Page 43 of The Cottage on Pelican Bay

Levi settled into his favorite wingback chair in front of the television. The national news from the station in New Orleans was about to come on and he was ready to watch it. Chip had been fed and walked and he was ready, too.

He took a sip of beer while thinking that today things had run smoothly at the Green Fig. He figured a number of people were still in town for the Memorial Day weekend, which accounted for the increase in business for a Tuesday. All the waitresses and waiters had reported to work today, and knowing he had a full staff was always good.

Like most mornings, he’d gotten up around eight and walked Chip before getting dressed for work. Today he had left early to take Chip to the vet. Then he’d stopped by the pet shop to get that lighted cat collar for Mr. Chelsey’s cat. He had given himself enough leeway to drop it off and still get to work on time.

The staff of the Green Fig usually arrived thirty minutes before they opened at noon for the take-out-only lunch crowd. The café had opened three years ago and was doing well. The soups were always tasty, and everyone employed by the Green Fig always provided good customer service. Sierra wouldn’t have it any other way. People always came back and told others. They’d discovered word-of-mouth satisfaction was the best form of advertisement. Today a couple had driven all the way from New Orleans. They thought the take-out kegs of soup were cute and a novel idea.

He sipped his beer and his thoughts shifted to Margie. He had appreciated seeing her again. It had been dark Saturday night and the streetlights hadn’t given her much justice. In the brightness of daylight, he saw just how attractive she was. He could remember her as a young girl who would often sit on her parents’ porch and watch when he cut their yard.

Back then, he’d barely paid her any attention, but the grown-up Margarita, or Margie, had caught his attention—and held it tight. He recalled her saying that she was now retired and had moved back to the cove to take care of Mr. Chelsey. That was thoughtful of her to take on that responsibility.

He would want to believe if his and Lydia’s only daughter had lived, she would have grown up to return to the cove on occasion to check on him. Heck, he would have hoped that Dasha, who’d died of an asthma attack before her second birthday, would have been a daddy’s girl and never thought of moving away like all the other young people in the cove usually did once they finished high school.

He would admit it got lonely living here without Lydia. They’d had a good marriage that had lasted over twenty years. He was glad they’d finally gone on that cruise out of New Orleans they’d always talked about. She had deserved it. After he was shot, he didn’t know what he would have done if she had not stuck with him all through the rehabilitation period.

She had not given up on him and had refused to let him give up on himself. It was only with her love and support that he’d walked again. He had taken her death hard when she’d suddenly passed away of a heart attack close to twelve years ago.

As he took another sip of beer his thoughts shifted back to Margie. Saturday night she’d said her last name was Lawson. She wasn’t wearing a ring so he figured she was no longer married. Was she divorced? A widow? He figured Emma, head cook at the Green Fig, would know, since she seemed to know about most people’s business in the cove. However, he didn’t want to put ideas in her head if he were to ask.

Levi had been alone for a long time and preferred things this way. He’d decided years ago after losing Lydia that he would never remarry. One woman in his lifetime had been enough for him, and he doubted he had the ability to love anyone else. His heart was one and done with Lydia. But then he would admit he had liked talking to Margie.

And she was pretty. Very pretty.

Smiling came easy for her and she had a friendly disposition. She wasn’t pushy, either. He recalled that Lydia hadn’t been buried a good week before the women began calling, offering to bake him pies and inviting him to dinner.

He declined all of it and told them he knew how to bake his own pies and cook his own dinner. Pretty soon they stopped calling and he was glad of it. He did things to keep busy and was satisfied with that. And when he began feeling lonely, he had Chip.

Hours later, after watching the news and several of those crime shows back to back, it was time for him to go to bed. Getting up from his chair, he headed for the bedroom. When he’d finally settled between the sheets and closed his eyes, for the first time it wasn’t Lydia’s face he saw that night.

It was that of Margie.

19

Saint jumped into the water thinking it had been years since he’d gone swimming at night, but here he was doing that very thing. After they’d made love, Zara had been determined to go swimming and he had no problem joining her.

“How does the water feel, Saint?”

Treading water, he turned around and admired her two-piece bathing suit. As cute as it looked on her, he didn’t intend for it to stay on her for long. Besides, with as much skin as it was showing, she might as well swim without it anyway. It didn’t matter that he’d seen her naked a lot tonight. He would never tire of seeing her exposed body.

“The water feels good. For some reason the bay always seems warmer than the ocean,” he said.

The moon shone overhead, and stars lit up a velvety sky. Zara had dimmed the floodlights around the yard, providing the perfect ambience for a nighttime swim. The setting was ideal.

“Okay, then. Here I come.”

He watched her dive into the water with the expertise of an Olympic aquanaut and the gracefulness of a swan. He immediately knew she was one hell of a swimmer. She surfaced with ease and tilted her body to glide toward him. He welcomed her with open arms.

She smiled and pushed hair from her face. “You’re right. The water feels good.” She reached out and ran a hand along his chest and stomach. “You feel good.”

He thought she felt good, too. When her hand explored below his waist he became amused when she realized he was completely naked. “Evans Toussaint! Where are your swimming trunks?”

“Over there,” he said, tilting his head toward the porch where he’d draped them on one of the chairs. “I prefer swimming without them.”

She grinned. “Don’t you think that’s a bit scandalous?”

“Sweetheart, didn’t you know today is Temptation Tuesday?” he whispered, leaning close and licking the sensitive area below her ear.

“Temptation Tuesday?” she inquired with a breathless sigh.

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