Beachbound Page 26

  “Well, I guess you could say a lot has happened,” she said. She recounted the evening’s events, culminating in Suzanne’s arrest by Blue and his officers at the salt-storage depot. He listened to the story with a combination of amusement and amazement. When she was done, he gave a low whistle.

  “Boy, you’ve sure livened up Blue’s days. I’m guessing his project cataloging seaweed has ground to a halt since you blew into town.”

  “Pardon me?” said Nina.

  “Blue’s got this idea that the seaweed growing off the west coast of Pineapple Cay could be harvested for fertilizer. A new industry for the island. Good jobs for young people so they can stay if they want. In his spare time, he’s been cataloging the types of seaweed and where they’re found. He used to have a fair amount of spare time, in between the odd drunk and disorderly at The Pirate’s Wake and patrolling the cays for petty smugglers and poachers. But it sounds like he’s got his hands full these days.”

  So Blue does have some kind of a life outside supervising Pineapple Cayers and working in his garden, thought Nina.

  Ted chuckled and looked at her with . . . fondness . . . admiration? She wasn’t sure. The silence lengthened, and Nina decided to plunge in headfirst.

  “So, has your friend gone home?”

  “Pardon?” he said.

  “Your lady friend,” she said brazenly.

  “Oh, her,” he said. He took a drink of his wine before he spoke. “She’s an attorney,” he said. “She came to a fishing show I was at about six months ago, in New York. She booked the whole lodge for three days. I assumed she was bringing a group with her. As I recall, she had a boyfriend in tow at the show. I took the van to the airport to pick them up, and it was just her. She said she booked the trip because she needed some peace and quiet. I guess she must be a very successful attorney, to buy this much peace and quiet.”

  “You must have made a real impression on her in New York,” said Nina.

  He shrugged.

  “She’s very attractive,” said Nina. Oh, Nina, really, she chastised herself.

  “Yes, I guess she is, in a certain kind of way,” said Ted. “But she wasn’t all that interested in fishing, as it turns out.” He said it like that voided any other charms she might have had.

  “I think she’d read an article in some magazine, or maybe she just liked the gear and got it in her head that fly-fishing was for her,” he said. “Turns out she liked the idea of fishing in the abstract but not in the execution. I think she found it boring.”

  He said this in a mystified tone, as if she’d confessed to him that she believed in fairies.

  “Anyway, I took her out the first morning, and she fished for about half an hour. Then she said she just wanted to go for a boat ride and look at the scenery. Fine. I asked Ricky to take her out for the afternoon session, but she insisted that she’d booked the head guide—me. Dinner in the empty lodge was a bit awkward, especially with Cheryl giggling in the kitchen. Day two, she decided to spend her time sunbathing on the beach. I stayed out of the way, up here. I even got Danish Jensen over here to give her a private yoga lesson while I caught up on some paperwork. She asked several times where the nightlife was. I told her there was none, but she wasn’t buying it, so I took her to dinner at the inn last night. By the time I put her on the plane tonight, I was wrung out. Turns out I don’t have that much to talk about with an attorney from Manhattan.”

  Good, thought Nina. “Me neither,” she said aloud, referring to her philandering soon-to-be ex-husband Darren, a lawyer. Although in a roundabout way, she guessed a New York lawyer was responsible for Nina’s move from New York to Pineapple Cay.

  Ted chuckled. “Thank God I’ve just got a group of refinery workers from Texas to deal with tomorrow morning.”

  They sat looking at each other, and the silence grew between them again. Patsy Cline had finished singing. Nina waited for him to ask about Les and the hot-tubbing at sunset, but Ted obviously had more restraint than she did. Or maybe he just didn’t care that much. Easy come, easy go. He no doubt had his share of female admirers. If one woman proved to be too much work, another one would be along shortly. In the meantime, he was courteous and polite.

  She sighed quietly and looked around the room for a topic of conversation. Her eyes landed on the guitar in the corner.

  “Do you play?” she asked.

  “Poorly,” he said.

  “Will you play something?” she asked.

  “I suppose I could, if you’ll make allowances,” he said, and rose from his chair, holding his hand out to her. “Let’s sit on the sofa awhile.”

  She took his hand, and he squeezed hers gently. He held on to her hand as he guided her over to the sofa, where she sank back against the cushions, feeling a bit light-headed. He picked up the guitar and sat facing her. He strummed a few chords, then played an old Hank Williams melody, slow and melancholy, his fingers moving up and down the frets.

  He can cook, he can fix a boat engine, and he plays the guitar, thought Nina. I wonder what else he can do? She had a pretty good idea.

  By the time he finished playing, her eyes were open wide, and her heart was beating fast in her chest.

  “That was beautiful,” she said.

  He laid the guitar gently on the floor beside him and moved closer to her, holding her gaze. He leaned toward her and kissed her. A long, tender kiss. Nina felt the room begin to spin.

  “You smell nice,” he said softly in her ear.

  “So do you,” she murmured.

  “Should I look behind the sofa to see if Danish Jensen or Philip Putzel is there?” he whispered. She smiled.

  He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, and grazed her neck with his lips. Then he kissed her mouth again, more deeply. She kissed him back. She could feel both their hearts pounding as she put her hand on his chest, her fingers tracing his muscles and taking in the heat of his body through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. His hand slipped under the fabric of her shirt and slid across her bare skin to the small of her back. He pressed her to him. They were headed somewhere fast.

  “When I was sitting across from you at dinner the other night, listening to Sylvia talk about her trip to England, this is what I was thinking about,” Ted murmured. He kissed her again. Nina felt light-headed. Was she ready for this? She felt a sudden panic set in, and her body stiffened. He sat back and looked at her questioningly.

  “Are you all right? Is this OK?” he asked.

  She struggled to answer. He waited for a moment, watching her, then pulled gently away, holding her hands in his.

  “How about a cup of tea?” he asked. She nodded. He gave her a small, reassuring smile and squeezed her hand, then stood and walked slowly to the kitchen. He rubbed his hand over his face and through his hair while he filled the kettle. Nina sat on the edge of the sofa and watched him. A few minutes later he came back holding two cups of tea. He handed one to her, then sat beside her on the sofa.

  “Nina, it’s all right,” said Ted, looking her in the eye. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of where you’re at. You’re recently divorced, just finding your feet, enjoying a new adventure. Look, I’ve been there, I understand,” he said. “I think my feelings are pretty clear. I’d like to get to know you better. But I’m a patient man. It’s a job requirement in my line of work. And I want you to be sure of what you want.” He smiled and breathed deeply, in and out.

  She smiled back tentatively and relaxed. Man, he was really good at this.

  Eat your heart out, Les. This is how a real man talks about his feelings, she thought.

  “I like you a lot, Ted. Really. A lot,” said Nina, finally finding her voice. She chose not to elaborate on how her whole body was electrified when he touched her arm or the number of hours she had already lost thinking about his beautiful eyes and charmingly old-fashioned manners.

  “It’s just too fast,” she said. “Not because I have doubts, but because it’s new and strange and overwhelming.
”

  “So we’ll take it slow,” he said softly.

  In a brisker tone, Ted said, “Let’s get some fresh air.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “On quiet nights like this when the sky is clear, I like to take a blanket down to the beach and lie there looking at the stars. Are you up for it?”

  “That sounds perfect,” said Nina.

  Ted grabbed a folded quilt off the arm of the sofa, and still holding hands, they walked down the path to the beach. Ted spread the quilt on the sand and patted the spot beside him. They lay back together, her head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her. The velvet-black sky was full of stars. The steady, quiet shush of the surf was the only sound.

  “Let’s just see where the stars lead us, shall we?” said Ted.

  “That sounds perfect,” said Nina with a smile.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My deep thanks to the team at Lake Union Publishing for the wonderful experience of publishing my novel with them and for contributing their substantial expertise to the project. I am indebted to editor Miriam Juskowicz for calling me out of the blue one day to ask if I’d like to publish my book with Lake Union, and for her kind words of encouragement along the way. Thank you to editorial director Danielle Marshall for keeping me on track with Beachbound, to Devan Hanna and the marketing department for helping readers find this book, and to Gabe Dumpit for answering my questions along the way.

  I would like to thank Kristin Mehus-Roe for her sensitive and astute edit of the manuscript. She has made me sound more literate than I am, and her contributions have improved the story. My sincere thanks also to copy editor Sarah Engel, proofreader Jill Kramer, and production editors Nicole Pomeroy and Elise Marton. If you compared the first draft of Beachbound with the book you are now holding, their efforts would be immediately apparent. I am grateful to book designer Danielle Christopher for the beautiful cover. It was an honor to work with you all.

  Finally, thank you to all the readers who took the time to write to me and post book reviews online. It is always great to hear from you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Junie Coffey lives with Fisherman Fred and Hurricane Annie in a little town north of forty-five degrees latitude, which got two hundred inches of snow last winter. She has worked as a travel writer, and has both lived and vacationed throughout the Bahamas and the Caribbean, spending time in the islands every chance she gets. To learn more about the author and her work, visit www.pineapplecay.com.