Page 4 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

Sunset’s dwindling light kept Rowan’s exhausted brain from recognizing him. It finally came back to her like a bolt of lightning. “Daniel? The Vanilla Bean Machine by the old bait shop.”

“That’s right. We met when you were here at Christmas overseeing the kitchen remodeling.”

Hard to forget a tall, broad-shouldered hunk with a crop of brown hair, a solid jawline, and a dimple stamped on his chin. She remembered those soulful light blue eyes the color of a robin’s egg.

Tonight, he wore a tight-fitting black jacket that hugged his chest, ripped jeans that showed off his waist, and a pair of black boots. The word sexy leaped into her brain.

She felt like a fool. His wasn’t the voice she’d heard earlier. “Sorry. I’ve been driving all day. My brain feels like mush. You’re the one who made sure my utilities were on, and now you’ve brought food.”

“I can’t take credit for the lights. Logan took care of that.” Daniel held up the bag he carried. “But I brought some coffee, milk, a bunch of grapes, a couple of apples and bananas, some sandwiches from the Diner, and of course, I had to bring samples of our summer flavors for June—cherry vanilla, strawberry, and lavender.”

“Lavender? Seriously? I love lavender.”

“Yeah, I remember.” He stared at the poker she carried. “No need for armed combat. I come in peace.”

Her shoulders relaxed. She eased her grip on the fireplace poker. “Of course you do,” she uttered, letting go of the makeshift weapon and placing it beside the door. Her stomach made a loud churning noise at the prospect of food. “I’ve always thought that letting ice cream melt is a sin.”

“We’re kindred souls then.”

“I don’t know about that, but your timing couldn’t be better. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m starving,” she admitted, ushering him into the kitchen.

Daniel breezed past her and set the sack on the kitchen table. He started unloading the bag, taking the quarts of ice cream out first and putting them in the freezer. He showed off the rest of his offerings before holding up two bottles of water. “I wasn’t sure if you liked flavored tea, so I played it safe.”

“Water’s fine.” Eyeing the sub sandwiches—one piled high with ham and cheese and all the fixings she loved—she went to the cabinet and took down two plates. “You’re staying to eat, right?”

“I thought you’d never ask. I haven’t eaten since lunch,” he added, peeling off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair before plopping down. Since she seemed more interested in the ham and cheese, he slid it toward her. “I’ll take the tuna fish. I didn’t mean to scare you earlier.”

“You didn’t. As I said, I’m brain-dead from driving. I pushed a little too hard to get here before dark.” She picked up her sandwich and took a scrumptious first bite. “This is delicious. I’m pretty sure the last time I ate was the egg and cheese biscuit I had from the drive-through before getting on the road.”

“You must be hungry—although Max does make a tasty hot sandwich. You had an uneventful trip along the coast, I hope.”

“Other than crazy-ass drivers with no patience when they get stuck behind a moving truck on a two-lane road with nowhere to pass, I had no problems.” She twisted the cap off her bottle and guzzled down the water.

“It’s an impatient world we live in. Kiki Hyland, my only employee, has been pressuring me to give her more responsibility. So tonight, I caved and left her to close up. I hope to God she remembers there’s a back door that needs locking like the one in front.”

“Ouch,” Rowan said, sputtering with laughter. “It’s tough to get good help these days.”

“Tell me about it. But I do know a couple of high school kids—football players—who’d be happy to earn a few bucks helping a newcomer unload her truck tomorrow if you want.”

She smiled. “That sounds like too good a deal to pass up. Are you sure they’d give up their Saturday on your say-so?”

“You’ll find picking up extra cash is hard to come by around here, especially for teenagers. The choices are bleak. You either work at an ice cream shop, split the hours and the shifts with someone else, or the coffee shop, although I’m told Chloe Bretton has a lock on that until she goes off to college. You could waitress at one of the three eateries or the pub. Even so, the hours are rarely more than twenty per week.”

“Not so unusual for a part-time job. I had not one but two jobs the entire time I went to the Design Institute. I don’t know how I would’ve paid the rent if not for waitressing and roommates. You should’ve seen the dump I lived in back then.”

“I remember those days eating ramen noodles noon and night,” Daniel remarked. “You’re not still fretting about giving up the high life in San Diego, are you?”

Rowan winced, remembering their conversation last December. “You were right. People don’t understand the desire to seek something completely different. I’m not even thirty yet, but I’m supposed to keep the same job I’ve had for almost eight years without it boring me silly. However, I do have concerns. Living in the city, I walked out my front door and could be at work in minutes. I walked everywhere or took the bus. I never needed a car in downtown San Diego. Living here, I’ll need to buy one.”

“How did you get back and forth to see your grandmother?”

“I rented a car on those trips. Sometimes a friend would let me borrow theirs.”

“So, you’re saying the Audi last December was a rental?”

Rowan suppressed her laughter. “You thought I had big bucks? The joke’s on you.”

“Funny thing about small towns. We have a place that sells cars and a guy who only stocks the best—no clunkers. His name’s Brad Radcliff. Tell Brad what you’re looking for. He’ll track anything down for you if he doesn’t have it on the lot. Then there’s Wally Pierce. He also sells cars. But they’re mostly classic muscle cars from the 60s and 70s. Something tells me that’s not what you’re looking for.”

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