Of course, she’d never seen anyone loiter on her corner with such blatant disregard for her insecurities.
She’d been taught to trust her gut and her gut was currently twisting itself into cold knots. She dialed the police station. In her head she was simultaneously urging the man on his way while hoping someone would answer quickly.
“Brookwell Police, non-emergency line. How can I help you?”
“Hello.” Grace tried to banish the shaky fear from her voice. “This is Grace Teague, at the Beach Belle. There’s a man… he’sjust standing here, staring at my shop. He seems out of place, and he’s making me nervous.”
She gave the officer the man’s description, racking her memory for every detail. None of the details added up to a familiar face in town.
“Alright, Ms. Teague. I’m sending Lieutenant Frasier over now. Just stay put and secure, okay?”
“Thank you. I’m parked in front of Magnolia B&B.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“Thanks.”
She waited, watching the stranger’s profile in the rearview mirror. Why wouldn’t he just go on already?
According to her phone display, it wasn’t an eternity, but only a few short minutes before Lt. Frasier pulled up in his patrol car. The lights weren’t flashing, but he caught the man’s attention when he climbed out of the car.
The stranger turned away from her to face Lt. Frasier. She couldn’t hear the voices, but she imagined the exchange. The lieutenant’s face had weathered into an expression of permanent, gentle skepticism from his years on the force. He approached the stranger, his calm demeanor never wavering. Grace watched, clutching her phone, as the stranger reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. Handing over what must’ve been an ID, he paused for a beat before scanning the street. Was he looking for her?
She swallowed, knowing it was time to head home and yet somehow unable to put her car in gear. Whatever Frasier said must have amused him because the stranger moved and the familiar jerk of his head sent a jolt of recognition rushing through Grace.
It can’t be.
She watched as Frasier nodded, smiled slightly—which was like watching a statue break character—and returned to his car, leaving the other man standing there, studying the shop.
She wished she’d told the dispatch officer she’d talk with Lt. Frasier at home. Now she was stuck, right here in plain sight.
A moment later, Frasier pulled to a stop next to her car. But Grace’s gaze was locked on the rearview mirror so when the man turned her way, there was no more doubt. The light hit his profile just right, slicing through the years, tearing down the protective walls Grace had so carefully built around her heart. Around her life.
Brown, wavy hair. Brown eyes—the same shade as dark, rich coffee. The light beard, thicker now, framing a jawline that was still devastatingly handsome.
Her stomach dropped.
Calvin Lynwood.
Her college boyfriend. The bright love she’d left behind when she chose family duty over wispy future dreams. He was the one who got away, dragging a piece of her heart along with him.
“Grace?” Frasier was tapping on her window.
She rolled it down, stifling a groan. “Everything okay?”
“I think so.” Frasier glanced back toward the street, then down at his notebook. “Mr. Lynwood. His ID checks out, along with the paperwork for the rental over your shop. He’s your new tenant. Says he’s out stretching his legs before unpacking.”
“What a relief,” she fibbed, trying to smile. “I didn’t expect anyone so soon. Sorry.”
“No apology needed. I’d rather be sure than be sorry.”
“Right.” She felt as if her face would crack. “Thank you. I, um, guess I’ll get home.”
Frasier nodded. “Take care. And if he gives you any trouble, just call.”
“Of course.”
Eyes forward, she refused to check her rearview mirror as she turned for home. Another peek of his face wouldn’t make it easier to sleep tonight.
