“Did Dunk keep his shorts on?”

“I have no idea, Cash. I didn’t check to see what Dunk was doing. I promise you, the massage wasn’t a big deal.”

“But me in a selfie with Gretchen Gingerman was?” Cash says. “Why don’t you explain what the dynamic between you and Dunk has been?”

“It’s been…better than I expected, I guess. At first, he was a little over the top with his hokey Australian shtick—Crikey! Good on ya! Bob’s your uncle!—but he’s toned that down and I have to admit, I’m impressed by how informed he is. He did his research on these islands before we got down here—the history, the culture, the industry, the hidden treasures. So, for example, today we had the resort pack us a picnic and we hiked into the rain forest to see this fifty-foot waterfall in the middle of a natural garden. It was like something out of a fairy tale.”

Cash clears his throat. Does she realize what she sounds like? She “worked on” Dunk and got him eating the chilled champagne mangoes and the conch tacos; he adjusted Tilda’s chaise; they had a couples massage (no big deal!); they hiked with a picnic to the fairy-tale waterfall. Cash can, maybe, accept all that (no, not the massages, sorry), but what about the things Tilda isn’t telling him? Has Dunk touched her? Reached for her hand? Kissed her good night? Rubbed sunscreen into her back? Held her in the water? Played footsie under the table? Has Dunk told Tilda he had a dream about her? Have they had heart-to-heart conversations? Has Tilda talked about Cash, and, if so, what has she said?

“They have live music at all meals,” Tilda says. “A classical piano player at breakfast, a jazz combo at lunch, a guitar player who sounds exactly like Zac Brown at dinner. The Zac Brown guy is named Ezra, we sort of befriended him and he took us to this local bar in Gros Islet tonight where they had real reggae music, not just warmed-over Bob Marley, and we danced. That’s why I’m home so late. I told Dunk I wanted our resort to have live music at every meal but I didn’t think we could afford it and Dunk said we have carte blanche and everything is possible.” She sighs. “Tomorrow we go to Eden by private seaplane.”

“Private seaplane?” Cash says. “I thought it was commercial to St. Vincent and then a prop plane.”

“Dunk arranged for a private seaplane,” Tilda says. “We save half a day that way.”

Cash has heard enough. The signs are all right in front of him: Tilda and Dunk are a “we” now. If they haven’t slept together yet, they will on Eden when they’re sharing a villa. This thought—that it hasn’t happened yet but will imminently—is gut-wrenching.

“You haven’t asked about me or things here, but you should know that I won’t be living at your parents’ when you get back.”

“Wait,” she says. “How come? Did you find a place, or—”

“No.”

“Did…oh, jeez, did Granger say something about you going into his study?”

Cash feels a hot flush creep up his neck. Granger knows Cash was in his study? He told Tilda? Cash is being monitored, his every move watched and questioned, while Tilda is free to do as she damn well pleases! Couples massage! It was a misunderstanding! Too awkward to fix!

“Listen, Tilda,” Cash says. “Staying here isn’t working out for me. Enjoy the rest of your trip. I’ll see you around.”

He hangs up and feels extremely proud of himself—for approximately sixty seconds.

His phone pings with a text from Tilda: Are you breaking up with me, then?

No! he thinks. I want you to come home. I want to wake up tomorrow and have things back to the way they were before Duncan Huntley walked into Extra Virgin and ordered his pretentious Australian wine.

Yes, Cash types. Sorry. His finger hovers over the Send button.

Picnic at a waterfall, like something out of a fairy tale?

He squeezes his eyes shut and presses Send, and the swoosh sound marks the end of his relationship with Tilda Payne.

Tilda called to accuse him of drooling over a social media influencer? That wasn’t jealousy, he sees now. That was a manifestation of her own guilty conscience! Cash was the one who did the right thing; he stayed on St. John to work so that he didn’t leave Treasure Island in the lurch. Why is he getting kicked in the balls?

Dunk arranged for a seaplane? Bah! What Tilda means is that Dunk is rich and ordered a seaplane as a flex, whereas Cash swabs the deck and doesn’t know the meaning of the word obsequious.

First thing in the morning, Cash calls Baker.

“Does your new place have a sofa?” Cash asks. “Because I need to crash with you for a while. This thing with Tilda blew up.”

“It has two sofas,” Baker says. “Which is a good thing, because one sofa is already taken.”

“What?” Cash says. “By whom?”

“Our mother,” Baker says.

St. John

The Gifft Hill mothers among us are the first to notice the black Jeep with the tinted windows. It drives slowly past the school at drop-off one morning, then the next. None of us have ever seen it before, but for a second we think maybe it belongs to Janine Whittaker. She and her husband own the Beach Bum Car Rental company and it feels like she gets a new Jeep every week.

The Gifft Hill School mothers who are romantically available—Swan Seeley (divorcing), Bonny Kizer (divorced for years), and Paula Morrow (open marriage)—have taken to loitering in the school parking lot, pretending to share parenting woes while they wait for Baker Steele to drop off his son, Floyd. Swan is a natural flirt so she always finds a way to engage Baker in conversation, and Paula Morrow is a pleaser, a flatterer, and touchy-feely—on those occasions when Baker climbs out of his Jeep to chat, she squeezes his biceps and compliments his legs. We can all agree: Baker Steele has very fine legs. Bonny Kizer inevitably mentions that she is the only one of the three who is technically free. Swan and her husband, Brent, are in the throes of a nasty custodial and financial battle (Swan has family money and Brent has a gambling problem), and Paula Morrow has a husband who lives with her on Pocket Money Road (although he travels to the States for work and they have an “arrangement”).

Swan, Bonny, and Paula are all standing in the school parking lot on the day that the bluebird Jeep pulls in and it’s not Baker driving but rather some other man—cute, with blond surfer hair.

When Floyd gets out of the car he fist-bumps this man and says, “See ya later, Uncle Cash.”

“That must be Baker’s brother,” Paula says.

“Maybe he has two brothers,” Bonny says.

“I’ve seen that guy before,” Swan says, and Bonny and Paula mentally roll their eyes. Swan has an acute case of Been There, Done That. “He goes out with Tilda Payne from La Tapa.”

“I don’t think so,” Paula says. “Mark and I were out to dinner at the Terrace over the weekend and we saw Tilda there eating with someone else. Mark said it was that Australian guy, Duncan Huntley, who just bought Lovango Cay.”

“Is that guy single?” Swan says. “I could use a boyfriend with money.”

The three of them watch Floyd’s uncle Cash back out of the parking lot. He notices them and waves—he’s friendly!—but then Julie Judge pulls into the lot in her falling-apart RAV4 with the duct-taped soft top to let Joanie out, and the three women disperse. “Judgy Julie” is a marine biologist and a vegan and a stick-in-the-mud. She wouldn’t approve of them checking out Baker Steele or his cute brother.