The dirty blonde from the beach stood before me in a navy halter top and short jean cut-offs and flip-flops. I recognized her instantly. A different pair of short jean cut-offs hugged her curves today.
A smattering of freckles below golden brown eyes captured my attention. Bright, full of life and spirit. She smiled, exposing straight, pearl white teeth, offset by tan, smooth skin. Her honeyed blonde highlights glinted in the sun.
I propped my foot against the door to keep it open and waited, half-expecting her to offer me Girl Scout cookies or to join the conservancy up the street.
“Hi.” She rocked back on her heels and brushed the loose, golden strands out of her eyes. “I’m Luna. We met on the beach? Alice said you might need some help with renovations, and I came by to see if I could help. I stopped by with a friend of mine last night, but you weren’t home. I left you a note. Did you get it?”
I shook my head.
“I told Poppy I didn’t think it would stay. Not in the wind. I slipped it under your doormat. Oh, here it is. It did stay.” She bent down, and her hair fell forward, the tips brushing the wood on my front porch. “So, here it is. My note.” She held out the piece of paper.
I stared at the sandy, ripped piece of notebook paper, then at her.
“We wanted to see if you wanted to have a glass of wine. You know, to welcome you to the island.”
“You’re old enough to drink?”
She laughed. “Yeah. I’m almost twenty-three. I’m a junior scientist at the conservancy. I work for Dr. Wilton. He’s the senior scientist at the center. I’m currently pursuing my master’s in marine biology. I’ll spend one year here overseeing the sea turtle program and assisting on coastal science research, then I’ll return to university to complete my program.”
“My undergrad degree is in marine biology.” I leaned against the doorframe.
“Really? That’s so cool.” She bounced on her feet.
It registered that I was blocking the entrance to my cottage with my body and that it might be polite to invite her in. I closed the door behind me and stepped forward onto the front porch.
“Where’d you go to school?”
“Brown.” Her light brown eyes widened. Emphasizing our fifteen-year age difference, I added, “A long time ago.”
“Oh. I’m at the University of Florida. This is technically a one-year internship for me.” She lifted her shoulders and slipped the tips of her long, tan fingers into her jean pockets.
“Good school,” I offered. For marine biology, it was. Brown used to be the best, but they discontinued the program.
“So, do you currently do work with your degree? Or do you do something now that’s totally unrelated?”
I wiped my palm over my mouth to cover the smirk I couldn’t hold back. So many thoughts about that damn degree and my life choices rose in response to that question. “Ten years in Asia. Many roles. Not all related to marine biology. Now, I’m in between jobs.” And that was all she’d get out of me. She didn’t need to know more.
“That’s so cool,” she shrieked. She had the self-awareness to realize she’d been overly exuberant and bowed her head. She stepped back, closer to the porch step. “I volunteered for Greenpeace. All four years of undergrad. I’m currently torn between coastal biology or research on reefs.”
“Are you on the PhD path?” I stared off across the swaying grasses on the dunes, cursing myself for engaging in conversation.
“I’m not sure. Undecided. Did you—”
“No.”
“It’s expensive. But I love the work. And the classes. Especially with professors who have worked in the field, you know?”
I nodded.
“I’d love to talk to you more about your experiences sometime. You might even have some ideas for the conservancy.”
“I’m pretty busy these days. If I get some time later, maybe.” I rested my hand on the porch rail, preparing to back into my grandmother’s home.
“Oh, yes. Your renovations. What all are you doing? I’ve spent the last two summers on the island as an intern at the conservancy. This summer makes my third here. But now, I’ll be living here the full year. What about you? Are you staying?”
“Unsure.” I held the screen door handle, attempting to signal an end to the conversation.
“What do you mean?” she asked, upbeat and bright, oblivious to my brush off.
“I’m going to fix up the cottage. Then decide.”
She pushed past me and walked into the foul-smelling unit, talking as she stepped inside. I stood there a moment, watching her shapely ass sway. Stunned.
“Oh, you’re replacing the floorboards. That’s such a smart thing to do. Do you know what you’re going to replace them with?”
“Hadn’t decided.” I let the screen door slam closed behind me. “Figured I’d go with whatever they had at the hardware store.” Last time I’d been here, there was one hardware store on the island. I didn’t expect that had changed.
“Oh. You should do manufactured wood. It’s waterproof. And environmentally friendly. Do you have a design planned? Because if not, we had a house that ordered flooring then changed their mind. They had to buy it, but I’d bet Mr. Baird would sell it to you at a huge discount. The people already had to pay for it. They’re like those kinds of owners with crazy money who don’t mind throwing away a bit here and there. She changed her mind, and it was like…” She snapped her fingers in the air to finish her sentence. She glided farther in, past the kitchen and into the demolished living area.
“If you redo this place correctly, you can literally increase the value so much. That’s what Mr. Baird does. He buys the run-down places that are selling for the price of the land, then guts them. New floors, new cabinets, counters. We’ve been doing shiplap on the walls, which is super easy to do, and
