“Okay, I think.”
He waits for her to continue.
“She’s more tired than usual after her surgery, but she’s healthy. Her doctor says she’s recovering well. I’m hoping being here will lift her spirits.”
“Let me know if you need anything else. I’m happy to help.”
I frown. “Why?”
Green eyes sparkle back. “Why not?”
“You don’t know us.”
“Let’s just say I owe the universe a few good deeds.” He raises an eyebrow. “And now you owe me.”
I’m not sure if he means to be suggestive or if it’s because his voice sounds like foreplay, but I find myself growing pink. “Is that so?”
Charlie cuts the engine, secures the back of the boat, and hopsout to tie the front. When he’s done, he stands over me, extending his palm. “Big-time.”
I take his hand and climb out of the boat. But he doesn’t let go. Goose bumps rise on my arms.
“Safely ashore,” Charlie says.
“My hero.”
My gaze lingers on the slash of his jaw and the stubble that covers it, before falling to the base of his tan throat. Here I am with the boy from my photo. Only he’s all grown up. And so am I. My pulse quickens against my wrists.
Charlie tilts toward me with a wolfish grin. “Are youblushing?”
“It’s sunburn.” I let go of his hand and step back.
A delighted bellow bursts from his chest. “You tell yourself that, Red.”
And there it is.Red. The reality check is impeccably timed.
I let out a growl, growing an even deeper shade of crimson.
“I told you not to call me that,” I snap.
“You’re cute when you’re mad.” Charlie reaches out, flicking the brim of my hat.
I stare at him, stunned. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Far too many things to list.” He’s smiling—impervious to my irritation or simply enjoying it. “I’ll let you discover that for yourself another day. How about I take you around the lake? Point out the spots you need to be careful of.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
He glances at John’s boat. “I think it might be. Besides, we’re neighbors. I’m just right over there.” He points to the big white house across the bay, the place that once beckoned to me in the early morning sun.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“But why?” His forehead scrunches. I doubt he’s been turned down once in his entire life.
“It’s nothing personal. You’re just not my type.”
He puts a hand on his chest, as if offended. “I’m everyone’s type.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Loudly. This guy issomething.Charlie blinks at the sound. Admittedly, I have a bloodcurdling laugh. Heather calls it my witch cackle.
