Her Perfect Match (Love on the Sand #3)

Chapter One

Meagan Stirling had spent fourteen days in Santa Monica and exactly zero of them behaving like a person on vacation.

Technically, her vacation had ended ten days ago.

Her return flight to New York had departed without her, carrying one empty seat and presumably several passengers who understood how departure dates worked.

Meagan understood departure dates.

She simply had not used hers.

Instead, she had changed her flight, extended her hotel stay, helped Hailey process receipts from the charity volleyball tournament, and volunteered to organize the leftover supplies because Hailey was launching a company and Amanda was preparing to leave New York.

They both had enough to handle.

Which explained why Meagan was standing inside Hailey’s garage at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning, holding a label maker in one hand and threatening a box of tangled string lights with the other.

“You have one chance,” she told them.

The lights remained tangled.

Meagan narrowed her eyes. “Fine.”

She set down the label maker, pushed her long brown hair over one shoulder, and reached into the box.

Ten minutes later, the lights were worse.

One strand had looped around her wrist. Another had caught on a button of her pale blue blouse. The rest had formed a knot that appeared structurally impressive and personally hostile.

Meagan pulled once.

Nothing moved.

She pulled harder.

The knot tightened.

“Excellent,” she muttered. “I’m being defeated by decorative lighting.”

From the driveway, a male voice said, “In its defense, it has numbers.”

Meagan froze.

She knew that voice.

Not well. Barely at all, technically.

But she remembered it.

Warm. Dry. Slightly amused.

Entirely too easy to recognize.

She turned carefully, taking the string lights with her because they were still attached to her blouse.

Aaron Morris stood in the open garage doorway carrying two cardboard drink trays and wearing an expression that suggested he had arrived at exactly the right moment.

For him.

Not for her.

Sunlight caught along his dark-blond hair and the faint stubble shadowing his jaw. He wore a faded navy T-shirt, khaki shorts, and running shoes dusted with sand. His sunglasses rested on top of his head, revealing hazel eyes that shifted between brown and green in the morning light.

At the tournament, Meagan had noticed that he was attractive.

That had been an objective observation.

Now, with his sleeves pulled snug across his arms and an unfairly relaxed smile on his face, the observation became significantly less objective.

She lifted her chin. “Are you here to help or provide commentary?”

Aaron stepped inside. “I brought coffee.”

“That did not answer my question.”

“I’m hoping the coffee makes the answer less important.”

It probably would.

Meagan had been awake since five-thirty after sleeping badly in a hotel bed she should have checked out of an hour ago. She had eaten half a granola bar while answering donor emails and had spent the morning breathing air scented with dust, cardboard, and Hailey’s floral room spray.

Coffee had considerable negotiating power.

Aaron set the trays on the workbench and studied the lights wrapped around her wrist and blouse.

His mouth twitched.

“Do not.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was trying to decide whether this is part of the inventory system.”

“It is not.”

“An emergency fashion adjustment?”

Meagan stared at him.

Aaron nodded. “Too soon.”

He stepped closer.

Her pulse reacted before she gave it permission.

That was irritating.

They had met once. One brief conversation after the tournament. A little banter. A few glances neither of them had acknowledged.

Nothing that justified the change in her breathing when he stopped in front of her.

Aaron reached toward the wire caught near her shoulder, then paused.

“May I?”

The question was simple.

So was the fact that he had asked it.

Still, something inside her softened.

“Yes.”

His fingers brushed the fabric near her collarbone as he freed the wire from the button. The contact was barely there, but Meagan noticed it anyway.

Aaron smelled faintly like soap, coffee, and the ocean. Clean and warm and far too pleasant for a man standing in a dusty garage before nine in the morning.

“This seems serious,” he said.

“It escalated quickly.”

“I can see that.”

“I had it under control before you arrived.”

“Of course.”

“That sounded skeptical.”

“That sounded supportive.”

“It did not.”

“I may need to work on my tone.”

“That would align with the feedback from your sources.”

His smile widened.

The expression brought her straight back to the tournament.

You lost?

Charming.

I’ve been told I need work.

I believe your sources.

It had been one exchange.

Four sentences.

Apparently, that was enough for her brain to preserve it with unreasonable clarity.

Aaron gently lifted the strand from her wrist. His fingers closed around the lights instead, warm against the back of her hand for one brief second.

Meagan went still.

His gaze flicked to hers.

The air changed.

Not dramatically. There was no music or convenient ocean breeze. No string lights turning themselves on to illuminate the moment.

Just Aaron’s hand near hers and the unsettling awareness that he had noticed the same thing she had.

Then he stepped back, taking the tangled strand with him.

“Sit,” he said.

Meagan blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll untangle these.”

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

“Then why would I sit?”

He nodded toward the folding chair. “Because you look tired.”

The answer landed with uncomfortable accuracy.

Meagan straightened. “I’m fine.”

Aaron looked at her.

She disliked the look immediately.

Not because it was critical. Because it was patient.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve already decided I’m tired.”

He considered her. “You have a pillow crease on your cheek.”

Her hand flew to her face.

His mouth curved.

Meagan dropped her hand. “You made that up.”

“I did.”

“Aaron.”

“But you also didn’t deny being tired.”

“That was manipulative.”

“I prefer observant.”

“That is not better.”

She reached for the lights. “Give them back.”

He lifted them out of reach.

Her eyes narrowed.

Aaron was taller than she remembered.

At the tournament, she had been distracted by arriving directly from the airport, finding Hailey glowing with happiness, and discovering Amanda in Jack Wright’s arms.

Now there was no crowd to absorb the tension. Only the two of them, a box of decorations, and his unfair height.

“You cannot take over because you have longer arms.”

“I’m not taking over.”

“You took the lights.”

“I’m dividing the workload.”

“There was no workload until you arrived.”

Aaron glanced around the garage.

Boxes lined two walls. Sponsor banners leaned against a table. Volunteer shirts waited to be counted. Three plastic bins sat open on the floor, surrounded by ribbons, extension cords, and promotional items.

He looked back at her.

Meagan crossed her arms. “That proves nothing.”

“It proves you have an interesting definition of nothing.”

“This is cleanup.”

“Two weeks after the event.”

“There were loose ends.”

“Hailey asked you to handle all this?”

The question was gentle. That made it dangerous.

“No,” Meagan said. “She didn’t ask.”

Aaron’s expression shifted as if that confirmed something.

Meagan did not appreciate being confirmed.

“She’s busy,” she continued. “Greenwood PR is still getting established. Amanda is finishing her move. Hailey has client meetings and a foundation report due Monday. This needed to be done.”

“So you decided to do it.”

“Yes.”

“Alone.”

“I was doing perfectly well.”

His gaze dropped to the lights.

“Mostly well,” she amended.

Aaron nodded. “Naturally.”

He set the tangled strand on the workbench.

“Coffee first.”

“You are strangely controlling for someone who was not invited.”

“Tyler invited me.”

Meagan paused. “Tyler knows I’m here?”

“Hailey knows you’re here.”

“That was not my question.”

“Tyler knew Hailey was worried because you stopped answering texts around midnight.”

“I answered at twelve-fifteen.”

“You sent a thumbs-up.”

“That is an answer.”

“Not according to Hailey.”

Meagan closed her eyes briefly. Her friends had become impossible.

Hailey used to be the one who needed rescuing from her inbox. Amanda used to turn concern into jokes and arrive with wine. Now they were both happily settled in Santa Monica and apparently coordinating surveillance.

Meagan loved them.

She was considering changing her phone number.

“Amanda told Jack,” Aaron continued. “Jack told Tyler. Tyler asked me to stop by because he had to meet Coach Medrano.”

“That is an alarming number of people discussing me before breakfast.”

“It was collaborative.”

“Of course it was.”

“Very.”

“I’m going back to New York.”

Aaron’s smile faded. “Today?”

The question came too quickly.

She noticed.

So did he.

For half a second, something unguarded crossed his face. Interest, maybe. Or disappointment.

Then it disappeared.

Meagan looked toward the open garage door. Outside, palm fronds moved above the neighboring rooftops. Somewhere beyond the houses, the ocean rolled against the shore.

“I was supposed to leave two weeks ago.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

She looked at him.

He waited.

Meagan disliked second questions.

First questions were easy. They lived on the surface, where answers could be neat.

When are you leaving?

Soon.

How are you?

Fine.

Do you need help?

No.

Second questions required honesty.

She turned toward the box of shirts. “My hotel checkout is this morning.”

“And your flight?”

“I haven’t booked one.”

Aaron was quiet.

She glanced at him.

He did not look amused now. He looked interested in a way that made her feel as though the answer mattered for reasons neither of them had named.

“So you’re staying?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re not leaving.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“Interesting.”

“There is nothing interesting about an undecided travel itinerary.”

“I disagree.”

“You would.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Neither do I, but it felt accurate.”

His laugh came low and easy.

Meagan’s stomach did something foolish.