Unless her people-reading skills were failing her, he was sincere.
“If you’re certain . . .”
“I am.”
“Okay. Let me get my coat from the rack.”
“No hurry. I need to say a few goodbyes and go collect Skip. Why don’t I meet you at the exit in five or ten minutes?”
“That works.”
While he walked back toward the small group hovering around the food table, Marci went to claim her jacket—and tried to ignore the tiny buzz vibrating in her nerve endings.
The kind she felt whenever an attractive man caught her attention.
The kind that intensified when said man noticed her in return.
The kind that had gotten her into big trouble back in Atlanta.
But this wasn’t Georgia.
And Ben wasn’t . . . him.
The ex-army officer was a skilled and courageous doctor. The grandson of a man she’d admired and respected. A good Samaritan who rescued cats and wrote touching tributes.
He was the real deal.
Or he seemed to be.
And there was the rub.
Three years ago, she would have taken him at face value—and the buzz of attraction would have been exciting rather than unsettling.
But despite Ben’s stellar credentials and Ned’s glowing comments about his grandson, guys who came with first-class recommendations and looked superlative on paper weren’t always what they seemed.
3
Skip’s urn cradled in the crook of his arm, Ben paused in the back of the church and leaned against the wall.
Letting Marci accompany him to the wharf was a mistake.
A big one.
He hadn’t planned to have any company on his walk.
Hadn’t wanted any company.
Yet he’d hesitated no more than a few heartbeats before accepting her offer, despite the out she’d given him.
It didn’t make sense.
Hadn’t he decided nine months ago to walk a wide circle around women for a year or two? To focus on settling into his buddy’s practice in Ohio and getting reestablished in civilian life without taking on any other complications or obligations?
Yes and yes.
However . . . a two-block walk to the wharf didn’t break any of those rules. So what was the big deal?
You know what it is, Garrison. Stop playing dumb.
He huffed out a breath.
Fine.
The big deal was that he liked Marci Weber.
Too much.
Too fast.
Despite their rough start, something had clicked between them—and unless he was reading her all wrong, she’d felt the electricity too.
Then again, in light of recent experience, his instincts could be dangerously off.
He shifted toward the deserted sanctuary and examined the photo on the easel.
If Skip were here now, he’d no doubt have some witty advice to offer, all wrapped up in a sea analogy. Like, Go with the flow—because you can’t fight a tide God sets in motion.
Yet as his grandfather had also once warned, setting sail toward stormy waters was foolish.
So which was this—a God tide or a storm?
Hard to say.
But what did it matter? Marci Weber lived in Hope Harbor. He was heading east as soon as Skip’s estate was settled and his medical licensing paperwork went through in Ohio. There was no chance anything serious could develop between them during his short stay.
As long as he was careful, spending a few minutes in her company on occasion wouldn’t be dangerous.
And truth be told, having her along on this sad, final walk might help mitigate the surge of grief threatening to swamp him now that his jet-lag-induced fog was lifting and the harsh reality of his loss was setting in. It would be harder to succumb to melancholy in her animated, vivacious presence.
Maybe her offer had been a blessing that would lessen the trauma of this last, most difficult chore.
So for today, he’d go with the flow rather than fight the tide.
Two minutes later, he found her waiting for him at the exit, her belted emerald green raincoat an exact match for her eyes. It was cinched at the waist with a sparkly belt that emphasized her trim figure—a touch of bling that would add shimmer and shine even to gray, rainy days.
Kind of like the lady herself.
Squelching that line of thought, he lengthened his stride.
“Sorry.” He stopped beside her. “I got tied up with my goodbyes.”
“No worries. My office schedule today is lighter than the rest of the week.”
“You work on weekends?”
“Half a day every other Saturday. A necessity with a paper that comes out on alternate Tuesdays. But I try to take some comp time on Wednesdays.”
He pushed the door open and let her precede him, inhaling the whisper of jasmine that wafted toward him as she passed—the same sweet scent released by the flowers on the vine covering the arbor Skip had built for Gram at the house.
How odd that her perfume—or perhaps shampoo—would remind him of the happy hours he’d spent here, and the TLC his grandparents had . . .
“Ben?” Marci angled back toward him, eyebrows peaking.
“Coming.” He put his feet in gear and followed her out, motioning toward the blue sky to divert her attention from the delay. “I got lucky on the weather. After all the mist this morning, I was afraid I might be doing this in the rain.”
“It wouldn’t dare rain on Ned’s parade.” She fell in beside him as they left the church behind and started toward the curving path that rimmed the harbor.
They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes in the salty breeze, until Marci spoke again.
“Ned liked to stroll here. He never missed his daily walk along the wharf unless his knee was bothering him. I could see him from my office.” She waved across the wide street, where storefronts adorned with bright awnings and flower boxes faced the sea. “Sometimes he’d sit for a while and enjoy the view. It’s hard to beat, isn’t it?”
Ben gave the scene a slow sweep.
Above the sloping bank of boulders that led to the water, benches were spaced along the sidewalk between overflowing planters, offering a vista of boats anchored in the marina or tethered to a dock. The deep blue water, protected by
