It Takes Heart Page 3

  Chris’s intonation sent a spark through Brandon. No. His brother was not bringing this up now . . .

  Beatrice shook her head in a marked frown. “Kuya—”

  Chris held up a palm. “We need to talk about this.”

  At once, Brandon was brought back to their backyard games where he swore Chris had changed rules on the fly so that he always won.

  Somehow, what had been a neutral family moment flipped onto its head, and the vibe was deluged with thick tension.

  Chris continued, eyes solidly on Brandon. “We expect pure professionalism here. We have a mission to fulfill.”

  “Which I think unrealistic, by the way. Who are we to guarantee that we can fix a couple’s problems and give them a happily ever after?” Brandon countered. While he’d invested his requisite part of his inheritance into the resort out of obligation, the business had yet to grow on him. Who were they to dispense relationship advice? Four out of four of them had issues.

  Gil shot him a look—it said, Shut up; you’re on thin ice.

  Surprisingly, Chris seemed to perk, as if the challenge was just what he needed. “We’re not the ones fixing their problems, Bran. But we become part of the solution. Every feature of our couples programs was studied and researched. We set the stage and provide every means so couples have no choice but to interact intimately. From the tiny houses to their private meals and activities and therapies. They’re primed to address their issues, and they leave satisfied because they’ve achieved their version of happily ever after, together or not.”

  Chris was great at this, at this word scramble, probably from all the people he’d financially advised and the so-called important books he’d read. One would’ve thought that what also came of this was empathy. Instead he’d become more arrogant.

  Brandon frowned. “What constitutes a happily ever after but togetherness?”

  “Choice, Brandon. Choice. Choice sets the stage for a happily ever after. Because all of their misunderstandings, fights, and hard conversations will happen on this resort, and they will leave them here. From our data last year, about forty percent of our couples left the resort with the decision to divorce, but all with the true understanding that their divorce was for a reason. There are no years of wondering if they’d made the right decision. In short, their time here gives them closure. And most will agree that closure is the key to healing.”

  His brother broke out with a triumphant smile. And while Brandon wanted to rebut, since his role in this family was also the casual dissenter, it was all he could do to not reach across his back, to his tattoo. The remnant of his own lack of closure.

  “All that to say, since the goal is to get couples to deal with themselves, while you’re here, you’re to keep yourself away from clients.”

  There it went, the unequivocal undercut. It socked Brandon below the belt, and his inner self folded over in pain. He should have known by now not to come in with his heart wide open, not around Chris. “Really? Are we going there? That was two years ago.”

  “Not long enough. That woman you messed around with is now one of the biggest self-help influencers in the online media space and could potentially affect our reputation.”

  Brandon snorted. “Self-help, all right. She didn’t come to the resort to make up with her husband. She did it because of the prenup.”

  “And you threw yourself at her the moment she showed interest.”

  Brandon girded every part of himself so he wouldn’t scream. “I thought she was a staff member.”

  “Argh, Bran. She was dressed to go golfing.”

  “It’s not my fault the resort’s uniforms look like golfing outfits.”

  “Look—it was your judgment. Just keep your nose clean.” Chris advanced several steps toward Brandon.

  “You always assume I’m trying to make trouble.” Brandon stood, ready to defend himself for what he’d done and what he would need to do, even if he knew Chris was all bark and no bite.

  Beatrice and Gil moved to position themselves in between Chris and Brandon. It was the familiar family standoff with the two middle kids dividing and placating the bookends of the family, who had a habit of getting into it.

  “Bran?” A scream from the doorway cracked the veneer of Chris’s face.

  The room seemed to exhale. Brandon turned; Eden, Chris’s wife of four years, took long strides toward him, with Gil’s children—seven-year-old Izzy and five-year-old Kitty—at her heels, their squeals of laughter a fireproof blanket smothering the spark of conflict.

  Eden wrapped Brandon into a tight hug, squeezing his frustration away. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”

  “Not quite home,” he said just loud enough for her.

  Her eyes screamed in understanding. Eden was cut from the same cloth as Brandon. It was ingrained in their psyches to run toward the people they loved in their times of need. Eden was quite possibly his big brother’s only soft side. With a low voice she said, “You okay?”

  Brandon grunted a yes.

  He knelt and opened his arms to Izzy and Kitty, who stepped in and wrapped their arms around his neck. They smelled like sunscreen. “Goodness. You both aren’t so little anymore.”

  “Tito Bran, I missed you,” Izzy stated. “It’s been forever.”

  And just like that, the rest of his family faded away. Brandon’s entire body slumped. “I miss you, too, and I’m sorry. But you and your sister have me all to yourself when I’m not helping your dad out. No matter what.”

  “Really?” A smile appeared on Izzy’s lips. “We can go to the beach and skim the waves?”

  “And hurt every bone in my body? Sure.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes. Today. Well, after your Tito Chris gives me my bidding.”

  From above, Chris huffed.

  “Okay. We forgive you,” Izzy said.

  “I’m glad you know what the word forgiveness means. Unlike some people in the world.”

  Chris grunted and crossed his arms.

  Brandon sighed, audibly. “I won’t let you down, girls. Starting with . . .” Brandon trailed his voice off on purpose, to build suspense. Izzy was like him in every way. “There’s a black duffel next to the front door.” From his pocket, he fished out a key. “This is the key to the lock. There’s something right on top for you and Kitty.”

  Her eyes widened into saucers. After grabbing the key from his hand, she turned to her father for permission. “Papa?”

  Gil nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Izzy looped her fingers around Kitty’s, and they ran off, feet slapping against the hardwood floors.

  Brandon stood to Gil’s wide smile.

  “You’re going to spoil her,” Gil mused.

  “I couldn’t show up without getting her something. I can’t remain her favorite tito without a pasalubong.”

  “I think it’s so thoughtful,” Eden said, an eyebrow raised to Chris. “See? Gifts. Not exactly my love language but still very much appreciated.”

  “We’re still in our meeting,” Chris grumbled.

  Brandon pressed his lips together—how Eden had dealt with him the last four years, he had no idea.

  “Thanks for taking the girls, Ate E.,” Gil said.

  “You kidding me? I’d rather be out there having fun.” She rolled her eyes at her husband. To Brandon, she said, “We can take the golf cart across to the ocean side—be ready in an hour?”

  Brandon nodded. “I promised.”

  Eden wiggled a wave goodbye without extra acknowledgment to Chris and sauntered out the door.

  The room plunged back into ice. Brandon stuffed his hands in his pockets, mollified. If Eden couldn’t smooth the rough spots of his brother’s jagged personality, he didn’t have a chance.

  Then again, he wasn’t there for Chris’s approval, not technically. He was there for his other siblings and their consensus and would then head back on his way to Annapolis.

  “Do you have any more marching orders, Kuya Chris?” Br
andon asked. “I want to get unpacked, spend time with the girls. I can catch up later on tonight.”

  Chris shook his head. “No. That’s it.”

  “Great.” Brandon pointed at the door. “Then I’m out. I’ll need a key to my apartment.”

  “You’ll need to stay in the guest room. It’s down the hall to the left.”

  Another stab in the gut. They’d built Puso with four separate living areas in the two floors above them. “Why?”

  “We didn’t know you were coming. Your apartment is still full of storage.”

  So they’d furnished all the living areas but his?

  “I can help you unpack,” Gil offered with a sheepish smile.

  “Nah, I’m good,” Brandon said, now raring to leave this unforgiving limelight. He spun on his heel and stepped out without fanfare, from what he knew would be a continued discussion about him. Part of being in a big family meant that opinions ran amok, that opinions about him and his actions were a given. When Brandon had been a kid, he’d been bothered by opinions—so concerned with pleasing his siblings.

  These days, however, after all that had passed between them and the realization of the brevity of life, after he’d learned more about himself, it no longer bothered him. His siblings could talk about him all they wanted—the bottom line was that he was going to do what he thought was right. Nothing more and nothing less. He wasn’t going to try to make up for a lifetime of misunderstandings—because no one should have to do that.

  Not even Brandon.

  Besides, he had a date with his nieces.

  But as he walked out of the office, his phone rang in his pocket. He spied at the caller: Garrett Carter, his business partner up north.

  He let the call go to voice mail. He could only deal with one problem at a time.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Day 2

  Weather: partly cloudy, 88°F

  It had been years since Geneva Harris had lived on the coast. And despite the ungodly time of 9:00 a.m., the Heart Resort’s shore called to her.

  “Nita to Geneva,” the woman on her laptop said. “Yoo-hoo!”

  Geneva tore her gaze away from the water view through the long and narrow window to the woman on her laptop screen. Nita Graves, her friend and remote freelance executive assistant from her side of the world in San Diego, California, leveled a no-nonsense expression at her. Though there was a barely pink sky through the open window behind her, at 6:00 a.m., Nita was effortlessly professional, in a pink blouse that complemented her dark skin, wearing makeup that added the right glow, and without a dark hair out of place.

  Out of instinct, Geneva tugged on the collar of her shirt so she looked somewhat decent. She was, after all, the CEO of Harris Interiors. And yet, through her image on the chat window, it was clear her neckline was skewed permanently and the bun on her head was beyond fixing.

  Perhaps she had been a little ambitious setting their meeting so early in the morning. Geneva had literally rolled out of the short platform bed hoisted up in the tiny beach house loft and was sitting cross-legged in front of her laptop, which was propped on a stool. Not quite professional. And though she’d slept like a rock the last twenty-four hours since her arrival on Heart Resort, in contrast to the months spent working late into the night, jet lag had nabbed her attention and energy. Geneva had pressed snooze one too many times, almost missing this meeting with Nita altogether.

  Note to self: change morning meeting times.

  “Can we perhaps discuss hiring a social media person?” Nita asked.

  “This feels like a reprise of a request you made last week.”

  “Or, are you willing to take on this endeavor?” she said without missing a beat.

  “Uh . . . no. Anyway, isn’t this why I hired you?” Geneva peered at her friend playfully.

  “I am your assistant for all of your administrative tasks between your clients and vendors. Social media is not my expertise, but even I can tell when it’s not getting the right engagement. Besides, I can’t take your pictures for you. You’re the one on site. Like right now, you could take a random pic, upload, and voilà.”

  “Me, take pictures? Do phones even do that?” Denial. This was what Geneva was going for this morning. Just until she had her first cup of coffee. She reached above the laptop and tugged on the blinds pull so she could capture the full expanse of her view. With a soft nudge, she opened the window, and the warm air filtered through. Her lungs reveled in its comfort.

  Luna, her rescue tabby, who had been asleep next to the stool, leapt onto the bed, away from the sunlight. Apparently she needed her first cup of coffee also. “Nita, I’m blissfully solo and beachside, and this is supposed to be vacation.”

  “A working vacation.” Nita sighed. She linked her hands together in patient silence.

  Geneva frowned. “Fine, you want serious Geneva.”

  She nodded. “I know she’s in there.”

  That’s the problem. Geneva, back to seated, scrolled through Harris Interiors’ Instagram feed. “Everything looks fine.”

  “No, it’s not. Very few likes, many with zero comments. It makes no sense that your business, which is based on design, aesthetic, and decor, doesn’t have a gallery that’s up to date.”

  Ugh. She was right. “Grr.”

  “Did you just growl?” Nita snickered. “I have never heard you growl in our two years together. First the pajamas and then the growling. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I just—” Geneva halted, because she didn’t know what she wanted to say. She, technically, had nothing to complain about but a little jet lag, and possibly some social media remediation. “You’re absolutely right. This feed is terrible. Can you canvass job boards to get some interviews lined up?”

  “Happy to.” Nita hummed as she scribbled on a notebook. “Next order of business. Helena’s B and B.”

  She straightened and switched her phone for her iPad. “Now that—let me hear more of that. Are they ready to beautify?”

  While Nita explained the details of the email, including some last-minute questions the proprietor had, Geneva pulled up her proposal. With a smile, she flipped through the designs she’d drawn up. Located in Charleston, South Carolina, Helena’s B and B boasted a French colonial exterior, with a meticulously decorated interior that exuded cozy and shabby chic. Now under new management, they wanted a complete do-over with clean lines, color-blocked rooms, and absolutely no hint of lace or distressed wood. In the two-week break between Sedona, her previous job, and Heart Resort, Geneva had traveled to Charleston to meet the proprietor, tour the space, and make some initial plans.

  “Oh, and they wanted to mention that you were referred by Beach Art.”

  Geneva’s insides lit with pride. Beach Art was an art gallery in Austin, Texas, that had soon outgrown its space and had hired Geneva for a renovation consult and rebranding in 2019. The proprietor had been a tough client. She’d questioned every detail of Geneva’s design as well as her minimalist philosophy that the less clutter, the more value placed by customers.

  In the end, Geneva had prevailed.

  There wasn’t anything more valuable than word of mouth to a freelance mobile entrepreneur, and word of mouth, these days, transcended geographical boundaries. The design consulting projects she’d undertaken the last few years weren’t splashy, but they were, in her opinion, quality work, and her clients raved about her in their professional circles. Their recommendations were what kept Geneva financially afloat, and she took every opportunity she could. It allowed her to make decisions like heading to Heart Resort as a favor for her dear friend Beatrice.

  Geneva was exhausted, but she was accomplishing everything she sought to do.

  “And they’re all right with me starting in three weeks?” Geneva had moved on to her calendar on her iPad, spying at the seductively free hours of these next thirteen days. While being at the resort entailed work, she would have time for play. She’d done the lion’s share of her list before arriving: orde
ring the furniture and decor, directing which homes needed their interior walls painted or wallpapered. Her job was to simply oversee that everything was installed and ready for its clients.

  “Three weeks is perfect for them.”

  “Great. I—” The sound of something crashing interrupted Geneva midsentence.

  On the screen, Nita frowned. “What was that? I heard it all the way from here.”

  A clanging noise followed. Luna jumped from the bed and hovered around the edge of the loft. Geneva’s first instinct was to jump up and grab her cat—Luna had expended well more than her allocated nine lives—but she beat her to it, finding purchase on the empty floating shelves on the wall, and then moving down to a bookshelf.

  “Whoa, what’s going on?” Nita’s eyes widened.

  “I have no idea. Let me call you back.”

  “Oh, I’m not going to let you go until you confirm that you’re safe.”

  Geneva smiled, and out of nowhere, her heart squeezed with emotion. She had been a nomad for several years, and what came with that, sometimes, was the lack of deep connections. Sure, she had her best friend, Beatrice, her parents, and Nita, but she buried herself with work, keeping many relationships at the superficial level.

  Luna meowed as if reading her thoughts. Her tail whipped an objection.

  “Human relationships,” she said to the cat. “You’re different.”

  “What?” Nita asked.

  “Nothing! Anyway, you can’t save me from all the way over there, Nita.”

  A thought occurred. Was there full-time security on the resort? When Beatrice had rung her up with a request for her to update the interior of the beach houses and a couple of the resort’s commercial spaces in exchange for a two-week beach vacation, she hadn’t bothered to ask about any logistics. Geneva had been due for a change of scenery; work was wearing her down.

  The sound of something being walloped echoed through the tiny house, launching Geneva to her knees. The ceiling was inches from her head. She grabbed her phone. “I’m going to check it out.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right here,” Nita said.