by Lea Nolan
“Good luck with that,” Jack said as he turned back to his tablet.
She looked up the number for Happy Holidays Vacation Rental Agency, the management company that handled the Donovan beach house, and practically every other vacation rental on Heron Harbor and the surrounding mainland. Voicemail kicked in on the third ring. The office was closed for the weekend. That was totally unacceptable. It might be the off-season, but people still visited the island each weekend. Who were they supposed to contact if there was a problem with their rental?
Annoyed, Raven flipped through her phone to find numbers for the two bed-and-breakfasts on the island. First, she tried the Sandpiper, a classic beach town B&B. The Sandpiper’s phone rang, but no one answered, not even the voicemail.
Next, Raven dialed Smuggler’s Cove, an uber kitschy B&B that looked like what might happen if Pirates of the Caribbean and Captain Hook had a baby. They didn’t answer their phone either.
Raven looked at Jack. “What is wrong with people?”
He glanced away from his tablet. “Any number of things.”
She exhaled hard. “I need to go into town to check out these B&Bs.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Her stomach rumbled, and she eyed the candy on the counter. Definitely not an option. “And maybe have a decent breakfast.”
“Good idea.”
She hated to eat alone in public and hated the idea that Jack would be settling in while she was downtown alone. “Have you eaten?”
“I had some toast, but I can eat.”
Toast? So he’d brought his own food. Real food. That had required some foresight and planning. Unlike her, who’d jumped in a car and driven straight here, stopping only for gas and highly questionable convenience store “food.”
“Would you like to come into town with me?” she asked.
He smiled. “I’d love to.”
Chapter 5
“Should we drive?” Jack asked, pointing to his black Range Rover when they stepped off the porch.
“Not unless you want to fight for a parking space on Main Street. It’s not that far. We’ll walk,” Raven answered.
He tilted his head up to the gray sky. Last night’s storm had passed, but the clouds still looked threatening. “What if it rains?”
Raven laughed as she zipped her jacket. “You’ll get wet. What are you afraid of? Made of sugar?”
“I’ve never been accused of being too sweet.”
“Good. Then you won’t melt.” She slid him a grin, and her brown eyes sparkled.
He liked her snark. Few people dared to snap back at him these days, even when he deserved it—which was probably more often than he cared to admit. He was surrounded by yes-men who tiptoed around, kissing his ass and doing whatever it took to keep their jobs.
Some of those poor bastards had no idea that even Krazy Gluing their lips to his ass cheeks wouldn’t keep them in Jack’s employ.
Such was the nature of the kill-or-be-killed world of high finance.
Jesus, fuckwit, quit thinking about work. You’re supposed to be taking a break from that shit.
Shoving back the thoughts that had sent him searching for solitude in the first place, Jack followed Raven to the end of the driveway. “This place better be worth getting soaked for.”
Raven wrinkled her pretty nose. “Maybe not soaked, but definitely drizzled on. And even worth having frizzy hair.”
Jack took her in. Raven might have been Lark’s sister, but they couldn’t have been more different. Lark was an artist with an earth goddess, bohemian vibe. A perpetual seeker of balance and harmony. He’d only known Raven for about twelve hours but already sensed she was bolder, brasher, and more upfront. And she was absolutely stunning.
Raven had dominated his thoughts last night as he’d tossed and turned, attempting to fall asleep. How could he not think of her when their hot-as-lightning kiss kept looping through his mind? Her mouth on his, the sweet taste of her tongue, and the scent of her skin, had driven him wild. Not to mention the sight of her smoking hot body, and the fiery passion in her eyes. But she’d been drunk and dreaming of some asshole named Mr. Perfect. Like the greedy prick that he was, Jack had taken what he could from her anyway because he’d needed something to dull the bitter sting of his shitty day. Acquiring a company potentially worth billions should have made him ecstatic. Instead, he’d felt like shit.
And then this morning, the woman who’d nearly kept him up all night surprised him once again when she’d stumbled into the kitchen looking like she’d been run over by a tequila truck. Her hair was tousled, make-up smudged, and her faded pajama bottoms had holes in them. He’d actually slept with women who’d jumped out of bed to brush their teeth before kissing him in the morning. Clearly, Raven was different. She didn’t give a shit what she looked like when she rolled out of bed.
She was real. Authentic. And damn if that didn’t add to her mystique.
She’d stunned him one last time when she’d retreated upstairs to get ready. He’d expected she’d be an hour or more, but not fifteen minutes later, she was in the foyer, polished to perfection. He hadn’t intended to check her out, but she’d looked so good that he couldn’t help noticing the way her cream-colored sweater clung to the sides of her breasts or how her dark blue jeans fit her curves so well. But the thing that really killed him was the way her heeled riding boots hugged her calves. The soft brown leather against the denim made him want to run his hands up her legs.
Except he hadn’t come to Heron Harbor to get laid. He’d come for some peace and quiet and to get his head right about the damage that he’d wrought, yet again.
But he couldn’t help wanting to know more about her.
“So besides staying at already rented beach houses, what else do you do?” He asked as they set out on Beach Drive.
“I’d rather hear about how you met my sister.”
Interesting. She’d deflected his interest in her. Okay, he’d play along. “I’m sure Lark told you.”
“She did, but I’d like to hear your side of things.”
“We met through a friend in common in the art community.”
“Andre.”
“Yes. He introduced us.”
“And?” Raven probed.
She obviously knew more. But how much, he wasn’t sure. “Your sister has become a good friend.”
“Just a friend.” Raven didn’t sound convinced. For some reason, he wanted her to be.
“Our singular date made it clear we’d never be more than that. Your sister is charming and very talented, but we’re far too different to be soulmates.”
Truthfully, he should stop calling it a date. Andre had set them up, but Jack had known that there was no spark between them within thirty seconds, and there never would be. Lark was a pretty woman. Many men considered her beautiful. But she wasn’t his type.
Raven thrust her fist in the air. “Ha! I knew it.”
Shit. He’d said too much. “Lark didn’t tell you we’d gone out on a date.”
The smile on Raven’s face resembled that of a cat who’d eaten a very plump canary. “No. But I suspected it. Let me guess—she read your aura.”
Jack laughed. “It was my palm.”
“Do you have a long lifeline?”
“Yes. Though I suspect it’s because my hands are also pretty big. Comes with the territory.”
Raven’s eyes trailed the length of him. “How tall are you, exactly?”
He’d hated that question since he’d sprung up at sixteen. Still, he answered it. “Six-four.”
She swallowed hard, and he could swear her cheeks flushed. “That’s pretty big.”
He was sure that, like every woman who made the same comment about his height and broad frame, Raven was thinking about all the other things on his body that might be big, too. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, he didn’t mind.
What the hell was happening to him?
He nodded. “That it is.”
“Do you hope it did?”
“No, but Lark has dealt with a lot of assholes in the past. I’m just wondering if you didn’t end up sleeping together because she poured a drink in your lap.”
“Of course not. I’m a gentleman.” He paused for a moment. “Does she do that to guys often?”
“If they deserve it.”
“Seeing as I left that date with dry pants, I’d say I passed her test. And we’ve been friends ever since. Whenever she’s in town, we go out. Mostly as a group, but sometimes she and I catch up over coffee.”
“Like when you helped her with that financial thing,” Raven nudged, sounding a little too casual as they turned from Terrapin Lane onto Oyster Avenue.
Jack’s Spidey senses tripped, alerting him to a trap. He’d fallen for Raven’s earlier leading question. He wasn’t about to do it again. If Raven already knew how he’d helped Lark, chances were she’d be more specific about the details. He’d play this one smart and steer clear. “I think maybe your sister enjoys coffee more than you do.”
Before Raven could respond, an elderly, brown-skinned woman with a cane approached them on the sidewalk. “Raven Donovan, it’s so good to see you! How’s that job of yours?”
Jack could have sworn Raven winced but then a smile lit her face. “Mrs. Hendrix, how are you?” She took the older woman’s gloved hands in hers.
“I’m doing all right. My rheumatism is acting up, as usual. The weather and all, you know.”
“I’m sure last night’s storm didn’t help,” Raven said.
“Not at all. I swear it’s going to rain again.” Mrs. Hendrix raised her eyes to the overcast sky.
“Can we help you with anything?” Raven asked.
Mrs. Hendrix smiled. “Why thank you, but no. I may have this cane, but it doesn’t have me. I refuse to be bowed by a little rain.”
“My friend, Jack, is afraid of the rain,” Raven teased as she patted his forearm.
Jack smiled down at Mrs. Hendrix. “I am not.”
“He doesn’t want his hair to get wet,” Raven whispered conspiratorially to the old woman.
“Honey, there’s nothing better than a big, wet man,” Mrs. Hendrix cackled.
Jack blinked at her. How had she morphed from a sweet little biddy to a dirty old bird? He stood mute, unable to formulate a response that wouldn’t be construed as disrespectful to his elder.
Raven laughed. “Mrs. Hendrix, you’re gonna get me in trouble.”
“That’s the best kind.” Mrs. Hendrix winked at Jack.
Yup, Mrs. Hendrix was a straight-up naughty nonagenarian.
Raven must have seen the distress on his face because she looped her arm under his and mercifully said, “We’re off to the Shipwreck for breakfast.”
Mrs. Hendrix opened the gate to the picket fence that surrounded her front yard. “Tell Cleveland not to burn your eggs. He just started working there this month.”
“I will,” Raven answered.
“You have a nice day, Mrs. Hendrix,” Jack called after her as she turned up the path to her neat little brick house.
As he and Raven continued, Raven filled him in. “Cleveland is her great-grandson. The diner’s been in their family for generations.”
Jack paid less attention to the diner’s history than the sensation of Raven’s arm wrapped around his. She weighed almost nothing, yet he took great pleasure in her presence there. How long had it been since he walked with a companion? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember.
Several houses down, a middle-aged couple raking leaves flagged them down. “Hey, Raven!” they called in unison.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell. How are you?”
“I’m doing okay,” Mr. Maxwell said.
“He’s not eating enough roughage,” Mrs. Maxwell answered.
“For cripes’s sake, Louise, do you have to tell everyone?”
“When you start following Dr. Clark’s orders, I’ll stop,” Mrs. Maxwell said.
Raven laughed. “Looks like you’ve got your marching orders.”
“Yeah,” the older man waved a dismissive hand, then nodded at Jack. “Who’s your friend?”
“I’m Jack—”
“He’s a friend of Lark’s,” Raven answered, though her arm was still firmly wrapped around his.
Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell exchanged confused looks. “Tell her we said hello. And Wren, too. She and that handsome new fiancé of hers are so cute together,” Mrs. Maxwell said.
“Will do. We’re off to the Shipwreck,” Raven said and tugged him onward toward the diner.
“I always get the ham and sausage omelet!” Mr. Maxwell called after them.
“You’ll be getting a salad instead,” Mrs. Maxwell snapped.
After Jack and Raven had passed five more houses and three more people who’d recognized Raven, Jack couldn’t help himself. “Do you know everyone on this island?”
“Not everyone, but probably most of the year-round people on this side of Main Street.”
“That’s . . . nice.” Jack fumbled for the right word. There was nothing terrible about being connected to those around you. In fact, it seemed pretty damn great—if you could pull it off in the first place and then manage not to fuck it up.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had recognized him in his own neighborhood—make that either of his neighborhoods. Literally a million people surrounded his Manhattan high-rise apartment, yet it couldn’t be more anonymous. And it’d been so long since he’d been to his house in Somerset, Connecticut, he doubted his neighbors remembered he lived there.
They turned down Main Street, a picture-perfect, brick-lined, seaside shopper’s paradise filled with tiny shops, boutiques, galleries, and restaurants.
“How often do you come to the island?” Jack asked.
“As often as possible. Probably four times a year,” Raven answered.
“That’s not a lot.” Yet, she was still a part of this community. People cared about her.
“It’s as much as I can squeeze in. I wish I could be here more.”
“But even at four times a year, everyone still knows you.”
“We used to spend our summers here as kids.”
When Jack and Raven arrived at the Shipwreck Diner, he opened the door for her, and they approached the hostess stand. Half the patrons in the dining room recognized her and called out her name like a chorus.
“Are we in a Cheers episode?” Jack asked.
Raven laughed. “Okay, so a lot of people know my name. But that’s because it’s the offseason.” She waved to the room. “Hi, everyone!”
A woman with medium-brown skin came to the hostess stand. “Hey Rae, do you want your regular table?”
Raven smiled. “Thanks, Claire. We ran into your grandmother on the way. She told us your nephew’s working the grill.”
Claire nodded. “He’s the best short-order cook we’ve had in years. I don’t know why I didn’t hire him sooner.” She led them to a booth at the back.
Jack paused before he sat. The space looked tight, and he was pretty positive there wasn’t going to be enough legroom. He could be a dick and demand one of the tables in the center of the room, or he could make nice and fold himself up like an accordion to fit into the booth. Short people like Raven didn’t think about these things. They just fit themselves into tiny spaces and went about their happy-go-lucky, leprechaun-sized lives. They didn’t think about leg spasms, blood clots, and deep vein thrombosis.
He caught the look of confusion on Raven’s face. She’d already slid her dainty, little self into the booth while he was still standing next to Claire like an asshole.
Aw, fuck it. Accordion it was. He crammed onto the bench and stuffed his body behind the table, scissoring his legs as best he could around Raven’s.
Claire handed him a menu. “We’ve got a Big Breakfast Blue Plate special this morning.” She pointed t
o the slip of paper appended to the front.
Three eggs, three pancakes, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and toast. Done.
“I’ll take it. Scramble the eggs, please. And coffee.”
“You sure that’s going to be enough?” Raven asked drily.
“You’re right. Can you add a waffle to that?” Jack beamed at Claire.
Raven turned to Claire. “I’ll have poached eggs, dry toast, and hot green tea.”
“No meat?” Jack asked.
“Eggs are protein,” Raven shot back.
“If you don’t order bacon, you’re going to want some of mine, and I hate that.”
Raven’s eyes narrowed. “I promise I won’t want your bacon.”
Claire laughed. “Aren’t you a couple? Where have you been hiding him, Rae, and why has it taken you this long to bring him around to the island?”
Raven flushed. God, he loved that shade of pink on her cheeks. She really did look like Snow White. “Oh, no. We um . . . ”
“Only met last night.” Jack helped her out.
Raven rushed to explain. “He’s a friend of Lark’s. There was a mix-up with his rental of our beach house. I’m trying to get him moved to the Sandpiper or Smuggler’s Cove, but neither of them answered their phones.”
“I have a contract to rent her beach house, so I don’t need to stay anywhere else,” Jack said with a smile.
Claire’s eyes ping-ponged between the two of them and she laughed. “You might not be a couple, but you should be. You act like some of my old married customers. Anyway, I’m not sure what’s happening with the Sandpiper, but Smuggler’s Cove is closed for renovations.”
“So they’re finally getting rid of the pirates,” Raven said.
Claire shook her head. “Honey, they’re taking it to the next level. They’re building a pirate ship in their lobby, and every guest room is getting covered with shiplap.”
Raven blinked. “Wow.”
“Yeah, it’s out of control. Let me get these orders in, and I’ll ask around about the Sandpiper.”
By the time Claire left them alone, Jack’s legs had begun to cramp. He stretched them out. As he did, they brushed against the sides of Raven’s calves.