SUMMER SWAP // Chapter 6

This trip got stranger and stranger, and the more things she saw like what she just saw, the more she was convinced there were things going on behind her and Arlo’s back. When she walked into the kitchen, Cody held a big carrot and Cheyenne was sucking on it. Byron was nowhere around. When Cheyenne saw her coming in, she jerked so badly she almost hit the roof. She bit the carrot and stepped back like nothing was happening. Only the way Chey did it told Lily something was definitely happening before she’d walked in. And given the oral nature of what she witnessed, it was obvious Cheyenne and Cody had something going. Cheyenne was cheating on Byron and Cody was cheating on Carla. It deflated her opinion of both of them.

Cheyenne was such a sweet girl. Lily would never have thought she would do something so terrible to Byron. And Cody and Carla were tight as a couple could be, at least she had thought so. Besides, Carla was such a flagrant vixen, such a sex-pot, how would Cody have the energy to seek something outside their marriage? Especially when Carla was right here on the yacht with him. Cody and Carla spent a lot of time apart because of their work, so if Cody got lonely, maybe he’d wander from their marriage when he was out in Texas or something—but not here with his insatiable wife an arm’s length away.

It meant one thing: this was all Cheyenne. Lily could understand that. That made sense. Cody was a sex-pot in his own right. Tall, muscular, funny, crazy ice-blue eyes, charming, wealthy. Poor guy was probably playing along with Cheyenne so she wouldn’t feel dejected. Look at her, sweet and innocent Cheyenne, standing naked in the kitchen, everyone else dressed. It was shameful. She felt sorry for her.

“Oh, good,” she said, cocking her head and appearing cheery, “the more the merrier.”

Cheyenne’s mouth pursed, lips slimming, tugging to one side in a guilty, restricted smile. She’d covered her nakedness.

Lily said now, “Cody, are there two jet-skis?”

“You bet,” he said, all smiles, getting some distance between him and the naked woman who wasn’t his wife. “Enough we could form our own hell-raising club. We could call ourselves the ‘Waterlemon Angels,’ zip up and down the beaches, harassing the tourists.”

“You mean like bikers?”

Cody shot a finger pistol at her and winked. “Exactly what I mean, Miss Lily.”

She laughed and said to Chey, “What do you think?”

Chey’s expression was less exuberant now. She said, “I think I need to get some clothes on.”

Lily said, “You’ll need clothes if we hit the shore. I don’t think there are any nudist shops on the Virgin Islands.”

Cody chuckled. “If there were, they’d probably have to change the name from the ‘Virgin’ Islands, you know what I’m saying?”

Lily said, “And who’d want to visit the ‘Hussy’ Islands, you know?”

The joke flopped. Cheyenne blushed. Lily said, “Oh, I didn’t mean you were like that. I just meant if the whole town was naked. I’m sorry, Chey.”

“No, I got it,” Chey said. “You guys don’t wait for me, I think I’m going to have a nap, anyway. The sun’s getting to me.”

“No, you should come along,” Cody said. “Go get a suit on.”

“Oh, no, no,” Chey said, backing away from them, sidestepping along the counter, covering up the parts that should already be covered. “It’s stupid taking two jet-skis. I . . . I need to find Byron, anyway. You guys go on and have fun, okay? Please?”

“If you insist,” Lily said.

***

The yellowfin was Australian, caught only days ago, cured in his own kitchen with a special mix of Caribbean sugar and French sea salt, then bagged and marinated in pomegranate juice and lime. He would definitely blow all his friends away with this one.

Carla said, “But what are we going to serve it with?”

He said, “What do you think of poached eggs and an aperol gel?”

Carla looked wowed. She said, “How do you come up with this stuff?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just have a passion.”

The two of them were working together in the outdoor grill area, under the cool blue shade of the expansive overhang of the deck above. The day beyond was beautiful and bright, and a perfect Caribbean breeze kept them cool.

Carla looked over her shoulder again. “You know, I was saying the other day to Cody how fucking proud I was of you. You really made it.”

“I don’t know about ‘made it,’ Carla. I’m still a sous chef.”

“Yeah, with Frankie fucking Schellenberger. And you’re only twenty-seven. Still? You say still? Man, I guess you don’t know it, but I name-drop the shit out of you.”

“You do not,” he said, chuckling.

“Of course I do.”

He admitted, “I might have name-dropped you and Cody once or twice.”

“Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, right, buddy?” Carla crinkled her nose and squinted her eyes, screwing her face up close to his in warm camaraderie, and then laughing before returning her attention to the side table where he had her slicing his homemade brioche into cubes they could toast into croutons.

A quiet sputter from behind them, way down on the water, got him turning away from soaking his banana leaves in aperol and more of the Caribbean sugar. He turned, flicking the wet from his fingers, grabbing the pockets of his apron to dry his hands as he sauntered toward the back of the deck. He went around the bubbling hot tub and put his hands on the railing.

A jet-ski had emerged from the yacht’s built-in boat garage, geared low and wandering as the driver made sure everything was working the way he wanted it to. Arlo chuckled and smiled. Lily had chickened out of driving her own jet-ski, preferring instead to ride on Cody’s jet-ski, sitting behind him, her long, blond hair spilling down her back and trailing sideways in the breeze. He was pleased to see she wore a life jacket.

He shouted, “Go, Lily!” She couldn’t hear him over the rumbling motor.

Now Carla sidled up next to him, saying, “What’s Lily doing— Oh, look at her. She’s going to have so much fun.”

“It’s so weird to see her on a jet-ski,” he said.

“It’s weird seeing city kids do anything but being surly and cynical in a trendy café. I love how Lily is up for an adventure, you know?”

“She’s been looking forward to this vacation. She needed it bad.”

“Sometimes we need it bad. Work been tough for her?”

“Nothing Lily can’t handle,” he said. Though that wasn’t entirely true. Her flower shop had just gone through an audit, and poor Lily had spent an entire month with hardly any quality sleep. That poor girl was sweet and clean as a whistle, and the agent wasted his time and Lily’s. It was great to see her put all that behind her, great to see an unnecessary burden completely lifted off her back.

Carla said, “I totally love her shop so much.”

“She appreciates your business,” Arlo said. Carla always ordered the works from Lily whenever a client moved into a residence she’d found for them. Lily went the extra mile, looking into Carla’s clients and figuring what would wow them most.

Carla smiled and shook her head, made a soft sound of appreciation as Cody and Lily giggled about something, and Lily batted Cody’s shoulder, straddling the wave-runner’s seat, snugged up right behind him. She said, “Lily never lets me down.”

Now they both watched as Cody completed all the instrument checking and made sure one more time Lily was ready to go. Lily nodded to Cody and put her arms around his middle, her chest pressed to Cody’s back. Cody throttled the jet-ski, and it took off quick, a brief yell of excitement from Lily fading as they shot away from the yacht with a white spraying rooster tail spraying a dozen feet up and behind the racy jet-ski.

He said, “Where are they headed?”

Carla walked back to their outdoor cooking space, and Arlo followed her. “I think Cody said they’d go to shore and poke around. He said Lily was up for it.”

“Yeah, she’d love to go walk around and check out the flora, I’m sure. Maybe go hiking.”

Carla laughed, swaying her hips, padding in bare feet to her worktable where she’d been cutting up the brioche. “They didn’t look dressed for hiking.”

“No, I guess not. She wouldn’t like chafed ankles with those water sandals she’s wearing.”

“Her poor tootsies,” Carla said. “They’ll have a coffee or something, ice cream, check out the shops.”

Arlo returned to his work area and got back to work. Carla finished cutting up the brioche and arranged it on a steel pan like he’d asked her to. She came to watch him work as he began preparing to smoke the yellowfin.

“What’s that?”

He held up the bright green leaf, dripping its marinade back into the stainless bowl filled with its leafy brethren. “These are banana leaves from Hawaii. I’m going to wrap the yellowfin with the leaves, then smoke it.”

Carla got closer, and his eyes darted on their own to the cleavage she’d accidentally exposed. Carla had perfect breasts, large without going too far, and wonderfully full in their shape. She’d pushed them together the way she’d put an elbow down on the worktable, leaning in close to see what he was doing. He tugged his eyes away, saying, “I soaked the banana leaves in some raw honey Lily and I bought upstate, and thinned it with some blended scotch. I add some sea salt to the fillet . . .” He sprinkled a few pinches of salt over the yellowfin with theatrical flourish for entertainment purposes, and Carla chuckled.

She said, “I totally love watching you work.”

“Maybe one day I’ll get my own show.”

“You’re too nice, Arlo. And I mean that in a good way. Too many of these celebrity chefs are so arrogant and pretend to be perfectionists just for the appearance of it.”

He smirked, laying out a criss-cross layer of banana leaves and laying the fillet over it. “You’re saying I’m not a perfectionist?”

“You are perfect,” she said softly. “Perfect in your own way.”

“You mean I’m not an asshole?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. I like how you’re quiet and dedicated to your craft. There’s nothing objectionable, just, I don’t know, like you said: passion.”

“Well, the good news, Carla, is I never want a cooking show.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She patted his back, then her hand remained and went in slow circles, her eyes on his hands as he worked. He wrapped the leaves around the yellowfin, then retrieved his rough twine, soaking in a bowl of water. “The water makes sure the twine won’t smoke. We want just the scotch and the honey and the banana leaves.”

“It’s like a Christmas present,” she said as he tied the tight bundle in a bow. Her hand left his back, and she rested her chin on her two palms, her hip jutting out. There was that cleavage again.

Carla said, “You have such graceful hands.”

As he lay out the leaves for the next bundle, she gripped his left hand and ran her thumb over the backs of his fingers. “Such long fingers.” She let her hands drag away from his, the pads of her fingers tracing across his skin.

He looked at her quizzically and she smiled, her eyes dazzling but still half-lidded and unperturbed, a sharp angle to her delicate eyebrows. “You have the hands of an artist,” she said. Then, almost to herself, she added in a soft sigh: “I’ve always liked artists. They’re always so good in bed.”

Arlo looked over his shoulder, beyond the hot tub and the railing, to the sea where he’d last seen his wife heading off with Carla’s husband. Her arms wrapped around Cody, heading to shore; Carla here with him, spending time helping him prepare a feast for tonight.

His eyes returned to Carla, who stared off dreamily to the side. Her breasts were squashed together, her head turned away, giving him the opportunity to ogle her most prominent physical asset. Inviting him to look. Her nipples had swelled slightly and pressed out against the fabric of her top.

Arlo smiled, getting back to work, tying another yellowfin bundle. He said, “Divide and conquer.”

Carla’s face turned up to his, all sweet, girlish innocence. “What’s that sweetie?”

He smiled again, wider, eyes turned down to his work. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re up to, Carla?”