Page 24 of The Last Love Song
“Wow.” Heather waved to Trish, one of the stylists at the Strand salon, as the woman hurried from her car toward the concession stand. She carried her own pole under one arm. “Maybe we should have given Tiffany the rec department inventory, after all. This looks great.”
“I’m sure she spent a long time on it, especially after that fishing magazine signed on to send a reporter.”
“I’m half expecting to see ESPN.” Heather gathered her purse as Zach shut off the SUV and walked around to her side. “There’s a tournament?”
He held the door for her as she stepped out, their bodies coming close enough to remind her how much the man affected her.
“It’s a small event. I think she said there were twelve boats signed up.” He reached for her hand, confusing her. “Take the keys in case you need to leave.” He pressed cool metal into her hand.
Her fingers automatically closed around the keys. “I wasn’t serious about that. I’m sure we’ll be done long before my lesson with Megan.”
“Just in case, okay?” He smiled, stroking the back of her hand lightly and making her pulse jump. “Plus, this way, I know you won’t disappear on me if you have my keys.”
She gave a jerky nod, not trusting herself to speak. If her hand hurt just then, she’d never know it. Pheromones must block pain receptors or something.
“Good. I’m looking forward to dinner.”
“Aren’t you tired?” she reminded him, pulling her fingers away and depositing the key into her purse. They strolled toward the crowd gathering near the water’s edge. The stiffness in her hands had eased, the throbbing pain turned to a dull achiness.
“Depends. I’ll probably be yawning on camera during the interview about fishing.” He lowered his voice. “But when I look at you? The last thing I’m feeling is tired.”
Tiffany McCord called to him then, waving Zach over to the large yellow ribbon near the tournament sign, her neat blond ponytail capped with a crisp white fishing hat. Zach mutteredsomething about getting back to work, but Heather’s mind still reeled from his suggestive comment.
He’d made no attempt to hide that he wanted her. Was this merely part of his goal to sweet-talk her into staying and taking over the job he no longer wanted? Or could there be something genuine? With his keys, Heather could stay or go as she chose and make up her own mind. Sure, it would be safer to stick to less intimate places for a conversation. But part of her health scare had been a renewed determination to live a little and take a few more risks.
Why play it safe with Zach, when she went a little breathless every time he came near?
Given the fluttery feeling in her chest and the warm pulse of desire in her veins, she was more than a little tempted to see what he had in mind tonight.
Chapter Six
Even more thanshe hated stupid anonymous texts, Megan Bryer hated upsetting her father.
“I’ll be fine, Dad,” she said to him for the tenth time since breakfast. She tugged her blankets higher on her hips as she sat up in bed. “It’s only a cold. You can still go to your fishing thing.”
She couldn’t face school today after the crap that had gone down at the wedding breakfast. Not that she thought of herself as a coward or anything. She just needed a break from high school BS for a day. But her father—a nice normal man in so many ways—had always been a hypochondriac by proxy, where she was concerned. Ever since she was a preschooler, he’d been convinced a sneeze would turn into pneumonia if they didn’t put her on antibiotics right away. Her aunt had told her he’d gotten worse when her mother left him the year after they’d adopted Megan. That counted as one of many things she held against her “mom,” who rated as just a random woman in Meg’s mind. What kind of woman stuck around for only twelve months after convincing her husband that adopting a kid would be a good idea? Thankfully, her adoptive mother had a supercool life in New York now as a set designer on Broadway, and her supercoolfamily kept her too busy to bother Megan more than once a month with an interminable Skype call.
But Meg’s dad was awesome, figuring out how to parent on his own. Sure, it had been embarrassing to be the kid who learned how to ride a bike long after her friends because of Dad’s nerves. And yeah, it had sucked to be outfitted with every safety device known to man. Elbow pads, rash guard shirt, shin guards under her knee pads, goggles. Yes, goggles.
For killer bugs, maybe.
Still. At least her dad gave a crap about her, unlike her crack-addicted birth mom, unnamed biological father and the runaway adoptive mother who’d enjoyed Megan’s baby methadone treatments a little too well.
Normally, Meg would rather go to school and hack up a lung in class rather than stay home and have her dad worry she was at death’s door. But nothing about threatening, anonymous texts had been normal. Even for her as Crestwood High’s Most Antisocial” senior. She needed to regroup. Use the time at home to research her options for catching the person trying to scare her. If her ex-boyfriend had done it, she wanted to know. If it was Bailey and her friends, she needed to find out.
“How can I leave my girl when she’s not feeling well?” Dad put a hand on his hip, his plain brown belt and brown dress pants the same work uniform he wore every day with little variation. He hardly ever videoconferenced with his students, but he dressed the part just in case.
“You don’t even teach today,” she reminded him. “Go enjoy the fishing thing, and that way I can keep my germs to myself.” She pointed to the over-the-counter medicines she’d placed strategically on her nightstand. “I’ve got everything I need and I promise it’s nothing serious. Just sniffles.”
If he worried this much about a cold, how flipped out would he be if he knew that someone at school wanted her to kill herself?
“I could make you a doctor’s appointment.”
“Dad. I want to go back to sleep.” She yawned, hoping she could get the house to herself to research in peace. Back in the summer when the harassment had started online, she’d hoped it would settle down with time.
But nothing had settled. It had gotten worse.
“I’ll come back at lunchtime with something for you to eat,” he said finally. “Something healthy.”
