Chapter One #2
Everyone else on the beach seemed to be having a great time despite the wicked wind.
Two little girls that looked like twins ran back and forth to the edge of the water, squealing even louder than the older kids.
A whole flock of sandpipers stopped ten or fifteen feet from the girls, and the kids ran toward them.
The birds ran from the children, but only far enough to entice them to give chase.
If Monica’s mother was there, she would remind her that her biological clock was making a lot of noise.
According to her mama Linda, her oldest daughter, Fiona, would never give her grandchildren, so the responsibility fell on Monica.
In order to have a baby, or even babies, the first requisite would be a partner, and there certainly wasn’t one in sight.
“Such is life.” Monica loved her sister, but even thinking of her seemed to jack up her anxiety level. Fiona had always been the gorgeous Smith daughter. Sure, Monica had been the smart one, but somehow that never seemed to measure up to beauty.
She heard giggles to her left again, and those same silly teenagers ran so far out into the big ocean waves that Monica’s breath caught in her chest for a second time.
She checked the shoreline but didn’t see any adults.
Evidently, those teenagers didn’t have a lick of common sense.
The hotel’s heated pool was just across the sandbar. They could safely swim there.
“It’s not the ocean. It’s the gulf,” her assistant, Anabelle, told her when she announced she would spend her vacation at the beach.
“If it has salt water, then it’s the ocean,” she argued that day, and would stand by her opinion.
She breathed in a long breath of salty air. “Yes, ocean!” she declared out loud.
The wind had died down a little, so she flipped the blanket again, and that time one end landed on the sand before a fresh gust picked up the rest and tumbled it into a bright orange ball.
At this rate she might as well go back to the swimming pool and claim a chaise lounge.
At least the heated pool had no jellyfish, sharks, or stingrays to bite her as she swam out into the rip currents to save a bunch of danger-loving kids.
She fumed silently that she could have stayed in Alvera at the library if she wanted to deal with children.
She was about to give up trying to get the blanket on the ground when a man appeared out of nowhere and grabbed two corners.
He wasn’t tall, dark, and handsome like the men her gorgeous older sister went for, and who Monica was usually attracted to—in vain.
Either he lived in a sunny state or went to a tanning salon often, because his skin was golden brown.
He didn’t even have a farmer’s tan. His crystal clear blue eyes had a little twinkle in them, and his thick blond hair floated on the collar of his open shirt.
Maybe he was the real beach bum that Monica had teased Anabelle about falling in love with while she was in Florida.
His sculpted body testified that he spent time in the gym or maybe working bare-chested outside in the hot sun. If the promoters who made the brochure used his picture on the front, the whole hotel would be full of single women trying to seduce him instead of teenagers with no sense.
“Let me help,” he said in a deep Southern drawl. “Seems this wind doesn’t want you to have a place to sit without getting sand all over you.”
“Thank you.” Her breath caught, and she kept sneaking sideways glances at him.
She wasn’t used to sexy men offering to help a librarian with blonde hair, green eyes, and who was a little on the curvy side.
Had her gorgeous older sister been there, she would have understood why he stopped to help.
Fiona, who had modeled for expensive underwear stores and attracted men like a possum to a garbage bin.
She bit back a smile at that thought. A bear to a honey pot would probably be a better description.
Fiona wouldn’t have given this knight in shiny pearl-snap shirt so much as a dirty look, not even with the shirt bagging open to show his ripped abs.
Too short. Too blond. Too everything. She liked her men to be over six feet tall, have dark hair, brown eyes, and high cheekbones.
They were never supposed to be as gorgeous as she was with her black hair, aqua eyes, and perfect figure.
But they did have to feel like they had won the lottery just to be able to take her to dinner.
As far back as she could remember, Fiona had been a thorn stuck deeply in Monica’s side.
Fiona had teased her about being the smartest kid in class, and Monica had told her that brains were more important than looks.
She mentally scolded herself about wasting time thinking about the past when she was supposed to be relaxing.
Together, she and the guy finally tamed the blanket and spread it out close to the water so she could put her toes in the waves while she read.
But the romance book was the last thing on her mind when she sat down.
She couldn’t remember the last time a man had practically made her tongue-tied.
A vision of waking up beside him flashed through her mind.
She mentally scolded herself for even letting such a thought sneak inside her head.
“Mind if I sit awhile?” he asked. “I just finished a five-mile jog on the beach, and I’m out of shape. I’m Spencer, by the way.”
“Monica,” she said, glad for a few more moments with him. “Sit as long as you want. Thanks for helping me.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the red flag. Was it warning her to be careful of strange beach bums? Had the wind not been blowing, Spencer would probably have gone on down the beach. What was coincidence? The universe talking to her? Or a real sign? Everything was sending mixed signals.
“How long are you staying?” Spencer asked.
“Five days. You?”
“The same. That’s all the time I can afford to be away from my job. Where do you come from?”
“Texas,” she said, and wished she could grab that single word and shove it back in her mouth. Fiona was always telling her that she was too open and trusting, and she was right in that instance.
What if Spencer was a serial killer? Or worse yet, someone who kidnapped women for sex trafficking?
She wasn’t a stupid teenager like the ones out there tempting dangerous waves.
She was a thirty-year-old woman with more sense than to give out her name and address.
That she said she was staying a week would let him know that no one would file a missing person’s report until she didn’t show up at the library a week from Monday. That was more than enough.
What if Spencer wasn’t even his name? She could hear her sister giggling and reminding her that sex traffickers were looking for young girls, not a woman like her.
That leaves a serial killer, she thought, and cut her eyes around at him.
There wasn’t room in his bathing suit for a knife or a gun.
But then, according to some of the mystery books she had read, those types of men didn’t need anything but their bare hands.
She shifted her gaze to his hands. A white line around his ring finger said that he had either put his wedding band in his pocket, or he was recently divorced.
“Are you married?” she asked bluntly.
“Was. Ended a year ago,” he answered, and glanced down at her hand. “Are you married?”
“Nope, never have been,” she answered. “Ever been here before?”
“This is my first time,” he answered. “My ex-wife and I always went to the mountains in Colorado. She liked a winter vacation so she could ski. I wanted some place that was new.”
“My first time, too,” Monica admitted, and wondered if the fact he had been to the mountains was a sign. She dwelt on it a moment before dismissing it and insisting to herself that she didn’t come to the beach to meet a guy—even if she did love that Southern accent.
“Since we are newbies to the area, would you go to dinner with me tonight?” he asked. “I hate to eat alone.”
She glanced up at the red flag and threw caution and common sense out into the big waves washing up on the beach.
She didn’t even pay attention to her sister’s voice in her head telling her to take advantage of the invitation and not be a stick-in-the-mud.
Fiona giving her advice was nothing new.
Her sister often went out with a guy she met at a bar or at one of her modeling gigs.
Love ’em and leave ’em was her motto. A different guy every week was her style.
“I would love to,” Monica finally answered. “What place do you have in mind?”
“I’ve researched the area, and if you like seafood, Pineapple Willy’s looks good.”
“I love seafood,” Monica said. “Shall I meet you there?”
“I could pick you up if you’ll tell me your room number.”
“Four fourteen,” she answered, and wished she had told him that she would meet him at the hotel lobby. “What time?”
“Seven?” Spencer asked.
“I’ll be ready. What room are you in?”
“Three fourteen,” he said, and made no attempt to leave. “One floor below you. Why did you choose this spot for your vacation?”
“Long story short, I found a brochure in a book,” Monica said without saying anything about the library where she worked. “How about you?”
“I was on the internet and saw an advertisement,” he answered.
The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, which was a miracle in her book.
Monica didn’t feel like she had to fill it with words or ask a million questions, even though she had dozens she would like to ask before she got into a vehicle with him.
She reminded herself that it was just dinner, not a marriage proposal.
“Are you happy with your decision to come to this place?” Spencer asked.
“So far, except for this wind. I only got here today. If I get bored I can always leave early. How about you?”