Page 18 of Changing Tides

“Nah, his back is acting up.”

I lift my eyes upward taking in the clear Carolina blue sky and bright sun.

“It’s a warm one today. Are you sure you don’t want to take the afternoon off?” I ask.

“No, ma’am. Sabel has me on a strict timeline,” he replies.

“Can I at least offer my services? I’m an excellent assistant,” I boast.

“I bet you are, but my grandson is pitching in today. He ran over to the house to fetch another sanding blade.”

That’s good news at least. The old man might be sharp as a tack and strong as an ox, as Sabel claims, but it makes me nervous, watching him through the kitchen window, and the thought of him carrying the large equipment and lumber all by himself is a bit scary.

“Then, how about I whip up a batch of lemonade for the two of you? I just bought a few fresh lemons and mint from the marina market.”

He smiles, and the lines around his eyes crinkle. “That’d be lovely,” he says.

“Coming right up,” I say before heading back to my bags and into the cottage.

I load my wares into the fridge and pantry, then grab a pot from the rack hanging above the kitchen island and set it on the stove.

While the sugar and water create the simple syrup, I take six lemons from the bowl on the counter, slice them in half, and begin juicing them.

When the lemonade is finished, I set the glass pitcher in the refrigerator so it can get nice and cool.

The wonderful aroma of the blossoms from the gardenia bushes out front drifts through the open windows with the breeze, and I note how much different a spring afternoon is here compared to our twenty-first-floor apartment in the city.

Leia is going to love it here.

I find my phone in my purse and click on my playlist. The Bluetooth speaker on the shelf in the living room comes to life, and Norah Jones’s soulful voice fills the air.

I love music. All music. One could say I’m a connoisseur of music. From jazz to country, soul, and rock, I am a fan. My father plays many instruments, and my mother is a music teacher in the public school system in Atlanta. They met at a piano bar when they were in college and fell madly in love. I grew up watching them and seeing how much they adored and respected one another. They made it look easy.

I guess that’s why I thought my marriage to Conrad would be easy too. I wanted that for Leia so badly.

I shake off the negative thoughts and return to my task. Swaying to the sounds, I muddle fresh mint in the bottom of two tall glasses, then fill them with ice and top it with lemonade.

Placing the glasses on a tray with a plate of chocolate chip cookies I baked last night, I head out the back door and down the stairs, following the sound of the sander.

When I round the side of the cottage, I glimpse a man bent over Sebby’s sawhorse. Under the scorching sun, his glistening arms flex with each movement as he toils away. His tanned skin is a testament to the hours he must spend working outdoors. His hair is pulled back into a bun, and I watch as a bead of sweat runs down the length of his muscular back and disappears into the band of his jeans.

Oh my.

When Sebby said his grandson was helping him, I envisioned a cute little boy or a scrawny teen, not this grown man—well grown at that.

“Do you need help with that?” Sebby calls, pulling me from my moment of gawking.

At the sound of his grandfather’s voice, the man looks up and over his shoulder in my direction and grins when he catches sight of me.

And my knees give way.

“Whoa there!” Sebby’s concerned cry rings out as the tray I was holding goes crashing to the ground.

I jump backward as glass shatters at my feet.

“Are you all right?” Sebby asks as he makes it to me, snapping me back to reality.

“Oh no, I’m sorry. I must have tripped on something,” I say as I bend to pick up the tray.

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