He couldn’twaitto get out of here.
Two
If Teddy hada pang of guilt that she’d blown off most of her first day by splashing around in a natural hot spring, she squashed it like a bug.
What Harriet didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her—or Teddy.
Plus…it really was too late in the day to actually set up her computer and start working. And there wasn’t anything to eat at the cottage, anyway. The food deliveries didn’t start until tomorrow. So she figured a good night’s sleep, acclimating her to her new, quiet, Wi-Fi-less surroundings, would put her in the right frame of mind to get to work first thing in the morning.
She had to duck behind a thick clump of bushes to strip off her swimsuit from beneath her sundress and shimmy into her panties and bra, expertly preserving her modesty all the while.
As she waited for her ride, standing on the road at the juncture of the lighthouse island’s bridge and the mainland, she wondered if she’d run into the microbiologist again. At least, she assumed he was a microbiologist, though she’d never gotten around to asking.
Despite the fact that the guy didn’t say much and was bordering onBig Bang Theorynerdiness, he was pretty cute. His white button-down shirt had looked crisp and cool, contrasting with his freckled forearms and their rich, gold tan. And talk about a ginger—a real ginger! He had a head of close-cropped, fiery golden-red hair that curled up damply where it was longer on top, and large hands that should have been clumsy, but had handled his tools and accoutrements with ease. He’d been wearing zip-off cargo pants with lots of pockets, so she hadn’t been able to see his legs, but the bag he carried with ease appeared damn heavy. She suspected some decent musculature beneath the Dr. Science clothes.
Maybe she’d see him in town tonight. Maybe Declan knew who he was.
As she waited for her ride, Teddy realized she was in a good mood—feeling social and also very hungry.Tonight’ll be my last hurrah before it’s nose to grindstone, so I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.
A few minutes later, she climbed into Leslie’s Mercedes—which was a blessing, because she remembered that Dec drove a pickup, and the three of them would have been squished into the front seat—and it would probably have been none too clean.
She also smiled in private approval, too, that Leslie was driving her own car instead of letting her boyfriend take over the wheel. That had always been a sticking point with Teddy and Arthur—just one of those many subtle little things that had made it easy for her to break things off. Eventually.
Not that Teddy was a procrastinator.
“So, how’s the cottage up there? I’ve always been curious about Stony Cape,” Leslie asked, glancing at Teddy in the rearview mirror as she pulled out into the road. She was a petite woman, with the skin tone and straight black hair of her Japanese heritage. Today, she’d pinned her hair in a loose bun, with long strands falling over her neck. She looked nothing like the hotshot CEO she’d once been back in Philadelphia. “I almost wish we’d picked you up there so I could sneak a peek.”
“It’s kind of cute—sort of what you’d expect for a lighthouse cottage. Quilts and pillow shams, eighties carpet and vertical blinds, and lots of seagull and lighthouse decor. Everything is clean and neat, though, and the bed looks very comfortable.” Maybe too comfortable.
“You know I would have loved to have you at Shenstone House, Teddy.” Leslie had just opened a bed and breakfast in Wicks Hollow—right on a small hill just outside of town. She’d met Declan when he came to renovate some wrought iron stair railing, and there’d been some big episode involving a murder. Teddy didn’t know all the details, but she definitely was going to find out.
“Thank you, Les, I really appreciate it. But I know it’s high season for you, and Declan said you’re completely booked anyway. Me coming to Wicks Hollow was a last-minute thing, and I let my agent handle the reservation after Declan gave me the suggestion. Besides, I need to be cloistered away so I can get my book done.” A waver of guilt threatened to ruin Teddy’s mood, but she firmly thrust it away.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I’ll type my fingers off.
“But once the book is turned in, I’ll come back when I can relax and enjoy—and I’ll stay in your best room.”
“Are you sure you can spare the time for dinner tonight?” Declan asked, turning around from the passenger seat in the front and unwittingly piling on the guilt. “We understand if you need to work—we can just get a carry-out.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry about me. I start bright and early tomorrow morning. So,” she said, quickly changing the subject, “where are we going for dinner? I haven’t been to Wicks Hollow in about twenty years, so I have no idea what to expect.”
“We’re going to a place usually only the locals go because it’s high season and we can’t get a seat at Trib’s—the best place in town—without a reservation this late in the day,” he replied. “The Lakeside Grille is off the beaten path, and Reggie makes the best fried grouper sandwich you’ve ever had. Plus, there’s a good selection of beer from our local guy.”
“Sounds perfect.”
The Lakeside was as promised: filled with locals—obvious because many of them greeted Declan, Leslie, and even Teddy as they came in—and the delicious smells made Teddy’s mouth water.
A very busty woman in her late forties worked behind the long, diner-like counter. She wore a tight yellow dress splashed with plate-sized violets and more makeup than a high school freshman at her first dance. Her hair was done up in a B-52s beehive, and was an icy platinum with a lavender streak from the side-part to the twist. She was a mistress of the multitask, snatching up the cordless phone to take down a to-go order, snapping commands through the food window to the kitchen, filling draft beers from an array of seven levers, and slapping plates down on the counter in front of their owners.
“Declan—there’s a table in the back,” she called. “I saved it for you so your cousin could be incognito. Can’t have a bestselling writer waiting for a table.” Her voice was loud, heedless of the fact that everyone in the restaurant could hear and there was no chance of Teddy remaining “incognito”—even if that had been necessary.
Which it wasn’t, because authors—with the possible exception of J.K. Rowling and Stephen King—just weren’t recognized by the average person. And Teddy was in no way in the same league as either of them.
“Thanks, Bella,” replied Dec, taking Leslie by the hand and navigating through a path of crowded tables. “Hey, Bax!” He paused to shake hands with a very good-looking black man who was sitting at the end of the counter.
He slid off his stool and gave Leslie a hug, then turned to offer his hand to Teddy. “I’m Baxter James. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mack—I’m ahugefan of your books. I was so surprised to hear that you’re related tothisguy.” He grinned, and Dec rolled his eyes.
