CH 108
We trudge back to the surf shack as the sun dips lower on the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the beach. I’m carrying one of the rented boards while Wake shoulders the other, his easy gait contrasting with my jittery nerves.
When we reach the shack, I breathe a sigh of relief—there’s a different attendant manning the counter. Thank God. I don’t think I could stomach another round of being sized up like a clueless tourist by the guy who was here before. I didn’t need another opportunity to prove him right.
The new attendant, a woman with cropped hair and a vibrant hibiscus tattoo on her forearm, glances up as we approach. I give her my name and she nods, rummaging through a small closet before retrieving our luggage.
“Oh, before I forget,” she says, setting the bags on the counter. “Tyler said to remind you about the B&B he suggested.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “He did?”
“Yeah.” She leans an elbow on the counter, completely casual, like this sort of thing happens every day. “He said to tell you to follow the beach a little further, then take the trail through the trees. When you see a sign that says ‘Private Property,’ ignore it. Keep going until you reach a hut. Give the attendant there Tyler’s name.”
I exchange a glance with Wake, who, as usual, looks entirely unfazed. “Uh… thanks?” I manage, more question than gratitude.
The attendant shrugs, a smile playing on her lips. “No problem. Enjoy your stay.”
We grab our bags and head in the direction she pointed. As we walk, the beach thins into a rocky shoreline dotted with tide pools before giving way to a narrow dirt trail. The sound of waves follows us as we weave between dense trees, the air heavy with the scent of salt and something sweet—frangipani, maybe?
The air smells of salt and hibiscus as we follow the winding trail, my steps hesitant compared to Wake’s purposeful stride. The dirt path crunches beneath our feet, edged by ferns and the occasional gnarled tree root that juts out like a trap waiting to snare the unwary.
The path feels secluded, private in a way that makes my stomach churn with unease. The sun hangs low on the horizon now, its golden rays cutting through the dense greenery in slanted streaks of light. It would almost be beautiful if I weren’t so sure we’d gotten bad directions.
We reach the sign—the one that says Private Property in bold, no-nonsense lettering—and I freeze. “This can’t be right.”
Wake glances over his shoulder, unbothered as always. “It is where we were told to go.”
I gesture at the sign. “Wake, places like this don’t just let random strangers walk in. Look at it!” I wave my hand toward the sprawling bungalow ahead, perched on sturdy stilts over an inlet so clear you can see straight to the sandy bottom.
The structure gleams like something out of a glossy vacation brochure. Its modern design—dark wooden beams, massive windows, and a seamless blend of natural and contemporary elements—screams exclusivity.
The deck wraps around the entire building, lined with sleek lounge chairs and dotted with potted palms. A small dock extends into the inlet, complete with a ladder leading down to the water.
Wake barely spares it a glance before continuing forward. “We’ll know for sure if we take a look.”
“Wake,” I hiss, trying not to raise my voice in case someone’s watching. “This isn’t like sneaking into an abandoned shack. This is someone’s home!”
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. “Then they will tell us to leave.”
I groan, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. “Or call the cops,” I mutter, though I’m not sure he’s even listening. With no better options, I hurry after him, my sneakers kicking up little clouds of dust as I go.
The closer we get to the bungalow, the more my apprehension builds. It’s stunning up close, all polished wood and glass that reflects the warm hues of the sunset.
The sliding glass doors on one side are cracked open, and I can hear the faint hum of wind chimes and the gentle splash of water beneath the structure. A staircase leads up to the main deck, where plush chairs surround a low fire pit that looks like it hasn’t been lit in years.
Wake climbs the stairs like he owns the place, and I scramble after him, my heart pounding in my chest. “Seriously, Wake, we can’t just—”
“It’s clear,” he announces, cutting me off as he steps onto the deck. He sweeps his gaze over the bungalow like he’s searching for hidden traps. “No one is here.”
“Oh, great,” I snap, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “That makes me feel so much better.”
Before I can launch into a full rant about boundaries and breaking and entering, a shadow shifts in my peripheral vision. I turn, my breath catching in my throat as a man steps into view.
“Excuse me,” he says, his voice sharp and steady. “This is private property.”
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