A man dressed in a three-piece suit approached, a broad smile on his face. His hair, before the white had migrated, was black, his eyes a soft brown. Despite the white, Carol thought he was in his late thirties, maybe early forties. He looked like the uncle children were proud to have, the kind who always snuck them extra candy.
“Blake,” Ricardo said, taking the man’s offered hand, clasping it with both of his and giving a firm shake. “It’s good to see you again.”
“The pleasure is always mine,” Blake said, clapping Ricardo on the back before turning to Carol and extending his hand.
“I’m Blake Conwell, manager of Pine Needle Resort.”
“Carolina Felipe.” She shook his hand. She’d been using her mother’s maiden name for so long now, very few knew it as Montenegro. And fewer would, since sh
