Four Good

“Should I tell her she’s on the wrong island?” Becca says, laughing.

“No, I think I have some small cans of pineapple juice. We get a few orders for Mai Tais during the summer.”

While I gather nearby ingredients, Becca says, “I saw that those three guys were in again.”

I nod. “Mm-hmm.”

“They’re so good looking.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You’ve got another tasty treat over there now, too,” she says. “We’re getting some summer-quality men in here lately.”

I follow her gaze, but it still takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Jay. My view of him is so wrapped up in memories and emotion that I don’t really see him objectively.

He looks a bit more relaxed than when he came in. His drink is nearly gone; I’m sure that’s helping.

I garnish the Mai Tai with a cherry and a sprig of mint and slide it over to Becca. “That tasty treat,” I say, just to see her jaw drop, “is my ex-husband.”

17

Forty isn’t looking too bad

After I take care of everyone else seated at the bar and fill a tray of drinks for Becca, I return to Jay, and gesture at his empty glass. “Want another?”

“Yes, please.” He gives a small smile, the first I’ve seen from him today. Lines crinkle attractively at the corners of his eyes.

I mix a fresh Scotch and soda and set it in front of him. “Your friends said you’re here on assignment?”

He tilts his head side to side. “Eh, not an assignment, but I am taking pictures to sell to magazines and stock sites.”

“Pictures of … ?”

“General scenic shots.” He takes a swig of his drink. “You live here on the island?”

“I do.”

“What brought you here?”

I shrug. “I visited, and it just felt like home.” He nods, as though he understands. “What about you? Where do you live?”

“I have a house in Boston, but I’m always traveling.” He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that is instantly familiar.

“How long are you going to be in town?” I ask.

“A week, but I’ll be taking some side trips up and down the coast.”

As we talk, I study him. From the cut of his hair, the quality of his clothes, and the healthy look about him, I’d peg him as a person with some wealth. It just shows on people.

As he relaxes into his second drink and into our conversation, there’s a growing ease about his movements. A self-assuredness that was never there before. And why is it that when men age, they look smarter, more handsome, and more interesting?

Apparently, he’s been studying me, too. “You look great, Christine. I really like your hair.”

“Thanks.”

“I’d say you haven’t changed a bit, but you have, and it looks good on you,” he says. His eyes are appraising me, and I have to busy myself with things behind the counter to keep from blushing.

“I’ll bet your mom would hate your hair,” he adds with a smile. “She never let you do what you wanted with it.”