Page 28 of Island Whispers

“I don’t want you to be sorry.”

He stood and walked over, bringing his masculine scent and those warm muscles within easy reach. Tempting her beyond reason. What was she supposed to do with him? Her mind supplied way too many options, none of them appropriate for a professional relationship.

“Let’s start over,” he began. He tipped up her chin. Whatever he’d meant to say next, he changed his mind. “You’ve gone pale. Let me fix breakfast.”

She shook her head. “None for me, thanks. I’ll just have juice.” Another idea came to mind. “We could go down to the Bread Basket instead and have a picnic on the beach,” she suggested. The crisp ocean air always soothed her when she was feeling too much of anything. Overflowing with happiness, the sand between her toes added to the joy. Sad or angry, the consistent beat of the waves gave her perspective. And on the days when she felt lonely, she would sit and remember the many concerts and events on the beach with family and friends and those good times would perk her up again.

A breakfast picnic with Boone would be a lovely memory to carry with her after this was over.

“That’s a great idea.” His grin lit up the entire room.

“I’ll be ready in five,” she said, darting off to her room to change clothes. She pulled on her favorite breezy sundress. The soft fabric and terra-cotta pattern made her feel good. Confident. With sandals and a pashmina in hand, she stopped at the closet near the door for a picnic blanket.

Boone walked out of his room wearing khaki shorts, a blue linen shirt, and well-worn deck shoes. She hoped she wasn’t drooling. “I thought I could get the flowers ready while you stop in at the bakery. Then we can meander wherever you wish and we won’t need to come back here before dinner at Mom and Dad’s.”

In other words, she wouldn’t have to find the strength to resist him before he met her parents. As a bodyguard.

The distinction was important. She didn’t want her family thinking she was crushing on Boone. She was—absolutely—but she’d rather keep it to herself for as long as possible.

“Sounds like a plan.”

He did all the necessary security things, including getting her promise that she would wait for him in her locked shop rather than walk the few steps to the bakery when she was finished. When he returned, looking pleased with himself, she was ready to go. She’d packed the hand-tied arrangement with water tubes so the blooms would be fresh and lovely when she handed the bouquet to her mom in a few hours.

The breakfast picnic was a delight. Under a clear and balmy sky, they polished off the signature Bread Basket strudel while sharing a quiet conversation. He asked her about the concert events on Brookwell, and she could’ve talked for hours.

“Jess mentioned your passion for music and inviting good bands to town.”

She adjusted her skirt, hugging her knees to her chest. “You already know I’m a music addict,” she said. “And I do hope to be on the selection committee someday.” She grinned. “In the meantime, I harangue Reed—he owns the Pelican Pub—into inviting bands I find in Charleston.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Some of these folks need a refresher on the definition of current.”

His laughter joined hers and it was a wonderful, fresh harmony in her heart.

After their picnic, with more beachgoers arriving, she gave Boone a tour of the marina, pointing out various charter services and shops. “Miles runs the sailing school,” she said as they came to the end of the row of stores where several windsurfing sailboards were lined up. “He’s relatively new and already super popular, especially with kids who are eager to learn how to sail. Molly’s son is already asking when he can start lessons.”

“He’s little,” Boone protested, eyeing the boards.

The protective note in his voice made her melt. He couldn’t seem to turn off that natural inclination. “She brings him down to the marina to watch the boats. It’s one of his favorite things to do.”

He bobbed his chin and his shoulders relaxed as if the smidge of context made it all better. From the marina, they walked back to his truck and they drove the entire island. Probably for security reasons, but it was a little like a getting-acquainted tour. He talked about his hometown and his sister, and she pointed out the various landmarks that were important to her. Until they were at the nursery.

“This is your family legacy, huh?”

She had given that phrase significant consideration. “It is. Though we’re just now into the second generation. If we’re lucky, Nash’s kids might be inclined to take it over.”

“Or run off and open a flower shop,” Boone said.

She chuckled. “I suppose we should think about effective cross-training.”

“You want kids?”

“Someday,” she replied immediately. “I’m not exactly in a rush, but yes, I want to pass on what my parents gave me.”

“Which is?”

She stopped short of sighing. He’d warned her that he wanted to get to know her. “Roots. A sense of place. Pride in being part of the community. Empowered.” Until she’d said it, she didn’t realize exactly how true it was. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done my share of rebelling.” She opened the door and hopped out of the truck. “I’ll show you around.”

When he was beside her on the path leading to the front door, he murmured. “Couldn’t have been too much of a rebellion.”

“What makes you think so?”

---