Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle (78 page)

Had she ever had that? Her mom had died of ovarian cancer when Sabrina was five. All she had of her mother were a few foggy memories and a handful of photos. Her dad had seemed like a ghost in the house after her mom died, and then he was gone too.

A horn blared, and she saw that the pedestrians had cleared. She pressed on the pedal and accelerated through town, passing the quaint shops and milling tourists, the wheels of her bike bumping along the cobblestone streets.

When she arrived at Tucker’s house, Cody was sitting on his porch, reading a book.

“Hey, Sabrina.”

“Hi, Cody.” She stopped by Tucker’s stoop, swung her leg around, then set the kickstand with the toe of her tennis shoe.

“Invitation for dinner’s still good. We’re grilling chicken fajitas, and my buddy Ron is making his famous homemade salsa.”

Tucker was at the door, on the stoop really, glaring in Cody’s general direction. “She’s working tonight.”

Sabrina tossed Cody a smile of consolation, though by the cocky look he was giving Tucker, he didn’t need it. “Guess I’m on the clock,” she said.

Tucker followed her to the office. The house didn’t smell like supper as it often did, but maybe he’d been in a hurry and had grabbed takeout. Instead of savory scents, she relished the familiar woodsy fragrance of his cologne.

“You should be nicer to the tourists,” she said. “It’s good for the island economy.”

“What am I, the welcome committee?”

Sabrina shrugged, then, settled at the desk, checked her notepad to see where she’d left off.

“How far along are you in terms of the emails?” Tucker asked from the doorway.

She opened the program and compared the date of the one she’d last read with the date of their first letters. “About five months from the time you began writing.”

The tablet with her notes was open on the desk, so she started with the next email, hoping Tucker would leave.

“I was thinking we could have another brainstorming session. I have some steaks that I need to cook. How about I grill and we can have dinner while we chat? We can eat out by the water.”

A working supper. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she’d already eaten. But she’d been in a rush after staying a few extra minutes to help Evan bus tables and hadn’t had time. The last thing she wanted was to sit face-to-face with Tucker. She’d rather be next door with Cody and company.

That’s not true, and you know it.

Truth be told, Tucker was just tempting. To know him so well and pretend as if she didn’t . . . to care so much and pretend as if she didn’t. It was too hard. She needed to get through these letters faster.

“Sabrina?”

If he wanted to use the time to brainstorm, who was she to argue? He was paying for her time.

“That’s fine.” She could do this. She’d done it on the boat; she could manage supper alone with him. All alone, on the tiny, secluded square of his deck.

“Great. How do you like your steak?”

She started to say well-done. But she’d put that on the Sweetpea list a few weeks ago. Plenty of people liked their steaks well-done, but the fewer similarities between her and Sweetpea, the better.

“Medium well,” she said, grimacing on the inside. The thought of pink meat nauseated her.

“Give me half an hour?”

“Sure.”

With that, he was gone, allowing Sabrina to work. Now she had a supper and an uncooked steak to endure. She wondered how she was going to control herself and her wayward thoughts through a romantic supper for two.

Shaking the thought, she delved into the next batch of messages. They were full of banal tidbits, so she noted the details on the sheet. How could she sidetrack him later? Sweetpea had made few comments regarding her residence, but now Sabrina had no way of misleading him.

She settled back in the chair and opened the next email. She remembered receiving the original message, and her heart tripped at the memory. They’d been exchanging emails late one night about mundane things, joking around, and then he’d sent this message:

Do you ever think about meeting in person?

She’d frozen in response to the words. What should she say? She had to answer. He was waiting.

Not really, she typed, and sent the message. Would he press her further? What would she say if he asked more about where she lived?

Why not?

Fear curled inside her, thick and hot. Her fingers poked at the keys.

What’s with the twenty questions?

Her mouth was as dry as the sand at Jetties Beach. She didn’t have to wait long for his reply.

I really want to meet you.

And there it was. Tossed out like a water bomb from a second-story window, and just as unrescindable.

Suddenly their correspondence didn’t seem safe at all. It felt immediate and threatening. Like waking from a dream to find it was real after all. Her heart knocking against her rib cage, she’d closed the message, closed the program.

The next morning a message had been waiting in her inbox.

I’m sorry if I overstepped a boundary. Let’s forget I said that, okay?

He changed the topic, telling her about a customer who’d been terrified of the water. Sabrina had been relieved at his change of heart, and he hadn’t mentioned meeting again until months later.

“Dinner’s ready.” Tucker leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, as if he’d been there a while. She’d been so absorbed in the emails, she hadn’t heard him. So much for remaining detached.

Shaking the remnants of trepidation, Sabrina followed Tucker down the hall and out the sliding door. Three stairs led down to a water-level porch where a plank deck nestled against the back of his house. A wooden railing was the only barrier between them and the boat-dotted harbor.

He gestured toward the round wicker table, set for two. A terra-cotta pot with a cluster of purple pansies graced its center.

“I hope you like iced tea,” he said after they were seated.

“That’s fine.” A steaming baked potato accompanied the steak. And beside it, corn. Her stomach turned. She retrieved her fork and knife and cut into the steak, then felt like a heel when he bowed his head in prayer.

“I think I may have overcooked your steak,” he said when he finished praying. “The timer for the potatoes went off, and I got distracted.”

The steak was brown throughout. “It’s perfect.” Thank God for distractions. What was she going to do about the corn? Everyone liked corn. Everyone except her. It only took her right back to seventh-grade gym class, where she’d vomited her lunch on her favorite Nikes in front of everyone.

“So, tell me about yourself.”Tucker stabbed his meat. “You work at the café, do some editing and research for Renny Hannigan. What else is there to know about the mysterious Sabrina Kincaid?”

She took her time chewing the meat, then sipped her tea. “There’s no mystery. I grew up in the South and went away to college. I visited Nantucket on my—vacation—and decided to stay. I guess you could say the beauty of the island lured me.”

In truth, it had been weeks before she’d come out from her depression enough to notice the beauty. Slowly, she’d noticed the sweet scent of hydrangea, the rugged, scraggly brush, the beauty of the marina. Initially her only reason for staying was she hadn’t wanted to return to Macon. The island felt isolated from the rest of the world, an incubator, and she’d been in sore need of the respite.

He was waiting for her to continue.

“I saw a Help Wanted sign in the window of the café for a server and got the job.” She wondered if he thought that was a lame job for someone with a college degree. But he’d quit law school to follow a less lucrative passion.

“I’d intended it to be temporary until I found something more fitting with my degree, but the tips were good, and then I found Renny. My work with her is fulfilling, and it could turn into full-time eventually.” She regretted mentioning her degree and hoped he wouldn’t inquire further. “Either way, I’ve enjoyed working with her and have even considered getting into editing someday.” See, she had ambitions.

“Tell me about your work with Renny. We attend the same church, but I didn’t know she was an author.”

“She has an agent, but she’s not published yet.” Sabrina eyed Tucker. “I thought we were going to brainstorm.”

“Are you in a hurry?”

She shrugged, then wiped her mouth. “It’s your dime.”

“That’s right, it is. About Renny . . .”

His eyes twinkled. Why was he curious about her boring life? For a man so rushed to find his lady friend, he was sure taking his time.

“I struck up a conversation with Renny at the café when she was reading a book I’d recently read. We started talking about plots and characters; then she invited me for supper to pick my brain about her work in progress. When my ideas worked for her, she asked if I’d be interested in exchanging room and board for help on her stories.”

“But she’s not published?”

Sabrina shook her head. “She should be though. She just finished her ninth manuscript, and it’s superb. Frankly, I’m shocked her work hasn’t been picked up yet.”

“She told me you have of way of inventing complicated plots and twists.”

Sabrina salted her potato and stirred. “I read a lot. I guess it becomes intuitive after a while.”
Change the subject before he asks what you read.
She didn’t want to lie, and he knew Sweetpea read mysteries.

“You have a beautiful home.” The sun, low in the sky, glowed behind a swath of pink clouds. Somewhere nearby, a boat knocked against the rubber sides of a pier.

“Thanks.”

They ate in silence a few minutes. She should ask about him, but couldn’t bring herself to inquire about things she already knew. Besides, the sooner they got on with this, the sooner she could leave.

She finished her potato and began poking at the corn. She had to get rid of it. Her stomach gurgled in response to the thought.

She drained the last of her iced tea. “Could I bother you for another glass?”

“Glad to.”

When he was out of view, she scraped the corn into the water. Great. Corn floats. She helped it toward shore with her hand and was in her seat before Tucker returned.

“Thanks.” Now that the corn was gone, she could focus on laying the groundwork for the inevitable conclusion that Sweetpea was unfindable.

“I have to say,” she started, “most of Sweetpea’s clues are vague.”

A bee hovered around the porch railing behind Tucker. Sabrina tensed.
Go away, bee.

“She’s been careful not to reveal important details,” he said.

The bee passed the railing and entered the porch, flying toward the table.
No, no, no. Go away.
Sabrina set down her fork, keeping a close watch. It flew over Tucker’s shoulder and headed toward her.

She pressed her spine against the wicker back, barely breathing. Everything in her wanted to jump up and run into the house.

It’s just a bee. It’s. Just. A. Bee.

“I keep thinking there must be something there, though,” he said. “With so many messages, surely there are enough clues to get us close.”

The insect stopped over the pansies, hovering. It caught Tucker’s eye. He moved his hand off the table as if to shoo it away, then reached for the saltshaker instead.

Don’t panic. It’s not going to hurt you. It’s just investigating the flowers.
She should say something. Her mind couldn’t seem to formulate a thought. The bee nearly settled on one of the petals, then moved on to the next.

She glanced at Tucker. He was studying her, one eyebrow higher than the other.
Say something
. “Maybe I’ll find something as I get through the rest of the letters.”

The bee hovered higher, seemingly bored with the flowers. It flew toward her. She held her breath as it floated in front of her. A red shirt! She’d worn a red shirt.
I’m not a flower, stupid bee!

“Are you okay?”

Breathe, Sabrina!
The bee closed in. She could hear the buzz of its wings. She grabbed her napkin from the table and swatted it away, trying to appear calm despite the fact that her insides were as volatile as a shaken can of coke.

Tucker reached out and waved his hand until the bee retreated. It flew over the railing and around the corner.

“Don’t like bees?”

She wasn’t hiding it as well as she’d thought. “Not so much.”

She reached for her fork. She was trembling, for heaven’s sake. She darted a glance toward the corner to ensure the bee wasn’t returning for the giant red flower.

“You were saying?” Tucker said.

Sabrina had no idea what she’d been saying. She sucked in a cleansing breath. Where was she?

Oh, yes, that it was time to lay some groundwork. She sipped her tea. “I just read the message where you asked about meeting her.”

Tucker’s eyes fell, his lashes hooding his blue eyes.

What was he thinking? Was he reliving the moment when she’d ignored his question? How long had he waited that night for her reply? How had he felt when he realized she didn’t want to meet? If only she could’ve explained.

“Why did you ask her?” The question escaped before she could stop it.

“When you really connect with someone, it’s a rare and valuable thing. I’d come to care about her.” He gave a half grin. “It might seem crazy that I feel so strongly about a woman I met online, but it’s not. It’s real.”

The passion in his eyes mesmerized her. “Why do you care so much about her?”

“Why do you ask?”

She froze for a second, then took a sip of tea and picked up her fork. Was she wrong for keeping him at a distance?

What if? What if she let it happen? What if she told him she was Sweetpea and let the cards fall where they may? She looked at the familiar planes of his face and wondered what it would be like if she had the privilege of running her hand along his jaw, of kissing his eyelids closed, of tucking her face in the crook of his neck, and breathing in the scent of his skin.

What would it be like to come home to him, his smell, his touch, rather than a skimpy email?