Mariah Stewart - On Sunset Beach

“Wow,” he whispered. “For someone so small, you pack an enormous punch.”

She held him to her for a moment longer, then felt him disengage slowly.

“I think maybe I should be going,” he said, leaving unspoken the implied before things go too much further.

Carly nodded. She wasn’t really sure where she wanted this relationship to go, and apparently Ford wasn’t either. Slow seemed the way to go right about now.

“So when do I get my Turkish dinner?” he asked, that five o’clock shadow just a tickle on the side of her face.

“What’s your schedule this week?”

“My schedule is more flexible than yours.” He leaned forward to touch his forehead to hers and rested it there for a moment. “What do you have lined up?”

“A bunch of residents who want to show me their paintings. You?”

“I have a couple of interviews.”

“I can make dinner and you can interview me while we eat,” she suggested.

“I like it. That works. How ’bout Wednesday?”

“Wednesday works for me, too. I should have the invitations to the exhibit sketched out by then.”

“It’s a date.”

His arms were slow to let her go. Carly walked with him to the door, her emotions conflicted, not wanting him to leave, but not yet ready for him to stay.

She stepped out onto the side porch and inhaled deeply. Flowers from the neighbor’s yard perfumed the air, and the night sky was clear as could be. Ford went down the two steps to the ground, then came back up to kiss her good night.

“Talk to you soon.”

She nodded, her arms folded across her chest, and watched him get into the car. He waved as he backed out of the driveway, and she raised a hand to wave back, though she knew he wouldn’t see her from the road. She went inside and changed out of her killer dress into shorts and a T-shirt, and unstrapped her killer shoes.

She took her glass outside onto the little patio. She sat on one of the folding chairs she’d borrowed from Ellie and set the glass on the small table—also Ellie’s—and leaned back to watch the stars and thought about how life sometimes throws you curves when you least expect them. She’d come to St. Dennis to set up an art gallery and show off some paintings she believed should be seen. Romance was the last thing on her mind, and yet, there he was, and he seemed so right.

So right, actually, that she wasn’t sure if she should be running to him, or away from him.

“DID you have a nice dinner, dear?” Grace asked Ford when he brought her the Sunday newspapers: the Baltimore Sun, the Capital Gazette, and last week’s Bay Times, without which Grace swore she could not begin her day.

She patted the table next to her, indicating he should place them there. “How did Carly like Lola’s?”

“She liked it just fine.” He stared at his mother suspiciously.

“Your father and I went there frequently when we were courting. Of course, Lola herself was just a sassy young thing then.” Grace glanced up at Ford and smiled. “She’s still pretty sassy. Talking about running off with one of the busboys.” She laughed and shook her head.

“How did you know …?”

“That you and Carly had dinner there last night?” She peered at him over the rim of her glasses. “This is St. Dennis, Ford. Everyone knows you, and thanks to your articles, everyone knows Carly. Barbara from the bookstore stopped in this morning and brought me one of the new bestsellers. She and her niece just happened to be dining there last night as well. She said Carly looked stunning.” She looked up at Ford expectantly.

“She looked pretty good.”

Grace smiled that infuriatingly knowing smile, and he knew she could see right through him. Well, he’d make her work for it.

“How is the carriage house coming along, did she say?”

“She did.” He took a seat on a rectangular ottoman that stood near her feet.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“How is the place progressing? What’s been done? What still has to be done?” She swatted at him and he laughed.

For the next fifteen minutes, he fielded her questions and brought her up-to-date. There was no such thing as an abbreviated version where Grace was concerned.

“Well, then, it sounds as if she’ll be ready to open on time. That’s good. I knew she could pull it off.”

“She’s got a lot on her plate right now, but she’s determined.”

“I do hope you’ll offer to help her where she needs a hand, Ford.”

“Sure.” He nodded. “Well, enjoy your reading. Do you need anything else right now?”

“No, dear. Dan’s had the staff waiting on me hand and foot.” She smiled. “It’s nice for a change, but I wouldn’t want to get used to it. I’d rather do for myself.”

He kissed the top of her head and started for the door. He stopped halfway and, snapping his fingers, turned back. “I almost forgot. What would you think of an article about Lola? She is, as you’ve said, quite the character, and just about everyone who spends any amount of time in St. Dennis ends up at her restaurant.”

“Why, that’s a fine idea. I don’t know why I never thought of it.”

“Actually, it was Carly’s idea, but I thought—”

“Clever girl. And wouldn’t it be nice to follow up with an article about Captain Walt and Rexana. Yes, I could see a whole series of articles about the faces behind the restaurants.” Grace tapped her fingers on the arms of her wheelchair. “Excellent idea, Ford. Give Lola a call this afternoon and see what you can set up before she takes off on her next jaunt. She made some mention of seeing the south of France …”

“Well, I didn’t mean for me to do it.” He stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips. “I wasn’t volunteering.”

“Who were you thinking of?”

“Well, I thought you could do it once you got back on your feet.”

“Who knows how long that will be? So no, I cannot. But since I am still editor in chief, I give out the assignments. So I’m tossing this one back at you.”

“Wait a minute, I thought the deal was that I was standing in for you on the Carly articles …”

She gave him The Look, the one that had turned each of her children to stone on many an occasion while they were growing up.

“All right.” He knew when he was defeated. “I’ll see if I can fit it in.”

“Thank you. Oh, and leave the door open just a crack, would you? Housekeeping should be on their way up sometime soon …”

Ford did as she requested, leaving the door to the family quarters slightly open, then went back to his room for his running shoes. He was getting soft sitting around, with no exercise other than paddling the kayak every couple of days, and he needed to move. He tied on the shoes and went down the back steps to the door used by staff to come and go through the kitchen, then started out on his run.

St. Dennis was a quiet town most mornings, but Sunday mornings were pretty much dead, even in the summer. The churches were full, and the restaurants that served breakfast or brunch were gearing up for the crowds that would show up later in the morning. It was the perfect time for a run, not too hot yet, the breeze was just right, and he didn’t have to share the roadway with many others.

He started out on Charles Street, but without planning to, he found himself making the right onto Cherry and running the one block to Hudson. His feet slowed as he passed Carly’s house, but the shades were still drawn on the side of the house that took the early-morning sun. At some point, he’d have to pick up that jacket he’d left in her dining room last night, but it wouldn’t be now.

Was she sleeping in, he wondered, or had she gotten up early to work?

Had she lain awake last night as long as he had, wondering where, if anyplace, they were headed? Had she wished he’d stayed?

There was no question of where they could have ended up if he hadn’t put the lid on it, a move that had come at considerable personal sacrifice. There’d been nothing he wanted more than to take her to bed. There was no denying that she brought him to the boiling point, but at the same time, he had to recognize certain basic facts. Carly was a forever woman, if, of course, you were looking for such a woman, which he was not.

The problem wasn’t that she could take him from zero to sixty faster than just about any woman he’d ever met. The problem was that the more time he spent with her, the more he really liked her. What would he do with a woman like that at this point in his life, when he didn’t know where he was headed or what his next move would be? It disturbed him that he’d passed his thirtieth birthday without having a clue about who or what he wanted to be for the rest of his life. He’d been a soldier for so long—a highly specialized one, to be sure, but a soldier all the same. The skills he’d been taught, the areas in which he excelled, were hardly translatable to the real world in which his family lived, in which Carly lived.