Page 11 of Suited for Love

She shrugs. "I was told the locals don't want me here."

No.She can't be.No, no, no. The gods can't be this cruel. "You're the new owner of Hildy's Hut?"

She smiles, a dazzling, show-all-your-teeth sort of smile—the same smile she wore when she saw the dolphin. "Now it's Sticks & Stones Boutique."

I stifle a groan. How unlucky can a guy get? First, I see the girl of my dreams. Then I scare her so badly she runs from me, cutting her foot on a shell. And now I discover she's my nemesis. My hands shake a bit as I squeeze antibiotic cream onto her cut.

"So, it's true?" she asks. "The whole town is out to get me just because the mayor's kid wants a bigger bucket of bait?"

I bark a laugh. "The Bait Bucket."

"Whatever. There was even a town meeting about it." Her eyes narrow. "I suppose you went?"

"Of course. Everyone goes to the town meetings."

"I wasn't invited."

"You didn't live here."

She raises her chin. "As the topic of discussion, I should have been invited. But then I suppose the town couldn't have its little witch hunt."

Witch hunt?Where does she think she is? Seventeenth-century Salem? Things change in Friendly at a snail's pace, but we're notthatfar behind the times.

I shake my head. "No one is out to get you. No one will hurt you. No one will even be mean. Not to your face, anyway."

"Nice."

"They're just not going to encourage you to stay," I explain, wrapping a bandage around her foot. "That's much different."

Now is the time to tell her who I am, but I don't. Because the moment I do, I can no longer pretend like I have a chance with her. And I'm not quite ready to let that idea go.

Chapter 6

Margo

"Okay,"thegorgeousmansays, his voice a deep baritone. He snaps the first-aid box shut. "All done."

I take a look at my bandaged foot.Not bad.

Standing, he turns his back to me and bends down. "Hop on."

"Wh-what?"Smooth, Margo. Real smooth.

He grins at me over his shoulder, showcasing a dimple in one cheek.Mercy."Haven't you ever had a piggyback ride? It'll be the easiest way to get you back to your place."

The man wants me to ride on his back?!

I bite my lip, glancing toward the dune. I've never been described as a lightweight, and I'm also wet and covered in sand.

He straightens and plants his hands on his hips. "Do I have to bridal carry you again?"

"Certainly not," I say, shaking my head. "I can walk."

He stares pointedly at my bare feet. "And where are your shoes?"

"They were in my bag…" We both turn to look at the ocean.

"Your plan is to walk back with a wounded foot and no shoes, through the sand, and up an old ramp that's almost guaranteed to give you splinters? Is that right?"

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