Marcus stood frozen. “Tell him it’s cool, Tessa. I come in and do inventory a lot on Sundays for overtime.”

“Are you alone in there?” she asked.

Ashley almost slid back to the floor. Shit, shit, shit.

“Yeah,” he said, about as convincingly as a two-year-old with chocolate on his face. He started to step out of the pantry, carefully keeping them from coming in. “I’m done anyway.”

“You want to show me your jacket pockets?” John demanded.

Ashley’s jaw dropped. He really thought Marcus was a thief? Would Marcus subject himself to a search or sell her out? That would really tell her what he was made of, wouldn’t it?

“Eff you, John.”

“That’s Chef John to you. Empty your jacket pockets.”

From her hiding place behind the door, she couldn’t see Marcus’s face but could imagine the hot look of hatred he was giving John right now.

“Empty them or don’t come to work tomorrow.”

She heard a brushing of sound, probably his hoodie. “I don’t have anything, see?”

“What’s that?” Tessa asked.

Silence, then Marcus kind of laughed. “Like a Boy Scout, you know?”

“You take condoms into the pantry?”

Ashley closed her eyes and dropped her head back.

“Who’s in there?” John demanded.

Ashley put her face in her hands and bit back tears. She was so totally screwed.

“Nobody,” Marcus said.

She pulled her hands away, the first bit of hope curling through her. Of course he’d cover for her. He liked her. A lot. It wasn’t just sex.

“You’re in there alone?”

“Of course I am,” he said, his foot scuffing as he started to walk away. “Now I’m gonna book. See you guys tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you out,” John said.

“I’m cool, man.”

Ashley stood stone still, waiting for the door to close, for the nightmare to be over. Instead, it opened a little wider and a familiar dark-haired head peeked in. Ashley stayed stone still, holding her breath, praying Aunt Tessa wouldn’t see her hiding in the corner.

“Ashley?” No such luck. She walked in, frowning. “What are you…”

“He’s gone,” John said, walking right in behind her, then halting at the sight of Ashley. “Don’t tell me, you were working on the inventory with him.”

“She won’t tell you that,” Tessa said quietly. “Because Ashley doesn’t lie.”

Ashley gave her aunt-by-friendship a pleading look. “Please don’t tell my mom, Aunt Tessa.”

Tessa blew out a slow breath. “I’m going to walk Ashley home, John.”

And that might give Ashley time to make her case. She hoped.


Ashley was silent all the way out of the restaurant and onto the sands of Barefoot Bay, and Tessa racked her brain for the right way to handle this. Carefully, of course. Tenderly. With mature understanding and patience. Like a loving aunt, not a worried mother.

Ashley shot her an expectant look.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Tessa demanded. So much for tender and patient.

“Right now, I’m thinking that only I would have the luck to get busted by the aunt who would die before she kept a secret. Why couldn’t Aunt Zoe have come in there?”

“Zoe would kill you. I’m only going to yell. Ashley, what are you doing with him? He’s twenty years old!”

“Nineteen, so we’re only two years apart.”

By whose math? “He’s almost twenty and you just turned seventeen about five minutes ago.”

“Three weeks ago, Aunt Tess.”

“I don’t care.” She guided Ashley around some shellers, lowering her voice so they didn’t hear. “That’s too much of an age difference.”

“Age difference?” Ashley shot back. “My mom robbed the cradle.”

She suddenly sounded much, much younger than seventeen. And a lot more like the tempestuous and sometimes sullen young teen she’d been after the hurricane. Since then, Ashley had matured in so many ways.

Obviously, she’d matured as far as boys were concerned. “Ashley, Clay is only six years younger than your mother. And they’re both adults.”

She huffed out a breath. “I knew this was going to happen.”

“Look, I’m saying this as someone who loves you dearly and deeply. A boy his age—no, a man his age—is not appropriate for a girl who just turned seventeen.”

“Appropriate? Who even says that anymore?”

“You want me to spell it out? An almost-twenty-year-old young man is thinking about sex every minute of every day. I’ll bet a month’s salary you weren’t in there doing inventory.”

“I was saying no,” she said quickly but with not nearly enough conviction.

“He had a condom in his pocket.”

“At least he’s smart and careful.”

Tessa stopped suddenly, kicking up some sand. “Are you still a virgin?” The question slipped out with a little pain in her voice. Not that she had any right to ask or even that seventeen was that young, but she loved Ashley like she was her own daughter and she—

“Yes, Aunt Tessa,” she said, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward. “I am. I swear on my life, my name, and the Bible, I am a virgin.”

But Tessa hadn’t picked up speed yet. “You’re thinking about it, though, aren’t you?”

Ashley didn’t answer. Oh, boy. Oh, man.

“Ashley.” She slowed again to make her point. “Please be smart, and I don’t mean use protection. I mean say no.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “I have.”

Tessa sighed a hearty breath of relief.

“So far.”

Damn. “You don’t want your first time to be with just anyone,” she said, choosing each word carefully. “And you sure don’t want it to be in the kitchen of your mom’s resort.”

Ashley closed her eyes. “Please don’t tell her.”

Tessa didn’t answer, unwilling to make promises she couldn’t keep. She zipped through a mental file, trying to remember what she knew about Marcus Lowell, other than that he’d been in trouble with the law once, dropped out of Mimosa High—or was kicked out—and came from one of the most broken homes on the island. Lacey had hired him as a personal favor to the sheriff, who was trying to give the kid another chance.

Okay, so not the Most Likely to Succeed from Mimosa High, but why would Ashley hide him from her mother and stepfather? “Why can’t I tell her?”

“Because”—she finally faced Tessa—“she’ll fire him.”

“Why would she do that?”

“For the same reason you’re marching me home like I’m nine years old and I stole a candy bar from the Super Min.”

“I still don’t understand why you can’t tell your mother you’re…” She glanced sideways. “What exactly is going on with this guy? He’s your boyfriend?”

“I guess.”

“You guess? You were condom-close in the pantry.” She tried not to think about how hypocritical that statement was, considering what she and John had done against the wall last night. Ten more minutes and she’d have been naked.

Then she had to blabber about a baby.

“Well, I like him and he likes me.”

“Of course he likes you.” Tessa toed a shell, barely seeing what it was since something far more delicate was in her hands. “What’s not to like? You’re pretty, smart, fun to be with, and…” She probably shouldn’t add the obvious, but she did anyway. “You’re the boss’s daughter.”

“Aunt Tessa! That’s not why we’re dating!”

“So you are dating him?” Which made sex only a little less horrifying. She was seventeen, even if they’d celebrated her birthday less than a month ago. Not a child anymore, but definitely not a grown woman.

“We’ve been talking for a while now, but it’s official,” Ashley said.

“Talking about what?”

She rolled her eyes, tsking as if Tessa was a dinosaur. “Talking is, like, pre-dating. First you check each other out, then you friend each other on Facebook, then you talk.”

“On the phone?”

“Text, mostly.”

Except they weren’t texting in the pantry. With a condom.

“Then he asks you to go out,” Ashley said.

Which was okay, wasn’t it? Of course Ashley was old enough to date. “So you’ve been out with him?”

“Not out-out. But out.”

“I don’t speak teenager, Ashley. What does that mean? Has he taken you to dinner and a movie? Miniature golfing? The mall? Out for ice cream?”

Ashley laughed. “You sound like you’re hyperventilating, Aunt Tess. We hang out.”

Which, Tessa remembered, was what she was supposed to be doing with John right now.

Too bad. Ashley was more important. “So do you usually hang out in the pantry?”

“He was working and…” She let the sentence fade to nothing. “He lives at home and so do I, so sometimes we—”

“Of course you ‘live at home,’ Ashley—you are a teenager. Barely seventeen, still in high school, and he’s old enough to…vote.” Among other things.

Her smile faded. “You’re going to tell my mom, aren’t you?”

They were almost at the end of the resort property, where the beach curved and Lacey and Clay’s house sat. “Listen, Ash, if you’re dating a guy—any guy—you have to tell your mom.”

Ashley stopped walking, looking down at the sand, silent.

“When are you going to tell her, Ash?”

She shook her head. “If I tell her, it’s over.”

“What does that mean?”

Struggling for a second, she looked out to the Gulf, emotion and the reflection of the water turning her eyes to a deep green. “Either she’ll fire him or he’ll leave me.”

“Ashley, you have to tell her.” Tessa reached for her hand to underscore her point. “First of all, you don’t keep secrets like that from your mother. Secondly, you haven’t given her a chance to fire him or not.” Although, knowing Lacey, she wouldn’t be happy. “And, third, I don’t know how you ‘leave’ someone you’re just hanging out with, but on principle, what kind of guy is he if he bolts at the first sign of trouble?”