to talk about it. I just need to breathe and think and hide.”
Tessa snorted. “Which, knowing you, will make you batshit crazy in two days.”
Jocelyn smiled at her, not denying the truth of that. But every single client had put her on hold—or fired her last week. “Anything for me to do at Casa Blanca?”
“The resort’s barely built,” Lacey said. “So unless you’re handy with a hammer, you’re going to have to work in the food gardens with Tess.”
She held up her thumb. “Totally brown. Unless your plants need life management.”
“You know, Joss,” Lacey said. “I’ve been doing all this research on high-end resorts and some of the best ones offer life coaching to their clients. Do you think you could help me figure out how I can incorporate that into my menu of services?”
“I’d love to.” She leaned forward and put a hand on Lacey’s shoulders. “By the way, marriage really suits you, girl. You are quite literally glowing.”
She laughed. “That’s because when Clay kicks me out of the construction trailer, I get to ‘research’ spas and their treatments. Doesn’t suck.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Tessa said. “She’s madly in love and it shows.”
Lacey grinned. “He’s awesome, as you guys know. How can I ever thank you all enough for talking me into the hot young architect?”
“Like we had to do a lot of convincing,” Zoe said with a laugh.
All the way over the causeway and up to Barefoot Bay, they chattered about Lacey’s first year of happy marriage, her challenges with a teenage daughter, and the resort they’d all invested in financially and emotionally.
For the first time in over a week, Jocelyn felt certain this trip had been a very good idea. Even when they passed Center Street and she glanced to the south and memories threatened, she ignored them.
There would be absolutely no reason to see her father while she was here, none at all. So she didn’t bother to bring him up and, being the friends they were, neither did the girls.
How long would that last?
Chapter Three
Something was different at Casa Blanca. Will could practically smell a change in the salty air of Barefoot Bay the minute he climbed out of his truck in front of the resort’s construction trailer. The Gulf of Mexico was dead calm, the water a deep cobalt blue as the sun made its first appearance over the foliage along the eastern border of the resort’s property line. The construction parking lot was empty, of course, and the structures stood silent in various degrees of completion.
Still, the air pressed, heavy with change. Funny how he could sense that. Like when the wind would pick up in the outfield, a signal that the game’s momentum was about to shift.
Scanning the main building, he noticed a few additions since he’d last been to the job site. Clay and Lacey Walker ran a tight schedule, determined to get Mimosa Key’s first exclusive resort up and running within the year, so it was no surprise that the subs had been hard at work on Friday while he’d driven to Tampa to pick up the flooring for one of the villas.
There were definitely more roof tiles on the main structure, the creamy barrels adding to the many textures of Clay’s Moroccan-inspired architecture. And the window contractor had been busy, too, having left at least a dozen giant sheets of plate glass propped along the side and front of the curved entry, ready to be installed when the roof was completed.
But the main building of Casa Blanca was of no real interest to Will. His work centered on the six private villas the resort’s most well-heeled guests would rent. He’d spent the better part of the last year building those smaller structures, including all of the finishing carpentry in Rockrose, the first completed villa at the north end of the main path.
He peered through the palm fronds and elephant-ear leaves that had grown lush since a hurricane stripped the trees over a year ago. He studied the unpaved road that led to the villas. Deep, fresh wheel grooves cut through the dew-dampened dirt. Had someone driven up there on a Sunday?
Even if there had been a sub here on a Sunday—which was really unlikely—the construction crew was primarily focused on Bay Laurel, the villa closest to where he stood now and the destination of the African wood flooring he’d loaded in his truck.
Why would someone drive up the path? Lacey and Clay’s new house stood at the very far