“Thanks a lot for that,” I say. “You almost got me disowned.”
“Relax, GG,” he says. “Let your hair down a little.” He reaches around me, and the next thing I know, my hair is falling to my shoulders.
He actually undid my claw clip. This man has a death wish.
I scramble to scoop my hair back again, and he tries to stop me by intercepting my hands. “Leave it. I like it.”
I swipe the claw from him. “You like it kinky?” I freeze, and he snorts softly. “I…that’s not what I meant. Grow up, Officer.” I smooth my hair back and twist it. “Now can we please get back to work?”
“Waiting on you,” he says.
We find a hammer and get the carabiner situation handled, then spend the next two hours moving furniture and debating what to take out to the garage to make the home feel roomier. As promised to Grams, I’m all business. I barely notice Beau. There is zero notice taken of smiles or bodies or helpfulness.
He puts his hands on his waist and looks around the kitchen while I grab us lemonade from the fridge. “You know what this room needs?”
“What?” I ask warily. I need this room tonotneed anything else. I need the way it is right now to be perfect because I don’t have the energy to do anything more to it. It already looks likethose homes that have oodles of counter space that are never ever ever actually used.
“Dinner,” he says. “I can call up the Beach Break Bar and have them deliver som?—”
“No, no,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear my stomach growl. “I’ve got boxes to sort through and some work to do.” That work is called emailing my boss to check in and make sure everything’s gravy over there. That’s normal, right? People on vacation checking in at work?
“All right,” Beau says. “Come on, Xena. We’re no longer wanted here.” He slaps his thigh twice, and she hops up from her place in the corner.
I don’t bother countering his statement. Grams wouldn’t want me to, and this is her house. Best not to make him feel too welcome here. I probably shouldn’t even be walking him to the door. But I have to make sure he actually leaves, right? It’s called being thorough.
Doing business with enemies is a lot more complicated than I realized. A lifetime of etiquette experience tells me to say thank you, while a lifetime of animosity toward the Palmers tells me to grab a shotgun and tell him to get off my lawn.
“Thank you for the help,” I say, because the shotgun is behind loads of things at the back of the garage.
“No problem,” he replies. “Oh, hey. I should probably get your number.”
My brows go up. That stupid list is giving this man ideas. “I don’t think so.”
He frowns. “So, you want me to throw rocks at your window if I get a work call?”
I open my mouth wordlessly. He wants my number for our arrangement. Like I said, this is all a bit complicated for my tiny brain. “Um, no. The last thing I need right now is a broken window.” I reluctantly put out my hand, and he unlocks his phone, then slips it into my palm.
I save my number under the name Camera Crew.
He smiles. “Enjoy your movie date, GG.”
I watch him walk off, determined not to see him until I absolutely have to. I will be praying tonight for zero crime in Sunset Harbor—and no Grams shenanigans either.
Sunset Harbor isquiet as a church mouse on Saturday night. There are no texts or calls—and definitely no rock-throwing at my window—to interrupt the evening. Which confirms what I’ve been suspecting since I got back to the island: Beau’s not a real cop. I mean, what kind of police officer doesn’t getsomekind of call on a Saturday night? No wonder he’s having a hard time convincing the city council to bring him on full-time.
I’m considering calling him myself just to help the man earn his keep. I mean, where’s the honor in protecting and serving if you never have to do it, right? Meanwhile, my neighbors are having a grand old time on the deck of their rental, jumping off into the canal in various states of increasing drunkenness. Their music gets a few decibels louder every couple minutes, so it wouldn’t be out of bounds to call in a noise complaint.
But after the note incident, that music would have to be shaking the window panes in the attic so much they broke before I’d call Beau. He’d definitely think I was just making excuses to call. Which is so cocky of him.
Instead, I change into my PJs, call in a delivery order from the Beach Break Bar and Grill, and turn onOutlanderwhile I sort through more stuff in the attic. A near-perfect night.
Not for the first time,I make my way to Seaside Oasis with a bit of dread in my stomach the next morning. There’s no doubt in my brain that I’ll be getting a stern talking-to from Grams after that phone call last night.
But when I find her, she’s sitting on her deck chair next to Deedee, their noses in books. When I greet them, there’s no response for a good twenty seconds.
Grams finally lays the open book on her chest and starts fanning herself. “Woo! That Sunny Palmer sure can write romance!”
Deedee puts hers down too, all smiles.
