Chapter Four
After a morning installing drywall at the office with his brother, Connor grabbed lunch from Harrison’s Market and drove to the lighthouse. One project they’d gotten approval from the town council to start was building the Pelican Bay Museum. With its location next to the lighthouse, it would offer visitors the history of the lighthouse and the island, including the tragic story of Hurricane Samantha and its impact on the town and the surrounding area.
Connor and Jason were waiting for the permits that would allow them to break ground for the construction. In the meantime, Connor wanted to get a head start on the nature trail they planned to build across from it. He’d spent his free time sketching the area and planning how they’d excavate the ground.
Rather than sitting at one of the picnic tables available for visitors, Connor walked to the rocks surrounding the lighthouse and settled himself on a relatively flat rock. Removing lunch from the bag, he bit into a corned beef and Swiss sandwich. The soft marble rye held the perfect balance of spicy mustard to meat and cheese ratio. He sighed in pleasure.
Having grown up with little money thanks to an alcoholic father who had a habit of drinking or gambling away their funds, Connor and Jason had often struggled to scrounge enough change to cover the reduced-fee lunch at school.
As a result, Connor appreciated food and took every opportunity to expand his palate and try different cuisine from a variety of cultures. Since returning to Pelican Bay, he’d been working his way through the restaurants, delis and grocery stores, always willing to try something new, along with his favorites.
He finished half the sandwich and was taking a swig of iced tea when someone called his name.
Emma Erickson, his soon-to-be sister-in-law, picked her way over the rocks.
“Hey, Connor,” she said, dropping onto a rock and wiggling to find a comfortable spot.
“What’s up, Emma?” He held out the bag of chips, and she snagged a few.
“Nice day. The breeze here is refreshing.”
“The sound of the water against the rocks is relaxing. When I can, I like to come out here and eat lunch.”
“Can’t say I blame you.”
They sat in silence, although Connor knew Emma wouldn’t be able to sit for more than a few minutes. He’d never met someone who always seemed in motion, with a to-do list that rivaled a rolling social media feed.
“Jace mentioned you’d be here to prep for the nature trail,” she said.
“Once it’s marked out, we can start laying the trails and bringing in the shrubs and foliage to complement what’s already here.”
“It’s going to be a great addition to this area. I hope it brings the pelicans back.”
Pelican Bay had gotten its name because of a specific breed of pelican that inhabited this part of the island as far back as a hundred years ago. During a severe storm, a boat had gotten caught in the rocks and would have sunk if it hadn’t been for the pelicans who guided the boat to the inlet of the island. The story of the rescue drew the attention of a developer, who built on the island and named it Pelican Bay. It had once been the home of many pelicans who stayed near the lighthouse and were believed to help guide boats through the inlet.
Connor remembered a few on this part of the island. He’d heard that after Hurricane Samantha, they hadn’t been seen again.
“Hope so,” he said.
“I received a call from our local scout troop. They’ve helped maintain this area throughout the years as part of their service projects. I thought they could help with building out the trail, or maybe build birdhouses you could hang along the trail,” she said.
Connor was up for the free labor, but kids?
“How many are you talking about, and how old?” he asked
“About ten kids between thirteen and fifteen.”
“Would there be any adults here with them?”
Emma laughed. “Of course. Their troop leader and a few parents would be here to help give them direction. It wouldn’t all be on you.”
“I guess it should be fine. Birdhouses, you’re thinking?”
“Yes, and they can also dig holes for the plants or whatever else you need.”
“Will I need to get supplies for the birdhouses?”
“The scout leader will take care of that. We’ll need you or someone to provide direction for what you want them to do.”
“How soon are you wanting to do this?”
“Is a day in the next couple of weeks too soon? Maybe in the midafternoon, when it’s not as hot?”
“Should be fine. Give me a couple of days to figure out the timing.”
They both stood.
“Perfect. Thanks, Connor. I need to get back to work. Why don’t you come by for dinner tonight? We can barbecue, plus I made clam chowder.”
Even though he’d just eaten, his mouth watered at the thought of Emma’s clam chowder.
“Two of my favorites. Thanks.”
He appreciated how often Emma included him at family dinners. With his own mom in Florida and Jace living at Emma’s, Connor had a lot of time on his hands.
They climbed off the rocks and walked side by side toward the lighthouse.
“Come by around seven,” Emma called, and waved as she headed to the parking lot.
Connor disposed of his trash and laid out the diagram of the area on a picnic table. After studying it, he returned to his truck and removed marking paint, wooden stakes, string, and a shovel. He spent an hour marking out the trail with stakes and string, making adjustments along the way.
Outdoor landscaping was his favorite part of a project. Whenever he and Jace flipped houses, Connor had always been in charge of putting together a design with the right combination of trees, shrubs, and flowers to make an enticing curb appeal. Trying different combinations and styles gave him a creative outlet he found relaxed him. Good thing, since it drove his brother crazy, which meant Connor got full creative control as long as he stuck to their budget.
After finishing all he could for the day and making notes for changes he wanted to tweak in the design, he stored his gear in the truck. It was midafternoon, and he didn’t have any pressing business. He could catch up with Jason at one of their other properties, but he didn’t feel like it.
Before he could talk himself out of a potentially bad idea, he drove to PB Coffee Shop and picked up two iced coffees and a half-dozen chocolate chip cookies in a clear bag marked with the Shore to Please logo. One of the things he’d forgotten about his hometown was how local businesses supported each other by selling each other’s products in select stores. It was common to find items like pastries, candy, and saltwater taffy in a coffee shop or market.
Back in his truck, Connor drove into the lot behind Erickson Arcade and parked. Grabbing the coffees and cookies, he walked up the ramp to the boardwalk and over to Abby’s store. As he raised his hand to knock, a loud crash came from the other side of the door.
Abby had always been a clumsy kid with more scrapes and cuts on her legs and arms than her sisters. Her mom used to laugh and say it was a good thing she was a nurse, because all three of her daughters kept her in a regular state of applying bandages and antibiotic ointment.
Now, as Abby lay halfway in the tray of paint, the ladder half covering her, she wondered if she’d made a wrong decision about starting her own business. Clearly, she couldn’t do something as basic as paint. How could she sell her products to customers?
She scooted off the paint tray and did her best to slide out from under the ladder. Difficult, given her shorts and the right side of her lower half were drenched in paint.
Could her day get any worse?
The door jingled as it opened, and Connor appeared in the doorway. He wore a navy-blue Maguire Brothers Renovations T-shirt with khaki cargo shorts. With his hair windblown, like he’d driven with the windows down, he carried two iced drinks and a bakery bag.
She lifted her head to the sky and wondered what she’d done in life to make her have the worst luck in the world.
“Whoa, you all right?” Tossing his purchases on the counter, he hurried to remove the ladder from her.
Abby pushed a stray hair out of her face. “I’m fine. Just a new way I found to paint.”
“Uh huh.” He offered his hands to help her up.
She hesitated.
“Jesus, Abby.”
Expelling the breath she’d been holding, she let him take her hands, nearly jumping at the spark from his touch.
As he guided her to her feet, she swayed, and he placed his hands on her waist to steady her. At five feet eight, she stood only a few inches shorter than him, which lined up their bodies perfectly. And right now, standing close to him, her body responded to being pressed up against his deliciously firm one.
Traitor.
When her legs buckled, he pulled her more firmly against him. It was impossible not to feel his arousal, and despite her own good sense—which was clearly on break—she lifted her eyes to meet his. The green irises bored into hers, dark with desire, and her arms naturally held on to his shoulders for support.
God, she’d forgotten how good it felt in his arms. All she had to do was lift her chin a fraction of an inch and she’d be able to taste him. The thought of pressing her mouth to his ignited a fiery desire within her.
His lips parted, as though he was going to kiss her.
Then he did something unexpected.
He leaned his forehead against hers—as though he was trying to gain control—before taking a deep breath and stepping back, keeping a loose hold on her waist.
“What happened to you not using a ladder?” he asked.
The distance and lack of his warmth against her was like being hit by an unexpected wave, and Abby pulled away, further separating her from his hold.
“Nat had been using it when she was here earlier. It fell onto me when I slid in paint.” Now her face flushed with embarrassment. Not only had she fallen—again—she was covered in paint and had almost kissed Connor.
The day kept getting better and better.
“Why don’t you get changed while I clean up here?”
She opened her mouth, prepared to argue, but gave up, since he’d started wiping the sodden plastic. Hobbling to the back room, she made her way to the area where the washer and dryer were located. When she’d first seen the space, the realtor mentioned the past owner had a toddler and installed a tiny laundry room on the main level to save her from running up and down the stairs all day.
Abby hadn’t been living there more than a couple of months and had found it came in handy when cleaning up spills from making her products. The downside was that she had a tendency to forget to bring her clean clothes upstairs and often had to come downstairs in a towel to get underwear.
She pulled off her shorts and tossed them into the washbasin next to the appliances. Turning on the water, she rubbed at the paint, pleased to see it washing away. After wringing them out and hanging them over an empty basket, she used a washcloth to wipe at the paint on her legs.
She’d turned off the water and was drying her legs when her name was called. She opened her mouth to tell him to give her a minute, but it was too late.
There was a hiss and the sound of something dropping. Abby didn’t have to turn to know he had found her.
“Really, Con. Getting changed here,” she snapped.
He had the good sense to flush before picking up the brush he’d dropped and turning away.
But not before sweeping his eyes down her body and taking in her cropped T-shirt and thong.
Abby had never been a shy girl. Nudity didn’t embarrass her, and normally she wouldn’t have cared that he’d seen her practically bare ass.
Except it was Connor.
He knew what lay beneath those panties, and she remembered all too well what he’d done underneath the panties. And dammit if those memories didn’t heat her blood again with want for him to take her down memory lane.
“Sorry. I was looking for a place to wash out the brushes because they’re getting hard.”
Wrong word to say as he stood there aroused, based on the bulge between his legs.
“Give me a second and you can use the sink.” She reached into another basket and yanked out a pair of denim shorts. “Done,” she said, fastening the button.
“This is where you create your skincare products?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Looks like a kitchen.”
“Each product has a specific recipe. Some things have to be boiled or mixed, so we need burners, blenders, and pots, along with molds for the soaps.”
“Pretty cool. How much do you make in advance?”
“The products last for a while, but I prefer to make small batches and keep things as fresh as possible.” She pointed to the stacked boxes with shelving she’d purchased but hadn’t yet put together. “As you can see, we’re still getting ourselves organized. Soon I’ll need to make stock for the opening.”
Having finished washing the brushes, he followed her to the front. He inspected what she and Natalie had painted earlier. The pale blue-gray had dried to a color reminding Abby of a clear sky, the perfect combination of bright and welcoming.
“You’re almost done,” Connor said.
“Can’t happen soon enough for me.”
Connor picked up the two iced drinks and handed her one. “Then let’s get it finished.” He took a long swig of the drink and moved the drop cloth to a better position.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Grabbing the ladder, he positioned it over the front door, first locking it so no one could enter. “Helping you finish this wall.”
“I didn’t ask for your help, Connor.”
“I’m offering my help.”
“Why?”
“Does there need to be a reason?”
Abby eyed him suspiciously. With a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and a tan that showed the amount of time he spent in the sun, he reminded her of the boy she used to know. Except young Connor had always been ready for a good time…which didn’t involve work. His motto had been “play before work.”
The man standing before her looked like he worked more than played based on the muscles in his arms and clarity of his eyes. Dark blond locks streaked from the sun fell to the bottom of his neck with a hint of curl at the bottom. His firm jaw held a dusting of dark blond scruff. She didn’t see any hidden agenda in his offer to help, but still…
“Cookie?” He held out the bakery bag.
She shrugged with feigned interest.
He reached in and pulled out a large chocolate chip cookie.
Her mouth watered as the scent of the sweet milk chocolate confection hit her.
“These were your favorite,” he said, holding it out to her.
She hesitated a moment before giving in. “You’re evil.” She took the cookie, taking a large bite and doing her best not to moan at the sugary party in her mouth.
He watched her, studying her mouth as she chewed.
The jerk was flirting with her.
And worse, she was letting him—and liking it.
She swallowed and held up the index finger of her non-cookie hand. “One wall, Connor.”
He saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”
He poured paint into a fresh tray—thankfully, she’d gotten disposable liners—grabbed a brush, and climbed the ladder with the can, giving her a view of his perfect, shorts-clad ass.
She took a sip of her iced coffee and took her time eating her cookie, savoring both the pastry and the view.