“I’m coming. No pun intended.”
“Good. We on for coffee in the morning? It’s my day off. We could even take a yoga class or something.”
“Can’t,” Anna said, blowing out a short breath and swiping at her outer eyes once more with the backs of her wrists. “I’ve got errands and a client meeting at the marina.”
Anna made it into town early on Monday morning. The first full day after entering her next decade felt like the perfect time to turn over any number of new leaves. Or polish old ones, starting with checking in with clients who regularly used her sewing skills for updating their boats’ interiors.
First up was Harry D’Arville. She was seeing him at nine-thirty sharp, and the garrulous owner of a mini fleet of sailboats and refurbished fishing boats was the intended target of the Cadbury Milk Bars in her shopping basket.
She was crouched on one knee, going over her spiel for Harry and rooting through the boxed teas relegated to a low shelf when a man’s voice penetrated her search for her favorite blend of hibiscus and ginger.
“Do you know if there’s a coffee grinder in this store?”
Anna’s gaze swept the polished concrete floor. There was only one other person in her vicinity, and he was talking to her. She followed a pair of out-of-the-box hiking boots up trouser-clad legs, tugging at the back of her sweatshirt to hide where her waist muffin-topped her jeans.
“The grinder’s over there, in the same section with the beans.” She held her sweatshirt and pointed up and to her right with her other hand. Tourists walked by the machine all the time. Someone in management thought lack of signs meant customers and employees would be forced to interact more. The man followed the direction of Anna’s lifted arm to where the tall, black metal grinder sat tucked between large canisters of loose beans.
“I think someone might have been blocking my view,” he admitted.
“No problem. Let me know if you need any help figuring it out.”
The man’s eyes sloped downward a little at the edges, and his irises were almost as dark as the espresso roast he’d chosen. Deep crow’s feet fanned out when he smiled and thanked her. Anna twisted a clump of curls behind her right ear and darted her gaze back to her search as his attention wavered between her and the grinder.
She found the last two boxes of tea, checked the dusty backsides for expiration dates, and kept her midsection covered as she stood and continued through the aisles with her basket and list. Her fellow shoppers were mostly year-round Gulf Islanders, although she tagged the brown-haired man with the very long legs as a tourist.
The lines at the checkout moved at their usual glacial pace, giving her ample time to fret about Elaine’s takeover of her social life. Other shoppers used their time in line to catch up on newsworthy topics, and daytime cashiers, drawn from the island’s retired population, were happy to oblige. She eavesdropped on the conversation the check-out person next to hers was having with the man she’d helped earlier.
Tourist. Her hunch was right.
Purchases rung up, paid for, and packed into reusable cloth bags, Anna loaded her cart and made her way to the parking lot. Her next stop was the marina, where she’d see Harry and convince him to approve fabric for curtains and cushions for his new boat. If the chocolate bars worked, she’d walk away with a deposit too.
She inched her compact gray pick-up truck into the only available parking slot and managed to maneuver herself and a canvas bag of supplies between her vehicle and a camper van without adding more scratches to either vehicle. The front of her sweatshirt and the back of her jeans collected dried mud from both. Anna peeled off her hooded top, turned it inside out, and brushed the worst of the dirt off her butt, grateful there was no such thing as island chic.
Or maybe she’d been holed up in her cottage on a dead-end road for too long. The slender young man walking toward her evinced an innate sense of style. Garbed in skinny jeans, a spotless white T-shirt, and a motorcycle jacket that would never ride a Harley, he carried a satchel brimming with fabric swatch books while texting on an oversized smart phone.
Anna pressed against the rickety railing and waited for him to pass. His eyes never left his device. At the end of the ramp, she hefted her bag over her shoulder again and searched for her client amongst the boats tied up at the docks.
“Anna!” boomed a voice from behind a row of glistening white hulls.
“Hey, Harry.” She smiled, released the handles, and accepted the man’s bear hug.
“Did you meet my nephew?” he asked. “He passed you on the ramp.”
A plummeting sensation tumbled through Anna’s belly, pulling her confidence in the general direction of the water below. Harry had purchased a seiner-style fishing boat with the intention of doing a complete refitting so the vintage vessel could be leased to summer visitors as a floating bed-and-breakfast. She felt the potential for profits slipping away like the tide.
“No, I didn’t meet him,” she said. And he didn’t even see me.
“Oh.” He lowered his arms and stepped to the side. “Well. I had him come out here to look at the new boat and give me some ideas. He graduated from some fancy design school out east and wants to build his portfolio. Whatever that means.”
“Are you telling me you don’t need me for this project?” Anna asked, acutely aware she hadn’t exactly dressed for success that morning. After cleaning the sides of two vehicles with her ample chest and rear, she looked more like a stall-mucking horse hand than someone who regularly worked on private yachts.
Harry crossed his arms over his barrel chest, apparently preferring to consult the water slapping at the sides of the boat in front of them than look her in the
