First Light
The SetUp: 1-10
1: Home Sweet Home
As Jake stepped out of the terminal into the brutal Pensacola sun, a close, damp heat wrapped him in a tight swirl. He stopped at the curb, shifted the duffel on his shoulder, slid on his sunglasses. Light breeze teased his shirt. Salt in the air, though still a ways from the coast.
The rental SUV was hot to the touch as he popped the hatch and tossed his bag inside. He checked his phone; a message from the kids “shells - don’t forget.” He chuckled, texted back, “of course i wont forget - love ya!”
For the first time in months, Jake had let himself out of the house. No plan, no particular purpose, just the coast of his youth. But little ghosts were everywhere.
Behind the wheel, he adjusted the AC, seat, mirrors, shades - his personal ritual. The engine rumbled to life, and he followed the blue signs toward Pensacola Beach.
The nondescript road through fast-food joints, gas stations, and the usual parade of suburban sameness soon gave way to forests of taller, thinner pines, stretching up as if trying to escape the flat heat. Then the scrubby marshes and stretches of open water glinting in the sunlight.
Jake eased the SUV onto the bridge from Pensacola out to Gulf Breeze. He cracked the window. Wind rushed in, humid, energetic, bringing the ocean with it. Two sailboats caught his eye, their white sails crisp against the water. He remembered his teenaged laughter, the creak of his catamaran boom swinging in the wind.
The second bridge led to the beach island. Jake slowed the SUV at the now automated toll booth. A small but telling change.
The island was a kaleidoscope of color and sound. Pastel buildings lined the streets. Beach rentals, seafood shacks, surf shops. Ads for paddleboard lessons and dolphin cruises. The faint strain of a steel drum drifted from the promenade. The air was alive, dancing to its own rhythm.
Jake navigated the narrow streets until he turned into a gravel driveway. His rental destination. A weathered coastal gem of a house with a wide wraparound porch and pots of sun-bleached flowers clustered near the steps.
The place had charm.
2: Jill
The house stood like a little postcard of beach life, white clapboard siding with turquoise shutters, a wraparound porch, a few potted plants casually arranged as if they’d simply sprouted there.
As he slung his duffel over his shoulder, the screen door creaked open. She moved with unstudied ease, towel slung over her shoulder, hands smudged with paint. She wasn’t dressed to impress, yet she made an impression. She leaned casually against the porch railing, watching him with an easy smile. Jake hesitated, taking in her relaxed confidence. She wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. The cutoffs and loose button-down gave her a laid-back, summery air, but not one you make small talk to.
“Timing’s not bad,” she called, voice tinged with humor. “I just finished fixing the screen door. Thought I had more time before my tenant turned up.”
Jake hoisted his bag over his shoulder, a faint smile as he walked toward her. “Hope you didn’t rush on my account.”
“I’d be lying if I said I did. Saw a car pull up and figured it was either you or someone trying to sell me solar panels.”
“Glad I didn’t disappoint.”
“We’ll see about that.” She stepped off the porch, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You’re Jake, right?”
“Unless you’re expecting someone else.” He shifted the bag to his other shoulder, glancing up at the house. “Nice place. Looks like it belongs here.”
“It better. Took me long enough to get it that way.” She gestured toward the back with the rag. “You’re renting the guesthouse. Hope you’re okay with something a little rustic.”
“I’ll take rustic over polished any day.”
She gave him a sharp look, her smirk growing into something more genuine. “Good answer. Let me show you around.”
Jake trailed after her along a shell-lined path. The air a mix of salt and jasmine, tugging at a half-forgotten memory. They passed a small herb garden. Basil and rosemary spilled out of mismatched pots.
“You do all this yourself?” Jake asked, nodding toward the garden.
“Mostly. Keeps me busy.” She glanced over her shoulder, her tone casual but with a hint of teasing. “Why? You offering to help?”
“I’m not much of a gardener,” he admitted. “I could hold a hose.”
“Useful. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I usually don’t stick around for check-ins,” she said over her shoulder, “but I was out back working on that deck. Figured I’d save you from wandering aimlessly.”
“Much appreciated,” Jake replied. “But don’t let me keep you from your sanding.”
“That’s the spirit,” she said dryly, unlocking the guesthouse door.
The interior was cozy, whitewashed walls and natural wood accents. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows. A simple arrangement of wicker furniture. A well-stocked bookshelf that looked more decorative than functional. A folded note sat on the small kitchen counter, scent of lemon oil lingering in the air.
Jill leaned against the doorframe, watching as Jake surveyed the room. “It’s not the Ritz, but the roof doesn’t leak, and the AC works.”
Jake set his bag down near the couch. “You’re underselling it. This is nice.”
“Don’t go inflating my ego just yet,” she replied, crossing her arms. “You haven’t tried the shower.”
“Noted.”
Her gaze lingered a beat, assessing him. With a subtle nod, she straightened. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to settle in. If you need anything, you’ll find me on the porch cursing at a power tool.”
Jake hesitated, then turned to her. “Hey, Jill?”
She paused, “Yeah?”
“Thanks for the fun welcome.”
With a soft smile, “Don’t mention it.”
She walked away, her steps unhurried, the shell path crunching beneath her feet.
He let the quiet envelop him. The hum of an air conditioner, the distant crash of waves, sunlight cutting lines across her little ersatz garden. It felt real, a place to relax. Jake lingered by the window, watching her round the corner.
3: The Ocean
Jake kicked off his shoes, left them by the dunes. The soft powder sand was cool beneath his feet, like walking on sifted flour. A family gathered their things for the day, toddler squirming, preteens tossing a ball, sunburned shoulders glinting with aloe.
The horizon stretched wide, the sun a molten orange orb spilling streaks of pink and lavender. A lone heron stood at the shoreline, its long legs braced against the lapping waves.
Jake walked slowly, letting the surf nip at his toes. The breeze off the Gulf was cooler now, easing the lingering heat from the day. He breathed deeply, tasting the salt on the air, feeling it settle on his skin, in his hair.
It had been years since he’d walked this stretch of beach, and yet his feet seemed to know the way. Here was where he used to sit and watch the waves roll in for hours, swaying to their rhythm. There, a little farther down, was the spot where he and his friends rode boards and built bonfires, smoke and laughter mingling with seaspray.
He stopped at a sandbar and crouched down, sifting through the tidal debris. A spiral shell gleamed in his palm, its jagged edges smoothed by the water’s endless churn. He turned it over in his hand, studying the fibonacci pattern inside, geometry born of chaos. He stuck it in his pocket for the boys.
The waves reached higher now, the tide coming in, and he let them soak the hem of his shorts. The sound of the ocean was a balm, a heartbeat. It resonated with spaces inside him he hadn’t realized were empty.
A pair of gulls fought over a scrap of something, their cries shrill against the soothing surf. Jake watched them for a moment, turned his gaze back to the water.
The Gulf seemed endless here, a vast, unknowable expanse. It reminded him of how he’d felt as a teenager, standing on this same stretch of sand, staring out, believing there was something out there calling to him. A life, a destiny. Something bigger than the narrow world he built. Back then, the pull had been irresistible, magnetic. He couldn’t wait to answer it, to leave everything and everyone behind.
Now, standing here again, the ocean still held its mystery, but the call was quieter, tinged with a restless ennui. Not regret, though there were some. All the things he lost—or left behind—on his way to wherever he thought he was going.
Sunlight melted into the waves. The sky darkened by degrees, the first stars pale against the lingering streaks of dusk. He turned back toward the house, the lights from the porch a warm glow in the distance.
Behind him, the waves erased his footprints, as if he’d never been there at all.
4: Mornin, Stranger
Jake woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of David Bowie. Ground control to Major Tom... He stretched. Light filtered through the slatted blinds, already sharp, golden.
He found Jill in the kitchen, her back to him, humming along to the spin of her vintage turntable. She was barefoot, wearing cut-off denim shorts and an oversized T-shirt, her hair loose and tousled from sleep. The morning sunlight turned her silhouette golden, outlining her in warm tones.
“Morning,” Jake said, leaning against the doorframe.
Jill turned, holding a steaming mug. “Mornin, stranger. Coffee?”
He nodded. “You’re a lifesaver.”
She handed him a cup, their fingers brushing briefly. Her skin was cool, and the scent of her, faintly floral, lingered as she stepped back.
“I figured you’d need it after yesterday. Long drive, getting settled. Didn’t hear you come in last night.”
“Yeah, I walked the beach for a while. Got in late.”
Jill smiled, gesturing to the small dining table by the window. “Good choice. The beach here has a way of stealing time.”
Jake followed her to the table and sat. Through the window, the Gulf gleamed in the distance, its surface already dotted with boats heading out for the day. Jill sat across from him, curling her legs under her like a cat, her mug cradled in both hands.
“So,” she said, tilting her head, “what brings you back to paradise? Nostalgia? Midlife crisis? Or just running from something?”
Jake raised an eyebrow, her playful tone disarming. “Wow, right out of the gate with the personal questions.”
She shrugged, smiling. “I find it saves time. But seriously, people don’t usually come back to a place like this unless they’re looking for something. What is it?”
He took a sip of coffee, letting the warmth steady him. “A little bit of everything, maybe. Life’s been... loud lately. I needed quiet. This feels like the right kind of quiet.”
Her gaze lingered on him, her smile softening into something more thoughtful. “I get that. It’s why I stayed.”
“You grew up around here?” he asked.
“Not exactly. Moved here about ten years ago. Originally from Miami, but I fell in love with this beach. Decided to make it home. People always think the beach life is temporary, you know? A vacation, not a home. But it fits me.”
Jake nodded. “It fits you,” he said, meaning it more than he’d intended.
Jill laughed lightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “What about you? How long has it been since you were here?”
“Too long.” He paused, his thoughts catching on Ivy for a moment before he pushed them aside. “I grew up here. Left for college, then life happened elsewhere. But the Gulf never really left me. It has a way of staying with you.”
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes flicking to the ocean. “Yeah, it does.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Jake watched her watching the surf. For the first time in a long while, he felt something close to ease.
“Well,” she said, breaking the quiet but not the moment, “if you’re looking for quiet, you’re in the right place. Mostly. Tourists can be loud, but you’ll get used to it.”
“I think I can manage.”
Jill tilted her head, studying him for a beat longer than felt casual. “You’re not what I expected, you know.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know.” Her lips quirked up. “You’re a bit more restless. You’ve got that look.”
“And what look is that?”
“Like you’ve got a story you’re not ready to tell yet.”
Jake didn’t answer right away. Her observation caught him off guard. He broke her gaze, looking instead at the ocean. Jill didn’t press, just smiled and stood, her chair scraping softly against the tiled floor.
“Well, story or not, you’re welcome here. As long as you don’t mind strong coffee and an occasional stray cat trying to move in.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said.
As she cleared the table, Jake leaned back in his chair, watching her. There was something about Jill—her ease, her warmth, the way she seemed to belong to the house, the beach, the morning light.
5: Ivy
Jake stepped into the familiar dim of Positano’s bar, the cool air a reprieve from the sticky Gulf heat. The scents hit him first—citrus peel, salt air sneaking in from the open deck, and the faint musk of aged wood. It was like stepping into a memory that replayed just as he’d left it.
The place hadn’t changed. The polished bar gleamed under soft, recessed lighting, and the murmur of conversation was punctuated by the occasional clink of glassware. It was the same kind of crowd, too—locals in loose shirts and tourists glowing from a day in the sun.
And then he saw her.
Ivy. Behind the bar, her motions precise, practiced. She wasn’t just serving drinks. She commanded the space like it belonged to her, like she belonged to it. Her hair was gathered up, but a few loose strands fell across her face, framing sharp features softened only slightly by the warm light.
For a moment, Jake hesitated. The years between them felt impossibly long and painfully short. He steeled himself and walked to the bar, sliding onto a stool as the leather creaked beneath him.
She didn’t notice him at first, engrossed in garnishing a cocktail with a citrus twist. Then she looked up, and her eyes met his.
The air shifted.
For a beat, she just stared, her expression unreadable. Then her lips curved into a small, tight smile—cool, controlled, nothing like the warm grin he remembered.
“Well, fuck me.” she said, setting the glass down with a deliberate clink. “Look what the tide washed in.”
Jake forced a smile. Her voice hit him harder than he’d expected. “Hi, Ivy.”
She crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the back counter. “Didn’t expect to see you around here again.”
He shrugged, trying to match her casualness. “Figured it was time to check in. See how things are.”
“Check in?” She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “That’s rich, Jake. You don’t check in. You check out.”
The sting of her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Jake wasn’t sure how to respond. He let silence speak
“I deserved that,” he said finally.
“Yeah,” she replied, her voice softer now, though with an edge. “You did.” A beat of silence, then “so why are you here?”
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t come here to stir things up.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why did you come, then?”
“To see you,” he said simply. “To see how this place feels after being away for a while.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, gauging his sincerity. She wheeled, poured a glass of bourbon. Setting it in front of him, she said, “On the house. Don’t read into it.”
He nodded, lifting the glass. “Fair enough.” He’d been a fool to think this would be easy.
Ivy moved down the bar, helping a pair of tourists who were deliberating over which cocktail sounded the most “authentic.” Jake watched her as he sipped his drink, the sharpness of the bourbon biting at his throat. When she finally circled back, her expression had softened, though her guard was still firmly in place. She leaned on the bar.
“So,” she said, her voice quieter now. “What are you really doing back here, Jake? Pensacola’s a long way from... wherever you’ve been hiding.”
He swirled the bourbon in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “I don’t know. Just felt like time to, you know, circle back. Come home. Whatever that means. I haven’t been hiding.”
She tilted her head slightly, considering his words. “Home, huh? Funny, you didn’t seem to think of it that way when you left.”
“I don’t expect you to understand. Hell, I’m not sure I do. But I’m here now. That’s got to count for something.”
Ivy studied him, her gaze flickering over his face as if searching for cracks in his resolve. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled—not the tight, guarded smile she’d worn earlier, but something softer.
“It’s a start,” she said.
He smiled back, the tension between them easing, if only slightly. “I’ll take it.”
The bar had started to fill up, and Ivy straightened, glancing over her shoulder at a group of new arrivals.
“Duty calls.” she said, her tone lighter now. “You sticking around?”
“For a bit,” he said.
She nodded, her expression unreadable again. Then, as she turned to go, she paused and looked back at him. A slight head shake. “Hey, Jake?”
“Yeah?”
Her lips twitched into a small, almost mischievous smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Before he could respond, she was gone, moving down the bar to take an order. Jake sat there for a moment, turning her words over in his mind. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And after all these years, something felt like a hell of a lot.
He finished his drink slowly, as she moved with that familiar Ivy grace through the crowd. She didn’t look his way again, but he felt her icy heat.
“Don’t be a stranger.” He smiled to himself, climbing into the SUV.
6: The Island Market
Dawn was a light show at the market marina, orange streaks across the sky, slanted beams across the water. Mack had been up and at it for a while, as usual. He liked it that way. His marina, his market, his diner. They were his empire, built from scratch over the years. The old fisherman’s work ethic had served him well.
He’d learned early on that you didn’t get anywhere by waiting for the world to come to you. You get up, make your own path, keep moving forward.
A few local fishermen were already unloading crates, boots slapping the wet planks. Mack wove among them easily, greeting each man, keeping half an eye on the work.
“Morning, Mack,” Benny’s deep voice rang across the dock.
“Morning, Benny. You catch anything good tonight?”
“Same old. Enough to fill the boat, but I ain’t gonna get rich off it,” Benny said with a chuckle. “I’ll take it, though.”
Mack laughed, nodding. “Or the bank will.”
As Benny moved on, Mack’s gaze drifted just west, toward the smaller, separate dock a few yards away, where Mark Boyd’s “fleet” sat quiet. The boats were bigger, more imposing. Too efficient. Too deliberate. Mack wasn’t concerned about it. Mark was a problem, but not his problem. He had a good idea of what trouble Mark was up to, how it could hurt everybody.
Mack would stay vigilant, but for now it was just another day. Mark and his crew had their business, and Mack had his. The difference was, Mack’s was legitimate. He had no use for Mark’s brand of underhanded dealings.
“Everything alright with the load?” he called to Carl, who was unloading crates near the coffee shop.
“Yeah, it’s all set. We’re good to go,” Carl said, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Good. Make sure you check the dates on the meat shipment, alright? Don’t want any sick Karens,” Mack said with a quick smile.
Carl nodded, not missing a beat. “You know it, boss!”
Mark. He knew the routine. Mark’s boats would slip out of the marina later that morning, quiet as shadows, heading south, as if bound for the shoals. Mack didn’t need to ask what they were doing. They’d head into the international waters, make their pick-up, and roll in late at night to unload. And the money would flow. He wondered where he would finally draw the line.
One of the younger helpers noticed Mack intently watching the sleek trawler. Mack gave a slight shrug, like he’d been caught thinking a little too long. There would be no confrontation here today.
Mack wasn’t one to puff his chest. He had the steady confidence that came from building something of his own. He knew the rhythms—the people, the tides, the politics. Mark was shady, but it didn’t touch him. Not unless he let it.
“Good crew this morning,” Mack said. “Make sure we’re set for the weekend rush. Have Jimmy tidy up the produce. Lawson’ll bring the trawler in around eleven.”
Carl gave a quick nod before heading back into the store, where the bustle of breakfast customers was picking up. Mack glanced toward the shop, then back to Mark’s boats. He flung the hose across the dock, and checked the ice machine.
7: Jill By the Sea
Evening settled in, the sky shifting to indigo, first stars pricking through. The air had cooled, but the salt still clung to everything. Jake walked the beach alone, letting the breeze clear the noise from his head. He wasn’t thinking of much, just the rhythm of the waves.
A voice cut the silence. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
He turned. Jill stood a few feet away, backlit in the fading light, her eyes on the horizon.
“Yeah,” he said. “I forgot how much I missed it.” A small smile. “It’s been a while.” She looked good, he couldn’t help but notice.
She nodded. “It has a way of pulling people back in.”
The silence was full, not awkward. After a beat, Jake asked, “What about you? What brings you here?”
The question hung longer than he expected. After a slow breath, “I come here when I need space. When the world gets... too much. You know that feeling?”
Jake was silent for a tick, then, “Yeah. I do”.
The ocean’s gentle crash filled the pause as Jill drifted into her own thoughts. “I don’t really talk about it, why I come here. It’s easier not to. But sometimes, you just need to talk to someone who doesn’t know you.”
“I’m a good listener,” he offered simply.
Jill turned toward him then, her gaze a little sharper, but the smile had faded. “You really want to know?”
“I do. But only if you’re ready to tell.”
She let the silence settle again, only the waves breaking the stillness. She measured the moment carefully.
“Mark Boyd. If you haven’t run across him yet, you will. He and I... we were a thing, a long time ago.” As if reading an ancient scroll, she continued. “Married. I was young. Stupid. Thought we had a lot in common. Thought wrong.”
Jake didn’t interrupt.
“But after a while, he changed. And I didn’t see it coming. He turned into someone I didn’t recognize. He was probably always that way, I just chose not to see it.”
Jake tossed a little shell toward the water. “What happened?”
Jill’s started to say something but stopped herself. “He got... involved in things. Things I don’t want to talk about right now. But you get the picture.”
Jake let it sit. He didn’t need the details to know it wasn’t a pretty story.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe because you didn’t ask. You look like someone who knows what it’s like to carry a quiet load.”
Jake let it land without comment.
“And now I’m here,” shaking her head. “Stuck. Didn’t see that coming. Everybody thinks I’m rich, They’ve all heard rumors about the divorce settlement. I wound up with 21 beach units, and the house I live in. But the cash flow is tight. It takes every penny I bring in to keep them up. And he is constantly hounding me to sell them back. They were his family’s property, and they think he is a total loser for forfeiting them.”
”Wow.” Jake nodded, no platitudes. Just a quiet understanding.
She exhaled. “I didn’t expect to say any of that.”
Jake gave a half-smile. “Oddly enough, I didn’t expect to hear it.” Their eyes met. He saw in a glance the weight she’d been carrying. The wind shifted.
Jill looked back out to the ocean. “I’m not used to sharing like that. My little dark secrets…”
“I get it.” Jake touched her arm. “Sometimes, it helps, doesn’t it? Just saying it out loud.”
“I suppose. We’ll see.” She pulled her shawl around her, just a bit tighter. They stood together in silence in the thick salt air. The last light of the day faded and they began to walk back to the house. Jill watched him tread the sand.
Please, please, please don’t be another asshole, she thought to herself.
Jake climbed out of the shower. Jill had been right, the water pressure was weak. More of a water situation. The phone lit up on the coffee table. FaceTime from Kelly. Two faces filled the screen before Jake could even say hello. “Dad! Can we play GeoGuessr?”
Jake grinned. “Right now? Isn’t it bedtime?”
“Mom said we could if you said yes,” Josh said, already angling the iPad.
Kelly’s voice drifted from off-screen. “Five minutes.”
“Alright. Pull it up.”
The first image loaded: cobblestone streets, pastel buildings, wrought-iron balconies.
“Portugal,” Jake said.
“How do you know?” Josh squinted at the screen.
“I don’t. Just guessing.”
“I think it’s Spain,” Sam said.
“Italy,” Josh countered.
They locked in Italy. The answer: Lisbon, Portugal.
“YES!” Jake punched the air.
“You got lucky,” Josh muttered, grinning.
“Luck’s a skill, buddy.”
Three more rounds—the boys got two right, Jake got one. When Kelly called time, they groaned but didn’t argue.
“Love you, Dad!”
The screen went dark. Jake sat there for a moment, the guesthouse suddenly too quiet. He thought about their faces—Josh’s crooked smile, Sam’s focused squint—and felt that familiar ache.
He wasn’t a bad father. He knew that. But he also wasn’t there, not the way they needed him to be every day. One day, probably soon, they’d need more from him. And when that time came, he’d be ready.
His phone buzzed. A text from Kelly: They’re asleep. Thanks for playing. They needed that.
Jake typed back: So did I.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and walked out onto the porch, staring at the dark Gulf, thinking about how easy it was to guess wrong when you didn’t have all the information.
8: Mark
The office of Marcus Preston Boyd, Attorney at Law, radiated a sense of calculated ambition. Situated in the tallest building in downtown Pensacola, its floor-to-ceiling windows offered a commanding view of Palafox and the bay glinting under the morning sun. The furniture was all dark wood and leather, each piece deliberately chosen to evoke both authority and affluence. A brass nameplate on the desk bore his name, flanked by neatly arranged files. A gold fountain pen, an old baseball sitting in a lucite case signed by the Yankees during their 1978 World Series.
On the shelf behind his desk, a scattering of personal items provided a thin veneer of warmth: a photo of Marcus with his father the governor at a courthouse ribbon-cutting; another of him shaking hands with a former president. Almost out of sight, a smaller frame held a picture of Jill from back when they were still married and he was happy. She wasn’t looking at the camera, her gaze focused elsewhere, her face lit with a soft smile.
He sat at his desk, leaning back slightly, his fingers steepled. His Bluetooth earpiece flashed blue with each exhale, the only betrayal of his otherwise unshakable composure. “Yes, Congressman, I’ve reviewed the draft. It’s airtight. If the committee raises objections, we’ll be ready to pivot, but I doubt it’ll come to that.”
His voice was calm and smooth, the kind of tone that made people trust him—even when they shouldn’t. He watched the reflection of his office door in the glass window, keeping one eye on the conversation and the other on the world behind him.
“The key,” he continued, “is to avoid overexposure. You know how the press is—they’ll latch onto the smallest loose thread. Trust me, this is the right way to proceed.”
The congressman on the other end spoke at length, his words a muffled blend of ego and caution. Marcus nodded absently, already running scenarios through his mind. “I’ll make sure the necessary parties are briefed. If there’s anything else you need, call my office directly.”
He ended the call with a quiet tap of his finger, leaning forward to place the phone in its dock. The legal pad in front of him was covered in shorthand notes from earlier calls—plans, numbers, names. His handwriting was sharp, deliberate, no wasted strokes.
Marcus moved to the window, slipping his hands into his pockets as he looked out at the city. His reflection stared back at him, a man dressed impeccably in a tailored navy suit. He looked every bit the successful attorney, the community figure, the kind of man whose name appeared in local headlines alongside phrases like “generous donor” and “trusted advisor.”
The phone on his desk buzzed, its vibration breaking the quiet. Marcus walked over, picked it up, noting the unlisted number. A flicker of irritation passed over his face, but he answered anyway.
“Boyd.”
The voice on the other end was gruff and to the point. “It’s arrived.”
Marcus paused, his grip tightening on the phone. “You’re certain?”
“Wouldn’t be calling if I wasn’t.”
“Where is it now?”
“Secure. Just like we discussed.”
“Good,” Marcus said, his voice low and even. “Keep it that way until I say otherwise. Understood?”
The caller hesitated for a moment, then replied, “Understood.”
The line went dead, leaving Marcus staring at the screen for a beat before setting the phone back on the desk. His expression gave nothing away, but his mind was already moving, calculating the next steps.
The clock on the wall ticked. Time was always moving, even when he wanted it to stop. He reached for the tumbler of coffee on his desk, taking a sip as he returned to his chair. His gaze flicked to the photo of Jill on the shelf, and for a moment, his jaw clenched.
Marcus had always prided himself on being in control, on never letting anyone or anything see him sweat. But Jill was a wildcard, and wildcards had a way of unraveling even the tightest plans.
A sharp knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts. It was his assistant, a brisk young woman with a knack for efficiency. “Mr. Boyd, you have a meeting with the Pelicans’ general manager in thirty minutes. Shall I let them know you’ll be on your way?”
“Yes, thank you,” Marcus said, his tone clipped but polite. “I’ll head over shortly.”
She nodded and closed the door quietly behind her.
Marcus stood again, smoothing the front of his jacket as he prepared to leave. The charity event at the ballpark that weekend was another piece of the puzzle—a public appearance, a chance to mingle with the right people, to keep the image intact.
But as he stepped into the hallway, his mind wasn’t on baseball or public relations. It was on the phone call, on the implications of “it” arriving, and on how quickly things could fall apart if anyone made a single wrong move.
9: Taking Care of Business
The late afternoon sun painted the sprawling Positano complex bar in warm gold, light. Four gleaming towers, some 200 condo units, a mini-grocery, three restaurants, a pier, a thriving tourist trade. Positano was virtually a village unto itself. Ivy lived in a unit, and managed food and beverage sourcing. Frequently she tended bar. Ivy was a pro.
Outside, past the shimmering pool, children’s laughter rose and fell, punctuated by splashes and the soft hum of parents chatting under umbrellas. Inside, sunlight spilled across the polished mahogany counters and gleaming bottles of top-shelf liquor in the bar.
The construction crew from the new development nearby clustered at the bar, their voices loud enough to carry but not obnoxious. They wore the day’s work in streaks of dust on their tanned skin, and their boots scuffed against the tiled floor.
Ivy leaned on the counter, her elbow resting casually as she poured another round. She moved confidently, unhurried, like someone who knew every inch of her territory. Her braid swaying as she turned to grab a fresh pint glass. Her tank top, tied at the hem, revealed just enough of her toned midriff to draw eyes without screaming for attention.
“You’re killing me, Ivy,” one of the men groaned, resting a sunburnt arm on the counter. “First, you serve me a drink like this,” he held up his glass, “then you turn around and crush me with that smile.”
She tilted her head, her lips curving into the faintest grin. “Oh, sweetie, if that’s all it takes to crush you, maybe you should sit this round out.”
Laughter rippled through the group, the man throwing up his hands in mock defeat.
“I’ll take a whiskey,” another said, sliding his empty glass across the bar. His tone was casual, but his eyes lingered a little too long on the curve of her jawline.
“Straight or with a splash?” she asked, reaching for the bottle without missing a beat.
“Dealer’s choice,” he replied, leaning in slightly.
She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, pouring the drink with the precision of someone who’d been doing it for years. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today,” she said, sliding the glass back to him.
“You always treat your customers this good?” he asked, smirking.
“Only the ones who tip well,” she quipped, turning her attention to another order before he could respond.
The men laughed, falling into a familiar rhythm of teasing and banter. The conversation turned to sports, the local minor league team, the upcoming game. One of them bragged about catching a foul ball at a Pelicans game last season, sparking a debate over the best seats at the stadium.
Ivy stayed just enough in the mix to keep their attention, chiming in with a well-timed comment here or a playful jab there. She knew how to keep them on the hook without ever letting them get too close.
“You ever go to a game, Ivy?” one of the quieter workers asked, his eyes flicking up from his drink.
“Once or twice,” she replied, wiping down the counter. “Never had much time for baseball. Too many rules.”
“Too many rules?” The man looked genuinely offended. “It’s America’s pastime!”
She grinned, her teeth catching the light. “Exactly. I’m more into the future than the past.”
A young couple entered the bar, their sunburnt shoulders wrapped in towels. Ivy nodded at them, seamlessly shifting gears as she took their drink order. Her movements were quick but graceful, every step calculated without looking like it.
The construction crew watched her as she worked, their conversation ebbing slightly. One of them muttered something low to the others, and they all chuckled. Ivy caught the tail end of it but pretended not to notice.
When she returned, she leaned casually on the counter, her sharp eyes sweeping over the group. “What’d I miss?”
“Just talking about you,” one of them said boldly, lifting his beer.
“Oh yeah?” She cocked her head, feigning curiosity. “What’s the verdict?”
“Unanimous,” he replied, holding her gaze for a moment too long. “You’re trouble.”
Her smile turned sly, and for a split second, her expression flickered—just enough to hint at the truth beneath her charm. Then it was gone, replaced by her usual playful veneer. “Good thing I don’t mind trouble,” she said lightly, pushing off the counter and turning to adjust the bottles behind her.
The men watched her for a moment longer, then returned to their conversation.
Outside, the pool area was still alive with activity, though the sun was beginning its descent. A golden haze settled over the scene, and Ivy caught herself glancing out at it as she rinsed a glass. For a moment, her features softened, and her hands stilled.
Then, as if on cue, the door swung open, and another group entered. Ivy straightened, slipping back into her role as easily as someone donning a familiar coat.
“Welcome to paradise,” she said with a grin, her voice warm and inviting.
Behind her, the bottles gleamed in the light, their perfect alignment reflecting the outward image of the bar: upscale, orderly, pristine. But Ivy knew, better than anyone, that appearances could be deceiving.
The group took their seats, and Ivy moved to greet them, her energy as steady as ever. She was in her element here, a mix of charm and sharp edges, perfectly calibrated to keep everyone guessing.
As the new customers settled in, Ivy glanced back at the construction crew, catching one of them watching her. She held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before turning away, her braid swishing behind her.
She was used to being watched, to being wanted. It was part of the game.
But no one in the room—not the workers, not the sunburnt couple, not even Ivy herself—knew the stakes she was playing for.
10: The Hideout
The last stretch of sunset painted the horizon with a deep reddish shard against the growing indigo as waves lapped lazily at the shore. Jake was perched on his usual spot, the curve of a low dune framing his silhouette. His sandals were off, half-buried in the little dune next to him. Ocean breeze toyed with the edges of his shirt.
He stared out at the expanse of water, his thoughts moving as slowly as the tide. Being here felt easier than being anywhere else. A space where the world didn’t press too close.The beach was always quieter at this hour, no families with their laughter, no teenagers kicking up sand. Just him, the ocean, and the sky folding itself into dusk.
“Figures you’d still hide out here.”
The voice, low and teasing, rolled over him before he could turn. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Ivy,” he said, letting her name settle in the air as he turned his head.
She stood a few paces away, barefoot, her sandals hooked by one finger and swinging idly at her side. Her hair was loose, spilling down her shoulders in soft waves that caught the last of the sun. She looked at him, one corner of her mouth quirking into a smile that danced precariously between sweet and smug.
“You’re predictable,” she said lightly, stepping forward and letting her toes sink into the cool sand.
“Predictable’s better than reckless,” he countered, watching her with a careful, steady gaze.
Her smile widened. “Still so serious, Jake. Some things never change.”
She settled beside him without waiting for an invitation, lowering herself gracefully onto the sand. The air shifted around them, growing quieter, as if the beach itself knew to hush.
“You used to be less…” She trailed off, waving a hand vaguely.
“Less what?”
“I don’t know. Guarded?” She glanced at him sidelong, her expression searching. “I don’t remember you biting your tongue so much.”
He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t remember a lot of things.”
“Try me.”
Jake leaned back slightly, propping himself up on his hands as he studied her. The Ivy he remembered was just like this—bold, playful, and always a little too close for comfort. But there was something else now, something sharper, like she carried an edge she hadn’t had before.
“Why did you follow me here?” Voice calm but pointed.
She raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What makes you think I need a reason?”
“Because you don’t do things without one.”
She didn’t respond right away, her gaze drifting out to the horizon. The silence stretched, broken only by the rhythmic pull of the waves.
“Maybe I just missed you,” she said finally, her tone light but her words weighted.
Jake’s jaw tightened. He turned his eyes back to the water, unwilling to meet her gaze. “We’ve been down this road before, Ivy.”
“And yet, here we are again,” she said softly, leaning toward him just enough to close the space between them.
He felt her presence like a current, pulling at him, drawing him into dangerous waters. “Ivy…”
“What?” she asked, her voice low and smooth, her eyes fixed on him. “What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
He finally looked at her, his expression a mix of frustration and something he couldn’t quite name. “You don’t make things easy, you know that?”
Her lips curved into a slow smile. “Since when has easy ever been your thing?”
Jake exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. She had a way of cutting through his defenses, of forcing him to confront things he’d rather leave buried.
“Ivy, this… whatever you have in mind, it’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
She tilted her head, studying him like he was some puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “You’ve got a lot of rules for someone who used to break them all.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long,” she said softly, her voice almost wistful.
Jake turned away again, his gaze falling to the sand beneath his hands. He hated the way her words got under his skin, the way she made him question the lines he’d drawn for himself.
“I just wanted to see you,” she said after a moment, her tone softer now, almost vulnerable. “Is that such a crime?”
He hesitated, his throat tightening. “No. It’s not.”
She smiled faintly, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes he couldn’t quite place. “Good.”
Jake glanced at her sidelong. “Still chasing trouble.”
She laughed softly, a low, throaty sound that made him both nostalgic and wary. “Trouble finds me,” she said, resting her sandals in the sand. “I just keep it entertained.”
They sat in silence for a beat, the air between them charged but strangely calm. Jake could feel her watching him, but he kept his eyes on the horizon.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said finally.
“Didn’t know it was a question.”
“Why here? Why now?”
He shrugged. “It’s quiet.”
“So’s a lot of places.” Ivy didn’t press. She just watched him, her eyes soft but searching, as if trying to read something he wasn’t ready to say. “You always did like keeping your cards close,” she said, her voice quieter now.
“And you always tried to call my bluff.”
She laughed again, but this time it was softer, almost wistful. “Guilty.”
The silence stretched, the waves filling the space between them. Ivy drew a line in the sand with her finger, absently tracing patterns as she spoke. “You know, I didn’t think I’d see you again. Not after the way things ended.”
Jake stiffened slightly but didn’t respond.
“It’s funny,” she continued, her voice thoughtful. “When you left, I thought, ‘That’s it. He’s gone for good.’ And maybe part of me was okay with that. But the other part…” She trailed off, her finger pausing mid-line.
“What?” he asked, his voice low.
She looked at him, her eyes unguarded for the first time. “The other part never really let you go.”
The weight of her words hit him harder than he expected. He shifted his gaze back to the ocean, his jaw tightening. “Ivy…”
“What?” she said, her tone almost defiant. “You wanted honesty, right? Well, there it is.”
Jake ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Maybe I just want you to stop running.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Jake looked at her, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow, the ocean and sky fading into the background. “I’m not running,” he said finally, though he wasn’t sure he believed it.
“Sure you are,” she said, a small, knowing smile on her lips. “You’ve been running since the day I met you. And guess what? I’m still here.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Ivy leaned closer, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down his spine.
“I’m not going anywhere, Jake. So whatever it is you’re afraid of? Face it. Or don’t. But stop pretending it’s not there.”
Jake swallowed hard, the pull of her presence stronger than he wanted to admit. He could feel the heat of her skin, the intensity of her gaze, and the memories they both carried like unspoken truths. “Ivy…” he began, but she shook her head, cutting him off.
“Don’t overthink it. Just… don’t.” She stood then, brushing the sand from her legs, and slipped her sandals back on. She looked down at him, her expression softening.
“Think about it, Jake,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “That’s all I’m asking.”
And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving him alone with the waves, the fading light, and the questions he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.
Ivy stayed well out of sight as she watched Jake saunter up the beach to his guest house. “That’s Jill Dowd’s place,” she noted to herself. Like a hungry cat, she disappeared into the night.
Thanks so much, Steve! I hope you enjoy it!
Ok, I got my copy on Kindle and I look forward to reading it!