Which is a purely scientific observation.
Beau pulls out the food and offers me a steak and cheese sandwich.
I try to take my time unwrapping it so I don’t seem like a starved crazy woman.
“Mm,” Beau says as he chews, closing his eyes to savor it.
My gaze lingers on him for a few seconds, wondering if it’s ever exhausting for him to live like he does: apparently enjoyingevery single thing about life on Sunset Harbor—and looking so good while doing it.
I bite into my sandwich and suppress the urge to vocalize my happiness as the flavors come to life in my mouth. I’ve gone to a lot of pretty swanky business lunches in LA and had some really good food, but Sunrise Cafe can hold its own.
“Do we have another grain of sand?” Beau asks with excitement as he watches me.
Apparently, I’m not concealing my appreciation as well as I thought.
“Maybe,” I say grudgingly, but I can’t stop a smile as he does a fist pump. “It’s a grain, Beau.” I take another bite and glance behind me at the short beach that’s quickly overtaken by thick palms and heaven only knows what. “Youdidmanage to bring me to a place on the island I’ve never seen.”
“Most people haven’t,” he allows. “But honestly, it’s not just this spot. The entire island is beautiful.”
“It is,” I grant him. “But beauty’s only skin-deep.”
“Sometimes. But most of the time, I think people just stop looking too soon.”
I stare at his profile, thinking about that for a second. I’m sure he’s right. But I keep it to myself, shifting my gaze to the water again. It’s so calm here, only the smallest waves lapping at the shore. The sun is dipping below the trees, which means it’s not beating on our backs, making the air warm and pleasant.
“Just a sec.” Beau sets down his sandwich and gets up, careful not to flick sand on me or his food. Then he grabs his backpack and jogs along the beach toward the other end.
I watch with a confused frown.Is he giving me an unsolicitedBaywatchpreview? Because he should really have his shirt off for that.
When he gets to the end of the beach, he drops the backpack and searches inside for a few seconds before pulling something out—a plastic bag, maybe?
And then he wades into water, following the edge and completing my confusion.
I push myself up to see better, squinting as he starts grabbing the floating trash that’s washed up at the edge of the water and putting into the bag.
He’s being a garbage man.
Curse you, Beau Palmer.
I consider going to help, but there’s not that much trash, so he’d be done by the time I got there.
He jogs back, then wades to the boat and tosses the tied-up trash bag inside.
“Thought you were ditching me for a second there,” I say.
He laughs and dusts off his hands, heading toward me with the bottom half of his shorts wet again. “And where exactly would I have been going?”
I shrug. “Into the preserve? To be one with the manatees? I don’t know. You’re the one with insight into the criminal mind.”
He sets the backpack on the sand next to the towel.
“Do you always bring trash bags with you on forced tours of the island?”
He takes his seat on the towel again, but he’s closer this time, which I’m annoyingly aware of. “Stuff tends to wash up here because of how the current runs, but yeah, I keep trash bags in the cart and in my boat. It’s a lot easier to clean up whenever I see stuff than to let it collect.”
“And the city council won’t hire you on full-time? Do they know you’re also taking on island sanitation?”
He takes his sandwich in hand again and bites into it.
