, she’d also watched his face, serene in sleep, and wondered why she’d taken such an immediate liking to him. As guarded and defensive as he was, she should probably be more leery of him. But he came across as steady, solid, and reliable—all traits that made her trust him, probably because he reminded her of her father, who was also a strong, hardworking man of few words.
Not like Remy, who loved being the center of attention. He talked a lot, especially when there was someone to impress, and laughed loudly without much care.
It wasn’t surprising that Bo would eschew the limelight and always be on the lookout for the next jagged edge he might encounter, Ismay decided. Experience had taught each man different things. Remy, who’d been sheltered and given everything he could possibly dream of, believed the old cliché—the world was his oyster. Bo, whose mother had been murdered when he was ten, leaving him without a protector and a provider, had known only rough seas.
She fell somewhere in between. Part of her identified with Remy. She’d had enough security, love, and opportunity to embrace his optimistic “go get ’em” attitude. It wasn’t as if she had much to complain about. But she’d also had to work hard, first helping with her younger siblings and then getting a job at a fast-food joint when she was sixteen. She’d worked ever since, had just quit her job as a barista at a local coffee shop when she passed the bar. Her parents couldn’t help too much, not with seven other children.
“What’re you making?” she asked.
“Breakfast burritos,” he replied. “You cooked dinner, so I figured it was my turn. Hope you’re hungry.”
“I usually just grab a coffee and call it good until lunch, but whatever you’re cooking smells delicious, so I think I’ll make an exception.”
“I’m happy to hear that since I used your groceries.”
She heard the smile in his voice and had to smile, too. Last night, he wouldn’t have taken the liberty of so much as opening the cupboards. Maybe he really had accepted her as a friend.
After kicking off her blanket, she instinctively reached for her phone. Remy would be angry with her for hanging up on him last night. No doubt they’d argue today. She hadn’t even answered the texts he’d sent afterward, essentially ordering her to call him back.
But it was three hours earlier in California, only 5:00 a.m. He wouldn’t be up yet, so she had some time before she had to deal with that.
“Any word from your fiancé?”
She twisted around to see Bo leaning past the corner, looking at her. “Not yet.”
“I hope he won’t be too mad.”
“Ididn’t do anything wrong—he did.” She believed Remy should be the one to apologize, but she could easily guess he wouldn’t.Why’d you hang up on me? What guy would want his fiancée spending the night with another dude?
Never mind that she’d just met Bo, she was only trying to help him, or that Remy should care about his well-being, too. After all, Bo worked for his parents. That should mean something even if he couldn’t muster any concern for basic humanitarian reasons.
She got up and went to the bathroom before pulling her hair into a better ponytail and brushing her teeth. Fortunately, she could no longer hear the wind or rain, and what she could see through the small bathroom window showed only a slight drizzle falling on a soggy landscape with driftwood and broken tree branches strewn all over. “I think we’re through the worst of it,” she told Bo as she entered the kitchen.
He was holding a spatula when he turned away from the stove. “I should go out and check on a few neighbors. See if everyone’s okay.”
“Do you know many people on the island?”
“Not a lot. Just those who live closest. Only one—a widow named Honey Wellington—lives here year-round. She’s who I’m most concerned about.”
“How old is she?”
