“What a beauty,” he says with an appreciative smile.
But Amma is already turning to Brittany, her expression stormy. “I thought no one ever came here.”
Brittany just shrugs, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “I thought so, too, but, I mean, it’s the twenty-first century. If we can find things, so can other people. It’s not really that weird that someone else is here.”
Amma doesn’t seem satisfied by that response, her frown only deepening, but then someone steps out onto the deck of the catamaran.
Even from a distance, I can tell he’s rich. Working at the resorts in Maui gave me a kind of sixth sense when it came to the type. His hair was probably once brown, but he’s been outside enough to give it that sun-streaked look women pay a lot of money for. Aviator sunglasses, mirrored, reflect the blue, blue water, and he flashes a million-dollar smile as he lifts an arm to wave to us.
“Ahoy!” he calls out, and I can practically feel Nico roll his eyes behind me. Still, he waves back at the guy, just as a woman makes her way up onto the deck to join him.
She’s also blond, hair whipping in her face as she leans over the railing to gaze out at us. She’s wearing cutoffs that ride up her tan thighs, and an oversized button-down that probably belongs to the guy. Sun-kissed and beautiful, they look like an ad for hard seltzer, and I feel grubby in my own loose-fitting shorts and an old V-neck.
Beside me, Amma’s hands have clenched into fists as she stares at the couple. Her lips are a thin line, white around the edges, and when I nudge her with my elbow, she startles like she’d forgotten I was there.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Relax,” Brittany says to her friend. “The more the merrier!”
“That’s not it,” Amma says quietly. By now, the man is climbing into the small dinghy attached to the side of the catamaran, clearly planning to come over and say hello in person.
“Bet they have some quality booze on that boat,” Nico mutters in my ear as he slings an arm around my waist. He smells like sweat and sunblock, and the skin on his nose is peeling just the littlest bit. I don’t even want to know how I look. A crust of salt has settled on my skin, and I know my hair is a wreck.
The tender idles next to us, the guy still grinning. “Welcome to paradise!” he calls, and I realize he’s Australian.
Of course he is.
“Hey, thanks, man,” Nico says, and the guy gestures at the side of the Susannah.
“Permission to board?”
“Aye-aye,” Nico replies, and within a couple of minutes, the guy is standing there on the deck of our boat, somehow making it feel dingier with his own general shininess.
“Jake Kelly,” he says, offering a hand to Nico, who shakes it before introducing all of us.
“So, what brings you all the way out here?” Jake asks warmly. Close up, he’s even better looking than I’d assumed. Amazing what money can do, the gloss it can give you.
“Same thing that brought you here, I’d guess,” Nico says. I notice the way he flexes his biceps just the littlest bit. His arms have a darker tan and are definitely bigger than Jake’s, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
Boys.
“Oh, so you’re also here looking for buried treasure?” Jake replies, his eyebrows raised over the frames of his sunglasses, before laughing and clapping a hand on Nico’s shoulder. “Fucking with you, mate. We’re just here for a good time off the beaten path.”
“Same,” Brittany says, stepping forward. She’s changed into a brightly patterned pink-and-green bikini, and I see Jake give her an admiring look that somehow isn’t sleazy, a quick head-to-toe glance that doesn’t make you feel like you need a shower afterward.
Brittany’s smile gets a little slyer, one hip cocked as she nods her head in the direction of his boat.
“Have you and your wife been here long?”
Subtle.
Jake glances over his shoulder. “Girlfriend,” he corrects. “Eliza. And no, just a couple of days. You’re lucky you got in when you did. Had some ugly weather the day we arrived.”
Nico brightens, launching into a story about the storm we were caught in—probably the same nasty weather Jake mentioned—and bored by this obvious show of machismo, I head for the stern to get a better look at the island.
Amma is already standing there, arms folded tightly around her body, and as I get closer, I realize there are twin tracks of tears on her cheeks.
Alarmed, I reach out and lay a hand on her arm. “You okay?”