Page 12 of A Beach House Beginning

“She’s only in third grade, but we have the same recess so we play soccer sometimes. She’s super fast. And she’s funny!”

A good sense of humor seemed to be the barometer by which Brielle judged everyone. He couldn’t disagree.

“So can we take them our extra pizza?” she asked now.

He was trying to come up with a good excuse to refuse when his doorbell rang.

Wes frowned, instantly on alert. Prison had given him a strong dislike of surprises. He wasn’t expecting anybody, but maybe Lacey had forgotten to send something with Brielle for her overnight stay. Vitamins or extra socks or something.

“I’ll get it,” Brie sang out, rushing toward the door.

Wes hated that his life experience made him constantly brace for trouble.

He followed Brie, ready to yank her back to safety if necessary as she opened the door.

It wasn’t trouble. At least not the sort he had become used to. His neighbor and her daughter stood on the landing to his apartment.

“Hi, Mrs. Haynes. Hi, Addie,” Brielle said.

“Hi, Brielle.” Addie beamed at his daughter.

The two girls looked very different. Addie had blue eyes and blond curls while Brie had long straight dark hair, which she usually wore in a ponytail or braid.

“It smells delicious in here,” Addie exclaimed, giving a dramatic, exaggerated sniff. “What are you making?”

“Pizza.” Brie grinned. “We make the dough and everything. My dad is the best pizza maker. He learned from my grandpa, who died when my dad was a kid. Isn’t that sad?”

“My dad died when I was a kid, too. I was only four.”

“I’m sorry.” Brielle hugged the other girl, which seemed to touch Jenna.

So Addison’s father had died. He had wondered if the man was still in the picture somewhere.

He gave Jenna a look of sympathy, which she met with a strained smile.

“Pizza is a great skill,” she said. “We brought you dessert, then. Sugar cookies.”

Brielle’s features lit up. “Wow. Thanks! I love cookies.”

“Here you go,” Addie said, handing over a plate covered in pastel-frosted flower cutout cookies that looked like spring.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Wes said.

She had already paid him for the battery, a check in an envelope she had left tucked in the door frame of his apartment. He was more than a little embarrassed that he had noticed the envelope smelled of strawberries and cream, like Jenna.

“It’s the least I can do to thank you for all your help with my car yesterday. I know cookies are poor recompense for giving up part of your lunch hour, but I didn’t know what else you might enjoy.”

“Home-baked cookies are always a treat. I don’t get them very often.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy them.”

“How is the car running?”

“Great. Everything has been perfect.”

“I’m glad.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment as he fought the urge to brush the pad of his thumb over that slight tinge of pink rising on her cheekbone.

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