He’d never forget the day he met Grayson Quinlan. Having just graduated college, he’d been working at a corporate-owned marina in Clearwater, Florida, not far from his childhood home, trying to help his mom stay afloat after being diagnosed with kidney disease his senior year. His father had died in a training exercise accident with the Coast Guard when Kyle was six, so it had just been the two of them for most of what Kyle could remember. His mom had a pretty decent job, but their health insurance only covered eighty percent of her dialysis and didn’t cover the meds that helped her nausea after the treatments, since they were considered “non-critical.” How not puking your guts out twice a week was “non-critical” Kyle wasn’t sure, but there was no reasoning with these insurance companies.
Grayson had walked into the marina like he owned the place. Dressed in board shorts, a faded T-shirt, and a ballcap, he didn’t look like the big-deal-VIP customer Kyle had been told would be stopping by that day. Grayson had been so impressed with Kyle’s knowledge of the yachts they were looking at, and the fact that he didn’t kiss his ass the whole time, that when Grayson came back the next day, with his niece Drea in tow, to officially purchase one of the boats, he insisted on working with only Kyle. The sales guy hadn’t been too happy about that, and let his feelings be known. While Kyle hadn’t been the least bit surprised by this reaction from the sales guy, what he was surprised by was that the only offer made that afternoon was for Kyle to move down to St. Thomas and to work for him and his brothers at their luxury resort. The offer was too good to turn down, especially with that cute, curly-haired brunette urging him to accept with those sparkling brown eyes.
“I know that. But Kyle, if you’re sending that much home all the time, there is no way you’re saving to buy your own boat, and I know that’s ult
imately what you want to do,” she pleaded.
“Mom, I have plenty of savings, promise. We’ve been over this. I can do both.”
“Yes, but I got a raise at work, so I can afford this all on my own now. Think of how much faster you could be saving!”
“Or that you can now save some money, so that you could someday retire. Mom, as much fun as it is to go in these circles, I just got out of the shower and have to get dressed. It’s bonfire night.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey, you should have said something sooner! Go have fun with Andrea—we’ll talk more later. I love you.”
“Love you too,” he said, hanging up and putting the phone down on top of the toilet bowl. He stood up and looked at the mirror across from the tub. He sighed heavily as he picked up his toothbrush and started to brush his teeth. He loved his mom and would do anything for her. After all, she’d sacrificed so much for him over the years.
It was why he couldn’t do anything about the tingly feeling he got when Drea was around. It didn’t matter how much he loved watching her glide effortlessly through the water when they were out swimming, or how every week at the bonfire he just wanted to hold her in his arms until they melded together from the heat of the flames. He had to stay focused on the job. He couldn’t risk losing the best opportunity that had ever come his way—the one that was his ticket to someday owning his own company. Once he had enough saved to try and go out on his own, he could think about actually having a relationship. Until then, he would just have to deal with the heartache.
Chapter Four
No one remembered exactly how the weekly bonfires got started, and everyone seemed to have a slightly different version of its origins. The story always told to the guests was that it was in honor of the night Miller Quinlan and Dave Miller had met Drea’s aunt and mother, who had been affectionately referred to as “the sisters” by most people since before Drea was born. After the two young men had bonded in high school when they both simultaneously responded to someone calling out “Miller!”, they quickly became inseparable. So when they met sisters Marta and Sofia on a trip to Puerto Rico when they were twenty-one, the only real surprise had been that they hadn’t held a joint wedding right then and there.
As legend told, the two buddies had been wandering along the beach at sunset and came upon a bunch of locals starting a bonfire, and were drawn in by the two beauties, forgoing whatever plans they had for the rest of the night and spending it right there with them. Every time Drea had asked her Uncle Miller about it, he would tell her the same thing. “I seem to remember it being more campfire than bonfire, but don’t trust me—there was a lot of rum involved.”
Regardless of what the genesis may have been, it was easily one of the most popular activities that the resort offered. So much so, about fifteen years ago Vaughn had invested in an area specially designed for the event, complete with an industrial fire pit built into the beach, a bar, a DJ, and a s’mores-making station. The beauty behind the bonfire was that it was truly never the same event twice. Some weeks it was low-key and subdued, others it was a raging party that went well into the wee hours of the night. This spot had seen many a vacation hookup, a couple of marriage proposals, and there was even an instance of a woman destroying her wedding photos in celebration of her divorce. Forget Vegas, what happened at the Indigo Royal stayed at the Indigo Royal.
The fire pit was located just outside the lobby, to the left of the concierge desk, just before the pool. The bar put in for the bonfire nights also served the pool during peak hours, helping offset the crowd from “Paradise City,” the swim-up bar on the other side of the pool. The area flowed into the beach, which had a number of lounge chairs, umbrellas, and even a couple of cabanas permanently set up for guests to relax under. Just past the pool were the three buildings that held guest rooms. Barracuda Tower stood twelve stories high and was host to just over three hundred basic hotel rooms and suites. Just next to the tower were the Black Velvet and the Purple Rain, which housed multi-room suites only, and which Drea had always thought looked more like apartment buildings than a hotel with their open breezeways. Past the guest rooms was “The Casbah” bar, which also housed the night club that made an appearance on Friday nights. If you kept walking past the bar and down a little closer to the beach, you’d eventually find the four exclusive beachfront bungalows known as “The Villas” for those guests who wanted, and could afford, more space and privacy.
Drea hung back just outside the open-air lobby looking out at the bonfire space as some of the grounds staff finished up the last of the prep. Her Uncle Miller stood to her left, leaning against a pillar, trying to be nonchalant about spying on his team putting together the s’mores. Uncle Vaughn stood to her right, frantically typing away on his phone.
“Would you put that damn thing away, please?” Simone scolded as she walked up to the group. “You know the rules of bonfire night.”
Though they weren’t actually married, Simone and Vaughn had been together for twenty-one years, and Drea considered her to be her aunt, although by the time she’d had the thought to call her Aunt Simone, she was almost eleven and both she and Simone had agreed at that point it would be weird to change. The day she showed up representing the Board of Tourism, wanting to use the resort as a photo shoot location for some brochures, Vaughn had been stopped in his tracks by the tall, slender, brunette beauty. When Vaughn told his brothers later on that it was unlike anything he’d ever felt, like he was magnetically drawn to her, Miller had just laughed and responded, “Dude, you’re in so much trouble. That’s exactly what I felt when I first saw Marta.”
“It’s going away, I promise. I just have to finish…ok, done,” he said, locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket.
“I don’t know. Drea, what do you think, should he go lock it in his office?” Simone asked.
“Depends. Uncle Vaughn, you gonna behave?”
“I promise to be the dictionary definition of behaved, kiddo,” he responded, putting his arm around Drea’s shoulder, pulling her close, and kissing the top of her head.
Drea smiled up at her uncle, who released her and pulled in Simone for a long, hard kiss. They had been the only real-life example of romance in Drea’s life, and she adored watching just how much they loved each other. Not only had Miller never remarried, she couldn’t remember him even going on a date, ever. He still talked about her Aunt Marta like she was just the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. Listening to him talk about her, the only way you knew she was gone was that he used the past tense, and even then you’d think it’d been only a couple of years, and not twenty-five. She might not have had the most conventional upbringing, but she was surrounded by so much love she couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest girl around.
“If Grayson doesn’t hurry his ass up…” Miller said, pushing up from the pillar.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Grayson said, jogging up to the group. “Sorry, there was a guest who wanted a private tour of the boat.”
“Oh, and I’m sure you had no problem giving her the grand tour,” Simone said, rolling her eyes. Grayson Quinlan was known by many for his flirting—no woman was safe from that smile of his. But for as much as people tried to create a playboy reputation around him, no one really knew much about his dating habits, including his own family.
All three of her uncles were good-looking men. Tall with dark features, all three resembled each other quite a bit in their youth, but age had helped set them each apart a bit. Vaughn had gone gray much earlier than his younger brothers and nowadays, Drea thought he resembled the guy from the Trivago commercial more than anyone. Miller’s scruff had started to gray in the last couple of years, too, but since he never let it quite get to a full beard, one would have to look quite close in order to notice it. Grayson’s goatee was still the same shade it had been for all of Drea’s childhood, but deep down she couldn’t help but wonder if that was aided by some hair dye.
“HE,” Grayson emphasized the word, “w
as mostly interested in the engine. He was a captain in the navy like forty years ago, so he wanted to see what had changed. Sorry I’m late, doll,” he finished, looking at Drea.
“I’m not a little girl anymore, you don’t owe me an apology.”
