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“Monkey-face orchids are incredibly rare.” She finally broke the silence, her voice a soft murmur that resonated straight through me. “Not something they have at a farmer’s market on a local key.”
“Rare but worth searching for,” I replied as we faced each other fully, my words holding an undercurrent that went beyond the topic of elusive flowers. The air between us felt heavy with things unsaid, feelings unexplored, and the weight of years spent apart.
“I can’t believe you remember those.” The crowd gently parted around us, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from hers.
“I remember a lot, Stella.”
And right there, with wistful longing showing in her eyes, I knew. I wanted to ask her out, to try to reclaim the time we’d lost.
But how?
Stella broke the trance to stare at the orchids cradled in her arms, her expression shifting. “I should get these home.” Suddenly flustered, she fiddled with her purse. “I’ll see you around.”
“Of course.” Any further words I wanted to say remained inside as she turned away.
She’d taken a few steps when she paused and looked back over her shoulder. “It was good to see you again, Aiden. Goodbye.”
Her voice was soft, carrying a note that made me want to reach out and press pause on the moment. What was the message she was sending? The part about being happy that we met up again. Or the goodbye?
“Good to see you too.”
I watched her walk away, the sway of her hips hypnotic and familiar. As she disappeared into the throng of marketgoers, I was left with the scent of flowers and corn dogs, along with the lingering question of what would happen next. At least she hadn’t shoved me away this time, though she’d been guarded and tentative. The laughter and chatter of the market resumed its full volume around me, but I still stood there, anchored to the spot by the weight of unspoken words.
Chapter Seven
Stella
I leaned against the wall of the Big House’s garage, anxiously scanning the driveway that cut through the lush tropical foliage. With every rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze, I hoped it would be Hunter’s car stirring them into motion.
Today was more than just a family lunch—it was a bridge to start healing old wounds. The ache for reconciliation clung to me. Two brothers who had once been inseparable and were now completely at odds.
The purring sound of an engine announced his arrival. A sleek black Range Rover navigated the final bend and came to a smooth stop in front of the garage. My heart skipped a beat, nervous anticipation making me wipe a sweaty palm on my skirt.
Hunter stepped out, clad from head to toe in black. Black jeans molded to his long legs, and a black button-down shirt framed his broad shoulders and bulging arms. No matter how many times I saw him, I had to remind myself that this shadowy apparition with eyes that were always assessing, searching, was the sweet, shy brother I’d grown up with. In some ways, anyway. In others, he couldn’t be more different.
“Is black the only color in your wardrobe these days?” I teased lightly, trying to ease the weight of the moment as I approached him.
“Keeps things simple.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. Hunter’s eyes, though, held stories that were anything but simple. They were hooded, guarding his thoughts. By far the tallest of the Markham men, Hunter’s dark beard was trimmed short and neat. The tips of tattoos snaked toward his elbows beneath his short sleeves. More ink was exposed at his open collar.
“Still the man of mystery, I see.” I reached up to wrap my arms around him.
He returned the embrace, his strong arms encircling me. “Good to see you, Stella.”
“Good? I was aiming for great.” I pulled back to look at him. But beneath the light-hearted banter, I could sense the steel he had honed as a Marine. He might not show it, but coming home to this island, with its tangled roots and complex histories, had to stir him inside.
“Great, then.” His voice was deep yet smooth, and a genuine smile reached his eyes now. It transformed him, softening the edges that time and distance had sharpened. Hunter and I had always been close, and I’d taken pains to make sure we stayed that way through his estrangement. He let his guard down with me, and that meant a lot.
“Come on—let’s get inside. Everyone’s waiting.” I slipped my arm around his elbow as we started toward the house.
“Everyone?” he asked, a hint of tension threading his voice.
“Yes. Everyone.” I gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. Though I wasn’t sure if it helped—his bicep felt like squeezing a lead pipe. “It’s time to mend fences and build new memories. Calypso Key is still your home.”
He nodded, squaring his shoulders. The bookish little brother I once knew was long gone, replaced by this towering mountain of muscle who had faced down his own abyss. More than one. Yet I could still see glimpses of the boy who used to chuck rocks from the top of the bluff with me.
We walked along the cement walkway to the front of the house. As we approached the landing, the front door swung open, and our grandmother, Nona, emerged. She’d swapped her usual Western wear for a more formal skirt and long-sleeved shirt, her white hair twisted up with a grace that defied her years. Her sharp eyes grew glassy at the sight of Hunter.
“Nona,” Hunter breathed out, the single word echoing both joy and regret. He stepped forward and enveloped her petite frame in his expansive arms, dwarfing her. Yet his embrace was gentle, cautious—as if he were holding something precious and fragile.
