“Roster of guests joining us?” Lucy asked, looking at the list in her hand as she sat on the balcony of her hotel room.
“Check,” Nick responded.
“Dinner reservations confirmed for twenty-two people at seven-thirty?”
“Check.”
“List of our people who’ve checked into the hotel so far?”
“Got it.”
Lucy looked up at Nick; he was smirking.
“You ever give any thought to being a drill sergeant?” Nick joked.
“The only way I’m even close to being orderly and precise enough for the military is from my years standing in front of an autopsy table,” Lucy said. “There is a definite order and a necessary precision to that job, so I guess I bring that with me.” She held out a hand and Nick passed her the list of every Holiday Adventure Clubber joining them on St. Barts, along with a second list of people who’d already checked into the Hotel Christopher.
It was lunch time on the day of the guests’ arrival, and Lucy had tossed and turned all night, thinking of last minute things she needed to do. Granted, the hotel itself was so sumptuous and well-appointed that the guests would undoubtedly arrive, check in, and instantly be wowed by the views and the luxury, but Lucy really wanted them to feel welcomed and cared for by the leader of their travel group.
“You’re just really thorough,” Nick said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts as he stood and looked out at the water. In contrast to Lucy’s tired eyes, messy bun, and wrinkled sundress, Nick looked well-rested, relaxed, and dressed for adventure.
Lucy sighed. “Well, you know how it is,” she said, following his gaze. “I’ve got a lot to prove. I chose a new career path that’s foreign to me, so I feel like every step of the way requires me to check and double-check my own work. But again, that’s also a habit gleaned from my old job.”
Nick pulled out the chair opposite hers at the little patio table and sat down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her intently. “Listen, you really don’t have anything to prove. You’re killing this whole thing, and you’re only on trip number two of the entire year.”
Lucy gave a laugh that sounded more like a huff. “I don’t know about killing it.”
“Come on, Dr. Landish,” Nick said gruffly. “I can tell you didn’t sleep because you look like something Hemingway dragged in from the backyard, but give yourself some credit here.”
That actually made Lucy laugh out loud—a big, hearty guffaw. “I look like something your dog dragged in from outside? Dear god…” She put a hand into the frizz of her auburn hair and looked down self-consciously at her rumpled clothes. “The way I look is entirely incongruous with being called ‘doctor,’ you know? And it feels amazing being told that I look like roadkill.”
“Hey, it’s nothing a shower and some coffee won’t fix,” Nick assured her. “But seriously. I’m super impressed with this whole operation and the trip is barely starting.”
Lucy pondered this. Her divorce, her mother’s growing list of medical needs, and the sting of betrayal by her ex-boyfriend, Charlie, had certainly done a number on her head. Sometimes Lucy wondered why she’d even dated a guy with so little appeal, but it was easy to chalk it up now to loneliness during her first months on Amelia Island when she hadn’t really known anyone. Things had ultimately ended between her and Charlie when she’d caught him in a compromising position with her roommate, a girl he was now squiring around Amelia Island like she was Princess Di and not a girl named Katrina from Georgia with dubious taste in men. So good riddance to the both of them.
“I hear you, Nick.” Lucy looked up and into his handsome face. She wanted to internalize his compliments about her work and not brush them off. Building confidence in a new venture happened one brick at a time, and she could use all the bricks he was offering.
Not only was Nick her next-door work neighbor, but he was also her friend, cheerleader, and confidante. He’d walked her through the Charlie aftermath with the kind of patience usually reserved for female friends during evenings of cocktails and drunken tears. “And thank you. For always listening, and being encouraging,” she said.
Nick slapped the glass table top and stood up again. “Good. We’ve got that settled. Now get your butt in the shower and meet me in the lobby in thirty minutes. I’ll order us coffee and breakfast and we can go over the list of activities and people at least a hundred more times if you want. I’m here as your lowly assistant or to help in whatever capacity you need me to.”
Lucy stood up and followed Nick through the suite, picking up a pillow from the messy bed and tossing it at him jokingly. It hit his shoulder and he ducked as if he’d been hit by shrapnel. “I’m under attack!” he shouted, lunging for the door.
Lucy watched with a smile as he walked down the hall.
“Thirty minutes, Landish! That’s all you’ve got!” Nick punched the elevator button and stepped into the car as the doors slid open.
She stood there in the quiet hallway for a moment, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. St. Barts, she thought to herself. I made it to St. Barts. It was just a quiet moment of reflection, but one she needed to re-set and get ready for the coming week.
With a tired smile, Lucy closed the door and went to take a hot shower.
Lucy entered the lobby at six-thirty after spending the lion’s share of the day with Nick. They’d had breakfast and coffee, then taken a tour around the island in the little blue rental jeep that looked like a cross between a golf cart and a Mini Cooper, gathering as much intel as possible to share with the guests over dinner.
As she walked across the lobby now, low-heeled sandals clicking against the marble floors, Lucy was confronted by a vampy senior citizen with bottle-red hair and nails to match. Her creamy skin was cinched into a corset-like emerald green dress, and she held a microphone in one hand. The woman stood next to a glossy black piano, conferring with the pianist.
“Good evening,” she finally said into the mic. Her voice carried through the lobby with its dimmed lights and hushed coolness. A small crowd of people in khaki shorts, collared shirts, sundresses, and slacks with loafers sat on overstuffed couches and chairs, faces turned expectantly in her direction. “I’m Elise Rittenhour, and I’ve recently arrived here on St. Barts like the rest of you,” she purred, holding the microphone away from her mouth just enough that her voice floated sweetly around the room.
Lucy stopped in her tracks. Elise Rittenhour. She knew that name. Elise was scheduled to be a part of her group. A feeling of dread swept over Lucy, followed quickly by a cold sweat. Somehow one of her guests had beat her to the punch and was holding court before she’d even gotten the chance to say hello to the other travelers.
“I’m just a lonely widow from Ft. Worth, Texas, here on this trip with the Holiday Adventure Club. I’m hoping for a little relaxation in paradise, and I’m sure you are too,” Elise said. She turned a bright smile on everyone in her line of vision as she glanced around the lobby. “And if I find romance along the way, then so be it.” With a quick nod of her coiffed red head, she let the pianist know that it was time to start.
Elise launched right into “At Last” by Etta James, giving a throaty, emotional rendition that kept all eyes on her.
“What in the hell…” Lucy stood next to a huge round table in the center of the lobby, partially hiding behind an oversized vase of orchids and hibiscus that gave a pop of vibrant color to the otherwise neutral decor. She was stuck: she couldn’t turn heel and head back to the elevators, nor could she interrupt Elise’s unplanned performance without looking like a total jerk.
As she watched, feeling upstaged, Nick sidled up to Lucy and positioned himself just behind her right shoulder. “Is she your opening act?”
Lucy shook her head, but she was speechless. Instead of saying anything, she waited for Elise to finish singing, then took a deep breath and strode up to the microphone, holding out a hand as a round of applause punctuated by a few whistles gave way to some chatter as people commented on Elise’s performance.
“Hi,” Lucy said, stepping into the spot that Elise had just vacated. She glanced at the older woman’s hourglass figure as she stepped away from the microphone, waving both hands at the crowd like Marilyn Monroe leaving the stage after belting out “Happy Birthday, Mr. President.”
“Hello,” Lucy started again, aiming for a smile this time as she took in the mostly middle-aged faces of the people gathered around her. “I’m Lucy Landish, trip organizer at the Holiday Adventure Club, and—as you all know—that was Elise Rittenhour.” Lucy wasn’t sure what else to say about Elise, so she waited as another round of polite, subdued applause worked its way through the crowd. “Anyhow, welcome to St. Barts. I’m thrilled to see all of you, and I’m very much looking forward to getting to know you as we explore the island together. Of course I’m here to help out in any way I can as you make plans and enjoy this gorgeous slice of paradise.” She glanced over at the table where she’d just been standing and noticed Nick leaning against it, arms folded as he watched her with a smile. “And this,” she said, holding out a hand in Nick’s direction, “is Nick Epperson, my right hand man. If you can’t find me, just ask him for anything you need and we’ll get it worked out as fast as we can. Now, let’s head out to dinner, shall we?”
Lucy set the microphone back on its stand and stepped gingerly over the cord that snaked in front of her.
“Darling,” Elise Rittenhour said, holding out both hands to take Lucy’s in hers. “I hope my little impromptu performance didn’t step on your toes.” She looked chagrined, but only mildly so. “I just love a good audience, you know?”
“Mrs. Rittenhour,” Lucy said, squeezing Elise’s hands and digging deep to find a well of fortitude while dealing with the kind of bold, attention-hoarding older woman she knew could overpower the entire trip, given the opportunity. “That was quite a performance.”
Elise put one hand to her chest modestly, as if accepting a heartfelt compliment. “Oh, honey,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I’m thrilled to finally meet you in person,” Lucy went on. “And I hope this trip is everything you dreamed it would be.”
“I have some high expectations for this vacation,” Elise admitted. “And I want to tell you all about them, but first I’d love to introduce you to my nearest and dearest friend on this entire island.”
Lucy frowned; she could have sworn that Elise Rittenhour had signed up for the trip as a solo traveler.
“This,” Elise said, waving at a young, fresh-faced man in cargo shorts and a sky blue polo shirt, “is Captain Finn.” She stepped aside as the man approached, his cheeks and skin pink and dewy like he’d just stepped out of a hot shower, which he clearly had, judging by the damp hair.
“Finn Barlow,” he said, holding out a hand.
Finn Barlow—another familiar name.
“Lucy Landish. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She shook Finn’s hand, trying to puzzle out how brassy Elise and this young, muscular guy knew one another. If memory served, Mr. Barlow was from the west coast, and Elise had just told the crowd she was from Texas. Grandmother and beloved grandson, perhaps?
“You look confused, darling,” Elise butted in, “so I’ll just tell you: Captain Finn and I were seat mates on the flight from Miami, and we became bosom buddies in no time.” She smiled, looking pleased with herself. “But I have to clarify: we did not join the Mile High Club together, though not for my lack of trying.” Elise laughed wickedly, clapping her hands together.
Finn’s eyes went wide, and his pink post-shower skin deepened into a mortified shade of red.
“Well,” Lucy said, trying to pull together an appropriate response. “I can barely pry myself out of my seat to use the bathroom during a flight, so I admire anyone who even considers those kind of mid-air acrobatics in the loo.”
From the way Finn’s eyes closed for an extra-long blink, Lucy could tell that this wasn’t necessarily the response he’d been hoping for.
But Elise howled with laughter and reached over to Lucy, patting her cheek. “You’re a doll,” she said, letting her eyes trail after a distinguished, gray-haired man in an expensive dinner jacket and butter-soft Gucci loafers. “Will you two excuse me?” Elise said, not waiting for an answer before squaring her shoulders, popping a hip, and then following the man with her backside swaying alluringly as he made his way to the piano.
“I just…” Finn started, closing his eyes, squinting, and tilting his head all at once like he was trying to squelch some sort of physical pain. “Wow. So yeah.”
Lucy laughed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have encouraged her.”
“I don’t think she needs much encouragement,” Finn said. “I’ve only known the woman for a handful of hours, but I think I can safely say that Elise has the kind of self-confidence that starts wars and fuels rap battles and dance-offs.”
“Rap battles and dance-offs?” Lucy’s eyes crinkled with laughter.
“Seriously,” Finn said. “If you’re not Eminem, then you need some major cajones to get up on stage for a rap battle. And I think Elise has the stones for it.”
Lucy tried to center herself. “I feel like this whole trip just got off to a completely unexpected start,” she said, waving a hand like she could erase the past ten minutes. “But I’m happy you’re with us, Finn. I’m also curious about why Elise keeps calling you Captain Finn.”
“I’m a firefighter, but not a captain,” he said, nodding as his eyes skimmed the lobby and landed on Elise, who was gazing up at the man in the Gucci loafers with a look of open admiration as she stood about six inches too close to him. “Which I figure means that at some point Elise will make a totally off-color joke about my giant hose or how she’d like to slide down my pole. I’m just waiting for it.”
Lucy couldn’t hold back her laughter this time. “She’s a real character—at least from what I’ve seen so far.”
“Yeah.” Finn nodded. “What you’ve seen so far is a great introduction to Elise Rittenhour.”
“Hey.” Nick walked up to them, looking at Finn with a guarded smile. “So we’re off to the races, huh?”
“It appears that we are.” Lucy looked at Nick and then back at Finn. “Nick Epperson, this is Finn Barlow, Finn, this is Nick, one of my close friends from Florida. He was ready to get out of town, so he joined me on this trip.”
Finn and Nick shook hands, but Lucy could feel Nick tense up beside her even as Finn’s face remained open and friendly.
“So, I guess we should get everyone loaded into the chartered vans out front,” Lucy said, resting her hand in the crook of Nick’s arm. “Finn, maybe you want to grab your lady friend and see if she’s still planning on coming with us?” Lucy nodded at Elise, who was laughing uproariously at something the silver fox in the Gucci loafers had said. Seemingly from nowhere, a champagne flute had materialized in Elise’s hand.
“I’ll check with her and meet you guys out front.” Finn backed away with a small salute.
“Nice guy,” Nick said gruffly. “But is that older lady really his girlfriend?”
“Oh god no, I was teasing him,” Lucy said, matching her steps to Nick’s as they headed across the lobby to the sliding doors that led out onto the gorgeously manicured grounds out front. “Apparently they met on the airplane and Elise is quite a flirt.”
Nick glanced back over his shoulder with a look of admiration. “Alright,” he said as he watched Elise. “I see you, girl. Get after it, you randy cougar.”
“Nick!” Lucy slapped his arm as they stepped through the open doors and onto the top step that led to the parking area where the vans were waiting. A rushing manmade waterfall spilled over the rock formation in front of the hotel. “She’s a slightly sexy grandma, not a salivating beast.”
“She’s a saucy minx, is what she is,” Nick clarified. “And you better watch out for me, because I’m right in her wheelhouse, baby. I could get eaten, if I’m not careful.” Nick made a playful growl and held up his hands like they were claws.
Lucy stood on the step in front of the hotel, hands on both hips as she looked at Nick with mock astonishment. “You know, as punishment for putting that image in my head, I should let you fend for yourself on this one,” she said, holding up a hand and waving for the vans to pull up.
Nick smirked. “I can handle a firecracker like Elise. Just watch me.”
Lucy rolled her eyes and reached for the door of the first van, sliding it open and then turning to the knot of guests waiting to be ferried to dinner. “Step right up,” she said with a huge smile. “Get yourself situated and then we’ll be off to dinner here shortly at the famed Casa with its gorgeous view of the harbor as the sun sets.”
People took Lucy’s hand each time she offered it, stepping up into the rented van and buckling themselves in as she greeted each of them warmly and tried to commit names and faces to memory. Within minutes, the three vans were loaded and Lucy climbed in last, but not before she spotted Nick seated in the van ahead of hers on a bench seat next to Elise Rittenhour. She chuckled to herself and shook her head.
“We’re headed to Casa,” she said to the driver, patting the back of his seat before sitting back and inhaling the first deep breath she’d taken all day.
The tables at the restaurant were pushed up against the open windows that looked out over the harbor. Servers in crisp white aprons waited for the large Holiday Adventure Club group to arrive, hands clasped behind their backs, smiles on their faces.
Lucy led everyone into the dining room and they scattered themselves around the long, family-style table, oohing and aahing at the masts and colorful flags of the yachts docked in the harbor nearby. Palm trees swayed against the evening sky and a light breeze blew over the table as the ladies opened napkins and rested them across their laps.
As the last person to take a seat, Lucy realized that she’d missed her chance to sit with a guest she hadn’t spoken to yet, or to sit near Nick or even next to Finn, who seemed funny and interesting, and instead she pulled out the only available seat and sat down next to Elise Rittenhour with a quiet sigh.
“Darling,” Elise said, reaching for a water glass. Her lacquered nails clicked against the sweaty goblet as she picked it up. “I’m so glad to be sitting with you.”
“Likewise,” Lucy said, lifting the printed menu that rested on the center of her bread plate. She perused the entrees: lobster, grilled prawns, fresh fruit and vegetables, a side of caviar, homemade mashed potatoes. It all sounded delicious.
“That friend of yours from Florida looks like a college professor—the kind all the girls stay after class so they can pretend to ask him extra questions,” Elise said, leaning over and bumping Lucy with her shoulder like they were two girlfriends gossiping over a bottle of wine.
“He does look a little like that, doesn’t he? But Nick is actually an author. He writes mystery novels.” Lucy frowned. “Although I’m not quite sure what he’s working on now.”
“Honey,” Elise said, straightening her flatware so that it lined up precisely next to her empty plate. “If he’s here, then I’d say he’s working on you.”
Lucy choked on a sip of water.
A waiter swooped in then with an open bottle of wine, holding it up to offer Lucy and Elise a glass. They both accepted.
“Now, tell me more about you,” Lucy said, clearing her throat and changing the subject smoothly as she swirled the wine around in her glass and took a fragrant sip. “You’re from Texas, and obviously you’re a natural performer.”
“Well, sweetheart, I hate to burst your bubble about aging, but nothing about this operation is completely natural,” Elise said with a wink, waving a hand over her full bosom and smoothly plumped cheeks and lips. “I work hard for this.”
“Hey, you’ve got to suffer for beauty, right? My grandmother used to tell me as she yanked a brush through my tangled hair.” Lucy smiled at the memory. It had hurt, but it had also been a valuable lesson.
“At your age, there’s still no suffering, Lucy. Enjoy that.” Elise set her wineglass on the table and leaned back, eyes focused on the multi-million dollar yachts in the harbor. “As for me, yes, I’m from Texas. Widowed for longer than I care to admit, and looking for a gentleman on this trip. Someone I can count on.”
Lucy thought about this. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’m okay,” Elise assured her, reaching over and taking Lucy’s right hand in her left one and giving it a squeeze.
A bird landed on the ledge of the open window, turning one eye toward the table and watching for a moment as people laughed and drank wine before it lifted its white body and flew away again on strong wings.
“I guess I’m curious about what you mean when you say you want someone you can count on,” Lucy said carefully, hoping to find out more about Elise, a woman who had sung to a crowd of complete strangers and then followed a man across the lobby to try to pickpocket his room key as they sipped expensive champagne.
Elise’s eyes narrowed. “It gets hard being alone,” she said quietly. “Lonely. Doing it all on your own as a woman can be empowering, Lucy, but it can also be exhausting. I want to wake up to someone. To fall asleep with someone. To not have those moments that we single gals have where we start mentally calculating and doing the math: Can I afford this? Who will pay for that? How long can I live on the amount of money I’ve got socked away? You know what I mean?” She turned to look Lucy in the eye. “Sometimes you just want somebody you can count on.”
Her words hit Lucy like a punch to the gut. “Yeah,” she said, nodding and looking into her wineglass as the candlelight on their table flickered and glinted. “I do know what you mean.”
At the opposite end of the table, Nick was sitting between two jolly looking women with pink cheeks and carefully curled and styled hair. Lucy knew from the quick introductions in the van on the way over that this matronly duo was Elaine Darwin and Maribel Truman from Idaho, sisters who had wanted to take a trip together to celebrate Elaine’s sixtieth birthday and Maribel’s third divorce. Maribel had one arm draped across the back of Nick’s chair as she leaned across him to say something to her sister. As the women broke out in a shared laugh, Nick looked up and caught Lucy’s eye. He winked.
Finn Barlow had been taken in by a married couple from New Mexico, and from where Lucy sat, she could see that the husband was regaling him with a story of some sort that most likely involved a giant fish, as he was using both hands to mime reeling in a big one.
Lucy looked around the table: everyone seemed to be engaged in various conversations, talking and eating bread and butter to soak up the wine that was already flowing. Even Elise had turned to the man on the other side of her and was chatting him up animatedly while his wife was in the restroom. This moment of respite gave Lucy the chance to sip her wine and think about the rest of the year ahead. Venice had been an amazing and wild start to this string of travel adventures, and on that trip she’d made two new friends, Carmen and Bree, and proved to herself that she could pick a destination and just go there. It had been scary, liberating, nerve-wracking, and ultimately satisfying.
But now St. Barts. The servers came around and set down gorgeous presentations of pasta with truffle, and risotto with spiny lobster. Some of the plates were decorated with edible flowers and grilled vegetables that looked so bright and vibrant that Lucy wondered if the restaurant had a garden out back to grow their own produce. Her stomach growled and she realized that she hadn’t actually eaten a bite of anything since she and Nick had sat down to coffee and breakfast that morning.
As she tucked into her own plate of fois gras with fresh figs, Lucy tried to tamp down the feeling of deep exhaustion that settled over her. The sky had turned a deep amethyst over the harbor, and the yachts were lit up like Christmas trees. Jazz music came from speakers all around the restaurant, and next to her, Elise howled at a story that someone across the table was telling.
It was a moment of pure contentment for Lucy. She was more than a thousand miles from home, enjoying a world-class dinner with a bunch of friendly, happy strangers. Her mother hadn’t texted or called with anything urgent or disastrous in the past three days, and she was about to tour the island and take part in all the amenities that St. Barts had to offer.
Lucy put a bite of rich, buttery fois gras in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. She really should be feeling more excited, even with the fatigue that came with travel and hard work.
And yet…and yet.
Something was nagging at her. Had she forgotten to do anything before leaving home? No, her neighbor had agreed to feed her cat, Joji, and she’d left plenty of food for him. Had she left her flat iron plugged in? No, it wasn’t that. Lucy looked around the table again as she speared a fig with her fork.
With the bite halfway to her mouth, she realized what it was: it was something Elise had said. I want to wake up to someone. To fall asleep with someone. Sometimes you just want somebody you can count on. Once upon a time she’d had that. And when it had been good, it had been very, very good. Being married was something she still believed in, even if it hadn’t worked out so well the first time.
Lucy reached for her wineglass. Sipped. Sipped again. Felt the unwelcome sensation of tears prickling at the back of her eyes without warning. She blinked them away and smiled at Elaine Darwin at the other end of the table.
But the tears still threatened to fall, because she realized that it was completely true: sometimes you did just want somebody you could count on.