Off the Trails Read online

  As soon as the words are out, settling into the tropical air, Dove grins. “Not true …”

  Melissa looks skeptical. “How do you figure?” She pats her pocket to remind her friend of its emptiness.

  Dove raises her eyebrows, looking like an excited doll. “What if … we charged it?” She pauses, thinking. “To my parents, who I believe still have several accounts around the island. One of which is bound to be at the Pulse …”

  Melissa opens her mouth in surprise. “Dove, you wouldn’t dare! I mean, didn’t they specifically tell you that you’re cut off from—”

  Dove flags a taxi, newly confident in her decision. She opens the door, chucks her bags into the open trunk, and climbs in. She pats the seat next to her so Melissa will join her, and smiles. “True. They cut me off financially. But then again, they aren’t here. They’re stuck back in the frigid countryside of England. I haven’t asked them for a penny since the summer. Nearly six months of self-sufficiency. They won’t find out for ages, by which point I’ll be able to pay them back with the loads of cash I make at our new fabulous jobs we’ve yet to find.” Melissa hesitates before climbing in next to Dove, wishing her luggage had made the trip to Nevis with her, wishing she hadn’t left Gabe behind—or been left—and wishing whole-heartedly that she had a job to give her some security.

  “Maybe one T-shirt or something, but that’s it,” Melissa says as the taxi pulls away from the curb. “But I’ll pay for it. It just wouldn’t be right to scribble down your parents’ names on a charge slip.”

  Dove slicks some gloss over her lips and looks out the window, her heart beating rapidly. “You’d be surprised at just how easy it is …” She turns to Melissa and squeezes her hand. “Besides, what’s a holiday without a few surprises?”

  3

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE THERE are no traffic lights!” Melissa puts her hand out the car window to feel the warm breeze.

  I can’t believe Max is here on this tiny island and so far, William isn’t, Dove thinks to herself, smoothing her short hair so it falls flat on her forehead. With Max so persistent in the past couple of weeks and William so notably absent, being true to her boyfriend was proving more and more difficult. “Not one on the entire island.” Dove nods. “You don’t think William’s gone for good, do you?”

  Melissa pats her friend’s pale shoulder. “It’s a brand-new year. He’s probably still at some party or something from last night, and you have way too much going for you to worry about him right now.” Melissa sticks her face partway out the window, breathing in the smells of something sweet, the fragrant island air. “Yum—we have to take a food break before we start another round of romantic woes.”

  “Deal,” Dove says and shakes Melissa’s hand. Lined with potted palms, the cobblestone street is filled with just the right number of vacationers—making it not too empty, not too crowded. Dove points to a café a block ahead.

  “You can stop there, please,” she says to the taxi driver, who immediately slows down.

  Melissa’s stomach rumbles as she watches outdoor diners slide forkfuls of salad and dessert into their mouths, their tanned skin glistening in the sunlight. “Please tell me we can refuel here before the infamous shopping extravaganza?” Melissa pats her belly to show how hungry she is, hoping the distraction will keep Dove from ploughing through with her charge-to-the-parents idea.

  Dove leans forward to pay the taxi driver, shoving a wad of crumpled bills back into her wallet before climbing out. “Come on—this place used to have red velvet cake—the best I’ve ever had.” Dove slings her bags onto her small frame and launches full steam ahead toward the café.

  Melissa trails slightly behind, soaking up the sunglassed masses, the bronzed boys on Vespa scooters, the well-heeled women in casual yet elegant tropical gear, their shoes click-clacking on the sidewalk. Everywhere are colors: the galleries lining the sidewalk, the buildings complete with gingerbread fretwork in a variety of shades, hanging plants in reds, bright purples, and yellows that trail over the edges of the railings.

  Farther up on Main Street the ferryboat lets off small groups of people and then sounds a low horn before setting off into the vibrant blue sea.

  Dove stashes her bags behind the hostess stand as though she owns the place and leads Melissa to a table out on the terrace.

  “Great spot,” Melissa says, her shoulders relaxing. “I feel like my whole body has to unwind.”

  “I know.” Dove nods, looking over Melissa’s head at all the people, wondering if she’ll see someone she knows, and what that might mean. “Whenever I’m cold—which I was twenty-four hours a day at Les Trois—I always hunch up like this.” She demonstrates by bringing her shoulders to her ears.

  “Can I get you something?” a tall waitress with an armful of thin gold bangles asks. “We have a great soup, a wonderful roasted lamb with—”

  Dove reads Melissa’s face instantly. That kind of food is way too expensive for their budget. They need to make their tip money last as long as possible, “Just your signature is fine.” The waitress gives a perfunctory nod and leaves.

  “How are you so well versed in their signature drinks?” Melissa studies Dove’s face. The girl is an enigma. All along she’s been ditching her moneyed past but when Melissa looks at her now, it seems as though Dove is growing less and less sure.

  “We—I—my family and I used to take holidays here,” Dove says, motioning at the air around her as though she means on the entire island. “Stayed up near the Botanical Gardens.” Dove grins, thinking back. “This incredible villa rental—belongs to some royal somewhere who uses it one day a year for yachting or something.”

  “Sounds pretty grand.” Melissa thinks about her own home, the small but adequate beach house where surfing was a way of life, not just an activity.

  “Oh, it was grand. Many grands …” Dove rubs her fingers together to imply the cost. “Massive bedroom suites, open-air entertaining kitchen, you name it.” She shrugs and then smiles when she spots the drinks coming her way. “But that was before—a time long gone by.”

  “Do you think we’d have been friends then?” Melissa asks, wondering if maybe timing was everything. She thanks the waitress for the tall cylindrical glass and eyes the drink.

  Dove purses her lips. “I don’t know if we would have been friends. Maybe. You can’t really say how you’d have acted if you’re looking back.” She wonders for a minute if maybe she means more than just this hypothetical question. And leans forward, whispering. “Mel? What if I made a huge mistake? What if I never should have committed to William?” Dove grasps her drink in her hand, not sipping at it yet. “I mean, what if all this time I placed too much on my relationship with William only to find it doesn’t mean what I thought it did?”

  Melissa listens to Dove and stares at the “signature drink.” Three layers of color—peachy pink on the bottom, pale green in the middle, and bright raspberry on top, crowned with a spear of fresh fruit. Dove rests her chin in her hand and doesn’t speak.

  “What a sight for sore eyes!” Melissa leans in for a sip, desperate to make Dove forget about her Will woes.

  “Right,” Dove agrees mournfully, finally giving in and taking a swig. “A sight for sore eyes.”

  “I could say the same thing about you!” From behind Dove, a fresh face leans back in her chair. “Lily de Rothschild, I knew it was you! Not even your hair could disguise you!” The voice is attached to a young woman with the brightest smile Melissa has ever seen. Dove turns and sees her and can’t help but smile back.

  “Let me join you.” She pulls her chair over to their table and Melissa kicks Dove under the table. Dove kicks her back.

  “Melissa Forsythe, this is an old, old family friend, Emmy Taylor.”

  “God, you make me sound ancient,” Emmy says, tossing her auburn hair back from her freckled face. “The truth is, Dove and I used to be quite a team.” Dove’s eyes go round and her mouth opens to protest. Emmy smirks and says in a cons
piratorial way to Melissa, “Don’t let her deny it! We stayed up on this hill. At some private club …” She looks at Dove to back her up. “What was the name of that place?”

  Dove shrugs. “We were at Wyndham Manor. You were at …” Dove’s voice is muffled by her straw.

  “Sugar Hut. That’s it! That’s the name of the place.” Emmy grins excitedly. “What a cool place. Melissa, you should totally see it.” She pauses, looking at Dove’s drink until Dove hands it over and Emmy sips it. “The Sugar Hut. Ah, the memories. I wonder who’s in it now.”

  Dove looks panicked. Melissa can’t figure out why until she repeats the name Sugar Hut in her mind. Where had she heard it before? Then it hits her. Max. Max is staying there. No wonder Dove doesn’t want to deal with anything remotely connected to him—or their past.

  “I have an idea,” Emmy Taylor announces. “I have to get back to my friends—if I can find where they’ve gone off to. But later, want to crash the Sugar Hut? Just see who’s there and demand an instant party or something?” She licks her lips. “It could be fun … for old times’ sake?”

  Worry builds in Dove’s stomach. She shakes her head immediately. “No. No, we can’t, we have to—”

  Melissa jumps in. “We have an appointment.”

  Emmy looks mildly disappointed. “A spa treatment? You can change it.”

  “Not a massage or facial, Emmy. We have a meeting….” Her mind goes blank. Who? Where could they possibly both have a meeting?

  “With Matthew Chase.” Melissa spits the name out, then bites her lip, nervous about lying. In the airport there’d been posters of Matthew Chase, the famous Australian chef who opened a new restaurant on Nevis and was rumored to be heading to New York to start filming his own television show. Melissa had stared at the poster longingly, wishing she could afford to eat at his place or could somehow meet him and tell him how much she admired his casual but careful kitchen ways.

  Emmy looks suitably impressed. “Matthew Chase? Well, I guess that’s an opportunity you can’t pass up … even for a bit of fun with me.” She stands up and looks at Dove. “Have you suddenly taken an interest in cuisine, Lily? I know you hosted some great dinner parties back in the day, but aren’t you just vacationing?”

  Dove gives a sideways glance at Melissa. “Yeah, I’m taking a break—but I have recently developed a renewed interest in cooking …” She and Melissa lock eyes, instantly thinking back to sweating in the tiny kitchen at Les Trois, serving up tons of delicious food for their guests, prepping and chopping and exhausting themselves all in the name of creative cuisine and good tips.

  “I have a fabulous personal chef at home,” Emmy says. “Remind me and I’ll pass along his name should you ever give up your own … ambitions.” She laughs, not meanly, but as though cooking for oneself were a silly escapade. Leaning down to fix the strap on her sandal, Emmy adds, “But I mean what I say about getting together at some point. Maybe after your meeting with Matthew Chase.”

  Dove nods. There’s no way she’s going to take no for an answer, so I might as well choose what I do rather than get roped in. “I’m not up for trekking all the way to the Sugar Hut,” she says. “It’s old news. What else did you have in mind?”

  Emmy stands up, her turquoise tank dress bright even against the colorful backdrop of the café. “Tell you what.” She reaches into her small bag and pulls out a slip of paper. “To wrap up my winter holidays I’m having a grand fete at the Botanical Gardens next week. See you there?” Her eyes let both Melissa and Dove know that it’s not so much a question as a command.

  Melissa shrugs. How bad could a party be? Besides, it’s not as though we have anything else to do. “Sounds great. Thanks!”

  Dove nods and accepts the European kiss on both cheeks from Emmy before finally exhaling as she leaves.

  Dove watches Melissa finish her drink. “I guess we have plans. Future plans.”

  “I guess so.” But what about now? Melissa wonders. What about today, tomorrow, and my luggage-less days ahead?

  Dove signals for the bill. “So now I’m assuming we actually have even more reason to raid Pulse. Looks like we’re in serious need of clothing.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about things like clothing,” Melissa reminds her as she fishes in her pocket for some cash.

  Dove brushes her bangs off her forehead, spiking them slightly. From her bag she pulls out a plain light blue elastic strap and slides it on her head. With her hair all the way back from her face she appears even more petite, more vulnerable.

  “I don’t. At least, not really,” she says. Off in the distance, on the sidewalk, Dove sees a group of guys in various shades of button-downs—the unofficial off-duty yachting uniform. Is William with them? She squints into the sun, trying to see. Where is he now? Feeling guilty that he missed meeting her? Missing her in the midst of a dream? Or waking up near some long-legged party girl he met on the beach bash circuit? “Maybe I’m not up on all the island info,” Dove says, as though Melissa can read her mind, “but someone knows Will—Nevis is too small an island to have secrets.”

  “Secrets? What’s the big deal?” Melissa follows Dove’s gaze. She checks her watch, anxious about the time. The idea of not having a place to stay or any semblance of a plan won’t leave her alone. If we don’t come up with something soon, maybe we’ll have to leave. Or at least, I will. I can’t very well sleep on the beach, can I?

  “Just come with me,” Dove says, seemingly oblivious to the larger issues at hand. The whole purpose of being here is to find William, and that’s my personal plan, Dove thinks as she drops money on the table. A job and a bed are only minor details. She pulls Melissa out of the café and closer to the group of wandering yacht boys.

  4

  WALKING DOWN THE COBBLESTONE street in a pack, the guys look to Melissa and Dove like something out of a catalog.

  “One guy’s prettier than the next!” Melissa says, keeping her voice low and her eyes diverted enough so she’s not staring. None are particularly appealing to her, but en masse the lot of them defines the words eye candy.

  “Lollipops,” Dove confirms, taking the words from Melissa’s brain. Dove looks ahead at the pink button-down, the light yellow, the faded red, the white. Yep—candy. “Gourmet jelly beans.”

  “Custom-made M and M’s.” Melissa laughs. “Weeks of living together have given you the ability to read my mind.” The girls approach the group, Dove giving her trademark sweet smile that causes the guys to slow down.

  “Hiiiii.” Dove draws out the word to buy herself some time to think of something to say. Not that I really expected William to be in this bunch, but maybe. Disappointment looms, threatening to descend on her again. “We just got here and—”

  The boy in the faded red shirt interrupts. “Let me guess—you want to know the hottest place to go tonight.”

  Dove raises her eyebrows and tilts her head, which Melissa knows means she’s about to come out with something sarcastic, so she quickly talks. “No—not so much that. We’re more interested in finding a place to stay and a place to work.”

  Clear, concise, to the point, just what we need, Melissa thinks, hoping to find both of those things plus anything other than the clothing on her back to wear. Maybe her luggage has shown up by now. I’ll have to get to the airport at some point and check since they have no way of reaching me. I’ll call over soon.

  “You don’t seem like the kind of girls who need work on a resort island,” one of the guys says. Another nods.

  Dove looks annoyed and starts playing with her hair—an old habit. “Oh yeah? Just what kind of girls do we seem like?”

  “Hey,” says the boy in yellow, “he didn’t mean anything by it.” He laughs to lighten the mood and blocks his eyes from the sun. Dove can see they’re a clear blue, as deep as the farthest ring of the water ahead. “I’m Gus, by the way.” He shakes Dove’s hand and then Melissa’s. After the girls introduce themselves he adds, “We work over there.”
/>   Dove and Melissa look to where he’s pointing. Stretched out against the rocking sea is a long dock, separate from the wharf that houses many boats, yachts, and assorted seacraft. “Mine’s Sea You Later. As in s-e-a.” He rolls his eyes. “Bad pun, but then again, half the boat names are so lame.”

  “That one?” Melissa singles out the enormous yacht, its windows gleaming in the sunlight. “It’s huge.”

  Gus nods. “Seems even bigger when you’re scrubbing it at the end of the day. The good news is that the owner and her guests only come down a few times a season.”

  “And the rest of the time?” Dove asks, fighting the urge to ask directly about William. William’s on a yacht. Presumably they all know each other. She studies the boys’ faces as though some detail in them might provide a clue about her missing beau.

  “The rest of the time is chill,” Gus says. “Upkeep, planning, maintenance.”

  Melissa says, half jokingly, “Need a cook?” She mimes dicing with her hands to prove she knows what she’s talking about.

  Gus looks at the rest of the group. “We’re all on different boats …”

  The boy in the white shirt speaks up. “That’s me—deckhand on Fire It Up, the dark blue one by the wood piling over there. Wish we did need a new chef—our current one’s … How to say this? Not the nicest of people.” He shrugs. “But I think we’re all set for staff. Sorry.”

  Melissa’s heart sinks. Any slim possibility of jobs just vanished. She doesn’t say anything, hoping that her silence will lead to a double job offer—one for Dove, one for her. Then she remembers she hates being seasick and reconsiders.

  Gus shoves his hands in his pockets and says, “It’s not the easiest of jobs, you know.” Melissa can’t help but laugh and nudge Dove, who smirks. Gus’s blue eyes register his awareness of being somewhat clueless to the girls’ inside information. “Why? You know someone who can serve ceviche and pair it with an appropriate dessert?” His voice sounds like a dare.