“You mean it like a man who’s about to do something dumb because he can’t help himself.”
“I need to talk to her. She knows everyone here.”
“You plan on interrogating her?”
“No, but I think she might be able to help me figure this out.”
“Leave it alone,” he warned. “You are mixing business with pleasure. That’s risky.”
“We’re not in a relationship,” I said. “There’s no mixing.”
“When it blows up, and it will blow up, I want it on record that I warned you.”
“Noted.” I pushed off the doorframe. “Enjoy your workout.”
“Enjoy your run.”
I changed into my running gear, laced my shoes, and let myself out through the back gate. The smell of the ocean was so much better than the smell I’d left on Front Street. I let it wash over me, taking deep breaths of salty air.
I told myself I wasn’t looking for her, but if I happened to see her, a little small talk wouldn’t hurt.
CHAPTER 9
SUMMER
It was the first time I’d breathed properly in days. Every morning I was on the beach looking for him. Not that I was looking for him because I wanted to see him. Just the opposite.
I hadn’t been sleeping. My brain felt like a hamster on a wheel. What if I ran into him at the Salty Anchor? What if he was on the beach when I went out for my morning session? What if I turned a corner on Front Street and there he was, all gorgeous eyes and chiseled jaw and that stupid smile? And those abs that had no business being as chiseled as they were.
I was a grown woman who had built a full and happy life in this town. I had students who depended on me. I had a family that needed me. I had a community that was facing something potentially devastating. And my town was worth fighting for. But I was not my mother. I didn’t have her courage. Her youngest daughter was a coward. I was avoiding my own front porch because I was afraid of running into a man that still had a hold on me.
My old truck that had been ravaged by saltwater and bumpy roads was still reliable. It got me where I needed to go. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone with some fancy car. Besides, my board wouldn’t fit in a sedan.
This was my town. My beach. My ocean. My whole entire life was here. His was in Texas or wherever men like Colt Anderson spent their time. He was the one who should be keeping his head down and his eyes forward. He was the one who should be aware of where he was and who he might be upsetting on any given morning. Not me.
I was not going to rearrange my life around his presence. Which was exactly why I’d driven four miles down the coast road to a stretch of beach that almost nobody knew about. I didn’t want to go out in front of the house because he might be there. Another jog on the beach. I had noticed he liked to jog in the evenings, which meant I couldn’t go for a walk or go surfing on my beach.
I pulled the truck off onto the gravel shoulder where the road curved closest to the water and I cut the engine. The clouds on the horizon were pink, casting the whole scene in soft lighting. It was going to be a good one tonight.
I climbed out, pulled my board from the bed of the truck, and tucked it under my arm. The path down to the beach was worn into the scrubby grass by years of my own feet.
A couple was picking their way back up the path as I came down, shoes in their hands, the woman laughing at something the man had said. They smiled at me and nodded. I smiled back and kept moving.
I waded in, paddled out past the break, and sat up on my board. I studied the water, watching the swells. Nothing dramatic. Perfect for what I needed, which wasn’t anything technical. I didn’t need to push myself tonight. I just needed to be on the water. Alone. No noise. No pressure.
I caught the first wave without even trying, which made me sound cocky, but it was just a fact. My body knew what to do before my brain had to tell it anything. A whole childhood ofgetting knocked around and learning to read water was the best teacher.
I stretched out flat on my board, arms loose at my sides, face tipped up to the darkening sky. The board rocked gently. The water was still warm enough that I didn’t feel the cold. Not really.
My muscles unclenched. One by one, like a fist slowly opening. I could finally breathe. I practiced a deep breathing thing I learned while at a class with Capri forever ago. It was all about envisioning every muscle from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, clench and unclench.
I closed my eyes and focused on my scalp and moved down. I felt the tightness leave my brow, then my jaw. My shoulders and forearms. I exhaled slowly and let it all melt away.
My skin was starting to dry, the salt crystalizing on my arms, that familiar tightness across my cheeks and forehead that meant I was going to need to drink about a gallon of water and apply every moisturizer I owned. Worth it. For the first time all week, I didn’t feel like I was bracing for something.
And then I heard someone clear their throat. My eyes popped open to see Colt sitting on his board about fifteen feet away, looking very smug.
“I should have known you’d still come here,” he said.