Six
The front door to his grandfather’s stilt house hit Dune in the ass when he entered. His granddad lived ten miles from the beach, preferring to distance himself from the tourist trade. He had an orange grove along with grapefruit, banana, and peach trees. He liked to pick fresh fruit.
Dune rubbed the back of his neck. He was tired and moving slow. Sophie lingered on his mind. All he wanted was a good night’s sleep. It wasn’t to be.
There was a two-man party in the living room. Mac James sprawled on a papasan chair. The chair was large and bowl-shaped with a gold cushion. Zane was stretched out on the couch. The men wore only their boxers.
Mac’s boxers were white with big red lips down the fly. Most likely a gift from some woman he’d dated. His pin-up girl tie draped over one shoulder. A flex of his pec and she appeared to wiggle.
Mac’s lower lip was cut and slightly swollen. Dune frowned. Surely his partner hadn’t gotten into a fight after leaving the pier. He didn’t want an explanation on what had happened. He’d save his questions for morning.
Empty LandShark Lager bottles littered the coffee table. The guys were tying one on. They played Best-Ever, he noted, a drinking game that drew heavy debate. Their raised voices drowned out the television infomercial for organic nuts and juices. The present topic centered on the best outfielder of all time. Their discussion was getting heated.
“Has to be the Phillies third baseman, Mike Schmidt,” said Zane. “He hit four home runs against the Chicago Cubs in nineteen seventy-six. He earned ten Golden Gloves and was a three-time National League Most Valuable Player.”
“Shortstop Cal Ripken was a member of the three-thousand-hit club,” Mac shot back. “He hit more home runs than any other shortstop in the history of Major League Baseball.”
“My vote is for Stan Musial,” Dune said as he crossed the room. The stilt house was old, but never smelled musty. It had a lived-in feeling that took him back to his youth; back to family cookouts, games of hide-and-seek, and lazy afternoons on the porch swing.
There was hominess in the faded and frayed blue-and-green braided rugs that scattered the hardwood floor. The hutch in the corner had three good legs. Puppy teeth had gnawed an inch off the fourth. No one had scolded Ghost.
His grandmother’s commemorative and collectible plates gathered a light film of dust on the shelves. Nineteen-fifties sheet music was propped on the upright piano. His Grandmother Emma had tried to teach Frank to play, but he’d gotten no further than “Chopsticks.” “Our duet,” he’d called it.
Stacks of newspapers and magazines crowded the La-Z-Boy recliner. His grandfather wasn’t a pack rat or a hoarder. He got rid of items when he was darn good and ready and not before.
The man was eighty-six. He could do whatever the hell he wanted as far as Dune was concerned. He might suggest a cleaning woman come in once a week. Someone who’d keep up with Frank’s laundry and chase dust bunnies. Someone who did windows.
He slipped off his sport jacket and tie, then shoved Zane’s legs off one end of the couch and dropped down. He grabbed a beer, leaned back, and stretched his arms along the low back. He returned to the conversation at hand. “Musial had quick feet for a first baseman and was a strong base runner. He was an All-Star twenty-four times and hit twelve walk-off home runs for the Cardinals.”
“You three don’t know baseball,” Grandfather Frank said as he joined them. He wore pajama bottoms and an old robe. He was a tall man and still carried himself well. His face was weathered and he had bed head.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“Park it,” said Mac.
Frank settled on the worn La-Z-Boy and reclined. He yawned widely. He was a widower of twenty years and still missed his wife. She’d been the love of his life. He slept only a few hours a night, claiming he hated sleeping alone. He was loyal to her memory.
Frank was both ally and friend to his grandsons. They often crashed at his place when they were in town. He didn’t mind their noise and bickering. The cedar stilt house wasn’t very big and, with three additional grown men, the wood stretched at the seams.
“You three are forgetting Mickey Mantle, Joe DiMaggio, and Ty Cobb,” Frank stated. He expanded on their greatness. Zane and Mac went on to drink another beer while Dune’s thoughts shifted to Sophie Saunders and their good night kiss.
The sweet kiss had him wondering if and when he could kiss her again and if the second kiss would be as good as the first. He was certain that it would be, maybe even better.
He’d see her again tomorrow. They’d made a bet, an easy win for him. Mac wouldn’t show up at Three Shirts. When he didn’t, Dune would collect a winner’s kiss. A good prize—
“Dude, you’re drifting.” Zane kicked Dune in the calf to get his attention, far harder than was necessary. “We’re going to order pizza. Are you in?”
“Make mine with the works,” he said. “Who delivers at this hour?”
“Zinotti’s” said Zane. “We can order take-out until four a.m.” He reached for the cordless phone on the coffee table, then looked to his grandfather, who gave him the number. Frank didn’t cook much. He had a speed-dial memory for the local fast food restaurants that delivered.
“Isn’t that Eddie Z’s shop?” asked Dune.
“Same guy,” said Zane.
Dune had gone to school with Eddie. Eddie’s goal in their high school yearbook had been to be a millionaire by the age of thirty. He’d fallen short. Town gossip had Eddie spending money as fast as he earned it. Most times he was flat broke. He had loans up his ass. He often borrowed from his employees and there were weeks when he didn’t make payroll.
“I’d hate to be dropping off pizzas at this hour,” said Zane after he’d placed their order. “Suck-ass job.”
There was nothing wrong with pizza delivery, Dune thought. It was the kind of job that paid the bills, but wasn’t a permanent career. Sophie and her adventures came to mind. Unicyclist wasn’t her calling in life. He was certain of that. Neither was stilt walking. Still, she tried what was new and different in order to experience life to its fullest. It was her summer.
Mac and Zane cleared their throats at the same time, drawing his attention. “What?” he asked.
“We’re talking, you’re tanking,” said Zane. “What’s the Best-Ever drinking hole? Mac wants to go back to Crazy Kate’s in Houston and I vote for Booze Camp outside the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs.”
“Nothing wrong with the Blue Coconut here in town,” Dune said. “We’ve all gotten drunk and been bounced.”
“Your local cocktail waitresses are as hot as any chick at Hooters,” said Mac. “What about you, Frank?”
The older man scratched his chin. “I traveled to Chicago years ago before I got married.” He smiled at the memory. “Wally’s Back Alley served a strong rum and Coke.”
Mac raised his beer. “A toast to Wally’s.”
The men all drank.
“Best-Ever car?” Mac asked next as he reached for another lager. “I’m going with Mustang.”
Frank pursed his lips. “1947 DeSoto was well built.”
“My 1967 Chevy Impala shits and gets,” said Zane.
Mac grunted. “You pour your paychecks into repairs.”
Zane shrugged. “It’s all worth the howl and growl.”
“I heard you coming down the road,” said Frank. “You rattled the windows.”
“I’ll stick with my Harley,” said Dune.
“Fast bike, faster women,” said Mac. “You are the man.”
Not the man, but a man, Dune thought. His reputation was larger than his actual lifestyle. He was selective. He’d been with fewer women than the men thought. Just because he was surrounded by hot chicks following a volleyball tournament didn’t mean he took one home. Most nights he crashed with Ghost. His dog was good company.
He absently wondered if Sophie had ever had a pet. He figured she’d be good with animals if she didn’t fear them. Perhaps something small like a hamster, rabbit, or turtle. Maybe a cat or pocket-sized dog. He’d suggest it to her. She had a big heart.
“Dune?” Mac threw one of Ghost’s dog toys at him. “You’re zoning again.”
Dune caught the Nylabone Frisbee before it took out his eye. “What was the question?”
“Best-Ever date,” Zane said.
“For me, any date I get laid,” said Mac.
Grandfather Frank snorted. “You’re young yet, boy. When the right woman comes along, it won’t matter if you share a cup of coffee or take a walk, being together is what counts. Holding hands becomes special.”
Mac pulled a face. “No disrespect, but sex tops coffee and a walk.”
Frank closed his eyes. “All men get a wake-up call sooner or later. Just you wait.”
Dune agreed with his grandfather. The right woman would knock Mac on his ass. Dune waited for that day.
Beside him on the couch, Zane had gone quiet. Dune knew the reason. Any discussion on women drew his brother to Tori Rollins. Zane had fallen hard for her in high school. They’d sneaked off and gotten married after their June graduation, only to divorce when Zane received last-minute acceptance to the Air Force Academy in August. It had been a whirlwind three months.
Zane wanted to fly and Tori wanted him grounded. The thought of him becoming a hurricane hunter only added fuel to their fire. Damn, they could fight. No other girl could go toe-to-toe with Zane and not start crying, yet Tori had. She had a temper to match Zane’s own.
Zane stuffed a throw pillow behind his head and said, “I play and lay. I’ve been dating an exotic dancer from Naked Thighs for a few months. Ava has great hands. She flips me on like a light switch. Nothing serious, though.”
Mac looked at Dune. His know-it-all expression was irksome. “You?” he asked. One corner of his mouth curved slightly. “Best-Ever date.”
Dune exhaled slowly and pretended to give it some thought. He didn’t have to think very long. Sophie Saunders and the Sneaker Ball were foremost on his mind. There’d been no pretense. She was unassuming and easy to be around. She saw him as a man and not just as a sports celebrity.
Mac’s smile broke. “Dude . . .” He let the sentence hang. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
Dune worked his jaw. “What are you getting at?” he asked.
“She’s getting to you.”
Mac was far too perceptive for his own good. “Drop it,” Dune said.
Their exchange caught Zane’s interest. “I want in.”
“No, you don’t,” said Dune.
“I think I do,” from Zane.
“Do not.” That was final.
A knock on the front door brought momentary reprieve from their conversation. Zane pushed off the couch. “Pizza’s here. I’ll buy. Let me grab my wallet.” He headed down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
Mac belched, then muttered, “Worst-Ever date. Nothing could beat tonight. Jen is everything I’m not looking for in a woman.”
“Careful, son,” said Frank. “She’s a Cates.”
Mac snorted. “Faulty DNA.”
A second thump on the door and Dune rose. He didn’t want to keep the delivery boy waiting. The boy turned out to be a woman. Dune’s jaw dropped. There stood Tori Rollins, his brother’s ex.
“Hello, Dune. I heard you were in town,” she greeted him. She looked tired. “You’re having late-night Sneaker Ball munchies, I’m guessing. I’ve been delivering pizzas to several who attended. You’re my last drop.”
Dune attempted a smile. Shit was about to hit the fan.
She held out three pizza boxes. “Forty-two dollars even,” she said. “I tossed in a free order of cinnamon strips, Frank’s favorite. There are extra jalapeños and garlic dip, too.”
Dune accepted the pizzas. “Money’s coming,” he said.
His brother was about to be zapped by a blue-eyed, redheaded, long-legged stun gun. There was no time to send up a smoke signal.
Across the room, Mac noticed Tori. He pushed off the papasan. The basket chair rolled and he nearly fell on his face. Recovering slowly, he hiked up his boxers and crossed to the door. All curious, charming, and under the influence. He had no idea the deliverywoman had once been married to a Cates.
“Hey, sweetheart, stick around for a slice,” he invited.
“I eat pizza twice a day,” she said on a yawn. “Hot, cold, burned. There’s not a topping I haven’t tried. It’s been a long day and I’m headed home to bed.”
Mac pointed down the hallway. “Shortcut to my bedroom, if you want to crash here. I’d hate to have you falling asleep at the wheel.”
“I’ll manage,” she said. “I’m used to the graveyard shift.”
Mac didn’t pursue her further. He took the pizza boxes from Dune and returned to his chair. “Shot down by two women in one night,” he mumbled as he cleared the empty bottles from the coffee table, then spread out the boxes. He dug in with both hands.
Tori glanced at Dune. “Poor guy.”
“Trust me, he’ll bounce back.”
She slapped her palms against her thighs. “I hate to hurry you—”
“Sorry, I couldn’t find my wallet,” Zane apologized as he cut across the living room, his head down, counting bills. “How much?” he asked, looking up.
Tori saw Zane a split second before he saw her. Dune caught the flicker of pain in her eyes, followed by the flint of her anger.
Memories slammed between them, the good times shuffled beneath the bad. “What the f*ck?” came from Zane. She’d definitely stunned him.
“Bastard!” Tori spun on her heel, shot across the porch, and down the steps. The lady hauled ass.
Zane colored the room with profanity, then took off after her.
Lingering animosity, thought Dune, was enough to lay a man low. “Forty-two for the pizzas,” he called after Zane. “Tip big. She was family.”
He swore his brother flipped him the bird from the shadowed darkness of the yard. He heard the sound of raised voices followed by the slam of a car door. He squinted. Tori was driving a yellow Volkswagen with a pizza sign on top.
The engine turned over and she hit reverse, stripping the gears. She spun the car around like a stunt driver, then floored it. The Volkswagen sped down the road.
Was that his brother chasing her taillights? Damn sure was. Zane was fast, but he wasn’t that fast. Tori never slowed down, never even tapped the brakes.
Dune knew they had a shitload of baggage. They were both damaged from their relationship. Old wounds took a long time to heal. They needed to move beyond the dark glares and harsh words. They’d found no middle ground.
Dune held the door wide on Zane’s return. His brother climbed the front steps, sweaty and breathing heavy. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me she was here?” he accused. “I had no prep time. I walked straight into a nightmare.”
“I was as shocked to see her as you were.”
Zane backhanded the sweat off his brow and growled, “She’s as stubborn as ever. She won’t give me the time of day. She still drives bat-ass crazy.”
“She almost ran you down.”
“Pretty damn close.” He looked down at his bare feet, streaked black from her fantail of dirt when he’d raced after her down the road. “She dusted me good.”
Dune couldn’t help himself. His smile broke. “You actually thought you could catch her?”
He patted his belly. “I’m in good shape.”
“The beer slowed you down.”
Zane exhaled, turned serious. “She looked good.”
“She gave you her back.”
“I saw her face right before she rolled up the car window on my hand.”
“Did she catch your fingers?”
“Minor pinch, but I’ll live.” Zane rolled his wrist, then his shoulders. “She still hates me.”
Dune agreed. “I got that impression, too.”
“Shit,” Zane muttered. “Not much more I can do tonight.”
“You could send flowers tomorrow.”
“Wildflowers for a wild child?” Zane thought it over and liked the idea. “I’ll call the florist before I leave town. I’m assuming Tori’s at the same address.”
“Last I heard she was still living with her crazy kid sister and hell-raiser brother. They recently put their grandmother in a nursing home. Nana Aubrey escapes once a week.”
“Her whole family was nuts, especially Grandma,” Zane recalled. “All Tori ever wanted was to leave her past behind.”
“Yet she stayed in town after you two divorced,” Dune said. “She became the responsible parent when her mom and dad were killed in a small plane crash. That was tragic.”
“I tried to contact her afterward, but she refused to take my calls. Seeing her tonight was a kick to my groin.” Zane scratched his stomach. “Enough talk on Tori. I’m hungry after my run. It’s pizza time.”
“Mac’s already eaten one and is halfway through the second,” Dune said as they retreated to the living room.
Soft snoring drew his gaze to his grandfather. Frank had fallen asleep on the La-Z-Boy. The men lowered their voices and let him be.
Dune’s Weimaraner made an appearance shortly thereafter, trotting in from the back porch. Ghost had sniffed out the pizza. The dog loved pizza, but pizza didn’t love him. He had gastrointestinal issues. The dog passed gas when they fed him spicy food.
Mac was feeding Ghost pepperoni at that very moment. “No more, dude,” Dune warned.
“Dog’s hungry.” Mac snuck him another bite.
“Ghost sleeps in your room tonight,” Dune stated as he lowered himself onto the couch and reached for a big slice with the works.
They ate in silence, polishing off all three pizzas.
The moon had lowered behind the orange grove by the time the men crashed. The sun would rise in two hours. Dune and Zane could live on little sleep, but Mac required six hours. Less than six and he was one cranky bastard.
They cleaned up and turned off the lights. Dune gathered a quilt from the hall closet and tucked in his grandfather. He then headed to his bedroom.
He stripped down, took a quick shower, and crawled naked into the double bed. Being six foot six, his feet hung off the end and he had little room to stretch out. He’d have a crick in his neck by morning.
His last thought before sleep claimed him was of sweet, shy Sophie Saunders. The creak of his bedroom door wakened him a short time later. Dune knew without looking who had disturbed him. Mac was ditching the dog.
He stuck his head inside and muttered, “Fart-a-roni.” He ducked out.
Dune heard the click of Ghost’s nails on the hardwood floor before his dog hopped on the bed and took over the end. Dune shoved open the window on the wall over his head. Ghost was downwind.
Eight forty-five a.m. and Sophie Saunders breathed in the pungent scents of the boardwalk as she strolled toward the T-shirt shop. She inhaled the freshly made coffee from Brews Brothers and the sugary sweetness of oven-warm doughnuts at The Bakehouse. Outdoor vendors teased beachgoers with cinnamon churros and caramel funnel cakes.
Sophie felt at home here, far more than she did at Saunders Shores. Her heritage oftentimes smothered her. She’d spoken to her mother that very morning, and their conversation had unsettled her.
Maya so seldom dropped by unannounced, yet she’d arrived in tennis whites with a purpose. She had a standing nine-thirty lesson three days a week at the country club with the tennis pro.
Her mom was a beautiful woman, classically featured and perfectly coiffured. She was a noted philanthropist and kept her finger on the pulse of the family.
Trace could do no wrong.
Sophie was seldom right.
Her mother had made small talk while Sophie finished a slice of cinnamon raisin toast and sipped a cup of hibiscus tea. Of course, her mother had broached her favorite topic the moment Sophie finished. She recalled their conversation now.
“Your father and I were discussing your future at dinner last night,” her mother said, bringing up the subject.
Sophie had inwardly cringed. Surely they could’ve found a more interesting topic, something less boring and bland.
“You’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time on the Barefoot William boardwalk,” Maya noted. “We were hoping you’d give the Shores a second chance.”
Her mother’s suggestion gave Sophie a stomachache. “I’ll give it some thought,” was all she could manage to say.
Her words had appeased Maya for the moment. She’d departed shortly thereafter.
Sophie knew in her heart that she would never return to the Shores. She couldn’t think of one boutique or café owner who would willingly welcome her. She’d be riding on the Saunders name alone.
More than life itself, she wanted to step outside her family’s shadow and be her own person. Her niche was out there somewhere. She just had to find it.
She entered Three Shirts, leaving all thoughts of the Shores outside on the Barefoot William boardwalk. Jenna Cates waved at her from the back room. “I’m sorting board shorts,” she called out. “Come talk to me.”
Sophie headed toward her. The T-shirt shop was one of her favorite stores. It smelled of cotton. She liked the casual, yet hip, beach atmosphere. There was no need for overhead lighting. The morning sun shot through the front window, warming the hardwood floors.
She found Jenna with a box cutter in one hand and a pair of board shorts in the other. Colorful surfboards decorated a black background. The pattern was intricate, yet masculine. “Shorts from Dune’s designer beachwear,” Jen told Sophie. “They sell so fast I can’t keep them in stock.”
Sophie was aware of his collection for men. Beach Heat was his brand. He modeled for magazines promoting his line. His clothes were all about summer, all about looking cool on a hot day.
She’d purchased one of his California print shirts, a pale green, short-sleeved button-down designed with a turquoise wave. The shirt was too big for her, but that didn’t matter. She wore it around her house. On occasion, she slept in it.
Should Dune retire from professional volleyball, he had retail to fall back on. He also sponsored volleyball camps for kids all across the country. He traveled often, speaking on sportsmanship.
“Did you have fun at the Sneaker Ball?” Jen asked as she cut up a cardboard box.
It had been the best night of her life. Sophie touched her fingertips to her lips and smiled. She could still feel Dune’s kiss. She looked forward to seeing him again. They had a bet. One of them would collect on the wager later today.
She responded with a nondescript remark. “Great music and delicious food.”
Jen glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Was my cousin a good date?”
A rush of warmth rose from her toes. Sophie felt her cheeks heat. Dating was new to her. How much should she share?
“That good, huh?” Jen teased her.
“How’d you know?”
“You’re blushing. That’s a dead giveaway.”
“How was Mac?” Sophie asked.
Jen pulled a face that made Sophie laugh. “The worst date ever,” she said. “The man’s got crazy written all over him. His life never skips a beat, whereas mine often stalls and needs a jump start. I was tired last night after the ball and wanted to go straight home. Mac wanted to stop by the Blue Coconut and shoot pool. We argued.”
She stacked the cardboard scraps into a neat pile, and continued with, “I told him to pull over; then I threatened to walk the rest of the way home. The ass actually stopped on the side of the road. He reached across me and opened my door.”
That didn’t sound good, Sophie thought. “Did you get out?” she asked.
“I started to, but Mac pulled me back.” Jen’s own cheeks flushed. “He had the balls to tell me to shut up. When I didn’t, he kissed me. I bit his bottom lip.”
Mac had kissed Jen. Sophie liked that part. Jenna’s bite, not so much. “You got home okay?” She was curious.
Jen nodded. “Once I was safely out of the pickup, I informed him that I never wanted to see him again and that he was barred from the shop.”
“Barred, really?” Sophie’s stomach sank.
“Mac’s only in town for a month,” Jen said. “He should have enough shirts to last him, if he does laundry. I don’t need his business.”
Sophie wished their night had gone better.
She had a wager to win.
“I have a date tonight,” Jen continued on a happier note. “Kyle Wyatt. He delivers packages for Sky Air. He dropped off several boxes this morning, then asked me to attend Twilight Bazaar at the Civic Center. The indoor flea market draws farmers, professional artists, and crafters, along with elementary school exhibits. It’s very casual. It’s my assistant’s day off. Since store owners can set their own hours, I plan to close at six. Kyle will pick me up at seven.”
“Nice,” was all Sophie could manage to say. Jenna wouldn’t be available if Mac showed up at the store later today. She’d moved on to someone else. Mac was no longer in the running. Sophie found that disappointing.
“What would you like me to do first?” she asked, getting down to business.
“Become familiar with the shop,” Jen said. “Once you know the layout, select a T-shirt. I wear and advertise my tees. You can change in the dressing room.”
Sophie paused, looked around. Not a customer in sight.
“Mondays tend to be slow,” Jen said, explaining. “I’d planned to do some rearranging. We can move the circular racks around and change out the displays. I bought crabbing nets to replace the clotheslines stretched across the ceiling. Nicole loaned me two mannequins from The Jewelry Box. I want to set them at the front of the store and dress them in beachwear.
“I’m expanding my merchandise, too,” she continued. “The new inventory includes boardwalk posters, beach chairs, sand globes, and children’s beach-themed coloring books, all still in boxes. They’ll need to be unpacked.”
Sophie faced a busy day. She was excited to get started. Selecting a T-shirt was daunting. There were so many to choose from. If You Can’t Stand the Heat, Stop Tickling the Dragon made her smile. Her gaze widened and she pushed past Brass Balls beneath My Mini-Skirt.
The silly, wild, and naughty slogans weren’t right for her, although Jenna wore them well. Her friend’s bright yellow belly shirt imprinted with No Tan Lines fit her. She loved sports and the outdoors, and was evenly tanned.
Sophie finally chose a conservative navy polo scripted with Barefoot Beach to go with her tan slacks. Jen nodded her approval when Sophie stepped from the dressing room.
“What’s next?” she asked.
“We move the circular racks,” Jen said. “They’re on casters with a lever brake.” She set their project in motion.
Once the racks were in place, they went through every shirt, organizing them by size and brand. They set up a special display for Dune’s beachwear.
“The shop’s coming together.” Jen stood with her hands on her hips, taking it all in. She appeared pleased. “Let’s stretch the crab nets next.”
“I hope you have a tall ladder,” Sophie said. “We’re both on the short side.”
Jen nodded toward the front door. “Lucky for us, our man of height just arrived.”
Sophie looked up. Her breath caught and her chest squeezed. Dune Cates stood in the doorway. He wore a plain gray T-shirt, jeans, and an easy smile. “Too early for lunch?” He held three take-out containers. “I stopped at the diner and ordered sandwiches.”
“Hot or cold?” Jen asked.
“Molly’s specialty peanut butter and jelly.” Dune set the containers down on the front counter.
“Work first, eat second,” Jenna directed her team. “I want to change out my ceiling while you’re here. I’ll get the step stool.” She headed to the storeroom.
Sophie stared at Dune and he stared back. She lowered her gaze to his lips. She relived their kiss, so warm, so firm, so perfect. She blushed and his smile broke.
He crossed to her in three strides. “How’s the volunteering?” he asked.
“It’s going well.” Better, now that he was here.
He leaned in and his scent embraced her: sunshine, lime, and man. “Any sign of Mac?” he whispered near her ear like a fellow conspirator.
His breath fanned her cheek, drawing goose bumps on her neck. She shivered, and he pulled back slightly. “Not yet, but it’s early.” She felt confident about their bet.
Dune scratched his chin. “You’re aware they had a bad date.”
“So I heard.” She had, in detail.
“Mac’s going to keep his distance.”
She stood firm. “He’ll show.”
“You’re a romantic, not a realist.”
“The heart knows what the mind has yet to realize.”
“Mac’s already made up his mind about Jen. He’ll keep the length of the boardwalk between them.”
“What’s Mac up to this morning?” asked Sophie, curious.
“He’s nursing a hangover,” Dune told her. “He was having breakfast when I left my grandfather’s house. He poured coffee on his cornflakes.”
“He wasn’t drunk when he left the Sneaker Ball,” Sophie recalled.
“Mac and Zane tied one on afterward.”
“The reason?” she pressed.
“A drinking game brought out the LandShark.”
A game. Men talked sports, cars, and women. Had Mac discussed Jenna? she wondered. She wanted to ask Dune, but intuitively knew he wouldn’t discuss his partner further. He wouldn’t give her any advantage as far as their wager.
He straightened, then shoved his hands in his jean pockets and said, “Guess I’ll hang out and collect my win.”
He planned to stick around. She liked that. A lot.
“Over here, Dune,” Jenna called. She set the step stool near the dressing rooms. “The hooks can be twisted and pulled. Sophie and I will wrap the clothesline as it comes down.”
Wrapping the line sounded easier than it was. Beside her, Jen formed the perfect lasso, while Sophie’s own rope twisted around her wrist and the loops dangled at different lengths. She caught Dune watching her and wished she wasn’t so clumsy.
“No lasso for you,” he teased her. “Let’s start over.” He took the clothesline from her, shook it out, and began anew. “Hold out your hands.”
She did, and he used her wrists as if wrapping yarn. They soon had a perfect circle. She sighed, relieved.
Jen hauled the rope to the back. She then patted her stomach and said, “I’m hungry.”
Dune gathered the Styrofoam containers and Sophie followed him to the back room. The sun winked outside the window, casting them in silhouette. He was so tall and muscled she could fit inside his shadow.
Jenna grabbed paper plates, napkins, and canned sodas. They dined on PB&J made Molly-style. Her sandwiches were one of a kind. She took one slice of rye and one of pumpernickel, then spread crunchy peanut butter on both. She added grape jelly and strawberry preserves. The sandwich was thick and tasted great.
Dune drew back a chair and sat down across from Sophie. He opened up the snacks and offered her three different flavors of chips. He stretched out his legs, bumping Sophie’s knees beneath the table.
The memory of them sitting on the counter stools at Molly’s came to mind. His knee had accidentally pressed between her thighs, a jolt to her senses. They touched again now. A bit more subtly, yet equally arousing.
The rough denim of his jeans brushed the smooth linen of her slacks. He flexed his leg and her stomach fluttered. The temperature in the storeroom rose. She fanned her face with a paper plate.
“Has Zane left town?” Jen asked Dune.
“He was up and gone before my first cup of coffee,” he said between bites. “He saw Tori Rollins last night.”
Jen gaped. “When, where?”
“She delivered our three a.m. pizzas.”
“Did it get crazy?”
“Crazy enough that he chased her Volkswagen down the dirt road in his boxers while running barefoot.”
Jen nearly spewed her soda.
Sophie was confused. She could trace the Cates’s history from the time William had settled the town, but she wasn’t aware of any present-day involvements beyond her brother being married to Shaye.
Dune finished his own bag of sour cream and garlic chips, then stole a few of Sophie’s sun-dried tomato ones. He sensed her curiosity and conveyed Zane and Tori’s story.
Sophie sat there, fascinated. The two shared so much anger, so much passion. They had a great deal to settle between them.
“Opposites usually attract,” said Jen, “yet Tori and Zane were so much alike, it seemed they had one mind. They agreed on everything, even finished each other’s sentences.”
“What happened?” asked Sophie.
Jen wiped her mouth with a napkin. “They were in total agreement until Zane chose the Air Force over her. Tori went ballistic. She never forgave him.”
“How awful,” Sophie said, finishing her chips.
“Zane always wanted to fly,” Dune explained. “He collected model planes and helicopters as a kid. He buzzed me more than one time with his handheld-transmitter-controlled dive-bombers.”
Jenna grinned. “He bombed everyone on the boardwalk.”
Sophie listened intently as they continued to talk about their families. Big, happy families that came together when someone was in trouble or for the joy of celebration. Dune’s and her upbringing differed greatly.
They were halfway through their meal when three young boys entered the store. They looked eleven or twelve, all sweaty and scruffy and in a hurry. “I’ll see to them,” Sophie said. Jenna had taught her how to use the cash register. She could ring up their sale.
She wound around the T-shirt racks and approached the boys. She’d nearly reached them when they split in three directions. She found it difficult to keep an eye on each one. “Can I help you?” she asked the kid with shaggy dark hair moving toward the dressing rooms.
He shook his head, looking uneasy.
“How about you?” she went on to ask the next boy.
“I’m looking for a pair of flip-flops for my sister,” he said, drawing her attention from the front of the store.
“What color and size?”
The kid never answered.
She heard shuffling and fumbling at the main counter. She turned around just in time to see the third boy stuff several pairs of sunglasses into the pockets of his camouflage pants.
A shoplifter. Her heart nearly stopped.
Camo-boy stared at Sophie, a clear challenge in his eyes. He curled his lip, as if he dared her to call for backup. His two friends joined him at the door. They looked tough and hardened for kids so young.
Sophie wasn’t afraid, only uncertain. She could call for Dune and Jenna or she could handle the situation herself. She wasn’t a wimp. She found her voice and said, “Put the sunglasses back.”
The boy in the camouflage pants smirked, then flipped her off. “Mine.” He shot out the door after his friends.
“Not yours—” Her voice hitched. She was so stunned it took her several seconds to react.
Galvanized by indignation, Sophie took off after the boys. They would not get the better of her. This was Jenna Cates’s store. Jen was her friend. There’d be no shoplifters on her shift.
She wasn’t a runner, but she could walk fast. She caught a flash of camouflage pants several doors down. It appeared the boys had gotten cocky. They’d run a distance, then stopped and removed the price tags from their shades.
Sophie caught them outside Goody Gumdrops, Shaye’s penny candy store. She figured they were headed inside for another five-finger discount. She cornered Camo-boy at the red-and-pink lollipop swirled door. She blocked his entry. She held out her hand. “Mine,” she said, tossing his words back at him.
“Hers,” Dune’s deep voice insisted from behind her. His shadow now stretched alongside her own. A very long shadow from a very tall man.
Her backup had arrived.