Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle (72 page)

She scanned the list again and noted an oddity. For all the factual information on the list, there was not one description of her appearance.

Harbormaster: My mom encouraged me to follow in her footsteps and become an attorney. I wasted three years of higher learning pursuing that goal until I finally realized I wasn’t trying to become a lawyer at all. I was trying to gain my mother’s approval.

Chapter Five

Tucker pulled open the refrigerator door and considered the drink options. Pepsi, milk, orange juice, and an old can of root beer that was probably flat. He’d already finished two sodas today, but milk or juice didn’t appeal. He wasn’t even thirsty.

He ran his hand through his hair. The real problem was Sabrina was in his house, in his office, fifteen paces away, and nothing was different. She was no more than a stranger, yet she was so much more.

He shut the fridge door. She was this close.
This close
. His leg had been pressed to hers, and okay, he’d manufactured the event, but still. He knew it hadn’t meant anything. From her perspective the contact was accidental, probably even unnoticed. But for an instant he’d let himself believe it was significant. He imagined that she initiated the contact. He wouldn’t delve into all the reasons why that was so pathetic. But it didn’t matter anyway.

She’d pulled away, and that pretty much busted his imaginary bubble.

This was hard. Harder than he’d expected. He’d decided not to put Operation Sweetpea into full swing just yet. Let her settle in first, get comfortable. Allow her to know him a little. He hadn’t realized that having her here would be so torturous.

What was holding her back? He knew she’d been hurt by her ex-fiancé. Hurt badly enough to cause rifts in her family and a chasm between her and God. Was she afraid of relationships? Or was it something more? Something she hadn’t mentioned at all?

He remembered the first time he’d seen her. He stopped at the café on a Monday morning and took a seat near Oliver. A new server entered the dining room, a full tray balanced on one hand. She unloaded the tray with quick, efficient movements. She was tall, and her long limbs were fluid, graceful. She moved like a dancer.

Char appeared, filling his coffee mug. “Good morning, Tucker. How are you this morning, hon?”

“Fine, thanks.”

Char moved on, and Tucker found himself watching the new server. There was something about her. He tried to figure out what. She had dark hair, pulled tightly into a ponytail and secured with a white band. She reached for it now and then, playing with the frayed end. Delicate eyebrows arched over a pair of almond-shaped brown eyes. She was a natural beauty. Her face, unadorned by makeup, would be perfect for a Dove soap ad. She was completely unaffected, as if she didn’t know there were a couple male customers checking her out.

“Fancy the new gal, do you?”

Oliver’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Tucker tore his eyes from the retreating server and sipped his coffee. “Where’s she from?”

Oliver shrugged. “Don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”

Tucker watched the new employee prepare a fresh pot of coffee like someone who’d done it a hundred times. He imagined himself starting a conversation with her, then realized what was different about the woman. For all her grace, her shoulders were too rigid, her back too straight. Her eyes engaged no one. She was all business.

He wasn’t afraid of a challenge. “Might do that,” Tucker replied.

“She don’t look real friendly.” Oliver smoothed his sparse hair.

A few minutes later, the new server stopped and refilled his coffee.

“You must be new around here.” Tucker gave a smile that usually warmed up a woman pretty well.

“I am.” The server turned her back, filling Oliver’s cup.

“Where are you from?” Tucker asked.

She set the pot down and pulled out her tablet. “The mainland.

Char’s on break. Can I get you anything?”

She was a tough cookie; it didn’t take a genius to see that. The all-business-don’t-get-too-close sort. He cleared his throat. “I usually just have coffee.”

She nodded once and went to take a family’s order.

Oliver snickered. “That went real well.”

The same scene had replayed itself many times over, some more humiliating than others. But eventually, he’d figured a way around her defenses. Even if it hadn’t been ideal.

Now, he heard the faint tapping of Sabrina’s fingers on the keyboard, and drew a breath. They’d come so far since then. He knew her so well, and loved what he knew. Loved how she toyed with her hair when she felt insecure, loved how openly she communicated with him, loved how honest she was about herself. He even loved her wry sense of humor. If only he could get that to translate outside of cyberspace.

Why was he in the kitchen, obsessing over the problem, when she was in the next room? He needed to loosen her up, get her accustomed to him so she’d let down her guard. He needed to focus on his plan, which began with that list he’d just made her.

When he reentered the office, Sabrina didn’t look up from the screen. She’d jotted her own notes on his list. The screen displayed a letter she’d written a few weeks into their relationship. She was moving too quickly. If she continued at this pace, she’d be done in two weeks.

“Find anything?” He settled in the chair beside her.

“Nothing conclusive. Just jotting a few notes.”

A strand of hair had slipped loose from her ponytail and fell over the curve of her cheek while she leaned forward, intent on her notes. It was easy to forget how delicate her features were. Her hands-off approach made most people avoid her, and that’s probably how she liked it. But she had so much to offer under that hardened shell.

Her words from a message replayed in his mind. She’d written it after telling him about her ex-fiancé.

I guess you never know another person entirely. The parts you do know are formed by that person’s words and actions. The parts you don’t know you fill in with wishful thinking, which you eventually convince yourself is fact. When you’re not looking, this nugget of illusion will come back to smash you over the head.

They were the sad words of a disillusioned soul. He’d turned them over and over in his head that night.

Now, Tucker watched her press her lips together, returning her attention to the screen. His eyes roamed her face—her long, dark lashes, her perfectly shaped nose, her stubborn chin—and determination twisted strong and hard in his gut.
No matter how hard this is on me, Sabrina Kincaid, I’m going to prove to you that love doesn’t have to hurt.

The picture. Ask about the picture.
Sabrina pinched the bridge of her nose. It was the obvious question: Do you have a picture of her?

So simple, yet she’d avoided asking. Could she bear hearing Tucker fawn over Arielle’s beauty?

Tucker appeared for the third time. For heaven’s sake, was he going to stare over her shoulder every minute? She closed the email she’d been staring at blindly and opened the next one.

“How’s it going?” He sat beside her.

Just peachy
. “Are you going to ask that every five minutes?”

“Will it make you work harder?”

“It will make me irritable.”

“Is that why your eyes are shooting sparks?”

She leveled a stare at him.

“All right, all right, I’ll be quiet.” Chastened, he leaned back in his chair, going nowhere.

Sabrina sighed and returned her attention to the screen. She couldn’t focus with him staring a hole through her head. Heat gathered at the base of her skull and climbed to her ears. Was it hot in here?

She should ask about the picture. Just get it over with. It can’t be worse than this.

She wetted her lips. “You haven’t said anything about what she looks like. Surely you’ve exchanged photos.” She pretended to read the next email, then realized Tucker was taking too much time in answering.

When she looked at him, he wore a strange expression, but when he blinked it was gone. He leaned over and took the mouse, brushing her hand.

Sabrina jerked back, then covered her overreaction by tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’ll have to find the email that had the photo attached.” He leaned toward the screen, his shoulder touching hers. “I think it’s the only one with an attachment, so it shouldn’t be hard.”

She was only aware of the three square inches where their shoulders touched. If she turned toward him, it would take no more than a tip of her head to plant a kiss on his jawline. Her breaths became shallow, and she made a concerted effort to regulate them.
Breathe. In. Out.

Oh, this was ridiculous. What was taking him so long?

She reached for the mouse. “I’ll find it.”

“Here it is.” He clicked on an email, finally settling back in his seat.

Arielle smiled in the photo taken on Florida’s gulf coast. She’d been walking toward the ocean, and it looked as if someone had called her name. The photo was from the waist up, shot from behind, taken as she’d turned to face the camera. Her long, blonde hair was spinning. Her blue eyes were sparkling brighter than the ocean in the background. But it was her trademark wide smile, the one that had won her numerous beauty pageants, that stole the show.

Sabrina wasn’t jealous of Arielle. She loved her and was proud of her achievements. But knowing Tucker was gawking at her beautiful cousin twisted her insides painfully. She wanted to close the photo, but that would seem strange when she’d just asked to see it.

Instead she cleared her throat and pried the words off her tongue. “She’s beautiful.”

Her heart beat unnaturally fast waiting for his concurrence. She steeled herself against the inevitable sting.

“She’s a beautiful person.”

It was an odd response. Not what your typical man would say, but then Tucker wasn’t your typical man. He was still staring at the screen. At least, she thought he was. She wasn’t about to check.

Say something
. “It’s not a close-up. And her face is kind of shadowed. Is this the only one you have?”

“Yeah.”

It was odd that he hadn’t printed the photo. She’d expected an eight-by-ten glossy framed, matted, and placed on his nightstand or desk. Maybe even a wallet photo so he could show her off to his buddies.

“I’m not sure how much it’ll help,” she said. “Unless we can narrow the search down to a small town where everyone knows everyone.”

“She’s on the beach obviously.” He gestured to the screen.

“You don’t have any idea where she lives?”

“She was on Nantucket Chat when we met. I know she’s been here at some point.”

Better if he thought she lived elsewhere. Somewhere far, far away.

“We’d recognize her if she lived here.”

Sabrina could feel his gaze on her. “You’d think.”

“There’s only ten thousand residents.”

“But there are four or five times that in the summer. And this photo was taken at a beach.”

Shoot
. “True.” She searched the photo for something that might sidetrack him. “There’s a shadow falling on the sand beside her.”

“A big tree, I think.”

“That rules out Nantucket.” Not that big trees didn’t grow on the island, but none that big near the shoreline.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He seemed reluctant to agree.

Sabrina searched the photo for more clues. “The waves look pretty small.”

“That rules out the east and west coasts.”

“Well, that narrows it down to a mere five states,” she said.

“Better than fifty.”

“Unless it’s a vacation photo.”

“Boy, sunshine, you’re just full of positive thoughts.”

“Just trying to be realistic.” She closed the photo. “I should probably start reading these letters.” She opened the next one and read the first sentence five times before she could focus enough to comprehend it. Was he going to sit there watching her read? It would take her months at this rate.

He picked up a pencil and tapped it on the desk, the sharpened end ticking against the wood surface.

She read the second sentence again.
Focus, Sabrina. For heaven’s sake, you could have read the whole email twice by now.

The tapping continued, pulling her attention from her task.

Finally she turned to him, sighing hard.

His brows disappeared under a dark, wavy tendril. “Oh, sorry.

Am I distracting you?”

You think?
If only she could read the emails in her apartment. She could get this done much quicker. “Are you sure you can’t print them off? Or you could forward them to me. I wouldn’t be in your way every night, and I promise I’d be careful with them.”

He stood, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t feel right about it. I feel bad enough just letting you read them.”

If only he knew.

Sweetpea: My nickname in elementary school was Money Mouth. That’s what happens when the class bully finds out a quarter will fit into the gap between your teeth. Braces only fix the exterior. Inside, I’m still the wallflower watching her cousins dance.