Brothers of Paradise Series

“Yeah?”

Something feels hard in my throat. I think of her old computer, of her daughter without a father, and the years of her life I know nothing about. My mind fills them with the worst of the worst. “I want to know about where you’ve been, too, but I won’t ask, and you don’t have to tell me. But I want you to know you can. Okay?”

Jamie’s eyes meet mine. They’re hesitant, and a bit soft, and a bit guarded, all at the same time. The enigma that has always been her.

“Thanks,” she says quietly. And it sounds like she’s thanking me for a lot more than just that.

Maybe that’s why I say the next words, after pulling back out on the street. Continuing the drive toward her house and her waiting daughter. Or maybe it’s just the longing inside me, stronger now than it had ever been as a teenager.

“I should have asked you to prom,” I say. “Even if you would’ve turned me down out of principle.”

Jamie’s breath catches next to me. It’s tiny, but I hear it. Then her voice turns smooth and teasing. “I would have said yes,” she says, “even if none of your friends would have understood it.”

“They never had to,” I say, “as long as the two of us did.”

JAMIE

“More?” I ask Kylie.

She nods, ponytail bobbing. “A lot more.”

I leave the stall she’s manning and head back to the yacht club, ignoring the protest in my legs. Yesterday’s workout had been brutal. Parker had decided to take a more personal approach to my workout, by exchanging my light dumbbells for heavier ones.

It’s your third time, he’d said. You can handle these.

So here I am the next day, thighs on fire, racing up to grab another box with snack-sized bags of chips. The lobster rolls are selling exactly like one would imagine in Paradise Shores at the Junior Sailing Regatta.

Which is to say, like hotcakes.

The docks are filled with activity. Boat owners have docked elsewhere for the weekend, leaving the marina free for the try-your-hand-at-sailing classes. People of all ages are enjoying the sun, waiting for the big race to begin… and eating lobster rolls with a side of chips.

I almost collide with Kristen in the kitchen. The new head chef is female, and tall, and brilliant, and she steps neatly out of my way. “Good looking out, Jamie,” she tells me. It had only taken her a day to learn everybody’s names.

The restaurant is just as busy. Families fleeing the busy marina fill up the dining room. This event always draws crowds from outside of town.

I make it back down to the docks with the two giant crates of chip bags. Kylie and Sarah are working the stall, one accepting payment and the other making lobster rolls. I don’t envy them.

“Thanks,” Kylie throws over her shoulder.

I nod and reach for my water bottle, tucked behind the stall. Pull my beautiful new cap low on my head and look out at the crowd.

There will be people here that I know, walking through the crowd, minding their own business… a small part of my past and a potential part of my future. And I don’t know if I’m ready to come face-to-face with it yet. But life rarely gives you things when you’re ready. It gives them to you when you need to learn them.

But why couldn’t the learning part be a little less hard?

The dock closest to me has a life-vest station. All kids participating in the free try-sailing sessions have to be vested up. A man is helping out, tall and broad-shouldered. He’s wearing a faded Paradise High Sailing Club T-shirt and his dark blond hair is hidden beneath a navy cap.

It’s the same one I’m wearing.

His hands move confidently over the life vest, tightening the straps, securing them on kid after kid. I can see him talking to each and every one, a steady smile on his face. The kind that lets you know everything will be all right.

If only I could be eight years old and in need of a life vest.

Parker tightens the vest on the last boy in line, who can’t be more than twelve, and gives him a high five. The kids follow the younger instructors down the dock to the waiting array of dinghies. A trail of parents walk behind them, phones in their hands, ready to take pictures.

I watch as Parker walks back up the dock. He’s been a moving target the whole day. Doing anything and everything that needs be done for the regatta to run smoothly.

With his old sailing shoes, the beige shorts, the navy cap… in a second I see the teenage jock and the grown man interposed on one another. The golden boy and the golden man, the safety and the smugness. All of it blends together.

“Hey,” he says. “You’re hiding out?”

I nod toward the stall. “The lobster rolls are a huge hit.”

“I should grab one later. Have you had lunch?”

“No, there hasn’t been time.”

He grins and grips the brim of my cap, tugging it down. “Are you telling me your boss doesn’t give you lunch breaks?”

“No, he’s an absolute terror.”

“Making you work in this heat, too. I hate him for you.”

I smile. It’s so easy, being with him. “I don’t.”

“Well, your boss is glad to hear it,” he says. Blue eyes dip to my lips. “You don’t smile enough these days. I’ve noticed.”

Oh. I don’t know what to say to that. But his eyes don’t linger on my lips and he doesn’t elaborate. No, he just taps his fingers against his cap. “Brilliant job with these.”

“They came out pretty good, right?” I take mine off, sliding my ponytail out the back. It’s a deep navy color with white lettering on the front, together with the logo. Paradise Shores Yacht Club. “I’m just worried the font is a little too small.”

“It’s perfect,” he says. “We’re sticking with this design. No alterations.”

“None?”

Parker takes my cap and puts it back on my head. Careful hands pull my ponytail through the hole in the back. “None,” he says. “I can’t believe you got the prototypes delivered on time for this.”© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“I’m a miracle worker,” I whisper. He’s standing very close.

“After seeing the new website go live yesterday, I co-sign on that.” Parker’s hand falls to my shoulder, curving over my skin. “How are you feeling about being here today?”

“Great,” I say, but I can hear what he’s really asking, and I hate that I’m someone he thinks needs it. But I hate that he’s right to do so even more.

“You can leave, you know, if you change your mind,” he says. “If you want to avoid…”

His sister. Knowing how much he loves Lily, and still he would say that…

“I won’t. I want to be here,” I say. “Besides, my mother is joining with Emma soon. She wanted to have a lobster roll and watch the race.”