“Sea Breeze.” They rounded the circular driveway. Bo turned off the engine beside a small wooden garage, and the big truck shuddered to a stop. “My friend Taylor lives here with his wife and baby. They’re out of town and said we could use the dock in the back. I wanted tonight to be special, and this is the best damn dock on the island,” he added. He turned toward her, his eyes twinkling with the game. “That’s your first clue. Now, stay put for a few minutes. I have to get a few things done first. Okay?”
“Okay.” She watched him trot up the driveway and behind the house, her brain buzzing with questions. There was still light in the sky despite it being nearly eight o’clock. She let her gaze wander around the circular drive. The place had the handsome architecture and quiet dignity of old money, with a wide, welcoming front porch and curved front steps under gabled windows. To the right of the property stood a charming white cottage, the very picture of what a lowcountry cottage should look like. With the garage to the left of the home, Sea Breeze was more than a house. This was a compound.
Heather’s eyes were wide with curiosity when she spotted Bo trotting back toward the truck. She smoothed her dress as he opened her door then lifted his hand to help her out. Everything felt more formal tonight. They were both on their best behavior. He tucked her arm in his and they’d begun walking toward the house when a voice called out.
“Bo Stanton? Is that you? Come on over here and introduce me to your young lady.”
Heather’s heart skipped a beat, and she swung her head to look over toward the cottage. There she saw an old woman sitting on the front porch in a white rocker. Her hand was in the air, and she waved them closer with an unmistakable air of authority.
Bo lowered his head and said softly, “I didn’t expect this. But it’s okay. You’ll love her.” Then he lifted his hand and called out, “Coming, Miss Marietta!” As they approached the cottage, Bo explained, “This is Mrs. Muir. She’s Taylor’s wife’s grandmother and lives in the cottage now. This used to be her house.” They walked up the stairs to the porch. Bo stepped closer to the old woman and kissed her cheek.
“Nice to see you, Miss Marietta. I hope we’re not bothering you. Taylor and Harper said we could use the dock tonight.”
“You’re not bothering me in the least,” Mrs. Muir said in the kindest manner. “Harper told me all about it. She said you’re going to have dinner out there. How simply wonderful!” She brought her hands together, and looked at Heather. “And who is this lovely lady?”
Bo stepped aside and held out his arm to guide Heather closer. “Ma’am, this is my friend Heather Wyatt. From Charlotte.”
Heather’s heart was pounding in her chest, but her manners were ingrained. She held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Muir,” she said in a soft voice. She forced herself to look Mrs. Muir in the eyes and she was glad she did. The old woman’s pale blue eyes gleamed with welcome.
“Welcome to Sea Breeze,” Mrs. Muir said. “I wish my granddaughters were here to meet you. They’re close to your age.” She turned to Bo. “Someday you’ll have to bring Heather back and we’ll have a dinner together. Won’t that be fun?”
“I’ll do that.”
“But for tonight,” Mrs. Muir said pointedly, “I’ll say good night. I’m going inside and will retire early.”
They bid the regal woman farewell, and as Bo led her back around the great house, Heather couldn’t help but think that the world was conspiring to give her and Bo their privacy.
“Taylor and I met working together on house projects with his dad. That’s how we became friends. Taylor’s moved on to other business, but his daddy still owns his own construction company. We keep in touch.”
Heather sucked in her breath when she saw the back of the house. It was even more beautiful than the front. The house was built to get the maximum view of the winding cove that stretched far out to the Intracoastal Waterway. From here she could see against the radiant colors of the sunset, the double arches of the Ravenel Bridge from Mount Pleasant to Charleston. In the soft light it looked like two great sailing masts, a perfect symbol for the historic port city.
Three decks led down to the long dock that stretched out over the winding water. As they descended the stairs in the lavender light, Heather caught sight of a covered dock aglow with the flickering of dozens of candles.
“Oh, Bo,” she gasped, clutching his arm tighter. “It’s breathtaking.”
He patted her hand, pleased with her response, and guided her down the narrow wooden dock to where the night was shimmering with candlelight. Under the canopy he’d set up a table and two chairs. Instead of heavy damask linen, however, the table was covered in newspaper. She had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. On top were two small wooden mallets, a bottle of hot sauce, and a roll of paper towels.
“Come sit,” he said, pulling out her chair. “It should be a magnificent sunset. I ordered it just for you.”
He hurried to the cooler, where he pulled out two champagne glasses and a bottle. He returned to their table and she watched as he expertly teased out the cork. It emerged with a satisfying pop. She clapped her hands. Bo poured the wine and handed one flute to her and raised his.
“To all things great and small, especially postage stamps,” he toasted, a twinkle in his eye.
Heather laughed and they clinked glasses as she met his gaze and sipped the cool, bubbly liquid. She was grateful for his support over the past weeks. It spoke loudly to the man he was. Bo was her biggest cheerleader. Knowing this made the wine taste especially sweet.
“Now you sit back and let me get dinner.”
“I can help.”
“I’ve got it all under control. Besides, I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working to make your deadline. Tonight you get to relax. Watch the sunset,” he added, gesturing to the surreal explosion of sienna, purples, and gold in the sky beyond.
Bo removed his jacket and slung it over the back of his chair. Then he rolled up his sleeves and got busy being chef, waiter, and sommelier all at once. It was, indeed, a magical night. She leaned back and listened to the sound of water lapping the wood pilings, the moist breeze off the water caressing her cheeks. It smelled of salt and sea and crabs cooking. From somewhere out in the cove she heard a loud splash and wondered if a fish had jumped or if it was a dolphin. While she sat and sipped champagne, Bo pulled crabs from the steamer, one by one, and set them on a wooden platter and carried it to the table. From a box he withdrew a long baguette wrapped in foil.
“Careful, they’re hot,” he warned. He made several more trips to the cooler for the salad, dressing, and lemons, back and forth until the table was overflowing with food. Last of all, he flicked on the music. The silence was filled with the soft crooning of Randy Travis. Heather caught her breath—she’d told Bo once that “Whisper My Name” was her favorite of all Randy Travis’s songs, and that was the melody that washed over them now. Finally he took the seat across from her. He switched from champagne to beer and raised his can.
“Let’s dig in!”
Heather sipped her wine, looking at the pile of steaming crabs uncertainly.
“What do I do?” she asked. “Is it like lobster?”
Bo put his beer on the table. “You’re kidding me. You’ve never had steamed crabs before?”