up as the sliders opened, but he could see all he needed to out of the corner of his eyes.
She looked windblown and happy. The white terry cover-up she wore over her swimsuit had a food stain on the front. She’d tied it crookedly at the waist so that it gaped open over one breast. The way it nestled in her swimsuit top was as erotic as anything the skin magazines could conjure up.
She took him in as he lay on her bed but didn’t say anything. He crossed his ankles and tilted his head toward the chest of drawers. “I brought my pig along to spruce up the room.”
“I don’t want your pig.”
“You can’t mean that. It’s a great pig.”
“Each to his own.” She tugged at the leg of her suit. She smelled of sunblock and lake.
He set aside his book and dropped his legs over the side of the bed, casual as all hell. “You were gone a long time.”
“I told Temple where I was going.” She yawned and tossed her tote in the corner. “I need a shower.”
He followed her into the bathroom, propped his shoulder against the doorjamb. “She said you were going fishing with Mike Moody. He’s an ass.”
That pissed her off way too much. “No, he’s not. He only seems that way because he comes on so strong. He’s a great guy.”
Exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “Yeah, just ask him.”
She jerked at the tie on her cover-up. “You don’t know anything. Mike is a good man with a huge heart. And unlike you, he’s not afraid to have a real conversation.”
He snorted. Men didn’t have real conversations with women unless they wanted to get in their pants.
Lucy puckered her lips, all prim and proper. “Please leave so I can take a shower.”
They took showers together. She knew that. But he damned well wasn’t going to argue with her about it. “You got it.”
He shut the door behind him, grabbed the book he had no intention of reading, and left the room.
He worked at his computer until one in the morning, catching up on paperwork, but he still had trouble falling asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that damned list of hers plastered against the back of his lids with the words “Sleep around” pulsing away.
Chapter Nineteen
THE KITCHEN TABLE MOCKED HER as it squatted in its customary spot on the cracked vinyl floor. It looked like a fat green warthog with a broken leg. Lucy slapped at the counter with a dishrag. “Just once, do you think you could make coffee without getting the grounds everywhere?”
Panda turned from the kitchen window where he’d been scanning the backyard for armed robbers, escaped murderers, or even a rabid skunk, anything that would satisfy his craving for action. “Just once, do you think you could make the coffee instead of me?” he retorted.
“I’m trying to eat,” Temple said from the table. “Would you both shut up?”
Lucy turned on her. “And you… Would it kill you to have a box of Cheerios around, or is that too much temptation for Her Majesty?”
Temple licked her yogurt spoon. “Panda, get rid of her.”
“My pleasure.”
“Don’t bother. I’m leaving.” Lucy flounced across the kitchen. “I’m going someplace where I’m
“I hear there’s a new kindergarten in town,” Panda called after her.
“You should know.” Lucy slammed the back door on them both and headed for the cottage. The only bright spot in that encounter was how good it felt to act infantile.
Something had shifted between them, and not just because Panda hadn’t been waiting for her in bed last night when she’d come out of the shower. She’d started feeling a resentment toward him that had no place in a summer fling. Temple knew more about him than she did, and Lucy didn’t like that. She wanted his confidences. His trust. Maybe it should be enough to know he’d take a bullet for her, but not when she knew he’d do the same for Temple, or anyone else he felt responsible for.
Bree was opening up the farm stand when Lucy got there a few minutes later. As Bree set out the Carousel Honey sign, Lucy inspected the new note cards. They showed an old-fashioned straw skep, the forerunner of the modern hive, sitting under a blossoming cherry tree abuzz with fanciful bees. “These are great, Bree. Your best yet.”
“Do you think so?” Bree repositioned a small metal table under the shady oak. She painted there between customers.
“Definitely. They’re going to sell like crazy.”
“I hope so. Labor Day’s only a month away, and then…” She made a vague, helpless gesture.
Lucy wished Bree would let her cover the initial printing costs of mass-producing some of the note cards. But even though Lucy had presented it as a business proposal, Bree was too proud to accept. On the positive side, Bree had found a new sales outlet through Pastor Sanders, the minister at Heart of Charity Missionary Church and owner of the local gift shop. He’d just started carrying some of her products.
“How did your nautical excursion with Mike go yesterday?” Bree said, too casually.
“Great. I had fun.”
“Then Mike must have fallen overboard.”
Lucy pretended not to notice the edge in Bree’s comments. “Nope.”
“Too bad.” Bree snatched up a bag of tiny sampling spoons and poured them into a basket she set next to a dish of the individually wrapped chocolate-dipped honey caramels Lucy had finally perfected.
Lucy spoke carefully. “I like him.”
“That’s because you haven’t been around him long.” She wrenched the lid off a fresh container of comb honey she set out for customers to sample. “I’ve known him since he was younger than Toby.”
“Yes, he said he wasn’t exactly Mr. Popular.”
“You have no idea.”
“I sort of do. He told me what he did to you.”
She went still. “He told you?”
Lucy nodded. “He’s an interesting person. Unusual. As open about his mistakes as he is about his accomplishments.”
“Yes, I’m sure he loved telling you how important he is.”
“Not really.”
Bree finished arranging the honeycomb and spoons, along with some stick pretzels for dipping into a cocoa- flavored honey she’d started putting out as an experiment. “I don’t like Toby spending so much time with him.”
“Mike cares about Toby.”
“Yes, they have a real love fest going on,” she said bitterly.
Lucy cocked her head. “Are you jealous?”
“Of course I’m jealous.” She swatted a fly swooping too close to the honeycomb. “Mike doesn’t have to nag him into taking a shower or going to bed at a reasonable time. Mike only does the fun stuff, and I’m the wicked witch.” She stopped, her expression troubled. “I know I’m right about Mike. People don’t change that much. But…” Another of those helpless gestures. “I don’t know… Things are getting confusing. I’m not even sure why.”
Lucy had a few ideas about that, but she kept them to herself.
BREE LOCKED UP THE FARM stand for the night. The frames in the hives were heavy with honey. Earlier today, she’d cleaned Myra’s old hand-cranked extruder, and at dawn tomorrow, she’d start this year’s harvest. The work would be backbreaking, but that didn’t bother her as much as the implications of harvesting honey for next summer. She’d accepted the fact that she had to stay on the island, but she was far from sure she had enough money saved to survive the winter until she could sell this new crop.
She gazed around at what she’d created-her little fairy castle farm stand with its carousel ribbon trim and
