Jasmyn sat on a retaining wall. Below her feet lay mounds of boulders that protected a section of shoreline beneath the pier. The tide was low, leaving a stretch of beach and exposing barnacle-covered pilings. A steady stream of joggers and walkers paraded past her. Out in the water, surfers paddled toward the horizon, rode waves, were tossed off their board, and then started the process all over.
Filling in for Liv as a manager was coming easy for her. Even organizing last night’s potluck—nowhere near her forte—had been a breeze. Of course, she knew how to serve people in a restaurant, but she had never ever entertained at home in her entire life. Having Quinn over for tuna-and-noodle casserole did not count.
But she wanted to express family support for Liv. She posed the WWLD question to herself. What she had seen Liv do was gather the residents together. The day Jasmyn first arrived, the annual Labor Day picnic was in progress, and Liv had been absolutely radiant. It was easy to see how much she adored her Casa family, how much it meant to have them all together.
And so Jasmyn decided to go way outside her comfort zone. Everyone had jumped on board at her suggestion, offering food and drink, promising to help set up and clean up. They obviously thought the world of Liv.
Reflecting on the evening, Jasmyn saw that the only downside was that the guest of honor had not exactly rallied for the occasion. There was no radiance or adoration coming from her. In fact, she’d even gone home early. Apparently, Jasmyn’s efforts fell short of what Liv expected or wanted.
Maybe she wasn’t cut out for managing an apartment complex. Not that it mattered. She would be leaving before too long.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Jasmyn jumped at the low voice in her ear and turned, coming almost nose to nose with Keagan.
He sat down, swung his legs over the wall, and faced the ocean. His profile revealed its usual deadpan expression.
She suspected he felt at least smidgens of emotion. After all, he had reached out for help from her, a stranger, because of his concern for Liv. He had even come to the potluck, a rare thing, according to Piper, for Liv’s sake. And he had gone to the trouble of tracking down her luggage and retrieving it from his police friend, a kind gesture toward her.
But that set jaw of his and the dark sunglasses still threw her for a loop. She wasn’t sure how to respond to him. Angel and knight talk were out of her realm.
If he were a customer at her table in the Flying Pig, she’d figure him for a drifter and a loner. He’d order the daily special—hold the sauce—and leave at least twenty percent. They would not make small talk because he would have his sunglasses off and he’d be looking at her with those intense peacock-blue eyes—more unnerving than the sunglasses—and her natural flow of small talk would dry up on the spot.
Then he would rev up his motorcycle, and within sixty seconds Valley Oaks would be a speck in his rearview mirror.
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“The potluck.” He glanced at her and shrugged. “About Liv. It was a good party.”
She stared at him, speechless.
“She didn’t respond well. That’s not your fault.”
“Did I look like I was worried?”
“A little.”
“I guess my timing was off. She wasn’t ready to be cheered up.”
“Liv is…how shall I put it? Independent to a fault sometimes. It’s hard for fiercely independent people to have heart attacks and depend on others to cheer them up.”
Jasmyn sighed. “Should I not even try?”
“Only if you resent her for it.”
She looked at him. “Oh! I would never do that.”
Beneath his sunglasses, his nose twitched and then his lips moved, quick as a flutter.
“Don’t laugh. Really, I wouldn’t.”
He turned toward her. “I know you wouldn’t, not on purpose. I wasn’t laughing at you.” He paused, as if he had something else to say, but the moment passed and he faced the ocean again.
Jasmyn studied his profile. He had a nice nose, slender and not overly long. He could have done with a shave. His hair hadn’t seemed to grow one iota since they’d met almost two months ago. Maybe he shaved his head more often than his jaw. As usual, he wore athletic shoes, blue jeans, and a dark T-shirt—navy today—with faded lettering across the front, Seaside Village Gym, the name of the place he co-owned.
Why was she so silly about him? He wasn’t scary. A little different maybe, a little odd, but thoughtful nonetheless.
His nose twitched again.
“So what are you laughing at?”
He didn’t answer for a moment. At last he replied, “Your naïveté. Sorry. It’s refreshing. Bottom line, Jasmyn Albright, you’re doing a good job. Believe in yourself.”
Naïveté? Refreshing? Good job? Believe in herself? Well…she had nothing to say.
They sat in silence. And after a while, the silence became comfortable.