Page 3 of Hibiscus Heights

Young as they were, every guest was a VIP at the Majestic.

Something about them seemed vaguely familiar. Probably because they reminded her of her nephews. They looked about eight and twelve years old.

Wearing a vivid coral jacket today, Whitley approached their table with his usual impeccable bearing. He took Ella’s hand in greeting. “Ladies, I trust everything meets with your approval today?”

Deb smiled at his formality, but that was Whitley. He’d upheld traditions at the Majestic for decades. “We’re having a wonderful time. Except for these two matchmakers.”

Ella lowered her voice. “Have any interesting men checked into the hotel?”

Whitley smiled at her. “You know I can’t divulge that, my sweet.”

“Maybe not in public,” April said, lowering her voice.

Deb laughed. “You two are incorrigible. Really, that’s enough. I can take care of myself.”

And she had for many years. From an early age, she’d learned not to count on others, especially men.

“We haven’t much time before the grand reopening party,” Ella said with a pointed look.

While she and April talked about the event and what they planned to wear, an unbidden memory flashed to mind. Deb recalled waiting under the Majestic’s porte-cochère entrance at the top of the wide front steps, wearing an ocean-blue organza dress she’d saved for from her summer job.

Her first serious boyfriend was one of the summer boys. Every year, their wealthy families descended on Crown Island like exotic birds on a migratory path, soaring higher than the locals.

Except that summer, she’d been soaring high, too. They’d met when she was chosen to be the Crown Island Princess in the annual island parade, and he was there with his friends. At the party later, he took her hand to dance and never let go. They were virtually inseparable all summer.

You can count on me, he often told her, and she lost her heart to him, imagining the future they would share.

But then, on the night of the summer’s last dance party, he vanished. Swept up in the migration home without so much as a goodbye.

She’d waited hours in her new dress by the entrance, sure that he would come. Finally, she’d given up.

Embarrassed to go to the party alone and feeling broken-hearted, she raced to April’s home to confide in her. Thankfully, her friend listened and held her, never judging her for the mistake of falling in love. After sobbing all night, Deb ripped off her new dress and never wore it again.

From then on, she decided who to date and when to call it off with her dignity intact. Being left behind was far too painful.

April’s breakup had reminded her of that. If she had been the one to leave Calvin, her confidence wouldn’t have been shattered.

April tried to make her marriage work for the sake of her daughters, which Deb respected. Good friends didn’t judge. Good friends were there to listen and hold you when your world fell apart.

As April had once done for her. Deb helped her recover after Calvin filed for divorce, but April could have been spared much of the trauma and heartache if she’d left her husband on her terms.

Whitley turned to Deb, pulling her from her thoughts. “Before I forget, another editor called. She asked if she could send her best writer to interview you and Ryan before the big event.” Whitley named a popular travel columnist they all recognized.

“See, you’re famous now,” Ella said with a wink. “I wonder what he’s like. Maybe you’ll swipe on him.”

When Whitley looked confused, Deb explained. “Your sweetheart just heard about a dating app. These two are trying to set me up.”

Whitley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I doubt you need any help.”

“Only with an escape route,” she said, grinning. Whitley knew how to read people, so they had formed an understanding and a special signal over the years. “You’re always good for an urgent call for me at the front desk when I need it.”

Whitley’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Simply protecting Crown Island’s most distinguished jewel. None of them were worthy of you, princess.”

Looking up at him, she smiled. “You still remember that?”

“The Majestic never forgets its royalty,” Whitley replied. “Speaking of treats fit for a queen, might I suggest an assortment of the pastry chef’s desserts? She’s outdone herself today.”

Ella beamed at him. “That sounds wonderful, darling.”

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