4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Cara
Since the house I’m staying at is on the creek side of the island and my date with Victor is on the ocean side, I decide to give Hazel’s bicycle a try. I’ve never been a big cyclist, but I manage to stay upright—more or less. It has large wheels to accommodate steering on sand, but they don’t keep the bike from wobbling as I jerk the handlebars in an attempt to steer. I wobble back and forth across the road, grateful that it’s early enough in the morning to avoid running over a pedestrian or being hit by a car.
I thought people were supposed to remember how to ride a bike? I’m terrible at this!
When I reach the boardwalk that crosses the dune, I bounce off the righthand rail over and over, as if a giant magnet is pulling the bike to the right. It’s a relief when I reach the beach and its wide expanse of sand with absolutely nothing to run into for as far as the eye can see except for a few people walking along water’s edge.
Glancing at my watch, I see that I’m half an hour early, so I decide to ride the bike down the beach. All’s going well until I manage to steer the bike straight into a metal trashcan. Fortunately, I’m riding slowly enough that I don’t tumble over the handlebars into the garbage. I’d never live down the mortification of that .
Instead, the bike falls over sideways, and I crash onto the soft sand. Crawling out from under the bike, I sit on my knees and inspect my hands. I’d opted not to wear gloves since Georgia is approximately five thousand degrees Fahrenheit in the summer. Besides, I already have one injured hand. There’s little point in wearing the gloves until it’s healed. Nevertheless, I groan at the sight. A deep purple bruise stretches across the back of my left hand, and now I have a broken fingernail on the right hand. With a sigh, I stand, dusting the sand off of my shorts.
“At least no one saw that embarrassing display of clumsiness,” I mutter under my breath.
“Are you okay?” a masculine voice booms from behind me.
I feel the flush of embarrassment spread across my face. Perfect. Just perfect .
“I’m fine,” I assure the stranger. When I turn to face him, the first thing I notice is the size of the man. He’s tall, with ripples of muscle poking through his form-fitting t-shirt. A ball hat is pulled down low, shielding most of his face from view. Blond curls stick out beneath the hat, gleaming in the sunlight like spun gold. He’s carrying a bucket and a shovel.
I gesture toward the bucket. “Are you digging for crabs or something?”
He shakes his head. “This is my sandcastle kit. I’ve been practicing for the Hank Heron Appreciation Week’s sand art competition.” He turns away. “Well, see you around.”
Hope spreads through my body. Could this be my date?
“Wait,” I call out. “Are you Victor?”
He freezes in place for several seconds before turning to face me. “I am…”
I grin at him, giving him a small wave. “Hi, I’m Cara, Margo’s friend. I think she signed me up to be your partner?”
“I believe so,” he says slowly. “But I’m afraid there may be a problem.”
I frown. “What’s that?”
He takes his hat off, and I instantly recognize him as the doctor from the airport.
“You,” I breathe.
“Me,” he agrees with a shrug. “And I believe you said you never wanted to see me again.”