“Well, we won’t figure it out today. Aaron works till midnight. How could one little book have passed through so many hands so quickly?”
He homed in on her for a hot minute, then chuckled, his eyes softening, his dimple dimpling.
“What?”
“You are a very impatient woman.”
She pressed her lips together. But it was impossible to work up much indignation when he was gazing at her with such affection. (And also when he was spot-on.) “I’m trying to do a good deed here, and I’ve been waiting nine days to do it. Think of how impatient that poor guy must be, searching high and low for that ring.” That’s exactly what she should be thinking of—and not those gold flecks in his eyes. Or the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
He blinked. “I guess you have a good point. But we can’t do anything until tomorrow, so you may as well get on with your evening and try to put it out of your mind.”
“Let’s run by his place in the morning.”
“Not too early. The man works till midnight. And I have lunch with my folks at one.”
“That’s right, it’s Father’s Day.” She’d sent a new fishing pole to her dad and would call him in the morning. “I can be ready to leave at nine.”
Water dripped down his neck and her fingers twitched to wipe it away. She clenched her hand in a fist.
“How ’bout ten? Let’s let the guy sleep in a little.”
“Nine thirty?”
The twist of his mouth and tilt of his head labeled her impatient once again. He wasn’t wrong.
“Fine,” he said. “Nine thirty. Can I go comb my hair now?”
“By all means.” She headed toward the sliding door. “And, uh, sorry about the, you know, barging in part. That’s probably a boundary issue—I’m working on it. See you.” And with that, she slipped through the door.
Nineteen
The scenes of your novel should ebb and flow. Some will be full of conflict and others will be full of rapport as your hero and heroine bond.
—Romance Writing 101
Sadie awakened at seven o’clock—and she used the termawakenedloosely as she’d tossed and turned half the night, thinking about that ring.
She took Rio outside to do her business, filled her dishes with fresh kibble and water, and had a bowl of granola. She didn’t always jog on the weekends, but she needed to run the clock down and expend some nervous energy. So she geared up in Spandex and hit the beach.
Everything about jogging was different here. The running surface challenged her every step. The waves rippled onto the shore, keeping her company, and the gulls scampered around her, seeking food. There were no honking taxis, no steaming concrete, no roaring jets overhead.
She could get used to this.
By the time she finished her run, she had just enough time to shower, get ready, and call her dad. “Hi, Daddy, happy Father’s Day,” she said when he answered the phone.
“Hi, punkin. Thank you. And thanks for the fishing pole. We’ll have to plan a trip next time you come out to see us.”
“I’d love that. How was your week? Did you get that old El Camino running again?” Her dad was a mechanic at a local garage. He was quite good and loved what he did, but her mother felt he could do better.
“I did. The owner picked it up yesterday. He was very happy with it. How are things in South Carolina? How’s your story going?”
“It’s going great. I got my synopsis turned in and I’m just waiting to hear back from my editor.”
“Your mom mentioned that. I’m glad the switch in genres isn’t throwing you off too much.”
“Oh, it definitely threw me off. But thanks for your encouragement along the way. It means a lot.”
“You’re a gifted writer. I know westerns are your preferred genre, but I have no doubt you can pull this off.”
