The Guy Next Door - By Lori Foster, S Donovan, V Dahl Page 0,51

a few nights of pleasure. Jesse shook his head. Never again would he do something so profoundly stupid. If he wanted to remain sane and solvent, Renter Chicks would be forever off-limits—no matter how pretty they were. No matter how sweet and real they seemed.

Jesse returned to the cool shade of his own little private oasis and locked the gate behind him. He couldn’t help but smile. Yes, the steady stream of tourists was part of life in Key West, but it was worth it. He got to call the most unique city in the United States his home.

Though he’d been in the cottage for two years now, it still gave him a rush of pride every time he stood here, on the walkway, looking up at the original Batista homestead. He’d put a huge chunk of money into the place and poured his heart and soul into returning it to its original beauty, and now it suited him perfectly.

Of course, he hadn’t always been thrilled with the prospect of owning the place. When grandmother Ella left it to him five years before, he felt put-upon. He didn’t want the hassle or the responsibility. Just because he was a well-known author didn’t mean he was filthy rich, and it was obvious that restoring the dilapidated house and grounds would be an enormous undertaking.

But the cottage was his family legacy, and if he didn’t take it on, who would? His brother who lived on a ranch in Wyoming? His brother’s chronically broke ex-wife, Lelinda, who hustled a living off the tourists? His unemployed cousins in Miami?

So Jesse set out to save what he could—the bathroom’s original vintage tile and claw-foot tub, some of the exterior clapboard and all the Dade County pine flooring, the rosewood fireplace mantel, the carved front door and the ornate wrought iron from the upstairs back veranda. Everything else was gutted and rebuilt, and as soon as work was completed, he sold his condo.

Though the Queen Anne cottage was now a historic landmark and part of most of the city’s architectural walking tours, to Jesse it was simply home. It was where he let his imagination run free, where he slept with the windows open to the sea breeze whispering in the banyan tree and where he wrote. It was his retreat. His heart. The cottage was his place in the world.

Jesse went to the side of the house to ditch the trash and recyclables and check on a hurricane shutter that was coming off its hinges, making a mental note of what tools he’d need to repair it. He went back around to the front and climbed the porch steps, opening the door to a view of gleaming floors and an elegant center staircase. It never ceased to amaze him that his great-great-grandparents came from Cuba with nothing, yet within a generation the Batistas had become one of the most influential families in the Southern Keys.

And to think—Jesse was the last local descendant of the original clan. He was the proverbial end of the road.

The phone in his pants pocket began to ring. It was Fred Luna’s number on the caller ID. Jesse knew what this meant, and his heart sank in sadness—Fred’s wife, Yvette, was probably back in the hospital and he needed Jesse to captain the boat. Of course he’d do it. Spending an evening as “Captain J.D.” on the sunset cruise was the least he could do for his lifelong friend. As a bonus, a night in the company of drunken tourists almost always gave him an idea for a future fictional character. Between the occasional captain gig on Fred’s party boat and helping Lelinda with her walking tours—one of which, unfortunately, he’d long ago promised to do first thing tomorrow morning—Jesse was never hurting for inspiration.

“No problem, man. Of course I will,” he told Fred. I’ll be at the dock at four. Give Yvette my love, and let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

HOLLY HAD DECIDED SHE’D make the best of it. It wasn’t as if she had much of a choice. The way her mom had put it, it was either spring break in Key West, with her coming along as chaperone, or spring break in Beaverdale, also with her as chaperone. Duh! Holly and Hannah talked about it and decided they could work with that first option.

A guy they knew in Honors Biology knew a guy at the college who could get fake Pennsylvania IDs custom made