She reached back and patted her backpack and gave him as confident a smile as she could muster. “Sure. Why not?”
Heather felt a little light-headed as she walked toward the golf cart. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking. She wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She climbed behind the wheel of the golf cart and held her breath as he climbed in beside her. His arm brushed against hers as he turned the ignition to start.
“Let’s go.”
HEATHER WAS DRIVING slower than a Sunday afternoon. Bo glanced at her for the hundredth time as she drove the golf cart at a painstakingly slow fifteen miles per hour. He’d tell her the cart could go as fast as twenty-five, but he didn’t want the journey to end any sooner. Bo was glad that he was wearing his sunglasses. He didn’t want her to see how much he was enjoying himself. The wind gently tousled her long blond hair, and she was smiling.
“You’re getting the feel of it,” he said. “Do you like it?”
She nodded and looked at him for a moment, her face aglow. When she smiled at him like that, he felt sucker-punched.
“I do,” she said with gusto. “I like feeling closer to the outdoors than in a car. I feel more a part of the island. You know? And the golf cart feels less threatening than a car.”
Bo propped one arm up to rest along the roof and let the breeze blow back his hair as they drove along Ocean Boulevard.
“This is what we call Front Beach,” he told her.
“I know,” she said, slowing as they entered the busy section of the island. “I read about it in the guidebook.”
“Well, hell,” he drawled. “That’s my job, to show you around.”
Heather laughed. He loved to hear her laugh. She always had such a serious expression. Almost fearful or worried. It gave him pleasure to see it changed to a smile. She had the prettiest smile. . . .
Bo pointed out a local shop that had a live parrot inside where she could buy a hermit crab, Coconut Joe’s for eating lunch while viewing the beach, and the mural by Gretta Kruesi that displayed magnificent sea turtles and dolphins. Heather appreciated seeing art proudly portrayed on civic buildings. It might not have been the official beginning of summer on the calendar, but here on the island it certainly was. Everywhere people meandered on the walkways in beachwear, soaking up the sun, laughing and talking, buying souvenirs, licking ice-cream cones.
Bo carefully guided her along the route beside Palm Boulevard, through the parking lot to the one crosswalk where it was safe for a golf cart to cross four lanes of traffic to the grocery store.
Suddenly nervous, Heather clenched the steering wheel. “Maybe you better cross.”
“No, you’re doing good. You have to do it someday. Might as well be a baptism by fire. Just take your time and wait for a break in traffic.”
“I-I didn’t realize how many people crowded onto the island in the summer.”
“Yeah. You don’t want to leave the island between four and six on weekend afternoons. Okay . . . all clear!”
She pressed the pedal, and successfully maneuvered the cart across the lanes of traffic into the parking lot.
She laid her head against her hands on the steering wheel. “Oh, my God.”
“Good job,” he told her and placed a hand on her back. “I told you you could do it.”
She turned her head against her hands and her expressive blue eyes met his. He was suddenly aware he was touching her and smiled back.
“Thanks,” she said in a soft voice. “For having faith.”
Now his stomach clenched as her vulnerability struck him again. He unbuckled his seat belt. “Let’s go shopping.”
Heather and Bo got a cart and walked together through the aisles to the flowers. Heather bent to inspect a few bouquets, a frown on her face.
“These all look pretty tired,” she said with a worried brow. “Cara brought me the most beautiful flowers. She has such good taste. I just can’t give her blue and pink carnations.”
“Cara’s not uppity. It’s the thought that counts.”
She looked around the store, eyes scanning the signs and shelves. “Maybe some food is the right thing after all. Though I’m sure it’s like coals to Newcastle.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Coals to Newcastle? Well, Newcastle was a coal-mining town. It means bringing something to someone who doesn’t need it.”
“My daddy used to say it’s like bringing water to the sea.”
She laughed softly. “That’s better here.” She began walking toward the deli section. “I think lasagna for one seems unbearably depressing.”
“How about cheese?” he asked. “Everyone likes cheese.”
Heather’s eyes brightened. “Bo, that’s brilliant. Perfect!”
He was pleased, but didn’t say anything. He watched as she carefully picked out a selection of cheeses without even looking at the prices, filling her basket. And most of them were from France. He wondered just how much money her family had. Not just anyone could rent a beach house on Isle of Palms for the entire summer, or give a fancy, street-legal golf cart as a surprise gift just because. He wondered in that moment if her father would like him.
CARA AND BRETT’S home was a hidden gem on the river side of Isle of Palms. It was quite small, no bigger, Heather thought, than the beach house. But it was very stylish, as she expected based on what she’d seen of Cara thus far. She drove the cart between two gray brick posts with black carriage lamps, and past an enormous live oak that dominated the front and practically hid the house from street view. Like the beach house, this one was freshly painted and tidy, with cheery red geraniums at the front door. It did not appear to be a house of mourning.
“Should we just leave it on the front porch?” Heather asked.
Bo shook his head. “Let’s knock. Emmi’s there. That’s her car.”
The knocker was a polished brass anchor. She gave it three good raps and waited. Soon the door swung open, revealing a woman with red hair loosely pulled away from her face. She was dressed in a pale green tunic top and black leggings with flip-flops, a paper towel in her hands. Her face broke into a huge grin when she spotted Bo.
“Well, hey, Bo!” she exclaimed.
“Nice to see you, Miss Emmi.” He looked at Heather. “This is Heather Wyatt, the lady who’s renting the beach house from Cara. She heard about Brett and wanted to bring something over.” He raised the bags weighing down his hands.
Even though Emmi’s green eyes had shaded circles of fatigue beneath them, Heather felt the force of them studying her. “So that makes you my new neighbor. Nice to meet you, Heather. I’ve always liked that name. Maybe because I’m Scottish and anything to do with heather . . .” She let a slight shrug finish the sentence. “Do you want to come in?”