“I thought you told me to bring these.” Trevor looked down at the box in his hand.
Julie grabbed the box, opened it, shoved a few cards in his pocket—her touch sending a jolt through him—and then put the box on the crumbling brick half-wall in between the restaurant and the marine store. “There, now you can casually pull the card from your pocket once we get to that part of the conversation.”
“What do we do with the rest of them?” He pointed to the abandoned cards that took him three hours to create, proof, and print last night.
She waved it off. “They’ll be fine. No one wants to take your cards, trust me.” She sashayed ahead of him with a mesmerizing sway of her hips that made him follow her to the next stop.
This was his kind of store. A marine shop with all sorts of gadgets and lines and tools. Before Julie had a chance to introduce the owner, Trevor grabbed a wire cutter, screwdriver, sandpaper, and some zip ties and then pointed to the lines. “I need two hundred feet of that, please.”
“Sure, stranger. Welcome to Summer Island.” The older woman with sun-worn skin and small eyes but a bright smile jumped into action, measuring the line from the huge spool.
“I’m not a stranger. I shouldn’t be anyway. I’m a local now. Name’s Trevor Ashford.”
“Nice to meet you, Trevor. I’m Leslie, but everyone calls me Skip.” The woman shook his hand and then went back to measuring and then cutting the rope. “You a sailor?”
“I am. Actually, I’m opening a charter company here in town. At the spot of the abandoned old hotel.”
“That’s good news. That hotel needs some work, and it’s the only one in our town.”
Trevor hesitated, but honesty was the best policy. “Actually, I’m mostly concentrating on the chartering business right now. Maybe later, after I earn enough from this company, I can work on the hotel.”
Skip slammed her fist down on the counter. “Then let’s get you some business. I know lots of locals who love to sail. Ever think about teaching?”
“No. But it’s something for me to consider. Right now, I’m hoping to find some nice spots nearby to take people on picnics, bird watching, sea life spotting, anything fun and adventurous would be great.”
“I can help you with that. Oh, and also my daughter. She knows all the great spots.”
“I’ve got that covered.” Julie stepped out from an aisle and approached the register.
“Oh, Julie, I hadn’t seen you there.” She rang up the items on her iPad instead of the old-fashioned register sitting on the counter collecting dust.
“Right. I’m sure you could do that. But if Trevor here needs any additional help, my daughter’s available.” Skip bagged the smaller items and then rolled and fastened the rope so it was easy to carry. “Got a card?”
Trevor retrieved the square, rough-edged card from his pocket and slapped it onto the counter. “Sure do. I can bring flyers or send you an email or whatever you need if you can help spread the word.”
“Love to help. I’ll get my daughter, Rhonda, to give you a call soon.” Skip studied the card as if it were faux currency.
“Thanks, Skip.” Julie ushered him out the door. “Don’t answer that phone when it rings from Rhonda.”
Julie pursed her lips and eyed the store behind him as if it were full of salty aliens. He pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on to shield his eyes from the bright rays so he could see Julie’s expression. It was tense. “Why not?”
“Because you don’t want to be Rhonda’s next victim. We have crazy even in small towns. She’ll want to marry you after one phone call. Trust me.”
“Why, Julie Boone, are you jealous?” Trevor teased.
“I’m only trying to warn you. Rhonda isn’t the right person for you. She’s not a kind person. A few years ago, convinced Trace’s dad that the city was going to pay him pennies for his land so they could build a road through to connect the main strip with the ocean. He almost sold the property to Rhonda because she’d convinced him that she didn’t want to see him leave Trace with no inheritance.”
“What happened?” Trevor asked.
Julie smiled. “The town found out and put a stop to it. There are good people here. I want you to meet them, not fall into some black widow’s web, especially after what you’ve been through.”
“What I’ve been through?” he asked, wondering how much Dustin had told Wind, who’d obviously shared with the rest of the women.
She sighed. “You’re divorced. I know it had to be hard. Wind looked you up on the internet and told me that your ex was a difficult woman to deal with.”
“I told you, my grief is nothing compared to what you’ve been through.”
Julie stepped closer and took the bag from his hands. “And I told you, don’t compare our levels of grief. Pain hurts. It doesn’t matter if it’s a cut to the wrists…” She dropped the bag next to the box of cards and lifted his arms to trace the scratches Houdini had left on his skin. Her touch sent shock waves through him. “…or a gunshot wound to the heart.” She put her palm to his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. “It all hurts at different times in different ways. You have as much of a right to be lost or confused or upset as I do.”
In that moment, he knew Julie was unlike any other woman he’d ever met. “Thank you for that.”
“Let’s finish up here, and then I want to take you to someplace special where we can talk without all the town watching.” She hooked one finger around his hand and tugged him toward the next stop on their Summer Island tour.
Julie was the kindest, most honest, fun, easy to talk to, and beautiful woman he’d ever met. Not to mention, the way one finger dusting his skin made his
