Free Taken by Kelli Maine Page A

your assistant, on the phone. I know her name because I’ve been listening to half of your conversation. The first half I tried to give you privacy by lurking in the entryway while you made our coffee, but you came out and retrieved me, asking me if we should start on clearing the island and get a crew here.
    “Yes, bring those too, please” you continue. Then your face lightens at what she’s said and you smile, looking down into your mug. “You know me too well.”
    A pang of suspicion streaks through me, and I wonder about your relationship with Joan. But it’s stupid of me—you and I are…I’m not sure what we are, but whatever it is, I have no reason to be jealous of anyone. I definitely hold no claim to you, nor do I want to.
    You hang up and tap the phone on the counter. “Have you thought about landscaping? Should we pave trails for walking and biking around the island?”
    I place my hand over your phone, silencing your tap-tap-tapping. “You do realize you sprung this on me, right? I haven’t exactly thought it all through.”
    Narrowing your eyes, you lean forward over the counter. “I might not know everything about you, Rachael DeSalvo, but I know you put a lot of thought into this renovation. Are you telling me you don’t have anything at all in mind?”
    I sip my coffee, lick my lips and take a deep breath readying myself to let my vision loose. “Fine. A man-made grotto on the west side with a waterfall and a swim-up bar. Private cabanas. Exotic gardens south of the cloistered courtyard with hidden niches, oversized outdoor furniture, and soft, overstuffed cushions.” Your eyes shine with intensity listening to my plan. “Places to get lost in. Places to fall in love.” My eyes drop from yours. You kiss your finger and place it against my lips.
    “Validation,” you say. “You belong here, don’t you?”
    I glance back up to your eyes and can’t suppress my smile of agreement. “Yes.”
    Your face is luminous. “Do you forgive me for the way you ended up here?”
    The way I got here is a dark black spot in my conscience that won’t fade. I can only look into your eyes and not speak. My lips don’t hold the answer you want to hear.
    Your lips press tight and you lightly pound your fist onto the counter. “We’ll work on it. Come on. We have trees to climb.”
    “Trees to climb?” I follow along behind you out the hulking, heavy hacienda door to the front of the hotel.
    “Whoa,” I whisper, shading my eyes with my hand. For as far as I can see, there are lines of trees weighed down with ripe fruit. Oranges, limes, mangos, figs—more fruit that I can see from where I stand. “The famed orchards of Turtle Tear.”
    “Where the key limes grow for the infamous key lime pie of Turtle Tear Hotel.” You pick up two baskets sitting beside the front door. By the dried dirt and petals inside, I think they held flowers at one time. “Let’s go pick some so I can make it for you.”
    “You have the recipe?” I take a basket from you, and we walk down the gentle drop of the two front stairs.
    “I hope. I took a lot of cookbooks out of the kitchen and stacked them upstairs so they don’t get lost. We can go through them this afternoon if you want.”
    “I don’t have any other plans I’m aware of.” I nudge you with my elbow.
    “I can think of something, I’m sure.” You nudge me back.
    You pick up a stick and hack some of the tall grass out of our way, and we duck under the limbs of trees baring ripe, swollen fruit ready to drop onto the ground and burst open.
    “I think these are key limes,” you say, reaching up to pluck one off a branch. “Their rinds are lighter colored than regular limes, I believe.”
    “You’re the Florida native,” I say, holding up the basket for you. “Limes don’t grow in Cleveland.”
    You glance down at me and frown. “I’m not a Florida native. Why did you think that?”
    I scroll through my mind trying to recall when you’d told me you