§ § § -- April 30, 2006

"And the winner of our competition, the first annual Fantasy Island Cheesemakers' Competition, is…" The head judge raised a small plate that held a miniature slice of bread topped with a mound of caramel-colored substance. "Erik Olaf Mortensson, of Helmsgård, Lilla Jordsö, with his Frykostmysost!"

Christian joined willingly in the enthusiastic applause, remarking with a grin, "I knew he had something special there. That's why I made arrangements for him to ship us some of his product each month."

"I'm glad you could spot a winner, my love, but…" Leslie turned to Roarke in disbelief. "Father…Paul Mahtonen didn't get his fantasy!"

Roarke smiled at her and checked his gold pocket watch. "The weekend hasn't yet ended, Leslie, and neither has the contest. Why don't you wait before you declare failure."

"I thought there was only one prize," Leslie said, confused. "Are you saying there are other ones too? Geez, next time we have one of these things, I'm going to sign up as a judge so I can get the full story, instead of you keeping me in the dark like you do."

On Roarke's grin, the head judge spoke again: "Congratulations, Mr. Mortensson. He is the recipient of the $50,000 grand prize. Now for the $10,000 first prizes; we have three of those. Number one: the prize for Best Snacking Cheese goes to Mr. Paul Mahtonen, of Marquette, Michigan, USA, for his Sunspots!"

Again applause rang out as Paul stepped forward and accepted his prize; Leslie expected him to be upset or at least subdued, but he seemed quite happy to claim the money. Instead of returning to his station, Paul approached them, his face full of smiles and his eyes sparkling. "This is great, Mr. Roarke, thanks."

"But you wanted to win the grand prize," Leslie protested, unable to hold her own counsel in the face of what she saw as a failure. "I thought you'd be furious."

"Well, you know, maybe I've been focusing too much on one thing—getting the old business back," Paul said with a small shrug. "George Prentice hammered a couple truths into my head a while ago. Seems my father wished the Prentices luck with the business and gave them his blessing. I never knew that. I mean, I did see the transaction, but I was outside, looking through a window. Couldn't quite stand to go in and witness it completely. So of course, I had no idea what was actually being said during the transaction. I guess Dad had the right idea all along, and it had to be pounded into my brain to make me see it."

"So what do you plan to do with the money?" Roarke inquired.

"I'm thinking about starting my own business. There's no reason in the world I can't run a nice small cheesemaking operation by myself and make it a hobby, or an extra moneymaking enterprise, instead of my entire life's obsession. I figured out the hard way that I've lost too much in the pursuit of my dream. Stuff I'll never get back." A wistful expression crossed his face for a moment, then he shrugged again. "But that's life, I guess."

The head judge had announced the winner for Best Dessert Cheese while they were talking; now they all turned to hear the last winner's name. "And finally, the prize for Most Unusual Cheese goes to Genia and George Prentice, of Marquette, Michigan, for their Love Me, Love My Cheese!"

Christian and Leslie took one look at each other and began to laugh; they joined in the applause while George Prentice went up to the judges' booth and accepted the $10,000 prize. Paul looked curiously on. "What happened to Genia?" he asked.

"She seems to have found a new friend," Roarke said with a smile that made Christian and Leslie snicker again. He turned his attention to George Prentice as the man came toward them bearing his check. "Congratulations, Mr. Prentice."

George chuckled good-naturedly. "Not quite what we were hoping for, but I guess we're lucky we won anything at all, considering what was in the cheese. It was Genia's idea, so I let her put it all together. I guess we can still manage a little advertising with this."

"Good luck, Mr. Prentice," Paul said quietly.

George looked up and studied him for a moment, then stuck out a hand. "Thanks, and congrats on your win too. Say, uh…you got any particular plans for your cash?"

Paul shrugged. "Not too sure yet, maybe set up a little business of my own. I haven't decided. How come?"

George seemed oddly diffident. "Well, I, uh…I tried your cheeses earlier, and I gotta tell you, kid, you really have a knack. Those suckers are fabulous." He sighed softly and confessed, "To tell you the truth, they beat heck out of most of our selections."

Paul stared at him. "I always thought cheesemaking was your big dream too."

"Naah, not so much really. I inherited the business from Pop, and up till then I was a cook. Working my way up to owning my own restaurant one day. That kind of fizzled out when I got the cheese business. But Genia doesn't have much interest in it—oh, sure, she makes her share of cheese, but for her it's just a job. We've been gradually slowing down over the years since Pop bought the business, and sales are dropping a little more every year. I know why. None of us has that drive, that push, to make great and different cheeses, not the way you do. If you do start a business, you're likely to push us right out…so I was sort of hoping for a compromise at least." George took a deep breath while Paul gaped at him. "If you're agreeable, maybe you'd like to come back and work for us…as head cheesemaker. Your name'd go on all the labels as the creator of the different cheeses, and the way they taste, we'd be thriving in no time. And, uh…when I'm ready to retire, probably in the next few years, I'll be glad to pass the whole thing down to you…lock, stock and barrel."

Paul floundered while they all watched him, and finally croaked, "Why would you do a thing like that, after all the history between us?"

" 'Cause this is what you were born to do," George told him simply. " 'Cause you're so damn good at it. You could give the company a real shot in the arm. We'd be making money hand over fist in no time flat. Besides," he added with a grin, "it'd give you a chance to try to get back in Janelle's good graces."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Paul said, clearing his throat and then deliberately pasting on a smile, "but your offer sure is tempting. Mind if I think about it and get back to you? It's a lot to consider."

"Oh yeah, sure, I understand. Just don't take too long, or there might not be anything left for you to rescue," George kidded. Paul laughed; they shook hands and George left them after one more thanks to Roarke.

"Well, I sure never expected that," Paul remarked, staring after him.

"Do you think you'll accept it?" Christian asked.

Paul frowned slightly. "I might have jumped on it before," he said slowly, "but maybe I'm better off steering clear. I mean…well, like I said, I lost too much during all those years I was being bitter and single-minded. I probably need to think of something other than cheese for a change, for once in my life. And anyway, Janelle wouldn't be too likely to want me around all the time."

"Don't bet on it," said someone from behind, and there was Janelle Frainey, watching and smiling a little. "Maybe you better leap at that offer, Paul."

"Thought you'd had all you could stand of me," Paul said as Roarke, Christian and Leslie moved back several paces to give them a little privacy.

"Well, I came back to see what the contest results were, and I overheard everything you said to Mr. Roarke and to Uncle George. I never said you should give up making cheese altogether, Paul. I just thought you were doing it only because it meant so much to your father, and if it weren't for him you wouldn't be bothering. But I guess it really is in your blood. And, well, I figure if you got your head on straight, I should do the same with mine. I'm sorry I didn't come clean to you about being related to the Prentices. But I was afraid to tell you at first, back in college, because I thought we could have something really good, and by the time we started having problems, I figured it didn't matter anyway. I should have let you know from the beginning."

Paul shrugged, seeming a little uncomfortable. "Hey, no problem. I can see where you were coming from. I promise, that's all in the past now. Are you really sure you want me to take your uncle's offer? I mean, like I said, I'd be around all the time, and you'd probably get really sick of me."

"How about we go someplace and talk about it," Janelle suggested and grinned at him. "Don't lose your check." They both laughed as Paul folded it small and stuffed it into his pocket, and sauntered out of the yard hand in hand, already talking.

"It seems Paul Mahtonen's fantasy was granted after all, my Rose," Christian said, "although not quite the way he expected it would be."

"That's how it always happens here," Leslie said, eyeing Roarke with a faint smile. "Ever since I first came here and started learning about the business, I've seen that that's what happens just about every single time. I used to think it was kind of a ripoff, the first few weeks." She grinned at Roarke's startled look. "Gotcha there, didn't I, Father? See, I can keep secrets too." Roarke chuckled, and she went on, "But I figured out eventually that the way the fantasies ended up turning out was almost always better for the guests. They had fun, they learned a little something, and they came out a little better and with different outlooks on life sometimes."

"That's the goal I strive for," Roarke said, smiling and gazing after the retreating backs of Paul Mahtonen and Janelle Frainey. "And I always have the same sense of gratification every time that goal is reached."

§ § § -- May 1, 2006

It was a party of five that stepped out of the first car Monday morning to face Roarke and Leslie: George Prentice, Janelle Frainey, Paul Mahtonen, Genia Prentice, and Duncan Kingfisher. "Well," Roarke remarked, "it appears several fantasies have come true here this weekend. Mr. Kingfisher, I thought you were staying a little longer."

"I finally got what I came for, Mr. Roarke," said Duncan Kingfisher, a lean, tanned fellow somewhere in his late thirties with a pronounced Midwestern twang. He grinned at Genia, who returned it with interest. "Genia and I really clicked…and I didn't even need your love potion to make it happen." He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, giving Roarke a sheepish grin. "I'm sure sorry I did what I did with the last of that potion."

"In the end, there was no harm done, Mr. Kingfisher. I wish you and Miss Prentice the best of luck." Roarke and Kingfisher shook hands; Genia took her turn, and then they headed off for the plane.

"I got a feeling my daughter's headed for a Montana ranch," commented George Prentice with a laugh. "But hey, she's free to do what she wants. And now I know the business'll be in good hands when I'm ready to pass it down. It's finally going back to someone who can make it perform to its maximum potential. And heck, it doesn't hurt that he's planning on marrying my niece, either."

"That can only be a bonus," Leslie said, and everyone laughed. They all shook hands and made their farewells; Janelle even gave Roarke and then Leslie a quick hug before she retreated toward the plane with Paul and George.

The second car came up as they were waving back to them, and Gladys Newbold stepped out, smoothing her skirt and smiling broadly at them. "Well now, who'd evuh have thought Ah'd be leavin' this island feeling so much better than when Ah got here."

"Do you really?" Leslie asked in surprise.

"Ah surely, surely do. Ah tell you, it must have been that wonderful cheese Ah ate yesterday. Ah truly do think there's something healthy in that substance, Mr. Roarke." She smiled again and adjusted the flower-bedecked straw hat on her head. "Ah just wish Ah'd gotten the name of that nice young lady who let me try a little of it. Well, anyway…Ah do thank you for mah fantasy. It was a difficult job, but I was more than glad to take it on."

"Job?" Roarke repeated blankly.

"Teachin' these young people some manners, let me tell you. That's what's sorely lackin' in today's minors. Ah've been tryin' and tryin' for simply years to make mah granddaughter Ashley listen to me."

"You must have done something right," Leslie ventured. "After all, she loves you. She must love you, to ask Father to let you have your fantasy."

Mrs. Newbold stilled and stared at her, then blinked several times as if the sun were in her eyes. "Well, Ah do declare…you just might be right, young lady."

"Of course," Roarke said, smiling. "Your family loves you in their own special way, Mrs. Newbold, no matter who you are. Perhaps you'd give them the gift of doing the same for them."

Mrs. Newbold dug in her purse and extracted a large lacy handkerchief, with which she proceeded to dab at her eyes. "You are so right, Mr. Roarke. Ah surely, surely will. Thank y'all both evuh so much."

"You're quite welcome," Roarke replied, grasping her hand for a moment, then brightened. "Oh yes, and if you do in fact wish to get some more of the cheese you so enjoyed, you might speak to Miss Genia Prentice. She is also on today's flight."

Mrs. Newbold lit right up. "Oh, how wonderful, Mr. Roarke, thank you!" She beamed at them both, then released him and hurried toward the plane, pausing to wave her handkerchief at them before striking off up the dock to the seaplane's hatch.

"Whew," Leslie said as they watched her climb aboard. "Thank goodness I got away without hearing her chastise me again for all those so-called PDAs she claimed I was committing with Christian yesterday." Roarke looked at her in surprise, then began to laugh, slipping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing affectionately.