Page 4 of To Have and to Scold

I don’t go by Billy anymore, especially to people I don’t know. But I don’t bother to correct the woman because she’s obviously just passing through.

Willow Cove has its share of tourists, though usually, they don’t start descending on our little town until the end of May, which is a few weeks away.

She’s not your typical tourist because she’s dressed in a light blue suit coat and skirt, with one of those blouses with a frilly neckline. The getup she’s wearing is more “I’m purposefully uncomfortable” than the usual beach wear we see around here. And her dark red, shoulder-length hair is too neat for a beach town.

We step up onto the other stretch of boardwalk on the opposite side of the street. Three steps across and our feet sink into sand. But the woman’s wearing high heels.

I point to her feet. “Take ‘em off.”

She snorts. “You always this forward when you first meet someone?”

Forward? “If that someone is trying to wear shoes for a day in the office rather than the beach, then yes.”

She gives an exaggerated blink and grabs my arm so she can remove her shoes. I’m trying not to stare at her legs. She’s petite with strong, shapely calves.

When she’s done, she lets go of my arm. I slip my feet out of my sandals and abandon them near the boardwalk. Even though the sun is low, the sand is still warm under my feet. The beach is nearly empty of crowds—the calm before the storm that is tourist season.

“You’re just gonna...” she trails off, pointing to my sandals.

“They’ll be here when we get back.”

“Oh.”

She doesn’t understand the unwritten rules of Willow Cove beach. It’s a safe space. No one, local or otherwise, would take someone else’s sandals. It’s just not done.

Holding both shoes in one hand, she lets go of my arm and strides forward, the early evening wind picking up her wavy hair. She breathes out a sigh, relaxing for the first time.

“Okay, fine. You’re right. This sunset is pretty good.” She tosses a glance over her shoulder at me and then starts running in the sand.

She’s nearly reached the water, the waves lapping at her feet as she gasps to move out of the way of the foam. Gulls screech overhead as I rush to catch up to her.

“My ocean skills are a little rusty,” she offers, with an apologetic glance.

“Yeah? You don’t live by the beach, do you?”

She shrugs. “What gave it away? My translucent, vampire-white skin or my walking on the sand like I’ve only learned how last week?”

I can’t stifle a laugh. “I can just tell. Look.” I make a beeline for the roped off area I want to show her.

I shouldn’t. Yes, she’s beautiful. But Chloe left only six months ago, and thoughts of her dumping me always seem to grip my lungs in a vise. I can’t imagine dating anyone yet, especially after the whole town has made it their business to fuss over me like I have a terminal illness.

“I’ve been watching these sea turtle eggs for a couple of weeks,” I say as we reach the partitioned-off area in the sand. “It’s just above the high tide line.”

“Eggs? I don’t see any eggs.” She bumps up against my shoulder. “I should have known not to follow a stranger out here.”

“Do you see the sign?” I point to the laminated notice from Wildlife Protection that’s attached to the fence.

She scowls. “Yes, but where are they?”

“They’re hard to see because they’re mostly buried, which is one reason why the Wildlife Protection people have to rope it off, so no one comes plowing through here,” I point to the light blue heels she’s holding in one hand.

“In pumps?” she says, smirking again.

I like her face. The pale, freckled skin you get with red hair. Eyes the color of the blue-green sea.

“Exactly.”

“I think I see them.” She stares at the nest chamber filled with sand-covered white eggs. “There are so many eggs.”

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