Logan grunts dismissively and looks away. “Doesn't sound like he filled you in on anything. Serves me right to send a monkey to do a man's job.”
“Hey, he's been nice,” I say, feeling particularly defensive of Charlie at this moment. “Much better than you're being.”
He eyes me sharply and I know I've pissed him off.
Good.
“Look, Veronica,” he says gruffly, crossing his thick arms across his chest, “I know we have our differences and this situation is less than ideal for both of us. But for the sake of the employees and this hotel, the very same one that was run so lovingly by your own flesh and blood, we'll both have to put it past us. I can be nice if you'll be nice.”
He really doesn't sound like he wants to be nice. Frankly, neither do I. And the fact that he mentioned Juliet, that we have to be nice for her sake, reminds me that the ghost of her really is large and in charge.
It's also a bit of a sucker punch.
“Hey, I'm nice everywhere except in the kitchen,” I tell him, standing up a bit straighter.
“Good,” he says. “That's the kind of thing I want to hear. Johnny, the head cook, he’s a good guy, talented, sweet as sugar. Without him, the restaurant would have floundered. He made it what it is. But he's good friends with Charlie and has a hard time keeping him in check. It will be good to have someone on the team that doesn't mind being a hard-ass. And I know you can be a hard-ass.”
I smirk at that, feeling some strange sense of pride at that compliment.
“Well let's get going,” he says quickly, starting off toward the front door, as if he regrets saying anything remotely complimentary about me. “The grand tour awaits.”
We walk out the door, the rain having eased off. The air smells fresh, like cut-flowers and something earthy, with the ever-present tang of salt in the air. The breeze is warmer now, like a thick cloak as it blankets me, rustling my wet hair.
He points out the buildings, the units where the rest of the staff lives, the pool area, past perfectly groomed lawns, landscaped with palm trees and flowering bushes. There are some families out on the balconies, drinking beer or playing with their kids.
He leads me toward the water, through a short sand path lined with dark-leaved bushes and blooming white flowers. “So, this is the east beach. Perfect for sunrises, or so the brochure says.”
It's beautiful. I mean, I kept seeing glances of it earlier but from this angle I can really get a feel for the entire place.
Moonwater Inn appears to be built on a curve of land that pushes out into the ocean like the slope of someone’s hip, the beach swooping along the sides. If you look east, where we are now, you can see the land across the bay jutting out, the waves crashing against the shore while the green mountains rise inland. If you turn your head to the left and look north, there's nothing but open water, the swells so high that the horizon line is a wavering blur.
“Can you swim here?” I ask, my sandals sinking into the sand. I reach down and take them off one by one, my toes happy to feel the damp sand beneath them. When I glance back up, Logan quickly looks away. Was he checking out my chest? I look down at my B-cups, wondering what it is about them today that has them so damn captivating.
It's all in your head, I tell myself. You're seeing what you want to see.
And that's a problem too.
“Sometimes you can swim,” he says, his face to the east. He's got an incredible profile, the wind swooping the dark hair off his brow. “In the summer. And even then I wouldn't if I were you.” He looks to me, his expression stern. “And when I say that, I mean, don't you dare unless someone is with you, preferably me or Charlie or even Kate.”
“I doubt that would be a problem,” I tell him, looking back to the rough seas. You'd have to be crazy to go in there now, especially as the waves are breaking twice, once at the shore and once at a shallow reef further back.
“I don't mean now,” he says gruffly. “I mean ever. Even when this water looks crystal clear, calm as anything, don't go in alone. I can't tell you the number of times people have drowned in Kauai's waters. Every year, at nearly every beach.”
Now this surprises me. “Have people drowned here, at Moonwater?”
His grim expression tells me all I need to know. “Yes,” he says. “And those days haunt you for the rest of your life. We take the ocean seriously here. It can be your friend, but also your biggest foe. It demands your respect and if you don’t give it, there are rips, and waves and sharks that would love to put you in your place.”
Okay then. He sounds like that damn video that was playing at baggage claim. Suddenly the ocean doesn't look so appealing anymore. And to think that Charlie wanted to teach me to surf. No thank you.