Gage couldn’t believe he’d gone along with this plan. Or how much he enjoyed kissing the blonde woman he’d literally met thirty seconds ago. But her lips were soft, and she melted right into his arms the way his previous girlfriends had.
She’s not your girlfriend, his mind screamed, and it was loud enough to make him pull back. He cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder to see the other man still standing there, staring.
“You should go,” he said, employing his Marine voice and hoping that would be enough to get this guy off her front lawn.
“Go, Ricky,” Sheryl said, and Gage kept his body mostly in front of her.
Ricky’s fists clenched, but he didn’t take another step forward. A moment later, he spun and stomped back to his truck, where he got in and drove off.
Sheryl’s relief filled the air, and Gage stepped away from her as the small truck rounded the corner with screeching wheels. His body temperature felt off-the-charts, but that could’ve been the summer evening heat.
In fact, it had to be the summer evening heat, because he was not interested in another blonde fiasco.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping back into her house. “Do you want to come in?”
He wasn’t sure he should, as he felt like all the steps were out of order now. He wasn’t even sure he’d have noticed this woman on the ferry if he’d seen her. She was pretty, with a clear pair of blue eyes that flitted all over the place as if she couldn’t look directly at him. Her blonde hair hung down to her shoulders, and it looked like it could use a hairbrush. He didn’t mind so much, as he’d felt it between his fingers, and it was silky smooth.
“I have pizza here,” she said from somewhere inside, and Gage practically jumped into her house so she wouldn’t realize he’d been standing on the porch like a doofus.
You need the job, he told himself as he closed the door behind him. And she obviously needed his help. He glanced around her house, almost hating himself for how he assessed which windows he could go out, and how he looked up to the ceiling as if a trained assassin would be clinging to the fan there.
But he’d spent two decades in the Marines, and he’d been trained to see things other people didn’t even know to look for. Sheryl had no intruders in her living room. In fact, she had blue and yellow curtains on the windows, matching pillows on the couch, and plenty of pizza still sitting on her kitchen counter.
Gage had already eaten dinner, but he’d never say no to pizza. He joined her in the kitchen at the back of the house, where she had real cloth napkins next to the paper plates. They seemed at odds with one another, but he didn’t comment on it.
“So you can obviously see why I need your services,” she said, her voice cool and detached. “That man is Ricky Van Nuy. He used to work for me at the inn.”
“The inn?”
“Oh, my sisters and I all work at our family’s inn. The Heartwood Inn?” She looked at him then, her eyebrows raised.
Gage knew The Heartwood Inn, that was for sure. It was the premier resort and hotel on the island, with the largest private beach with huge summer events that brought thousands of people to the island of Carter’s Cove.
He could do without the tourists, but without them, he wouldn’t have a way to pay his bills. And as it was, standing on the ferry or the docks on either end of the ferry route wearing a pair of CIA shades and a tight, black shirt was barely making ends meet.
Jim gave him as much work as possible, and he’d been working for the local police department as security at some of the bigger island events. He’d been on-duty at the dog championship, and he’d just signed on to walk the crowd in uniform with a badge for the huge surfing championship at Sheryl’s beach in just about a week or so.
“Anyway,” Sheryl said, clearing her throat.
Gage realized he hadn’t answered her.
“I just need—”
“I know The Heartwood Inn,” he blurted out, interrupting her. Their eyes met, and she looked more afraid of him than the Ricky dude on the front lawn. “I grew up in a town outside of Savannah, and we came to Carter’s Cove several times.”
“Oh, maybe you stayed at our inn.”
“No,” he said, wondering who she thought he was. “We couldn’t afford The Heartwood.” He realized too late how his words sounded. Plus, he’d had a girlfriend or two—or three or four—that had told him sometimes his speaking voice sounded like a bark.
“Oh.” Sheryl blinked, the shock plain to see on her face. She turned away from him, almost hesitantly, as if she wanted to keep one eye on him but not look at him at the same time. “Did you want something to drink? Salad?”
“The pizza’s fine,” he said, picking up a piece of cold pizza. He didn’t care. He loved pizza in all its forms, and he asked, “Have you been to Pie Squared?”
“The new place by the ferry?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been by,” she said evasively.
“Which means no,” he said, trying to put a smile on his face. It honestly felt like a scowl, and he wiped it away quickly. Which meant Sheryl didn’t see it by the time she turned around.
“I haven’t been down that way since they opened,” she said.
Of course she hadn’t. She lived in a quaint, quiet neighborhood bordering the beach. Everything about her house, the street it was on, and the clothes she wore screamed of sophistication and wealth, two things Gage didn’t have much experience with.
Sure, her jeans were muddy, but they still cost more than he’d ever paid for an article of clothing. The only thing he’d ever put any money into was his motorcycle, and he simply wanted to be on the bike right now, riding away from her.
“I need someone to pick me up at work,” she said. “I get off at two, but I can hang around the hotel to accommodate your schedule.”
He nodded and took another bite of his pizza. She continued with, “I just need to get home safely. Then you can go. Maybe come back in the evening to make sure Ricky isn’t here bothering me. It shouldn’t take up too much of your time.”
“Time I have, sweetheart,” he said.
She frowned at him, and he catalogued the fact that she didn’t like his nickname. Fair enough. It was a little demeaning, and he held up his hands as if surrendering. “Sorry. I’m sorry. But I have time. I have a few jobs I do for the city, but we can go over that if you think you want to hire me.”
He cursed himself for being such a jerk. “I’m a nice guy, really.”
She nodded and ran her hand over her hair as if to smooth it back. Her hand moved to tuck her hair, and Gage appreciated her beauty in that moment. He finished his pizza, and said, “Okay, I’ll go and let you decide. You have my number.”
Shaking his head as his thoughts started berating him, he walked back toward the front door.
“You didn’t ask how much the pay was,” she said behind him.
He paused and turned back. “How much?”
“You tell me, Mister Sanders. I’m unfamiliar with hiring people to make sure I get home safe.”
“Oh, honey,” he said, unable to help himself. “I’m not just a person. I’m a man. A Marine. And if you hire me, Ricky will never bother you again.” He opened the door but didn’t step through it. “You decide what you need, and we’ll talk price.”
“But what would you charge?” she asked, her footsteps hurrying toward him as he stepped onto the porch. He took his shades out of his breast pocket and situated them on his face. It really was beautiful here, and he didn’t want to go back to Peach Tree. Or the city. Or Whistlestop Shores.
No, he liked Carter’s Cove, and he just needed to figure out a way to have enough work to stay here.
“Twenty per hour,” he said. “You decide how many hours you need me. Put together a sample schedule, that kind of thing, and we’ll talk again.” He went down her steps without looking back, because while he wanted the job, he didn’t want her to know he wanted the job.
He climbed on his bike and started her up, the loud roar of the engine filling this tranquil neighborhood. With his eyes hiding behind the mirrored shades, he could watch Sheryl, and even from a distance, he saw the distaste roll across her face.
Gage grinned as he backed out of her driveway and gunned his bike down the road. He honestly wasn’t a jerk, but he was who he was, and she should know it before she hired him. He drove around the island a bit, getting away from the larger crowds, which mostly stuck to the downtown area.
He stopped by the grocery store and bought apples and pears to make a tart, and he put together a delicious dessert. Through it all, he couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss on that porch with that blonde woman.
“What do you think?” he asked his dog, who lay right on the line he’d established for her, just outside the kitchen. Britta didn’t answer, of course, and he tossed her a small chunk of hot dog and went back to cleaning up while the tart baked.
And thinking about Sheryl.
“Enough,” he told himself as the timer went off and he pulled his tart out of the oven. It was perfect—and he didn’t want to eat a bite of it.
His first thought was to take it to Sheryl and apologize, ask her to please hire him, and he’d see her at two o’clock the next day. Instead, he left it to cool on the counter, and he went down the hall in his much more run-down beach cottage to go to bed.
After all, being on the ferry by six a.m. came pretty early in the morning.
“Morning,” he said to Walker Hardwicke as Gage stepped from land to ferry. He rode with Walker almost every day, rain or shine. The man never deviated from much of anything, and this morning was no different. He wore a Florida Falcons hat to cover his bald head, a pair of sunglasses though it certainly wasn’t too bright yet, and he wore a pair of black shorts with a white shirt that had the ferry logo on the chest.
“Morning,” he said, the clipboard in his hand already. He moved around and checked things off while Gage yawned. He worked the ferry system until one, which left him enough time to run home and make a sandwich for lunch before grabbing the tart and heading further inland to The Heartwood Inn.
Sheryl, shockingly, had not called or texted him last night. He’d probably scared her too much. Or offended her. Neither of which he actually wanted to do. Sometimes, he was just rough around the edges. Being raised by a single mother and following his pops into the military had done that to him.
His last ex-girlfriend’s words echoed through his mind. You can usually get more with sugar than vinegar.
So he’d get this shift over with, get his tart, and see if he couldn’t sweeten Sheryl Heartwood on the idea of hiring him.