Page 11 of Love At The Shore
“Thereisno fence. It’s a shared patio.”
“But you know what I mean.” Observing the two-week rule was getting tougher by the second. “Also, I don’t know if you realize, but the walls are like, paper-thin. So if you could keep the music down past, let’s say—”
“Look, Jenna,” he said, cutting her off as he moved from folding towels to refilling the coffee pot. Was he even listening to her at all? “I really appreciate you bringing Tank back, but I live here year-round.”
“Right.” He had to be joking. The living room was nice, but completely lacking family photos or any of the ordinary personal touches that made a house a home. “You don’t even have any plants.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Spoken like a true bachelor. No kids, no plants. Nothing at all that required nurturing.
“Never mind.” She took a deep breath. “You were saying?”
He put the coffee pot back in its cradle and gave her his full attention. Finally. “I get that you’re going to be here for a month…”
“It’s five weeks, actually.” Not that she expected him to adhere to any sort of calendar. The tide charts were probably as close as he got to a proper schedule.
“Right.” That oh-so-charming smile of his was beginning to get on her nerves. “Either way, I’ll do my best. But you might just want to learn how to relax.”
Jenna’s mouth dropped open. He didnotjust say that. “I’m sorry? You want me to…to relax?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged as if he hadn’t just insulted her right to her face. “I mean, it might be good for you.”
She crossed her arms and stared at him.
“Just as a suggestion,” he said. After an awkward pause, he added, “Anything else?”
So. Much. Else.
She could have waxed poetic about how obnoxious he’d been during the past five minutes alone, but she didn’t want to stand there and argue with him anymore. Because, hello, she had a book to write! “Nope. I think we’re all set.”
He nodded, and she spun on her heel to go. The last thing she heard before she shut the door behind her was Lucas showering Tank with praise for finishing his dinner.
“Good boy,” he gushed.
Her heart gave a little tug, but she refused to fall for the lovable pet-parent act. Cute could only go so far.
“Relax? You want me to relax?” she muttered to herself as she stomped back upstairs. “Please. I’mtotallyrelaxed.”
She looked down at the charming little picnic table, now in a state of total disarray. Her coffee cup lay on its side and the damp pages of her manuscript were scattered out of order. The conch shell could barely keep the mess pinned under control.
Jenna fumed, grabbing her cell phone from atop the thesaurus. She couldn’t let Lucas get to her. He had no clue what kind of pressure she was under and trying to explain it to him was getting her nowhere. It was time to do something drastic so she didn’t end up as a literary one-hit wonder. She scrolled through the contacts on her phone, thumb moving furiously over the little screen until she landed on Maureen’s number.
Her friend answered on the first ring. “Hey!”
“Hey.” The ocean roared behind her. Even the waves seemed stirred up after her encounter with Lucas. “So forget this two-week rule. I need your help.”
Mr. Slack thought she needed to relax, did he?
Relaxing wouldn’t help matters when it came to dealing with someone like Lucas McKinnon, but Jenna knew precisely what would.
Chapter Three
Technically, Jenna needed help fromMaureen’s husband rather than Maureen herself. Ian was one of Savannah’s most sought-after contractors, so handling a project like the one she had in mind would probably be a piece of cake. But convincing him to pick up a hammer on his vacation would probably be easier with Maureen on board.
Whatever Maureen said to Ian must have worked because he showed up the following afternoon with his tools and a truck full of wood from the island’s hardware store. If Jenna wasn’t mistaken, he even seemed a little excited about giving his toolbox a workout. She and Maureen tried to help, but Ian insisted on doing the bulk of the work himself.
In two short hours, he was nearly finished. He tucked a pencil behind his ear and stepped back to inspect his handiwork, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Ian had the solid build of a man who spent most of his time working with his hands. In his deck shoes and beach khakis, he looked ready to construct a boat dock or a fishing pier.
