23

Luella walked into the Lighthouse Inn. The coolness of air-conditioning hit her sweaty body, and chills ran down her arms. How hot would it be by noon?

Clarissa was manning the front desk again. Perhaps she could answer Luella’s questions. That would be one way to avoid embarrassing herself in front of Chuck again. So why was she walking toward his office?

Luella, stop!

Still, she crossed the lobby, her body feeling more in control than her brain. Maybe it was too early for him to be in. Heavens to Betsy, woman! Make up your mind. Do you or do you not want to see him?

She paused outside his closed office door. Her T-shirt clung to her from the sticky salt air and bike ride here. Since the Lighthouse Inn was closer than her car, it’d made sense to bike here, get the suitcase, and then walk both to her car that sat a block away. But maybe she should’ve thought this through a little better. She brushed her hands down the wrinkles, which did absolutely nothing to help the appearance of the shirt.

The door had a shiny new plate on it.

CHARLES MCKENZIE, SENIOR PROPERTY MANAGER

“Thank goodness he cleared that one up,” she muttered. Didn’t every resident on the island know that within days of his plane landing?

Why did this man discombobulate her? Maybe she and the girls were a little nuttier than she’d realized before meeting him, but she loved her life and her friends just as they were. She’d dated her fair share of men over the decades, and caring what they thought had barely registered with any of them. Why were this man’s reactions on her radar?

Come on, Luella. Pull it together. You’re too old to be confused over a man. She drew a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in.”

Chuck sounded cheery. Maybe that would work in her favor. She wiped sweat off her face, put on her best smile, and opened the door.

He glanced, jolted, and almost dropped the book he was putting on the shelf. “Ms. Ward.”

“Mr. McKenzie.” She closed the door behind her. Why? Why did I do that? “Do you have a moment?”

He nodded, smiling. “I do. I’m just adding some finishing touches to my office.” He set the book on the shelf. “What brings you here?” The skin around his eyes crinkled, the sign of a man who smiled often.

Here’s hoping he’ll ignore the embarrassing run-in at the marsh.

She ambled to the chair facing his desk and sat. “I’m here as a favor to a former guest of yours. Her name is Tara Abbott.”

He walked to the front of the desk and leaned against it. “You know Tara?”

Why had he moved in so close? She hadn’t showered or brushed her teeth or hair. Sitting behind his desk was the least he could do in her present state, wasn’t it?

Keep things light. “Is that a trick question?”

“No.” He chuckled. “Obviously you know her, and I don’t typically remember the guests’ names, but she left her luggage with us. Is she still on the island?”

“Yes, and I’m here for her suitcase.” At this rate of exchanging info, she could be out of here before she stuck her foot in her mouth or did something stupid. Again.

“I couldn’t hand it over to you without getting her ID and a signature via fax or text, but—”

“Wait.” Fire seemed to engulf Luella’s heart. “Let me get this straight. I came to you with Tara’s name and the information that she left her suitcase here, which clearly matches your knowledge of the situation. And yet despite that and despite knowing me, you can’t release her suitcase without her ID and signature? I knew you were a stickler about rules, and that trait is probably part of the reason you’re managing what feels like half of this island, but heavens to Betsy, Charles.”

He studied her. “You’re right.”

“Really?” Luella regretted that response. “I mean, yes, I am, but I didn’t expect you to think so.” His reactions and responses continually caught her off guard. When it wasn’t annoying or offending, she found it quite refreshing.

He smiled. “Unfortunately, your point doesn’t actually matter.” He moved back to the seat behind his desk and typed on the keyboard. “We don’t have it. We held on to it for a week, but then I shipped it to the address she listed when making the reservation.” He seemed to be studying info, maybe a shipping receipt. “Should I call UPS and get the package sent back here? It was picked up at ten in the morning two days ago.”

Not the news Luella wanted to give Tara. She’d leave the island before the suitcase could return. “I suppose not. But thanks for the info.”

His eyes held concern. “It seems odd she didn’t come back or send someone sooner. Is she okay?”

How much should she share with him about Tara? While mulling that over she noted again that he really was a very nice-looking man. Always pulled together and clean. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to focus. Why was she so hung up on how she looked…and smelled? “She’s…struggling a bit.”

“Struggling?”

Had Chuck met Tara? Maybe not since he didn’t seem to know how confused she was. “You didn’t meet her, did you?”

“Not that I recall.”

Should she share that Tara was the woman on the top of the lighthouse after it’d closed on the night they met? Would that clarify anything for him?

Charles moved the mouse, clicked on something, and then focused on Luella. “My team said she asked to stay for additional nights, but we were booked. They tried to find her another hotel but couldn’t. You know how peak season is. I was told she left, saying she’d return for her suitcase by the end of the day. Is there a problem?”

Were his concerns centered on how well his team dealt with the situation? “I’m sure your staff was as helpful as they could be. She’s just a bit confused right now.”

“Ah.” He nodded and paused. “Did she see you and your friends chanting on the water?”

Luella almost laughed but stopped herself, refusing to do as much as smile. He’d timed his quip with expertise, catching her completely off guard. She narrowed her eyes at him. “No, that would be you. Remember?”

He chuckled. “Ah, yes, I seem to recall that.” His smile was lopsided now. “You’re an interesting woman, Luella.”

What? “I think the description you’re looking for is ‘nuttier than a fruitcake.’ ”

“Does anyone eat fruitcakes often enough to know if they have nuts?”

“It’s a Southern saying.”

“You have a lot of those.”

“We do. It saves us from having to think up things on our own.”

He chuckled. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Of course not. You gotta be Southern-smart to figure that out.” She leaned back in the chair. “Reading would help.” She suppressed a smile and turned her head, taking a quick inventory of his bookshelves. Clearly he was a reader. The spines from a familiar series of books took up half of a shelf. What? Was that an almost full set of her Demere Cultural Guides? She hoped she looked nonchalant as she got up and walked closer.

I’ll swanee…

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

He had her books? Not one or two, but the entire series, and based on the bindings, he’d read them more than once…or someone had. Maybe he picked them up at a garage sale and hadn’t even opened them.

“Ms. Ward?”

She blinked and refocused her attention.

He stood at the coffee maker on the far side of his office, holding the carafe. When had he gotten up and crossed the room?

“Uh, yeah…I mean, no. But thanks.”

He set the carafe on the warmer and went back to his desk.

She gestured toward the books. “Have you read all the books in your case?”

“Definitely. But I own far too many books to keep them all, so the ones on my shelves are my favorites. Why?”

He had to know who she was. Had to. This was a setup—him putting her books on his shelves, the ones she wrote as L. Demere.

“Do you like books, Luella?” He picked up a stack of books and moved toward the shelf.

“Uh, yeah, you could say that. This is a joke, right?”

“A joke?” He paused, books in hand. “Did I miss something?”

She studied him. The man seemed truly clueless. “I just thought…Never mind. I seem to be wrong more than right of late.”

“Happens to everybody at times.”

If he didn’t know who she was, then the fact that her books were counted among his favorites was staggering. He intrigued her in a way few men had in her lifetime. Had she ruined all chances of their becoming friends? Adding a man near her own age to her list of enjoyable people to spend time with could introduce some much-needed zest to her off time. A book lover was always game for spending hours in a used bookstore.

“Yeah, I suppose it does.” Should she let him know who she was or let him keep his illusion that L. Demere was a refined, knowledgeable writer? “You know, I’m not as weird as I’ve seemed in some of our encounters.”

Why did she say that? It was like highlighting in his mind every weird thing she’d done since they met. It only made her look worse and made things more awkward between them. “Anyway, I should go.” She headed for the door. “I’ll let Tara know about her suitcase. Thanks.”

“Luella?”

His voice seemed to hold several sentiments, including gentleness and encouragement, and she was powerless to leave even if she wanted to.

She turned.

He smiled, looking into her eyes before he turned to shelve another book. “I don’t think for a moment that I know who you are because of a few unusual encounters.”

He what? Her heart pounded, delight suddenly fighting to leap out and praise his open-mindedness. But she refrained by the skin of her teeth. “People tend to make up their minds pretty quickly about one another.”

“I learned my lesson on that one.” He seemed unwilling to look at her and kept his attention on the books as he shelved them. “I thought I knew my wife, but after ten years of marriage and two young children, I realized I’d never known her, not even close. She looked as if she had everything together, looked as if she believed in loyalty and regard for others, but that was a lie.”

Luella fought to find her voice. His vulnerability floored her, and she could sense the pain he’d gone through. That’s why he’d refused to assume who she was. “I’m sorry.”

He dropped his hand from the shelf. “It’s long over, and none of that has bothered me for more than a decade. But it was a hard lesson, and I’ll never forget it.” His words hung in the air for a moment, and then he glanced at her, the left corner of his mouth curling in a lopsided grin. “I’ve found I’m warming to the quirks of you and your friends. Maybe I could join you for the reading of Sidney Lanier’s poem next year if I’m still on the island. Unless the poem reading is an invite-only event.”

What a strange conversation. “I thought we weren’t allowed near Tidal Creek Grill?”

“Oh, you’re certainly taking that show somewhere else. But I’d still like to come.”

Close your mouth, Luella, and go. But she walked over to the bookcase and traced the spines of the Demere Culture Guides with her index finger. She probably had a silly grin on her face. Julep always said she was terrible at poker. “You know, L. Demere is doing a book signing at our store this Friday.”

“You’re kidding.”

What do you know? He actually looked interested. “I’m not. There’s a special updated twentieth-anniversary edition of the St. Simons Island Culture Guide coming out. Did you know L. Demere’s first book was written about St. Simons?”

“I didn’t. I need to get it.” He grinned. “You’re telling me one of my favorite travel writers is coming here?”

She raised her shoulders and hands in her best attempt at a nonchalant shrug. It was all too much fun to string him along. “Maybe I should have told you about the book signing earlier. If I had, maybe you’d have been more open to giving us a bigger, nicer shop.” Time to come clean. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he found out he had been reading her books.

The phone rang, making her jump.

He flashed her a smile. “Excuse me.” He picked up the receiver, and after a few seconds he sounded miffed. “What?” He listened and then gave a list of short answers. “I said no. You do nothing until I get there.” He hung up. “I’m so sorry, but I need to go.” He gathered his briefcase and few belongings as he spoke. “I’d love to talk more, but it will need to be at the book signing.”

She held up a finger. “Okay, but I just need to tell you something real quick—”

“It’ll have to wait.” He walked to the office door and pulled it open.

“But—”

“Sincerest apologies, Luella.” He gave her a nod. “We’ll talk later.”

Well. At least he took his business seriously. Very seriously. She’d never felt that kind of intensity about her work. “Okay.”

“I trust you know your way out.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Go.”

“Thanks.” He rushed off, leaving her standing in his office door.

Oh well. At least I tried.