Water the Chances - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 112

ily available on the island. Several businesses, including Jack's Coffee House and Bar , had
shelves full of dog-eared books for sale, mostly benefiting the local humane society.
By picking up three or four books each time we went in for a coffee or sandwich, I
quickly built up our library, which soon comprised dozens of books ranging from classics
to mysteries and a smattering of chick-lit.
We were ready!
☼ ☼ ☼
Our last night on the island was festive.
We lit candles, put on some sexy music and cracked open a decent bottle of wine we'd
stumbled on at Superdescuentos Morales , the island's sole “supermarket.”
Michael threw some steaks on the grill. I steamed broccoli and made a salad with some
lettuce and blue cheese we'd picked up at the market, along with a bag of walnuts we'd
bought in the airport on our way down.
After dinner we grabbed our wine glasses and wandered through the house, half-in-
specting, half-just-enjoying.
“Ever think about the first time we walked in this place?” I asked.
“All the time. That's why I haven't slept a wink in eighteen months.”
I nodded.
“It was grim.”
“Gruesome.”
“And yet…”
“And yet we saw its potential.”
“Or…” I said, taking a swig of wine, “we went stark raving mad at precisely the same
moment.”
“Sounds more likely.”
We stripped the bed the next morning and piled the sheets on the bathroom floor along
with our dirty towels. We set out scented candles and laid placemats and cloth napkins on
the dining room table. We scoured the kitchen and swept the floors.
We took a last walk through the house.
“It looks perfect,” I cooed.
☼ ☼ ☼
Two days later the message light was flashing on my phone when I arrived at my office. It
was Jane.
“Call me as soon as you can,” the message said, her voice uncharacteristically tense.
I dialed her number with a sense of dread.
“Is everything okay?”
“Well,” she said, laughing nervously. “Not so much.”