Page 53 of Deep Tide

“Why’d they think you were crazy?”

“Probably because I could barely make a sandwich growing up.” She smiled. “I was kind of a tomboy, always trying to keep up with my brothers. I didn’t take much interest in whatever my mother and grandmother were doing in the kitchen.”

“So, how’d you get interested in being a chef?”

“Long story.”

He arched his eyebrows.

She sighed. “I started seeing this guy who ran a restaurant. He began teaching me to cook—just some knife skills, basic sauces, stuff like that. It all came very naturally to me so”—she shrugged—“that’s it. Here I am.”

“That’s not really a long story. What happened with the guy?”

She grimaced. “It ended. Badly. But, hey, I learned a lot.”

He picked up his beer, watching her, and she felt suddenly self-conscious that she was sitting here talking about Derrick, a man who’d cheated on her and jerked her around and turned her off relationships for years. And did he even want to hear about this? Most guys wanted to talk about themselves all the time.

She glanced down and noticed her glass was down to ice cubes and mint leaves. And he’d finished his beer.

“Want another drink?” he asked.

“I should get home.” She checked her watch. “I have to be up early.”

He held her gaze for a long moment but didn’t say anything.

She stood and collected her purse. They had barely stepped away from the table when a couple swooped in to get it.

Sean walked beside her at a leisurely pace as they crossed the bridge spanning the dunes again. Going back on the street would have been faster, but not nearly as scenic. And she got the sense he wasn’t in a hurry to end their evening.

The sand felt cool and cushiony beneath her feet as they headed toward his condo. She glanced up and counted the windows to find his balcony.

“Is that your board, or did it come with the unit?” she asked.

He looked up. “The surfboard? It’s the owner’s. Or someone left it there. It’s not mine.”

“Do you surf?”

“No. You?”

“I go when I can.” Which was hardly ever anymore. “Have you been snowboarding?”

“No.”

“Ever skateboard?” she asked.

“Not since I was a kid.”

“Well, you could probably pick it up pretty fast anyway since you’re athletic.”

He cast a sidelong look at her at the vague compliment.

They strolled in silence, and she looked out at the water, where the waves were silver and shimmery under the moonlight. Several wade fishermen stood in the surf. The tide was changing, and it was a good time for fishing. Not that Sean cared. He hadn’t come here for vacation. That had been a lie, like the thing about working vice with Joel in Houston. He’d lied to her, and that should have been it. No second chances. Yet he’d somehow charmed his way back into her good graces, and she was actually having a nice time. Sean was attractive and easy to talk to, and when he looked at her with those eyes, she felt a deep, warm buzz that she hadn’t felt in ages.

“So, what time does a pastry chef have to get up?” he asked.

“Three.”

“Three?”

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