Page 18 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

After Sally left, Delilah covered the refinished booth seats with several tarps, not wanting to reinstall them until the interior of the diner was completely clean and restored. Besides, it looked like a summer storm was about to hit, one of those sudden flash rainfalls that came down fast and furious on the beaches and were over almost as soon as they started.

The day had been unsettling for her, with all the visitors, jarring her with all the things she would have to add to her “To Do” lists. How naive had she been, thinking that she could open a diner and motel on a barrier island, lickety-split, and then move her daughter here with no complications? And Merrill Good was going to pose the biggest complication of them all. She just knew he would.

Delilah did what calmed her most then. She baked in her small kitchen. Two dozen cinnamon rolls. Ginger apple and peach pecan. The mindless gentle kneading of the batter. The repetitive motions of rolling the dough. The sweet scents that filled the air. The immediate gratification of cleaning up afterward.

To Delilah, baking was a form of prayer.

She prayed for new beginnings on this island.

She prayed that her past wouldn’t catch up with her in a negative way.

She prayed that the niceness of her new neighbors wouldn’t erode her independence and turn to hostility once they found out about her past.

She prayed that time would be on her side in terms of opening the diner before winter ended the tourist season.

She prayed that Maggie would adapt to life in a strange setting with a mother she barely knew.

And, in the midst of all these worries, she prayed that she would be able to resist that “badass to the bone” Merrill Good, who made niceness seem like erotic foreplay.

Dammit!

Chapter 5

There are all kinds of highs . . .

Merrill was excited on Monday afternoon, the first official opening of Bell Cove Salvaging and Treasure Hunting. And not just because this was the launch of a new venture. Merrill was more than familiar with the adrenaline rush that marked the start of an active op in the military. Same thing, sort of.

The difference here was Delilah Jones, the added spark to his excitement. No question his testosterone went on red alert at first sight of her in his space, and his blood pressure amped up a point or two or ten.

She was already there when he arrived for the meeting at the building he shared with Bell Forge. For a moment, he just leaned against the door frame and watched as she moved around his office setting up a coffeemaker. Where did that come from? And mugs? Who knew I had eight matching mugs?

She was also arranging pastries—big honkin’ cinnamon buns, to be precise—on a fancy tray. The place smells like a friggin’ bakery. Not that that’s a bad thing.

But holy crap! She must have gone out and bought these things for me, first thing this morning. And just how did she do that? he wondered. On a motorcycle, which is the only vehicle she owns, as far as I know.

No matter.

She turned and noticed him, with a start of surprise.

“Hey, De-li-lah,” he drawled out, still leaning a shoulder against the door frame, arms folded over his chest, legs crossed at his booted ankles. “You’ve been a busy bee, I see.”

“Shhh. Don’t do that,” she cautioned, glancing over his shoulder at some of the others who were approaching.

“Do what?”

“Say my name like you’re kissing air.”

Now there was an image he liked. Kissing. Her, not the air. He grinned.

“And stop grinning, too.”

“Happiness is a sin now?”

“It is when you look like you’ve been up to no good.”

“Darlin’, there hasn’t been nearly enough ‘no good’ in my life for a long time.”

“That’s another thing. You can’t be calling one of your employees darlin’.”