LITMIR.BIZ

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have two brothers. I learned long ago that hard feelings are a waste of time.”

      Buford ducked his head. “Thanks.” Then he busied himself shuffling a deck of cards.

      I bused the tables, taking dirty glasses back to the kitchen behind the bar. It was more of a kitchenette than an actual kitchen, with an industrial-strength dishwasher and a refrigerator/freezer combination. We didn’t serve food. We left that to the Briny Pirate, the restaurant next door, which delivered the food here. Wow, I was already thinking of this place in “we” terms. Well, that would be short-lived. Eventually, I’d click my heels and return home to Chicago, just as soon as I gave Vivi the help she didn’t want. As I returned to Joaquín’s side, a group of sunburned beachgoers came in. At least the Sea Glass was never dull.

      * * *

      At nine thirty I stood on the deck of the Sea Glass, holding a broom. The last customer had left reluctantly a few minutes before. Our hours, unlike most bars, were from eleven a.m. to nine p.m. No late-night, wild crowds, bands, or karaoke here. Joaquín had told me it cut down on the number of obnoxious drunks and fights. And when Vivi’s grandfather opened the bar it mostly served fisherman. They left by nine because they had to be up early. No one had ever bothered to try anything different. It was fine with me.

      The Gulf stretched out before me, the half-moon played hide-and-seek with fast-moving clouds, the waves sucking, lapping, softly whooshing in and out. I was antsy. I’d landed here in July, the height of the summer tourist season, so I hadn’t been able to find a place to stay. At least no place I could afford for long, or that was close enough that my whole “car needs a part” story held up.

      I’d spent one night in a high-end hotel, but my savings wouldn’t take very much of that. And I’d spent one night in a dive motel. My sanity wouldn’t take much of that. It had been like a scene out of a bad movie, only real—loud music, louder arguments, and what sounded like a drug deal going down right outside my door. Do I know how to live life to the fullest or what? Two nights I’d slept in my car in small increments in well-lit parking lots. Moving from one lot to another in a game of keep-away, trying to stay ahead of the security guards or deputies who might shoo me away or, even worse, arrest me for loitering. Vivi had taken pity on me and hired me, but I had no confidence she’d bail me out.

      Okay, she probably would. But still, I had my pride. That’s why I wasn’t sleeping in the parking lot east of the Sea Glass. It would have been safer, but I didn’t want Vivi to find out about my accommodations problem, even knowing that whole pride goeth before a fall thing. I’d been searching for an apartment, but at this time of year, most were filled and rented on weekly rates well out of my price range.

      Last night I was feeling a little desperate—more than desperate. So I’d snuck onto Boone’s boat, Fair Winds, parked in the marina behind the bar. It wasn’t a huge boat—a twenty-footer with a center console. It didn’t have a cabin, but did have cushioned benches, and at least last night I could stretch out. But it was hot under the tarp. I’d unhooked it just enough to squeeze through and left before dawn so no one would see me. I planned to sleep there again tonight.

      Boone had loved that boat as much as anything. I’d seen many a picture of it. The motor was big enough to take the boat out on the Gulf when it was calm or to tool around Choctawhatchee Bay. Boone had wanted me to come with him to visit Vivi and the boat, but we’d never made it, and now, of course, we never would. Talk about wanting to kick myself. I knew better than to put things off. I hoped I didn’t have any more lessons on that topic from the universe in the future.

      Loud, angry voices from the kitchen jarred me back to the present. I could tell one voice was Vivi’s. The other was male. Well, this was awkward. I clung to the broom, wondering if I should check on her or grab my purse, which was sitting on a nearby table, and make a run for it. I listened for a few minutes but couldn’t hear any actual words. A door slammed, and footsteps—Vivi’s—crossed the kitchen toward the bar. I started sweeping sand off the deck, listening to the whack of Vivi’s wedges slapping the floor, heading toward me. If footsteps could sound angry, these certainly did. They stopped right behind me.

      “I didn’t realize you were still here,” Vivi said. She sounded short of breath.

      I quit sweeping and turned to her. Perspiration shone on her brow and upper lip. She held her shoulders stiffly, but her chest rose up and down in quick, angry pants. Vivi had a bottle of bourbon in one hand, a rocks glass in the other. I’d never seen her take a drink of anything stronger than sparkling water. She set both on the nearest table.

      “Just finishing up,” I said. Vivi’s shirt was askew, and I wondered what had happened back there, and with whom.

      “You can go.”

      “Okay, I’ll just take the broom to the back.”

      “I’ll do it.” Vivi held out her hand until I gave her the broom.

      “I need to get my purse.” I pointed to one of the tables. “It’s right there.”

      “Okay. Then go out the front. I just finished mopping the kitchen floor.”

      Maybe that’s what caused the perspiration and short breath. But I didn’t think so. I grabbed my purse. “Good night.”

      Vivi ignored me, pouring herself a glass of bourbon. I left, slung my purse over my shoulder, walked down to the edge of the water, and plopped down in the warm sand. By now only a few stragglers remained on the beach. Soft laughs and bits of conversation drifted around. Farther to the west, because of how the shoreline curved, I could see the lights of the high-rises in Destin. The putter of a boat’s engine sounded in the harbor.

      I sat for fifteen minutes, hands wrapped around my knees, wondering if I should go back to talk to Vivi about the argument I’d just overheard. What would I say? We were hardly bosom buddies. I finally got up and trekked back toward my car. Vivi sat, hand on head, looking down into an empty glass as I sneaked by the Sea Glass, hoping she wouldn’t see me.

      * * *

      The tarp snapped open way too early on Sunday morning. Sunlight slapped my face and a soft breeze had me jumping up. I looked right into the dark green eyes of a man with too long lashes that made me envy him and a stubbled face that made me want to jump him.

      “What the heck?” I asked, trying to cover how flustered I was. Working around kids all the time had taught me not to swear. I squinted toward the sun and figured it must be around seven in the morning.

      “You were snoring. Of course, at first I thought a wounded animal had somehow crawled up under here.”

      This guy was a riot. Sure, my snoring was a legend within my family, and with two older brothers, that was an accomplishment or a curse, depending on your viewpoint. But who was this guy to point it out? “Well, obviously I’m not a wounded animal, so you can just be on your way.” I shooed my hands at him.

      His eyes said he didn’t quite believe me, and maybe he wasn’t all that wrong about the wounded part. But hey, who wasn’t? I sat back on the bench I’d slept on, put on my running shoes, and grabbed my purse. My hair was probably sticking out all over the place. But I didn’t care. At least, I shouldn’t care. When the first thing a man knows about you is that you snore like a rusty chainsaw, the prospect of a future romance is dismal—not that I was interested, even given the earlier jumping thought. Imagine my surprise when instead of leaving, he stuck out his hand.

      “Rhett B—”

      “For heaven’s sake, don’t tell me your last name is Butler.” He did bear a small resemblance to Clark Gable, who’d played Rhett Butler in the movie Gone with the Wind. I climbed out of the boat and snapped the tarp back into place. I hoped he didn’t know Vivi and wouldn’t mention I was sleeping on Boone’s boat. I headed down the dock.

      “And you are?” he asked. His voice sent rumbles through my stomach, or maybe I was just hungry.

      “Scarlett O’Hara.”

      His chuckle followed me.

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