

GREETINGS

FROM MY SANDY DREAMS

Connie Keenan

Copyright © 2013 by Connie Keenan

Smashwords Edition

Cover art and photo by Bigstockphoto.com, idreamphotos

All names, characters and events featured in this novel are imaginary. They are not inspired by any individual person, incidents or events known or unknown to the author. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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More Than Sparrows

The Christmas Waltz

Forever in My Heart

The Cop and the Mermaid

Paradise Road

1

"Cherry Martinez? That's your name? Sounds like a drink with one of those little umbrellas stuck in it."

My ADHD was acting up that morning, so I almost didn't catch on that the guy was talking to me. I was too distracted checking the "gently used" red Harley Davidson and doing some math in my head. I've always been pitiful at anything having to do with numbers and I'd never thought to carry a calculator, so I was trying to figure out in my head how much the bike would cost me after everything was said and done.

"My real name is Cherilyn," I explained. "Cherry used to be my dad's name for me when I was little, but then everybody starting calling me that. Hey, not to be rude, but how do you 'gently' use a motorcycle?"

The mechanic didn't seem to take offense. For that, I was grateful. Being new in town, I wanted to make friends, not alienate people. Gray Kelly worked on cars, too. Now that I had a car and possibly a Harley—and let's not forget, I was the newest cocktail in town—I could use a reliable and honest mechanic.

"Those are my client's words," he said. "I'm just selling the bike for him."

"Oh."

"I assume it means his wife didn't use it much."

"Hmmm. Because it didn't work well? It was always in the shop?"

"Nah. None of that. He's a biker; she's not. He bought it kinda hoping she'd get into it. She fell off it once, got scared. Now she doesn't want it."

Sniffing, he wiped his brow with his forearm. How could he stand it in that place? The heat was pretty stifling and it was only ten in the morning. I didn't do all that well in the heat, which was crazy in itself, because there I was, having moved to Florida for good. I almost felt like I couldn't breathe.

And his T-shirt, damp with perspiration, sticking to all those ripples in his chest, shoulders, and arms, wasn't helping any. It was hard not to notice he was a good-looking guy.

Concentrate, I reminded myself. Remember: you have some haggling to do.

"How about I give him three thousand for it?" I suggested.

Gray let out a whistle. "He's asking sixty-five for this baby. That's a really good price."

"Sixty-five hundred? Yeah, but how long has he been saddled with this baby?"

Weren't mechanics supposed to be older and even chunky? If they'd suddenly started looking like him, I hadn't gotten the memo. I was twenty-five; he had to be no more than thirty. His hair was light brown, a little long, but it added to his sexy look. His eyes were deep green, sort of hooded, and he had the cutest cleft in his chin.

It made me want to kiss it.

Haggle, haggle! Forget the cleft-kissing! Besides, he probably had a girlfriend. On another note, even with the help of a tanning bed, I'd never had as bronzed a tan as that. He looked like a surfer dude who could also expertly rebuild a car's transmission.

Those eyes of his raked over me in a way that made me tingle all over. Yet when he opened his mouth—a luscious mouth, at that—he was all Mr. Tough Businessman again.

"You know how much he paid for this thing?" he demanded. "It's practically brand-new."

I ignored the question. "Okay, so maybe three thousand dollars isn't reasonable. How about three thousand five hundred?"

"Uh...I could ask him for you. Can't guarantee he'll come down that much."

"Okay, well, and I need to think about it. Because I do have a car. I just want something I can use to get around town easily."

"Do you have a motorcycle license? Or an endorsement for one on your license?"

"Uh...no. I need one?"

"Sure do. You need to take a course, too."

"I guess that's extra money. I'm not even working right now."

He pursed his lips and took a swig of his bottled water.

"I'll tell him what you're offering," he promised. "And I'll let you know what he says. Here..."

Another mechanic was busy working on a Honda that was up on one of those hydraulic lifts. A third mechanic was rolled under an SUV. The air in the shop, named Dave's Car Repair, smelled like oil, coffee, and the intense Florida heat. I couldn't wait to get out of there, and yet I was enjoying a rear view of Mr. Tough Business Man in his faded jeans.

"That's our card," he said, handing it to me. "He's out of town for a few days—the owner—but call me next week, like Thursday. If he says no, I'll keep an eye out for you if something else comes in."

"Another bike?"

"Could happen. Never know."

Our hands brushed against each other. His were darkened by motor oil...not that I minded. My own were adorned with bangles, a watch, and a jade flower macramé bracelet that I'd gotten up in Chinatown, back when I worked in Manhattan.

"Okay. I'll do that," I said.

He flashed me a wink. "I'll get you a good price, Cherry Martinez. If I can."

No doubt, he'd used that flirtatious wink to his advantage. It probably worked with other girls, too. Being six feet tall, with a good, lean build like that, didn't hurt, either. A voice that could turn your blood into hot, molten lava—

Business, Cherry, business!

"I'd really appreciate that. Thank you."

"So, listen, if I can't sell you the bike right now...how about a puppy? And you can have that for free."

"A puppy? Hmmm, no. I don't think so."

"Okay, well..."

"On second thought...what kind of dog?"

He smirked. Gray must have thought he had me hooked and was about to reel me in. "German shepherd. A real beauty, Cherry. Wanna see her?"

No. The answer was no. No, plus I really had to get out of that place.

And a German shepherd, too. I'd always loved that breed. For years, I'd wanted a dog but, living in a teensy, matchbox-sized apartment in Brooklyn, I couldn't have one.

So what was my reasoning for not getting a pet now? All right, I was just getting settled into my new place. I hadn't been in town for even a week yet.

With no job and only my savings to pay for day-to-day things, I really couldn't tie myself down with a pet. Puppies meant expenses. Shots, vet bills, food, bowls, other puppy gear stuff. Common sense told me not even to lay eyes on her. But common sense was nowhere to be found when he opened the door to the shop's office and she and I saw each other for the first time.

Oh, Lord, she was a beauty, all right! The term love at first sight definitely applied to us.

"She's almost six months old now," Gray said. "One of the pups died. I gave away the other three. This is the only one who hadn't found a home yet. By the way, she's a full breed. I don't have any papers for her, though. Her mom is my cousin's dog."

"Papers?"

"You know. Stating she's pure shepherd. With or without them, she's still one hundred percent full breed." Gray went on, "She was the smallest one in the litter. I don't really like the word 'runt.' Makes it sound like there's something wrong with this beautiful girl, just because she's smaller."

Honestly, it was like the man and the dog could read my mind! He's saying such a sweet thing (in my case, the sweetest thing he could have said) and she pushed back her puppy shyness to greet me with a lick on my hand.

"See that. She likes you, Cherry."

I gave him a look that let him know I wasn't so easily swayed.

Even though I was. By a German shepherd puppy, if not by a sweet-talking, tall and sun-bronzed mechanic.

"I don't know if I need a dog," I insisted.

"Aw, c'mon. Everybody needs a dog. A house isn't a home without a dog."

"I bet you saw that on somebody's Facebook wall."

"I did. And I thought I'd use it sometime. Just did." He chuckled when he saw I was trying to hold back a laugh. "Anyway, do you work?"

"Not yet. Not...for a while. I just moved down here. I'm taking a little time off before I go back to work."

"Huh. That's nice. I've been waiting to hit the lottery to be able to do just that."

I sort of had won the lottery, in a sense. I was planning on living off my 401K for as long as I could.

Which, according to my mother, who was good at numbers, wouldn't last long at all.

None of which was any of Gray's business. Now that I was writing that new chapter in my life, I didn't owe anybody any explanation.

"She's a beautiful dog, but I really have to think about it," I told him.

As if that little lady understood what was being said, she came right over to me and nuzzled my hand for me to pet her. Her interim master—I guess you'd call him that—was hard enough to resist, but her? She had those big, brown eyes of hers and wasn't afraid to use them.

"That's fine. Take a couple days and think about it," he murmured. "Just don't take too long. She's the kind of girl somebody's going to snatch up before you know it. And if you were to take her and it didn't work out between you two, I'd be fine with you bringing her back. No questions asked."

He wasn't going to pressure me. That was the whole idea when I moved down to Sandpiper Beach. I was through forever with pressure and stress, and doing all those things that I really didn't want to do anymore.

To put it simply, I was a runaway. A twenty-five-year-old runaway. Or a beach bum. Or maybe a combination of the two.

"I'm not going to promise to keep her, but if I was going to keep her—Big If—what's this little charmer's name?"

He shrugged and gave me a smile as playful as his soon-to-be-adopted puppy's. "You name her. If you take her home, that is. We just call her Roxy around here. I don't know why; just fits her. But if you keep her, she's yours."

"Roxy" didn't sound too coincidental to me; that probably wasn't any of my business, so I didn't touch it. Besides, the dog was old enough that she'd been answering to that name for all this time. It just made sense, if I was to take her, to keep the name, too.

And little Miss Roxy was now rolled onto her back, loving the fact that she was having her belly gently scratched by me. She was soooo pretty and soooo sweet. I was such a pushover for a cute dog.

Cute guys, I could handle better. I'd learned not to be pushed over too easily by that breed. Between the both of them, however, they were wearing me down.

"I'll call and let you know," I vowed. "About the bike...and the dog."

"Well, I'll be here. Gotta get back to work now, though. My boss is gonna walk in any minute now. He likes to see everybody working. Me, included. And I'm his nephew."

There was something humble about that admission that made him seen vulnerable, for a guy who came across as a too-self-assured macho man.

"I won't keep you any longer," I said.

"Ah, don't worry about it. Welcome to town. There's nothing in the world like living this close to the beach."

Roxy was letting me go. She'd gotten to her feet but was eyeing me with an expression that said, Don't leave me! C'mon, we could be besties!

To my credit, I made it as far as my car. With the door open and the keys in hand, I was thinking about how quiet my rented house was. Quiet to the point of being lonely. Sure, I could always find a roommate. There was no guarantee she'd be a decent person. She could annoy the heck out of me, be one of those prissy types who wanted everything her way.

Now Roxy? She looked like she'd been the ideal roomie. Of course, she wouldn't be contributing to the bills. Then again, with a German shepherd in the house, who would ever need a burglar alarm? She wouldn't argue with me, steal my hair or bath products, or bring some creepy, beer-guzzling boyfriend over every single night.

I closed the car door and marched back into the shop. Gray was standing next to another mechanic, talking beside a classic Chevy Camaro with its hood open. His hands were fixed on his waist and I caught a glimpse of his handsome profile.

As soon as he saw me, he stood up straight, his eyebrows slightly arched. His lips formed an "O," those same lips that I would have, if I could have gotten away with it, traced with my finger before tasting a kiss from them.

"About that motorcycle—any motorcycle, you know," I stammered. "I don't really need one, come to think of it. But...I'll take Roxy, if she'll have me."

2

There's nothing in the world like living this close to the beach.

That was certainly true of him. Gray didn't know how true it was for that girl who'd come into the shop earlier, that Cherry Martinez, but it was for him. As a kid, up until his family had moved to the Florida coast, he'd lived a good five hours away from the beach. Never again. It took living in Sandpiper Beach to learn he'd always had saltwater in his veins.

Gray slowed down his Mustang—a.k.a. his "baby"—and pulled into the driveway of his home. He'd had a chance to get the latest model of a Chevy, but then that 1977 Mustang had breezed into his life. The car of his dreams...and it was orange, too. So crazy, it was amazing. What more could he ask?

The previous owner, a customer of his uncle's who collected classics like some people collected antiques, let it go at a tempting price with the standard warning: It could use some work.

Those words translated into a cool four thousand dollars by the time the body work and new paint job was done and the engine was rebuilt. To Gray, it was worth every cent. The convertible Mustang was the perfect car for a man who called the beach his home.

Sandpiper Beach—the place where summer never ended.

"I found Roxy a home today," he announced as he stepped through the door.

Right away he took a whiff, filling his lungs with the mouthwatering aroma of his aunt's cooking. His Aunt Betty lived in the main house, she and Uncle Dave who owned and ran the shop. Gray and his cousin, their son Blaine, rented the bungalow, which used to be the family's pool house. His Aunt Betty, who spoiled both her son and nephew, sometimes prepared dinner for them.

"A good home?" she asked after pulling a tray of some garlic bread from the oven.

"I hope so. New owner seems like a nice person," he replied.

"I hope so, too. I love Roxy."

"Me, too. She deserves all the love she can get."

"Was that a customer?"

"Sort of. She came in looking for a Harley. Ended up leaving with a dog."

Aunt Betty cut up the baguette loaf and let him steal a piece. He was famished, as usual at that hour. Naturally, his aunt, like his mother, was always telling him he didn't eat well, that he ate on the run most of the time and that was why he was too slim at times. Gray took a bite and savored the blended tastes of butter, fresh garlic and parsley picked straight from the garden.

"Hmmmph. Sounds like she wasted your time," his aunt remarked. "When it comes to the motorcycle, at least."

"She sorta did. I didn't mind."

Not the least bit. In fact, Cherry Martinez could come by and waste his time any time her sexy little heart desired.

Cherry Martinez. He'd told her her name sounded like a tropical cocktail, the kind they made at the Rogue Wave. He could have told her the other things her name reminded him of, but he didn't. He was a gentleman.

Besides, she was fun to look at and he imagined she'd be even more fun to kiss like crazy, for starters, but she wasn't the kind of girl who typically went out with him. Cherry had been standoffish, and apparently she came from money. How else could she afford not to work and kick around the beach? Though she'd struck him also as having to watch her finances, so maybe she wasn't born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

Glancing around, he took note that Aunt Betty had cooked and tidied up the place. The bungalow was neater, diligently picked up. It looked like she'd dusted and vacuumed, too. Gray knew he should have kept on it. There just never was enough time in the day. When it came to housework, his cousin couldn't be counted on, either. His schedule was as busy as Gray's.

"Now that everything's done," Aunt Betty was saying after removing the large casserole dish filled with baked ziti from the oven with potholders, "I'll let you boys eat and I'll head to church."

"Aw, c'mon," he cajoled and got himself a plate from the cabinet. "Sure you don't want to come have a beer with us?"

"Oh, sure. Like you boys really want me there."

"I don't see why not. You're always a fun lady, Aunt Betty." She did a double-take at him and smiled, very clearly touched by his invitation.

"One day I'm going to take you and your cousin up on that, young man."

"Great! Why not tonight?"

"Because tonight I have a woman's conference at church. It goes from tonight to tomorrow afternoon."

"And that beats a date with me and your son?"

Betty laughed. "You two won't miss me at all. You'll probably meet some pretty girls while you're out."

Heaving a sigh, he served himself a heaping of the pasta baked with her homemade marinara meat sauce, ricotta, Parmesan and mozzarella cheeses.

"I can find pretty girls there, Aunt Betty. Just none I can see myself staying with."

The words were out before he'd had a chance to think better of saying them. Gray should have known his aunt wouldn't leave without giving him advice on his love life. A sweet gesture on her part, but...

"It'll happen for you, Gray, honey. There's a girl out there for you. And one for my Blaine, too."

He shoveled a forkful of food in his mouth. Aunt Betty was Irish and German, not Italian, but she could cook as well as the most popular Italian restaurant in town.

"If it hasn't happened by now, it's not going to. For me, maybe not for Blaine." Why dash her hopes of ever becoming a grandma? "Doesn't matter. Tonight, no time for romance. I got a business deal to talk about with someone."

"A business deal?"

"I'm thinking of buying a boat with a friend. Guy from school."

"A boat? Ohhh, honey, that sounds like a bad idea already," she lamented.

"Why? We're talking about getting a good, used boat. Charge people to take it out fishing for the day. We'd be the captains, though. I got some money saved up and so does he. Still thinking about it."

Aunt Betty looked doubtful. "Well, think about it a lot. Sounds like a very big gamble."

"Yeah, I know. Sometimes you gotta take that gamble, Aunt Betty. All success has always come when somebody takes a risk."

"Oh, Gray, honey. When are you going to rub off on my Blaine?"

Though he appreciated the sincere compliment, he knew better than to take it to heart.

"I'm nobody to rub off on him, Aunt Betty," he admitted. "Besides, he's good at what he does and he likes it, too. Me, sometimes I feel like I'm never going to get anywhere, like I'll be in the same place for the rest of my life."

His aunt's voice softened. "That's the way it used to be, you know. My generation, your mother's, our parents. You found something to do, whatever you were good at, and you did that for, well, yeah—the rest of your life. Look at your uncle and the shop."

Gray ate in silence for a few moments. That was something he dreaded, not that he would ever hurt his aunt or his uncle by admitting it to them. He was so afraid of spending the rest of his life working in his uncle's car shop, just an aging grease monkey, as he'd heard someone say a while back.

"I'd really like to make a go of my own business," he said.

"Sure you would, sweetie." Aunt Betty patted his cheek. "And I'm sure you'll be good at it. You've still got time. You're young. You've got a great future ahead of you, honey. Anyway, enjoy your dinner and give Blaine a kiss for me."

"Now you know that's not gonna happen."

She laughed and waved at him on her way out the door. "Good luck tonight with your business deal."

"Thanks, Aunt Betty. And have a good time at your conference."

Blaine Kelly arrived home from work, having just missed his mother a few minutes earlier. At twenty-nine, he didn't do too badly for himself as the assistant manager of a local Mexican restaurant. He had a college degree in marine biology, which didn't come in handy at all in making sure chicken fajitas were served correctly. Still, as a gregarious workaholic, he was good at where he'd ended up in life.

"Ziti? Shoot. I was hoping for Mom's pepper steak and pork fried rice," his cousin said.

Aunt Betty wasn't Asian, either. Yet if there was a recipe for it on the internet, the woman would find it and whip it up perfectly.

"I was lovin' this till you had to go and mention her pepper steak," Gray muttered.

"Sorry, cuz. Hey, we're hitting Rogue Wave tonight, right?"

"I am. Don't know about you. I'm meeting Chad there."

"Oh, the fishing boat thing? Cool." Blaine served himself a plate and popped open a Pepsi from the fridge.

"There's salad in there, too."

"Yeah, I know. But only a little dressing left and it's that icky bacon ranch stuff. No Thousand Island. You know me, I like a little salad with my Thousand Island dressing."

Gray smirked at the remark. The same was true for him, except he would say, "I like a little salad with my salad dressing and bacon bits and croutons." Between the two of them, Gray could better afford bad habits. His cousin seemed saddled with a slower metabolism, despite the fact that he was at the gym a couple times a week and still didn't burn calories as quickly. He was already, even at his age, developing a slight belly.

Blaine watched Jessie, his German shepherd and the princess of the household, trot into the kitchen.

"Where's the puppy?" he asked.

"Found a home for her today."

"Did you? All right. Who took her in?"

"A cool drink named Cherry Martinez."

"Cherry Martinez?" Blaine looked intrigued. "The name doesn't ring a bell."

"Well, that's because it shouldn't. New girl in town."

His cousin washed down a swallow of dinner with his soda. "Somebody with a name like that sounds like she'd be kinda cute. And worth seeing again. You can always say you're checking on Roxy."

"Nah, that's more your style. I wouldn't make a very good pet owner stalker. And besides, I'm going to be busy." Pausing, he told Blaine, "I have a fishing boat to buy tonight."

3

As usual, locals and tourists alike were crowded into the Rogue Wave. There was an assortment of similar clubs spread out in the neighboring towns, but the Rogue Wave was the hot spot for the mostly twenty- and thirty-somethings in Sandpiper Beach.

The club sat at the end of a long pier that jutted out to the ocean. Beyond the building was the portion of the pier that was used for fishing during the day. At night it was an extension of the club. Couples and clusters of friends went out on the pier, bringing their drinks with them and chatting and laughing as the waves gently lapped at the wooden beams beneath them.

By then, it was close to midnight. A local band was playing that night. The music was louder inside the club but travelled out onto the pier.

Since Gray had been there, two women had already approached him, one tipsier than the other. He was friendly, but he wasn't getting that close to anyone that night. He knew what would happen if he gave in and danced with a girl: That would be the end of any serious business talk between him and Chad Hanson. One of those party girls would hang out at his table, sip cocktail after cocktail, and make cute little comments all night long in hopes of going home with him.

At any other time, that would've been fun. Of course, it had been that way with the last girl he'd gone out with, the one who'd turned out to be a jealous psycho.

Tonight, his reason—his only reason—for being there was his prospective fishing boat business. Gray had gone there that night prepared, too. During the week he'd done his homework, studying different models of fishing craft, the equipment involved with them, and similar businesses that already existed.

He'd printed out every bit of his research and tucked it into a manila folder, bringing it with him to show his future business partner.

Gray had only begun presenting the information when another woman appeared directly behind Chad. At first he was too distracted and only saw him out of the corner of his eye. Then he realized she wasn't just holding a glass of wine and looking out at the Atlantic. The woman was staring at him.

Where did he know her from? She looked so familiar. She was in her mid-thirties, dressed in a loose-fitting sundress and heels. Her shoulder-length, reddish brown hair was drawn up in a ponytail with wisps of hair falling around her face.

He knew her; but from where, exactly?

He also hadn't gotten very far at all with his supposed business partner. Some of the paperwork was strewn on the bench between them when Chad interrupted him.

"You know, uh, before you get any further," his old friend began, pursing his lips. "I really hate to do this. Clearly, you've worked so hard on this."

Feeling his temper start to heat up, Gray made an effort to stay calm. "What? Do you not want to do this?"

Chad shook his head and sighed. Gray tossed down the envelope containing the rest of his "hard work."

"You were—I thought you were serious about this," he said.

"I was. I really was. It's a great idea. Just...not a great idea for the time being. With the economy being what it is right now, you know." His friend shrugged and smiled, evidently trying to coax one out of him. "I mean, if it was some other type of business, maybe. But—no joke intended—this thing could seriously sink. Fast. And there goes all our investment."

"Okay, well, this is Florida. Economy or no economy, we have some great fishing down here. The tourists and weekenders alone would make it worth our time. But if you don't want to do this, then you don't want to do it."

What a waste of time. Man! That bothered Gray almost as much as that aggravating-beyond-belief feeling that he'd just been sent back to the drawing board.

Back to the drawing board. Now there was a classic. People didn't use that saying much anymore. His Uncle Dave did, now and then, but he was from Gray's dad's era, when they used a lot of sayings like that. Back to the drawing board. Scrap everything you've done. Stick this dream in the shredder.

Seems like he was always getting sent back to the drawing board.

"Hey, I know it's not what you wanted to hear. Maybe we can ditch this place and head to River Point Tavern."

"Look, Chad, no hard feelings. But I'm gonna finish my drink and leave."

Not in the mood to go bar-hopping. He collected the mess of paper and shoved it all back into the folder. Chad frowned.

"You mind if I go?" he asked. "I might be meeting a girl over there."

"No, I don't mind. Go. Have fun."

"Sure. We're okay, right, you and me?"

"We're fine. I'll see you later this week."

Chad wasted no time running off to his date. A slender waitress in her black-and-gold Rogue Wave uniform, quick on her feet, stopped by him.

"Get you another drink?" she asked Gray.

He glanced at his Corona bottle, which he'd placed on the floor to the side of his left foot.

"Please, miss. When you get a chance."

One more drink, then he'd leave. He wasn't driving anyway; he'd walked there from home. He'd go home and be a mechanic in his uncle's shop for the rest of his natural life. He'd forget all about buying a rental fishing boat or starting any other small business.

Maybe it was time he faced the facts. Those dreams were for other people. Why bother trying anymore?

Gray had just tossed the folders and everything in it into a trash receptacle and was drinking the rest of his beer and looking out at the ocean when he felt a tap on his arm. The familiar, dark-haired woman gave him a forced smile.

"Grayson Kelly," she said.

"Yeah, that's me."

"You don't remember me, do you?"

If she was flirting, she was going about it in the oddest way. Her tone of voice was chilly.

"No. Should I?"

"Probably not. You went out with my sister about three years ago. Brooke Schrader. I'm Heather Schrader. Diaz, now. Do you remember Brooke?"

Gray leaned back against the steel railing, squinting. "Brooke. I think so."

She rolled her eyes in irritation and pulled a photo out from her purse. "You remember her now?"

Gray wasn't in the mood for games. Something told him Heather Schrader wasn't playing. He took the small photo and studied it, recognition coming to him.

"Yeah, I remember her now." I slept with this girl. I'm guessing it's not a good idea to tell her sister that, he mused. "She was here on vacation, right?"

"That's right. We both were. You were with a friend. I went out with him, you went with my sister. You two had a one-night stand."

Well, that's blunt and to the point. He nodded. "So what's this all about?"

"My sister just died two months ago. Overdose." Even delivering that news, she remained cold and solid as steel.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He braced himself. He was nervous, though he was trying not to let her notice. "Sorry about your sister, but—"

"I'm here because my sister is gone, and..." Heather drew a breath. Finally, a crack in her tough veneer. "I think you should know about him."

She brought another photo out of her purse. Gray held it, blinking at the likeness of a baby boy in denim overalls and sneakers. He had a sweet smile and a glint of playfulness in his big eyes. Before Heather spoke, Gray knew what she was about to say. Suddenly he felt dizzy and unsteady on his feet.

"That's your son."

4

Roxy and I were instant friends, aside from the fact that our first week together she destroyed all my flip-flops.

As I suspected, my new puppy didn't come cheap, just because Gray Kelly had given her away for free. That first week I took her to the vet, where he got her caught up on her shots and pronounced her a healthy and happy-go-lucky dog. Gray hadn't lied to me, either. In Dr. Machado's opinion, Roxy was one-hundred-percent German shepherd.

Then it was off to the pet supply store, where I picked up her basic needs—her bowl, shampoo, food, all that good stuff. I also bought five cute doggy toys, a basket that served as Roxy's toy box (which she figured out how to use—smart, little girl, my Roxy!); treats that looked like cookies you'd buy at a bakery; a leash and a collar with her name and my address engraved in its medallion; and we couldn't forget a brush for a girl with such a luxurious mane.

So, yes, if you didn't count the flip-flop issue, I couldn't have asked for a better housemate. She had come to me already house broken and I felt protected at night, with her sleeping beside my bed.

After that bit of a shopping spree, I knew I had to take it easy with spending cash if I was to make my savings last. I was relieved the motorcycle idea had been a fleeting one. Besides, what I didn't realize initially is that you don't just toss money down on a Harley and a helmet and off you go. Gray was right: It takes classes so you can learn how to handle the bike and you don't kill yourself, plus other expenses like a separate license. None of which was necessary for a regular, old beach cruiser, the bike that had cost me fifty dollars at a yard sale and another twenty-five at a specialty bike store for a basket to attach to the front.

A job, even if it was only a temporary part-time, would extend my financial reserves, too. That first month in town, I put in job applications everywhere I could, including as a waitress at a pancake house in town.

I should mention that Sandpiper Beach was a typical seaside town. There was what the locals called "the tourist area." That was where the well-known chain restaurants, like Red Lobster, Chili's, and Olive Garden were located. The mall was in that area and so were the clubs, which barely interested me. I'd gotten the whole club scene out of my system when I was twenty-two or so. To me, clubs were noisy places where you could hardly carry on a conversation over the music. Although I did kinda like that place called the Rogue Wave, with its pier that took you out to the ocean and the local bands that played there.

Occasionally, I'd drop in, have a mojito or a piña colada, maybe a glass of Chardonnay, and watch the tide go in and out on the beach. One drink, and a girly one at that, one glass, and that would be it for me. I've never been one for drinking much.

My true hangout, anyway, was the beach itself. I was on my way out the door when my cell phone rang. As luck would have it, it was Krystal, doing her big sisterly duty again. In her case, that meant checking up on me, plus a lecture, just because.

"That money isn't going to last forever," I recited before she even had a chance to say hello. "Hold on a sec, Krys..."

A beach towel, a small tote with two bottled waters that had been chilled in the freezer, a new paperback mystery novel, a small baggie filled with seedless grapes, a bottle of sunscreen and my sunglasses. Yep, I had all I needed for several hours on the beach.

"Concho, muchacha, you're so sarcastic," my sister scolded on the other line.

"Well, that is what you're going to say, right? I thought I'd save you the breath."

"Maybe I just miss you. Ever think of that? That I miss you and I want to hear your voice and see how you're doing."

Krystal is the only one I know who could say something utterly sweet and still make it sound like she's ticked off at you.

"I miss you, too. Why don't you come down? I have the room for you and Jake. We'll have fun together."

"That's nice. Some people have to work, you know."

"You're a teacher. It's summer. You're not working. Next excuse?

"Hmmm, I'll ignore that. Let me get to the next subject..."

Here it comes! I thought.

"...that money won't last forever, you know."

"Thanks, Krys. What would I do if I had to go a day without that lovely reminder?"

"Uh, you can be a smarty pants all you'd like. Won't change the fact that it's true. Tienes Mami y Papi enfermos con todo su worrying about you."

I loved my sister, the way she switched off from English to Spanish, often within the same sentence. Me, I'd never totally mastered Spanish, since our dad didn't speak it except around his Cuban family. Our mom, an Italian-American, didn't speak it at all. On the other hand, kudos to my sister for trying. Her Spanglish was cute and she only used it when she was hopping mad.

"What you really need, after all you've been through, is therapy," she was still talking after I'd locked up the modest beach house, a rental, and freed my bike from the porch. Each night I left it chained to the porch railing. "You should really be seeing a psychologist. Or a psychiatrist. The one who can prescribe drugs."

"Oh, so now I'm crazy. And the psychiatrist is the one who prescribes drugs, which I don't need."

"Niña, c'mon. I'm not saying you're crazy. You know what I'm saying. You quit your job—a good job, I might add—and ran away to live at the beach. That proves something's wrong."

"No, that proves I've always dreamed of living at the beach. Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to live at the beach. And as for what you're talking about...I'm not the first person that's happened to. I'm fine. I don't need therapy. And I'm not running away. I'm too old to run away."

I went on softly, because I really didn't want her to think I was angry. "I appreciate your concern. I'm just doing what I want to do. After what happened, especially, it makes me feel better to do that. I'm taking off some time...and even when I go back to work full-time, I'm going to live at the beach for the rest of my life. This is better than any drugs a doctor could prescribe for me."

"What about your 401K? You're not supposed to touch that, Cherry. You're wasting it."

"I'm spending it. Believe me, it won't be wasted. Not a dime of it. Anyway...I'm headed to the beach. Call you later, Krys."

5

I was happy to have moved to "the perfect part," as it was known, of Sandpiper Beach.

There were little shops there, rather eclectic, not a mall in sight. My favorite stores were the little boutique that sold all those cool Bohemian skirts, tops, and costume jewelry, and Let's Cook! which sold all those amazing things for the kitchen. Even if all I did was browse, I could easily spend an hour in either one.

The restaurants in that section of town were privately owned. I liked the Mexican restaurant and the coffee shop with the homemade chocolate chip muffins. Breezy's sold the best seafood, burgers and steaks around, all with a sweeping view of the ocean and the beach.

"Hey, Cherry Martinez! How are things working out with you and Roxy?"

I knew very few people so far. Only one seemed to love addressing me by my full name. When I heard his voice, I had my back to him and was anchoring my beach blanket to the sand with my tote bag and my two surviving flip-flops. Sure enough, I turned and saw Grayson Kelly there on the beach, wearing only his swimming trucks, sunglasses, and that creamy tan of his.

"We're good!" I reported enthusiastically. "I love her. She's the dog of my dreams."

Some people, no matter how lighthearted you are toward them, never laugh or find humor in anything. I could never understand that, coming from a family as easygoing as mine. We laughed all the time. To his credit, Gray seemed to find that cute. That man had the sweetest laugh.

And, yes, I did notice how hot he looked, standing there bare-chested in his swimsuit. I tugged my gaze away to avoid staring at him.

"I had a feeling you two would get along," he said. "Did you change your mind about the bike?"

"No, I'm trying not to spend too much money. Getting around town on that..." Turning at the waist, I pointed to my bicycle. I'd secured it to a bike rack on the sidewalk, a short distance away.

Gray nodded. "That'll work. Good for your heart, too. I should dust mine off, but I usually end up walking most places. Or I take my Mustang."

"Uh-huh. I don't mind walking, either, if it's not terribly far."

Suddenly, I felt shy. And very alive, just being around him. He was lingering and, to tell the truth, I didn't want him just scooting away, either.

"You have the day off?" I asked, more to make conversation.

"Yeah, my boss finally let me out of my cage."

I giggled. "That's how I felt in some jobs, too. Like I was in a prison. I had this one job—it was so bad—I went out at lunchtime and never came back."

"Ah, now that's very responsible."

"Isn't it? Of course, I could never use it as a reference, but I didn't care. My boss was insane and evil."

Smirking, he took a couple steps closer. "Can't say I've never wanted to walk out on a job. There were a couple where I should've done that. Can't exactly do that to my uncle, though."

"You work for your uncle? Oh, that's right—you did say that."

"Well, I—I work for him now. I have a couple of other irons in the fire." He planted his hands on his waist and, I was sure it wasn't my imagination, but it seemed he threw out his chest a little.

I felt shy slipping out of my beach coverup, but I did. It would've seemed odder for me to stand there with it on.

"I have a few irons in the fire, too," I told him. "But I'm really hoping for that pancake house on the boulevard to call me."

"The Pancake House." Gray nodded slowly, as if he were mulling that over. "Is that the sort of work you did before, too?"

"No. Before that I worked near Atlanta in a nursing home. Before that, I was a nurse at one of the urgent cares in NewYork."

"You were a nurse?" He sounded surprised.

"Yes. When I started out, I worked at a nursing home, then I had a couple of other jobs. One of them was the one I left at lunchtime, then the nursing home." I smiled, pausing. Now I want to wait tables at a pancake house."

"Oh. Well, that's...why? Why would you want to do that? I mean..." He shrugged. "Why does somebody study all that time, get a degree, and then..."

"Leave it all behind and become a beach bum?" I finished the sentence for him but stopped.

Typically, I wouldn't have told him. It was nobody's business, really. Still, people thought of me as a crazy person, and I guess I could understand why, since I rarely talked about certain things.

Certain things...like what I was about to reveal now.

"I was engaged about a year and a half ago. And I watched my fiancé die in my arms after a car accident." Swallowing hard, I watched Gray take off his sunglasses. His expression had changed in the space of a few moments. "Something like that has a way of changing the way you look at life. It changes what you think of as important."

"I bet it does." His tone was gentle. It was obvious he was mildly uncomfortable from that point forward.

Now that, I regretted. Talking to him had been more of a pleasure than I'd expected it to be.

"Well, maybe after a rest. You know, some sun and fun..." Gray licked his lips. "You'll go back to nursing someday."

"No, that's not going to happen."

"No?"

"Uh-uh. It was the profession I thought I wanted for the rest of my life. They shouldn't make eighteen-year-olds make big decisions like that."

"You're right about that." Though the sun was making him squint, he didn't put his sunglasses back on. His lips curved into a swarthy smile. "The eighteen-year-old I used to be didn't make the best choices for my life, either."

Even while he was speaking, he was flexing his muscles. Discreetly, in a way that wasn't supposed to be obvious. I refrained from shaking my head.

That was typical guy behavior, taking any opportunity to show off. It didn't escape me that he was showing off for me. A guy hadn't done that for me in a long time. I'd forgotten how flattering it was.

That was the moment a stray object, some white and royal blue blur, came out of nowhere and hit him squarely on the back of his head. The blow was hard enough that it drew a very ungentlemanly word out of him and sent him flying forward, facedown onto the sand in front of me.

"Gray! Oh—" Leaping forward, I fell to my knees beside him.

It would've been funny if it hadn't taken us both by surprise and scared us like that. Momentarily, he was stunned, but then he was quick to gather his bearings. I looked back at the kamikaze object that had hit him just as he was pulling himself into a standing position and sputtering to get the sand out of his face.

"What the—what was that?" he demanded.

"Looks like one of those toy planes, those remote control things."

Gray groaned and rubbed the back of his head.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine. Hurts. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhoot!"

I was sure that wasn't the actual word he wanted to use right then. The fact that he hadn't cursed made me hold back a smile. A man in his thirties and a kid about nine years old or so came hurrying our way.

"Hey, I am so sorry!" the man exclaimed. "You okay, man?"

Gray was hurt, but he was also mad. I couldn't blame him. I waited for him to argue with the man, tell him he should be more careful, and maybe let a few cuss words fly after all.

Instead he looked from the father to the boy. His gaze remained there for a second, then he addressed the kid's dad.

"I'll be all right. Just a little knock on the head."

"You sure? I am really, really sorry about that."

"Aw, don't worry about it. It was an accident."

"I was controlling it, but you know—"

"Those things have a mind of their own. I know. I had one, too." He smiled at the kid. "At your age, just about."

The father picked up the wayward toy plane and offered, "Listen, I'll give you my number. If you go to the doctor, the hospital, whatever, I'll pay for all your medical expenses."

"No, that won't be necessary. Really. I'm okay."

"All right, well, my family and I are over there by that yellow umbrella if you change your mind."

"I won't. I'm fine, but thanks." As soon as the man left with his son's hand in his, the wrecked plane at his side, Gray leaned to the side and whispered, "Am I bleeding, nurse?"

He was waaaaay too flirty for my own good. If I had any sense at all (and my big sister swore I didn't), I would have run the other way.

He flinched and exclaimed, "Owww!" when I ran my hand over his hair-covered head.

"No, no blood. Just a bump. Probably wouldn't be a bad idea for you to see a doctor."

"Yeah, and sit in the hospital for three hours before somebody takes an X-ray, tells me to take some aspirin, and then they send me a check for a couple thousand dollars. No thanks. Besides..." Gray stood up straight. "That'll cut my beach time."

"Excuse me, the beach will still be here," I said sternly. "As your nurse, I strongly suggest you get medical attention."

"That's former nurse. Now you're a beach bum. But...a cute beach bum."

We were standing so close to each other. My hand had travelled from his head to one of those brawny shoulders. It was high time I got my hands off him, especially considering we were staring into each other's eyes. Also, it felt too good, better than it should have, to touch him.

"Okay, well, if you feel dizzy or anything later..." I meant to take a step back and almost stumbled. Such are the pitfalls of walking on sand when you're distracted by a guy. He caught me with a hand on my forearm. "...you should have that looked at."

"I'll do that. Thank you, nurse."

He had the most fascinating facial structure. Maybe not everybody would think he was attractive; I did. Really attractive.

And hot as a deep summer afternoon.

"I'd better get back to my walk," he rasped. "Drop by sometime. Bring Roxy, so I can see how big that little brat's getting."

"Okay, I will."

I will...not.

Actually, I was spraying and rubbing sunscreen on my skin while he walked away. With my Latin blood, my complexion was a light olive, not quite as olive-y as my dad's. My sister was tawnier than me, too. I didn't use a very high number of protective whatever-it-is-they-put-in-there—just an 8—but I used it diligently. My mom had been almost OCD about not letting us burn when we were kids, and yet I'd gotten one bad sunburn as a teenager. Once was enough for me. Even with sunscreen, I could develop a tan. It just took a little longer. Why rush and risk cancer?

My gaze strayed from my legs to the hot, off-duty mechanic who was now a short distance away from me. He was walking near the tide's edge and before he'd gotten very far, he looked back at me over his shoulder. It made me wonder if he was staring at me with as much longing as I had while staring back at him.

Just you and the beach, I reminded myself. I couldn't handle a job or a man yet. Gray, even if he was a couple years older, was still younger than I usually liked guys that I dated.

That didn't mean he couldn't invade my daydreams.

Or my fantasies.

The secretive, lusty ones.

6

The great thing about working with cars was that Gray had been doing it for so long, he could lose himself in it. At least, until he was called into the office by his uncle.

Besides replacing the radiator in the 2006 black Neon, he had two things on his mind that morning. Actually, three things. Lots of possibility thinking. First, the possibility of Cherry Martinez becoming his girlfriend. Hopefully, because he couldn't get his mind off the girl. Second, the possibility of that being erased by the third thing: the possibility of his being some little kid's daddy.

Why did those DNA results have to take so long? He'd been antsy ever since they'd drawn his blood. He kept waiting for that call, that moment when he'd be told that woman was mistaken, that he wasn't the father of her sister's child. Somebody else had gotten her pregnant; that had nothing to do with him.

Gray was almost done working on the Neon when his coworker told him he was wanted in the office. Uncle Dave was out front, settling a bill with a customer at the counter before he returned to the tiny, claustrophobic office. Gray had gotten himself a Sprite from the vending machine and sat waiting for him to return.

His uncle was never shy with broaching a subject. The man was blunt, but you always knew where you stood with him.

"Your aunt tells me you got hit by a plane," he said in that big, booming voice of his.

His uncle didn't smoke anymore. The threat of lung cancer had become a reality after his doctor found a spot on his right lung. That was the result of a pack-and-a-half of cigarettes per day habit.

Following surgery and chemo, he had been cancer-free for seven years now. Smoking had once had him rail thin. He'd filled out a bit but was still a rather athletic man. Uncle Dave had traded in one bad habit for a good one, and no matter what the weather was like or how busy his day, he made sure to squeeze in his hour-long morning run.

Cancer had changed his uncle in other ways, too. Gray had always loved the man, but he had always been sort of gruff, sometimes hard to approach. After his illness, it was as if his outlook on life had changed and he'd realized he didn't want to leave his friends, his family and others in his life with the impression that he didn't care.

In Grayson's case, he had become a second father.

"Yes, I did. And let me tell you: Those DC10s really hurt."

Uncle Dave eyed him with mock sternness. "You know what I mean, smart aleck. Why didn't you go to the emergency room?"

"Because I knew I was going to live. And I didn't want to waste three hours of my life in a room called Emergency. Plus, I had some fishing to do."

His uncle breezed right over his flippant comments. "You need to start going to the doctor when you get hurt or you're not doing so hot."

"Yes, sir."

"Even if you're feeling fine, you need to get checkups."

"Yep."

"And the dentist."

"Her, I just saw. Had no choice. My wisdom tooth was killing me, so she pulled it. Hurt my wallet more than it did my mouth."

"Well, I'm sorry about that," Uncle Dave said. "Have to do those things sometimes."

"Yes, sir. Okay."

"Don't 'yes' me, Grayson."

He knew when his uncle used his full name, it was best not to keep teasing around.

"I did go to the doctor last week. Dr. Eddings, your family doctor. It wasn't for my head, though."

"No? What was it for?"

"A paternity test."

He sat very still, other than for rubbing his jeans-clad legs, and waited for his uncle's response. When he was met with a stunned silence, he spoke first.

"Go ahead, Uncle Dave. You can ask me what was I thinking. Tell me what an idiot I am."

Dave frowned. "Was this the girl you were dating? The last one?"

"No, this was one I met over two years ago. Hardly remember her. Tourist. I just went to bed with her and I didn't see her anymore after that."

"Well, then, there's a good chance you're not the father."

"Yes, there is."

"And what were you thinking, son? Sleeping with a girl with no protection?"

"I don't know what happened. I always wear protection if I don't know her well, Dave. Maybe it broke."

His uncle shook his head. "How did you find out about this? Did she finally come after you?"

"No. Her sister did. She found me, she didn't come after me. She's the one who has the baby now."

"So where's the mama?"

"She died. Drugs." The clock on the wood-paneled wall behind Uncle Dave's chair caught his attention. "Can we continue this conversation later? The owner's coming after four for his car. The one with the radiator."

"Sure, that's fine. But, Gray..." Uncle Dave rose to his feet. "What does this woman want from you? Money?"

Gray also stood. "She wants to give me the option of being a part of the kid's life. If he is my kid. She...wants to let me have custody of him. If I want that."

Nodding, Dave thrust his hands into his pockets. "Do you want custody? I mean, if it turns out he's yours?"

"I don't know. We haven't gotten that far yet. Maybe she's wrong, Uncle Dave. Maybe he's not my kid."

"Maybe he's not."

And I don't know anything about being a father.

Gray went back to work on the car. He'd wanted to be a dad. Someday. With his wife, the woman he'd love. Someday. Not some cute tourist perched on a barstool that he picked up one night and never saw again. Certainly not a girl who was a drug addict.

He would have preferred to have done it the right way. To go out with a fantastic girl for a length of time, get to know each other, get engaged. They would have had a wedding, a fun reception, a honeymoon, and bought a house.

And he would have been his own boss, a small business owner. He'd be making a six-figure salary. They would own a boat and take the kids out for whole-day excursions, come home and throw some hamburgers on the grill behind their home, which they would have had built to their specifications.

That was what he would have wanted, whenever he thought about eventually becoming a dad.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang. That wave of nausea, which had visited him every now and then since he'd gotten up, returned with a vengeance.

Across the cell phone's screen he saw Dr. Eddington's name and office number pop up. After the formalities were over, the doctor's assistant promptly and efficiently delivered the news he'd been waiting to hear. If he hadn't sat down, he might have been sick.

"We have the DNA results, Mr. Kelly. Cameron is your son."

7

Of all the places I'd applied to for a part-time job, the only one I really wanted was the Pancake House. And from the scowl on the manager's face as he reviewed my experience, I don't know why but I felt both anxious and offended that he wasn't jumping through hoops to hire me.

"Okay, so, you're a nurse," Bob Coventry summarized. He pushed his glasses further up on his nose. "You've got no experience at all waiting on tables. Nada. So why would you want this job?"

New York or Jersey. I couldn't pinpoint his accent, but I'd heard it enough to know he wasn't originally from Florida or Georgia, or any other neighboring state.

"Were you always a restaurant manager?" I asked the question quietly, so it wouldn't come across like I was sassing him.

"No. I was a teacher for over fifteen years. I taught geometry."

"Ah. That's an interesting background. Sometimes you need a change, right? I don't know about you, but I got burned out."

I was thrilled to see him grin. "Burned out. Yeah, that about sums it up for me, too. Fifteen years. Long time."

As long as I had him at least agreeing with me on that, I dove in headfirst with the truth.

"You think you want to do something for the rest of your life," I explained, "so you go to college, you study, get a degree for it. Then it's different once you're doing it. You know? I'm not saying nursing isn't a great career. It just really, really wasn't for me.

"What I want to do for the rest of my life is to live here...at the beach. That's one of my 'fondest dreams,' like they say."

"Mine, too. We moved down from Toms River." He laughed. "Big difference, huh? From Jersey to Sandpiper Beach."

Jersey. Ha! Bingo!

"I love this place," I went on. "And if I can get a job here, in your restaurant, bringing your customers their breakfast—eh, breakfast, all day long—then I'd be happy."

The manager tilted his head, looking both doubtful and apologetic.

"Being a waitress is hard work," he reminded me. "You're on your feet a lot. You deal with the public. That's not always fun."

"Ditto for nursing. On all counts. It only looks like fun on TV."

To my relief, he laughed.

"Actually, it is fun sometimes. But if I can learn to do what I did as a nurse, I can learn to do this."

To me, that seemed perfectly plausible. Of course, I was the same woman who ditched a good salary and stability—not to mention health insurance—for sand between my toes and living off my savings. To him, maybe it wouldn't sound as plausible.

Help came from an unexpected source as a diner at the booth behind us spoke up.

"Personally, Bob, I think you should give the young lady a chance."

I only had to look up, and Bob had to twist around, to see the two guys enjoying their breakfast in the booth behind ours. Both were dressed in blue firefighter uniforms, and the dark-haired one was the one who'd come to my defense.

"Well, you already have one good customer's recommendation," the manager quipped.

"Two, make that two!" the blond firefighter said.

"Thanks!" I smiled at them. The dark-haired one was checking me out. "Hopefully, Bob takes your endorsement under consideration."

"Hope he does." The fireman with the brown hair and the dark brown eyes that danced when he smiled winked at me. "All you had to say was that you love the beach. I mean, obviously you're not going anywhere. You're staying right here."

"And you were a nurse. This shouldn't be too hard," his friend tossed in.

All that said, weirdest job interview I've ever had. Also the most lighthearted, though. Bob turned around to face me again.

"That is a good endorsement," he said.

That surprised me. "It is?"

"Yep. I think you'd do pretty well with our customers. So how about I give you a shot? Can you start next Monday? Oh, and the best part: You get to be here at six AM. On the dot. Welcome aboard!"

8

That fireman was flirting with me. During my interview, y'all! That was a first. The beach life certainly was pretty laid-back and unique.

It was flattering, but I had someone else on my mind that next day when I took Roxy out for a stroll. A long stroll, because the mechanic's shop was a good mile away from my home.

An unexpected (but enthusiastically welcomed) benefit to leaving the full-time job grind was that I had already dropped seven pounds. I had never been heavy, but driving to work and everywhere else takes its toll after a while. I'd thought about joining the local gym, then found out it was thirty dollars per month. Sure, that could be done, but when it came to expenses, I was trying to keep them down as much as possible.

Walking was free. Because of the Florida heat, I couldn't walk in the afternoon swelter, but earlier in the day, armed with some bottled water, I could walk quite a bit. Between all that water I was drinking and the fact that I wasn't eating out as much anymore, I was slowly losing weight.

"Sooo I guess that means I can afford one of those cookies, Roxy?" I asked my puppy.

Her ears perked up at the word cookie. That was what I called her treats. I'd made some cookies meant for people to eat, just an easy recipe for homemade chocolate chip cookies a friend had posted on Facebook. The ones in the plastic container I was carrying, however, weren't for me. I'd stored about half the batch in the container and was bringing them to my favorite mechanic, even though he hadn't actually worked on my car yet.

That probably wasn't wise on my part. I'd convinced myself that I was only visiting Gray Kelly for the purpose of seeing how he was feeling after that little mishap on the beach with the little boy's toy plane and so that he could see how Roxy was doing, that I was being a good master to her. The cookies? They were a little something extra.

I told myself all that. The truth was buried somewhere beneath that big, elaborate cover story. Yes, I wanted to make sure he was fine after getting bopped in the head by an out-of-control, remote control plane.

Bottom line, what I really wanted was to see him again. Maybe give him the chance to ask me out. Nothing serious, just a drink at Rogue Wave or dinner some night. A picnic on the beach would be nice, too.

I liked Grayson Kelly. Gray, he liked to be called. I liked his name. I liked his smile. That sexy voice of his. How he made me feel all jittery and stuff whenever he stood too close to me. Which, I might add, he hadn't done nearly enough in the short time I'd known him.

Oh, I knew it was a bad idea to get in too deep with anybody. Getting entangled in a relationship with a guy wasn't part of my plan. But what was the harm in having a friend? Somebody to talk to. Somebody who made the room spin just because he looked at you in a playful way.

I was attracted to Gray. Maybe that was it, too. It had been so long since I'd given myself permission to experience those sensations he'd awakened in me.

He'd reminded me that I was still young. I wasn't even thirty yet.

Maybe it was him.

Or maybe it was the summer. That wonderful, tropical, Florida summer. Summer invites romance, just by virtue of being what it is: a hot, beautiful, glorious season. Roxy and I were almost there, having turned the corner when my hopes ended up being dashed in an instant.

Gray was working that day, as I'd hoped—except he was standing there, talking to some other woman. My first guess was that she was nothing more than another customer. A pretty brunette who looked like a model with that size 2 figure wrapped in a long, summery dress that hugged her exercise-toned body.

I was close enough where I could hear him saying, "So you'll bring me the baby this Friday night?"

I figured "the baby" wasn't some classic muscle car she was hoping to sell. Especially not when connected with her next words.

"We'll be here. Dinner sounds good," she said. "We can talk. Get to know each other better."

Awk-ward! Before I could turn and head back in the direction I'd come from, Gray spotted me. I saw his eyes widen and I had no choice at that point but to wave.

"Hey, Cherry!" he called out to me.

"Hey, Gray!" My voice quivered slightly.

And then I crossed the street.

You'll bring me the baby. Dinner sounds great. We can get to know each other better.

What sort of relationship was that? I guessed it had to be a complicated one. Too complicated for me to become embroiled in it.

Whoever she was, she was much prettier than I was. I'd never thought of myself as all that hot to begin with; basically, on a scale of one to ten, I'd easily rate a five or six. Not bad, but eh. More like a Plain Jane with dashes of Latin features that made me sort of interesting, but that's about it.

Gray's girlfriend, or whoever she was, was pretty. Very pretty.

So much for a drink at the Rogue Wave or a romantic dinner. I had to keep tugging on Roxy's leash. She'd recognized Gray and her former master and had gotten all excited.

Over nothing...just like me. Disappointed, I pitched the cookies into the first trash receptacle I passed along the way.

"CHER-RY! HEY, ROX-YYYY!"

For a puppy, that little girl was big...and strong. With one loud, rowdy bark, she was off—and dragging me behind her like a rag doll.

"Roxy! Roxy! Stop, girl!" I shouted.

That did nothing other than to slow her down a smidge. At least she didn't hurl us both into the street, right in the path of an oncoming car.

Gray seemed to realize that, as well. He crossed the street and caught up with us, bending down to greet the shepherd. I felt justified watching her nearly topple him over in her excitement.

And I was also a bit...miffed at him. That was stupid, since I didn't have any right to be ticked off at him. It irritated me even more to see him calmly, even sweetly, smiling at me.

"Why'd you run off?" he asked. "I was hoping you'd stop and talk for a few."

Whatever annoyance I'd felt, even temporarily, faded. "I thought you were busy," I responded.

"I just came to see how you were doing. You know, with your...wound." When he crouched down and played with Roxy, much to her delight, I had to smile. "And so you could see how Roxy's doing."

"Cool. I appreciate that. When it comes to my head, it's pretty hard, so I'm told, so I'm not doing too bad...badly."

Gray rose to his full height again, his head tilted to the side.

"Really nice that you cared enough about to check on me," he murmured.

"Uh-huh." I toyed with Roxy's leash. "Oh—I got the job with the pancake restaurant."

"You did? Good for you, Cherry. When do you start?"

"Monday. At six. AM. Sharp."

I had to break up that answer for my own sake, letting it sink in. "Not sure why."

"Let me take a wild guess: because it's pancakes? That's breakfast."

"Yeah, but they serve it all day long. Come on."

"Okay, then I'm going to give you a week."

Clicking my tongue, I pretended to be offended."I didn't say I can't do it. Just that I have to get up super-early and because I'm used to—"

"Being a lady of leisure. You won't get any sympathy from me. Uncle Dave calls me his best mechanic. That means I have to haul my butt into that place at five-thirty most of the time."

"Five-thirty. Yeeesh." He laughed at my pained expression. "Well, it's just a part-time. I'll come home and sleep on the beach. That could be a good name for a drink, huh? Instead of Sex on the Beach, order up a Nap on the Beach!"

"Yeah. Lots of liquor in that baby." We laughed together that time. "Is that Bob Coventry? The Pancake House on the boulevard, right across the street from the CVS?"

"That's it."

"Yeah, he's going to give you more hours whenever he's shorthanded. He's a customer of ours."

"Oh, great. Thanks for the warning. I had two firemen vote for me during the interview."

Gray found that funny, too, though he looked confused. "Two firemen voted for you?"

"They were in there having breakfast in the booth behind ours. They 'voted' me in."

"Oh, that's right. The firehouse is right down the block. Guess they got tired of their own cooking. The pecan waffles in that place are so good." Lightly, he slapped his side. "Well, I gotta get back to work."

"Okay. I'm glad you're doing better."

That was it. What did I expect?

Friendship. That was all I really needed from him. He dropped down his hand to pet Roxy, who looked absolutely in puppy love with him. Who could blame her? He was gorgeous.

"Listen, you have plans to celebrate your new job?"

I raised my head to meet his gaze. "You have something in mind?"

"Uh...well, how about we meet at the Rogue Wave? I'll take you out for dinner."

"All right. When?"

"You busy Saturday?"

Saturday. Not Friday. Friday had something to do with the baby. I should have questioned it. OR did I have a right to do that? Really, that was none of my business.

Unless there was a girlfriend, a fiancée, or a wife attached to that baby. I would find out soon enough, wouldn't I?

"For now, I'm a lady of leisure. Saturday at what time?"

"I get off early on Saturday. Why don't we do this at six?"

"Six is good. See you at the Rogue Wave on Saturday."

"Good. Can't wait, Cherry."

A moment passed. Gray gazed at me before leaning forward, taking my chin in his hand, and then he kissed me right on the mouth.

There was something about kissing Grayson Kelly that reminded me of being a young teenager and kissing your summer boyfriend.

It was like kissing summer, itself. I don't know if that makes sense. I do believe, though, that every girl's had a summer romance, someone unforgettable. Being with him was enough to turn that particular summer into gold. A season that you never want to see end.

Just like his kiss. Because I didn't want that to end, either. After some seconds, it did.

"Bye, baby," he said, his voice bedroomy and sexy and masculine, and all of the above.

9

"My son. My boy. My little boy. My child. My kid..."

Gray's voice never rose above a whisper as he practiced saying those words. He was in the hotel's men's restroom, combing his hair with his fingers in front of a mirror.

My son. I have a son.

He huffed out a sigh. Heather and her husband were waiting for him out in the pool area. They had driven down again to Florida as planned, with the intention of "ironing out the details," as Heather had put it.

That was a roundabout way of figuring out who Cameron would be living with, who would have visitation when, and if the child remained physically with them, if, and how much, money Gray would send as the boy's father. The couple had made it clear that they didn't need the money; they'd been doing fine in every sense, including financially, when it came to taking care of Cameron. It was up to Gray if he wanted to contribute and if he could afford to do so.

This was really happening to him. As unbelievable as it was, it was happening. Uncle Dave was at the door when he was coming out of the bathroom. He had dressed in khakis, a sports jacket, and a nice shirt, for the meeting. It didn't matter that it was too hot for the jacket. He'd wanted to look presentable and to make a good impression.

"You took so long, I thought something was wrong," his uncle scolded. "I almost went in there after you."

"I'm okay."

In all honestly, he felt sick to his stomach. If he heard himself admit that out loud, Gray was afraid he would be sick.

"We're getting you a lawyer," his uncle reminded him as they headed down the corridor, past potted plants and other hotel décor, to the outdoor pool. "So don't worry, son. You'll get through this."

"They said they don't want to make any trouble for me."

"Yes, well, that's what they say now. Who knows about these people? Her sister was a drug addict."

"Uncle Dave, that doesn't reflect on the whole family. They just want what's best for Cameron."

Cameron.

My son, Cameron.

"But I appreciate everybody's concern," he added. "I don't know if I need a lawyer. I'll have to pay you all back. That could be expensive."

"And if you want to keep your son or if you want a relationship with him in the future, you won't have a leg to stand on in the future."

I don't want a relationship with him. I want to be what I was before that stupid DNA test told me I was a daddy. I want to be a single guy responsible only for myself. That's it.

That made him a terrible person in his own eyes. What kind of selfish jerk thought like that?

Would he have passed that judgment on some other guy? Or would he have felt sorry for both the kid and the young dad, whose whole life had just been rearranged for the worst?

"Where are they?" Uncle Dave asked from behind him.

Sweeping the area with a gaze, Gray saw Heather and a man sitting with another couple in the kiddie pool. She also saw him and waved him over.

"There they go," he said and led the way.

Apparently, Uncle Dave had also seen them.

"Wow!" he exclaimed.

Without having to be told, Gray knew which one of those little guys in the pool was Cameron. In his light green swimming trucks and Power Rangers T-shirt, he bore a strong resemblance to Gray at that age. From the shots he'd seen of himself at the age of two, he'd had the same curly hair. Over time, Gray's had darkened, but it had been just as light blond as Cam's as a toddler. Gray stood in amazement, watching him.

"S-sorry we're late," he stammered.

"Oh, no, no problem. We were having fun, weren't we?" Heather smiled and wrapped an arm around the man beside her. "Honey, this is Gray Kelly. Gray, my husband, Carlos."

"Hey, nice to meet you." Carlos Diaz waved at him.

With him seated with his legs in the pool and Gray crouching a few feet away, it was awkward but they still managed to shake hands.

"My pleasure," Heather's husband said.

"And this is my uncle, Dave Kelly," Gray introduced him and waited until after the greetings. "And this must be Cam. My son."

Cameron couldn't have understood. He was a little guy, yet he looked up when he heard those words.

"Yes, this is him. This is your son," Heather repeated and drew the toddler close to her. "I should dry him off. We should dry off, honey, you and me."

She was addressing her husband, who told Gray, "We were thinking of taking you out for dinner. If that's okay with you."

"That'd be great. I could take you, actually. You're here visiting—"

"I, uh—I have to get something from the car. I'll leave you all to talk," Uncle Dave said before walking way.

"You don't have to dry him or hurry or anything," Gray said. "He's...he's a beautiful kid."

"Sure is. Smart, too. And he's a sweet little guy. Sweet disposition." Carlos reached for the child, gently turning him. "Cam, here he is. Here's your daddy."

Gray took a deep breath. The toddler looked at him, big eyes brimming with curiosity.

It was hard to believe he was hearing those words, yet Heather's husband had said them. Here's your daddy. Even odder to him was the fact that he wanted to hold the little one. He wanted to pick him up, to hug him.

This was his baby. His son. His flesh, his blood.

My son.

"Listen, it won't take us long," Heather said. "We'll shower and change. We shouldn't be longer than twenty minutes or so, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's okay. I'm not in a rush."

Carlos got out of the kiddie pool first and helped his wife, who was drying Cam with a fluffy blue towel. He wasn't too happy to have had his pool time cut short, fussing and saying, "I want to play in the pool!"

"Look, Gray, I'll be honest," Heather's tall, muscular husband told him, his accent a pleasant blend of Cuban dialect and South Carolina. "We weren't sure you'd show up. That's why we're down here at the pool and we're not dressed. I apologize. We'll be ready in a few minutes."

"That's okay. I understand. I wouldn't have not showed up, though. I wouldn't do that to you." He said it softly, not to cause an argument.

They didn't think he'd come? That irked him, even though the man was trying to be upfront and gentle about it. But then, biological father or not, the Diazes didn't know him. He was a guy who'd picked up Heather's younger sister in a bar.

"Could you hold him for a minute?" Carlos asked him.

A flash of panic hit him. He tried not to show it.

"Hold him? Yeah, sure."

His uncle—or foster dad, or whatever Carlos Diaz was to Cam—had already wrapped him in a towel. From behind him Heather was busy tossing things into a straw tote bag, including sunscreen for kids, mini boxes of juice, beach toys to play with in the sand, and bottled water for the three of them. Gray caught the disapproving look she'd given the back of her husband's head.

Was she afraid he'd drop him? That he'd run off with him? The first choice was the one that was most likely. Gray wasn't about to run with the kid in his arms, even if his heart had been totally into doing it, without knowing what his rights were at that moment.

He was, however, as nervous about dropping him. He held Cam in his arms, fully expecting the little guy to scream and wriggle in protest to having this stranger hold him. Gray held his breath, staring into those big, expressive eyes gazing back at him.

"Hey, buddy," he murmured, surprised to hear his voice tremble slightly.

The toddler reached out one chubby hand and touched his nose, prompting a little laugh from him. Cam's response was a cute smile, with a few baby teeth showing.

I wish I could bring you home, but I can't do that. You would be better off with you and me just being friends anyway. By the way, I'm your daddy.

"We're ready now," Heather was saying gently behind him. "You can set him down. He can walk."

"We'll be right down," Carlos assured him again.

"Sure. Okay."

Letting go of him was hard. Harder than Gray had anticipated it would be. He shoved his hands into his pockets, sighed, and watched as they walked together back to the pool's entrance back into the hotel. They looked like any other young family.

His son. That was his son. How strange it felt, watching him leave with someone else. Gray sat on the end of a long lounge chair, vaguely aware of the other people around him. Typical hotel pool scene, with some guests stretched out on the lounge chairs and sunning themselves, some with other kids on inner tubes in the lazy river, others in the main pool. He folded his hands between his knees and waited there for the Diazes to return.

10

Carlos and Heather Diaz hadn't been married for very long. They had dated on and off throughout high school and had met again at a mutual friend's wedding when they decided to begin seeing each other again. That ended up being the end of all other boyfriends for her and all other girlfriends for him.

Cam had been born in the interim, though in the beginning he'd lived with his mom. Brooke Schrader had been off drugs for over a year but had begun hanging out with the same crowd that had initially brought her trouble. That led to her being sunk back into that life. Shortly before her death, she asked her sister and brother-in-law, then newlyweds, to take care of her son until she was able to get clean. She died before that could happen.

Admittedly, for a young couple who should have been enjoying that pre-kids, carefree time in their marriage, they'd done a great job with their little nephew. To see them, it was easy to mistake him for their own son.

When they entered the restaurant, a place the tourists all loved called the Seahorse Ranch, with its tropical theme, everyone from the hostess to the patrons at nearby tables all made a fuss over Cameron. Gray didn't say much, mostly observing them with his son.

Again...my son. What a strange feeling that was, how sad and disconcerting, to know that he shared the same blood with this child, yet he was a stranger to him and these other two people were his family.

But he couldn't allow himself to think that way. If he kept thinking like that, he would eventually begin to believe he could raise the boy himself.

Obviously, he couldn't do that. Even if he could, it was in Cam's best interests that he remained with his aunt and uncle.

Over dinner they got all the preliminary, getting-to-know you stuff out of the way. Heather had worked as an administrative assistant at a private elementary school; she left her job to take care of Cam on a full-time basis. Carlos enjoyed his job doing installations and maintenance on heat and air conditioning units, because he claimed that being chained to a desk wasn't for him.

"I'm a mechanic," Gray then revealed. "I work in my uncle's shop. The one you just met, Uncle Dave."

"Oh, that's nice," Heather said and poured a dollop of ketchup onto Cam's plate to dip his French fries. "Mechanic. That's a good job."

"He has a son—my cousin. Blaine has zero interest in working on cars, though. He's a manager at a restaurant in town. And I've been there so long, Uncle Dave calls me his right hand and his chief mechanic."

Why did he feel as if he were trying to sell himself to his next employer? He had barely touched his own meal, yet he kept looking over at Cam, who was getting more of his lunch of chicken fingers and French fries on himself than in his little belly. He could barely take his eyes off the toddler, who also appeared to be as fascinated with him.

"I'd like to own my own business someday," he added, realizing how much he wanted to impress these people, though not comprehending why.

"That'd be good. You probably know a lot about running a shop, too," Carlos said, encouragingly. "I got one brother who's also a mechanic, one who has a Mercedes dealership in Miami. He's the big shot in the family. We call him Donald Trump, II."

That broke the ice and Gray laughed with him. "Thanks, but I'm not looking to be a mechanic forever."

"So what sort of business do you want to run?" Heather asked.

"I don't know. Not sure yet. I just...want to be my own boss. Be successful. Make a lot of money. Be happy."

"Lots of money and being happy don't always go together." Carlos was gentle with his response. "But I hope you make it big. You can take me, Heather and Cam all out on a cruise."

"That's a deal," Gray told him.

"Well, the thing is...you're stable. That's what's really important." Heather's tone made it clear that it was time to get down to business. "That's what we wanted to know about you, Gray. You know, I met you a long time ago, but you were young then, and I really didn't get to know you."

"That's true."

"So we want to know who Grayson Kelly is now."

"Uh-huh. Okay."

He was right: This was a job interview.

And the position he was applying for? DADDY. His stomach suddenly tightened.

"We want to ask you some questions." Carlos took over. "They're not...well, very nice questions. They're personal. Don't be offended by them. We're not trying to get all up in your business. Just want to know who Cam's daddy is."

"Sure."

"Okay. Well, the first thing we want to know is—"

"I don't do drugs. Never did. Don't like them."

Heather looked pleased. "Marijuana? Cocaine?"

"Nothing. I'm one of those people, I have to be really sick before I'll get medicine from the doctor."

"What about drinking?" Carlos asked.

"Sometimes. Hope that's not a problem. Weekends, I'll have a beer with a friend or something. And that's a maybe. Oh—in case you're wondering," Gray volunteered the next tidbit of information, "I don't smoke. I hate smoking. Don't like tasting like an ashtray."

Your sister, Brooke, didn't have any problem with that. Or drinking. Or drugs. He could have pointed out those things, yet he didn't. That would have been cruel, and that wasn't in his nature. What was even odder was that he found himself agreeing with their reason for putting him under a microscope.

"Ever been arrested for anything?" Heather asked.

"Never. Got a couple of speeding tickets. They were spread out over a few years, though," he added. "I hope that's not a problem."

"They've caught me a couple of times, too. Coño!" Carlos mildly cursed in Spanish, and they all laughed.

"We would like to talk to some of your friends, your family," Heather interjected.

"You could do that. You could talk to them without me around."

"That's the idea." Carlos' tone was slightly apologetic. "And then, you know, depending on how that goes, we'd like you to come to South Carolina for a visit. We live in Loris. We'd pay for all your expenses."

"That's nice, but I can pay for myself."

"We'd like to get to know you better," Heather said. "If you have any interest at all in getting to know your son."

"I do." That answer surprised even him, in both its sincerity and how quickly he'd given it.

"Well, that's good. You seem like a good, decent guy, Gray." Heather carried the ball, speaking openly. "And we're not here because we want money out of you. Carlos and I have enough money to raise Cam and our own kids, whenever they come along. You can send money and gifts to him if you want to.

"Or...you can pretend that you don't know about him. That you never knew he existed—"

"I don't want that," Gray blurted. "And I don't want you to tell him that you never found me or that you did and I wanted nothing to do with him. But do I have to make any big decisions right now?"

Perfect. Now they would think he was the biggest jerk on earth.

Instead, Carlos laid a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to make any decisions right now. We don't want to go too fast with this, either. We're attached to Cam, as you can imagine."

"Look, Gray, we would like to take this slow," Heather said, her voice breaking. "I lost my sister not that long ago. Cam is not in our way. We love him. But you're his father. It would be wrong for us to keep you two apart. All I ask is that, whatever happens...please don't ever shut us out of his life."

"I won't. And I'm asking the same thing of you," Gray told her, his own voice betraying him with an emotion he would not have ever existed.

11

My mother was doing a teensy bit better with my living the Margaritaville life. My dad, not so much.

Giving no warning, my parents showed up on the morning of my date with Gray Kelly. Papi was born in Cardenas, Cuba, and raised in Miami. He's very americanizado, or Americanized, as his side of the family would say, and then again he's a purebred Cuban dad, through and through. I also never helped matters because I've always been a Daddy's girl. It's hard to re-train a dad who, for years, has felt it's his duty to fight off the wolves for you.

Mom wasn't being any more cooperative about it. To her credit, she was trying.

"This is a bungalow," she said as I gave her the grand tour of my home. "You said it was a house."

"It's a house, Mom. It's cute, don't you think?"

"It's a bungalow," she corrected me. "It's cute...for a place you're throwing away your life's savings on."

I was hurt but left it at that. Anyway, at my age, my life's savings didn't exactly amount to the king's ransom. My little house—or cottage or bungalow, whatever the real estate agent had called it—was cozy and comfortable. There was a decorative sign left by the owners, a wood sign hung over the doorway to the living room. It depicted a scene at the beach, with a tiki bar and sandals and conch shells. Over that were the words, LIFE IS BETTER AT THE BEACH.

The minute I saw it, I knew I'd found my home forever.

"It's a lot neater than my old room was," I protested.

"The kid's got a point there," Papi agreed. "It's not a bad little house. I like it. And she likes it, Angie. That's all that matters."

Ah, my dad, my hero!

"Thank you, Papi," I said.

"Yeah, and listen, I'm more concerned about this new boyfriend of yours. You're here for not all that long, and already you've got a boyfriend lined up. Who is this guy?"

"Already I have a boyfriend," I repeated his words. "Papi, I haven't had a boyfriend since Ian died."

"I know. That's what worries me. And what are all those things in your ear?"

I had to touch my ear to recall. In addition to a hole in each earlobe, the piercing I'd gotten as a baby, I'd had five more earrings put into my left ear.

"I had nothing to do one night," I responded.

"So you had somebody turn your ear into Swiss cheese? Is anything else pierced that usually doesn't get an earring through it?"

"Nooo, Papi." On that note, I decided it was best to get their minds on something else. "Let me make you a Cappuccino. Or would you rather have un cafecito?"

Un cafecito. With Cubans of most stripes, men, women, older, younger, those words are music to our ears. The words mean "a little coffee." To be specific, some good, strong Cuban espresso. In my home, we always served either my dad's Bustelo or my mom's Italian Migdalia D'Oro, besides the "daily" or "American" coffee of Folgers.

"Ahhh, un cafecito. Yes, please." Papi followed me into my neat, lovely kitchen. "And please tell me you haven't let anybody put graffiti all over you."

"You mean a tattoo? No. Relax, Papi. That thought came to me, but—"

"Let it come and let it go out the same door it came in. Don't do that, Cherry. You're too pretty to mark up your skin like that," Mom said. "And what is that? A Cappuccino maker?"

"A Cappuchino and espresso machine."

"How much did that cost?" Mom frowned.

"Your grandmother always just used a cafetera," Papi said, a worried expression clouding his face. "And your mother always used a regular, old Black & Decker."

"But you can't steam milk in a coffeemaker. Or a cafetera. Besides, I got a good deal on it. Marked down forty dollars because the newer models came in." I was patient with them, understanding why it troubled them. "I'm not going crazy with my money. And I have a job I'll be starting next week."

"Yes. The Pancake Store," Mom drawled.

"House. The Pancake House, Mom. Not bungalow, either, house. It'll be nice to have a little extra money. I can put some away for a rainy day."

"And what does your boyfriend think about you being a gypsy?"

I prepared the machine and brought out the glass punch cups I'd found at an antique store. Fifty cents each, and they made fabulous espresso cups, though a teensy bit bigger than the traditional demitasse size.

"Papi, he's not my boyfriend. We haven't gotten that far yet. He's a friend. A mechanic. He was the one who gave me Roxy."

Mom cast a glance at my spoiled brat of a pet, curled up on the kitchen rug. She was gnawing on a doggy biscuit.

"He gave you that dog? For free?" My father looked skeptical. "You know how much German shepherds cost? He wants something."

"No, Papi, he doesn't."

"You've only had one serious boyfriend, Cherry. Trust me. He wants something."

"Then he'll be disappointed. I'm not giving anything away for free. Well, except for you and Mom..." I smiled and brought out the yellow cake I'd baked the day before. Nothing fancy, just from a box mix, but it was fresh and buttery. "Free room and board for your vacation. My little bungalow isn't much, but it's always open to my favorite mom and dad."

My parents both loved that, though Mom sighed.

"And you always have a home with us back in Georgia, Cherry," she said.

Dad shook his head. "I don't understand why you moved so far."

"Why don't you and Dad move down here, too?"

"Because we have jobs. And retirement is still several years away for both of us, sweetheart."

Children move away sometimes. I'd overheard a couple of their friends tell them that. That wasn't something my mother and father wanted to hear. My sister, who'd also moved from New York to Georgia with us, wasn't crazy about it, either.

Because we, as a family, had always been close. We were big on holidays, particularly Christmas and New Year's. Christmas Eve was the traditional Cuban pork roast dinner. New Year's Eve was a fun spread of salad, pickups, and homemade pizza.

I did miss my family. Even living in a seaside town didn't make up for that.

"Well, I'll be going back to Georgia to visit you," I reminded them. "But, look, let's not be sad right now. I want to enjoy you and Papi while you're here."

"What about—what's this guy's name?" Papi wanted to know.

"Gray."

"Gray? Like the color?"

"It's Grayson, actually. Gray Kelly."

"That doesn't even go well together, Gray Kelly," Mom observed out loud.

My dad shrugged. "Eh. Goes okay together, I guess."

"Well, you'd like him," I countered.

"When do we get to meet him?" Mom asked.

"Not yet. Maybe never. We won't be getting serious."

My father arched an eyebrow. The espresso was ready, so I served us each a cup.

"So you're saying this is a summer fling?" Papi asked.

"No. Not really."

"Not really? So it's sort of a summer fling."

"Don't get pregnant," Mom warned.

"I'm not getting pregnant, Mom. I'm not that attracted to Gray. Even if I was, I'm taking the relationship slow. No...you know. None of that..."

12

No sooner do I tell my parents that I'm not going to be intimate with any guy, at least for the moment, that there I am on the beach with Gray that night, and we're all over each other.

Nothing happened. Specifically, to put it politely, nothing that entailed getting naked. We were out in public, after all. Neither of us was that crazy.

That said, we had eaten dinner early, then stopped at the Rogue Wave for a little dancing and a couple of drinks. Throughout the night, we'd talked and talked, just about covering every topic under the sun.

All right, that's an exaggeration. That's the Cuban in me: Cubans love to exaggerate. It's like a law of our human nature or something.

But talking to each other came so easily to us. Like I said, he was closer to my age than Ian had been. We shared so many things in common; we liked a lot of the same musical groups and singers, though he was more of an alternative music fan and I had grown up listening to American and Latin music. We'd watched the same cartoons as kids. We'd both been sorta mischievous and pulled harmless pranks on our friends. We'd watched many of the same movies and TV shows. As it turned out, we both were big fans of the New York Yankees, classic horror and mystery films, and peach ice cream.

Then, there on the beach, away from the tourists and the locals getting tipsy at the Rogue Wave, we kissed.

And kissed.

And kissed.

I really loved the way the man kissed. The way he held me, the way it felt when he touched me.

The beach, and this goes for most of them, is a romantic place. That's a fact. Sandpiper Beach, found there on Florida's coast, is no exception. With its white sand and palm trees, some of which bore coconuts, and clear skies with more stars than could be counted, it was hard for a woman not to think about kissing.

And other things. Even more if she was sharing the beach and the sand and the palm trees and the stars with a man she found awesomely attractive.

Never mind what I'd told my parents. I lied. I not only was attracted to Gray, I also couldn't keep my hands off him. It made me so happy, too, with that current of pleasure going through me, to know he couldn't keep his hands off me, either.

This wasn't part of the plan. That fact registered with my head, if not with my heart and the rest of my body. I wasn't supposed to be wrapping myself up with a guy. I wasn't supposed to remember what it felt like, to hold something so wildly masculine in my arms. To remember how it felt to have stubble lightly scratch against my cheeks and chin in the midst of a kiss. That moment when you watched a man's eyes close before his lips parted for yours.

Yet the thing that struck me the most was when that one kiss ended, the way he looked at me. I was lying on my back on the sand, and his body had enveloped mine. Gray was over me, smiling. His eyes had such a tender quality to them that they took my breath away.

"Man, you're beautiful, Cherry."

He'd emphasized that word as if it were a new discovery to him. I coughed out a laugh and shook my head.

"No. Not beautiful. Not me. They say I'm cute." I felt silly for saying that but his chuckle came as a relief.

"Nah, you are cute, but you're more than that, too. You're beautiful. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Ha! That's a big claim."

"That's the truth," he said soberly.

So what's all this about a baby, Mr. Kelly? Lots of pretty words coming out of that scrumptious male mouth, definitely lots of head-spinning kisses—but was there something he was hiding from me? Or was I just making too much out of something I'd overheard and subsequently misconstrued?

"Is there anybody else you think that about?" I asked him flat-out.

"Are you asking me if there's another girl besides you? No. Any other guy besides me?"

"No."

"Okay, so that's cool. I'd love us to be alone but...your parents are at your house, right?"

"They could be out. My parents love the beach. My dad's a night owl."

"Good. That's good. So maybe—"

"Of course, they could always walk in on us at just the wrong time."

He pursed his lips. "There's always my place."

"Uh-huh. Where your cousin lives."

"Ah, yeah. Forgot about that."

"Gray, what about...the baby?"

He froze for a second. "The baby?"

"Yeah, the baby."

"What baby?"

"Your baby."

His eyes widened. "How'd you know about that?"

I could literally feel some of my euphoria melting away, down into the cool sand beneath me.

"So there is a baby?"

"I don't know. How do you know there's a baby?"

"Because you just said so."

"I didn't. I asked how you knew about it."

"I can't know about something that doesn't exist."

"Exactly. So I don't know how you came up with this."

"So there is a baby? Or there isn't?" I was totally confused. He wasn't far behind, it seems.

"How did you know about him?"

"Aha! So the baby is a 'him!' So there is a baby."

"There is. How'd you know about him?"

"It doesn't matter." Upset, I tried to push him off me. "I'd like to sit up."

"Does this mean we're not fooling around?"

Yep. Typical guy!

He didn't seem to want to let me up, either. In a few seconds he did manage to scramble up and offered his hand to help me. Ignoring it, I rose to my feet on my own.

"You know, I'm not asking you for anything serious," I told him, coolly. "I'm not into an exclusive relationship right now or anything. But I don't touch married men."

"I'm not married, Cherry. Never been married. Not...yet." His smile was meant to coax one from me. "Not engaged, no girlfriend. I didn't know about Cam until his aunt came to see me."

"You never mentioned having a kid. That bothers me. All night we've been together, and this is when I finally hear about..." He had a name. The baby boy had a name. "Cam. What's that short for?"

"Cameron. I didn't mention it because it didn't come up. I haven't been a dad for very long. Even if he is two years old now." He shrugged. "I wasn't trying to hide anything from you, Cherry. Look—I went out with his mom a couple years ago. She was here on vacation. We...you know. She got pregnant and never told me a word. We weren't boyfriend and girlfriend; more like townie and tourist. She had problems with drugs and that's why she died. Her sister tracked me down."

Reasoning with myself, I realized he wasn't trying to keep any secrets from me. Loosely, I folded my arms across my chest and sighed.

"You know it's your baby for sure?"

"Heather—that's Cam's aunt—was the one who suggested a DNA test. I'm the daddy for sure."

"Well, I guess...congratulations." Finally, I smiled. It would have been kinda petulant to stay mad at him. Earnestly, I no longer felt I'd been betrayed. "Are you happy about this?"

"More like scared out of my wits." The smile he gave me made me notice how my lips still felt warm from all that kissing. "I don't know what I'm gonna do right now. I didn't think I wanted to do anything but fade into the background. Somehow, that's not what I'm feeling. I'm starting to think about him when he's not there."

"Uh-huh. Well, come on. Got a picture?"

"No—oh, yeah, I do. Carlos gave me one." He fumbled for his wallet.

"Carlos?"

"Heather's husband. Cam's uncle. Seems like a really nice guy. He's Cuban, too, by the way."

I smirked. Naturally, he'd look to find some common ground. I accepted the wallet-sized photo from his hand. It was one of those shots taken by a professional photographer, the kind they advertise in Sears and Walmart. A cute, little toddler smiled for the camera, his baby teeth showing, grasping a stuffed animal that looked like a tiger in one arm.

"Definitely congratulations," I said. "He's an adorable little man, Gray."

My date chuckled. "That's the first time anybody's ever asked me to show them a picture of my kid. I have a kid..."

It sounded as if he were trying those words on for size. "Nice name, too. Cameron. It goes good with Kelly."

"Uh, it's not Kelly yet. We—we talked about that. Right now he's got his mom's name, Schrader."

"So it'll only be your name..."

"If he comes to live with me."

I held off asking him if that was ever going to happen. What point was there in that unless he offered the information himself? I had the feeling he was still sorting things out in his head.

Besides, nothing had really changed just because I'd found out he was somebody's daddy. Putting myself aside, there was a two-year-old whose mother had just died, who was being raised by his aunt and uncle, and whose father had just been informed of his existence. As for Gray himself, he was still the same guy who'd been with me during the most awesome weekend I'd had in too long.

Without a word, I leaned forward and clutched his shoulder, bringing him close to me for a small but fire-packed kiss. He gazed down at me when it was over, the sea wind disheveling his hair and giving him a wildly sexy look.

"So, uh, what do you think about what I told you?" he asked.

I replied honestly. "I think it's sad that a little boy lost his mom. And I think it's great that he has you for a father."

"Me, too, except...I don't know what that means, you know? To be a father."

"I don't know what your dad is like, but I know what mine is like. It means responsibility, but it's much more than that, too."

Come meet Papi. You'll see what I mean. How I wanted to say those words! But it was too soon for that. I was fine with that meeting taking place, except my dad would totally misconstrue it. He'd think things were more serious between us than they were. Gray, too, being a young guy would take it to mean I wanted more than he was ready to give. That'd make him run like a bandit in the opposite direction.

He had enough to deal with, having learned he had a son. He didn't need a girlfriend who wanted more. I wasn't ready for that, either, to tell the truth.

"What about us, um...you know?" He didn't have to be specific for me to catch his meaning.

"My parents are at my place. Your cousin is at yours. And..." I pulled in closer to him and clutched handfuls of his shirt, whispering into his ear. "I may be a beach gypsy, but I'm still not a do-it-on-the-first-date kind of girl. Commitment first, then the fun stuff. That's old-fashioned, I know. So am I."

13

Something I've learned is this: the way a guy handles being informed that I don't jump into bed with every man that comes along tells a lot about what kind of guy he is.

For some guys, that's a deal-breaker. That's fine with me. In today's world, on TV and in the movies, for instance, the man and woman share one date before the relationship is consummated. In a lot of books that happens, too. I don't judge anyone, but relationships like that are shallow and rarely last. Who wants to waste time with that? We won't mention that it's not particularly fun catching an STD, though I've noticed the characters in a movie seem to be unrealistically STD-free. They also don't get pregnant like nonfictional women do.

If I tell a guy, "Guess what, baby? You gotta wine and dine me first. Show me I mean something to you before I let you have your way with me," and he takes off like his butt's on fire, guess what? We're not right for each other anyway.

All men want sex. Young men really, really want sex. Hey, so do we women. That's great. Nothing wrong with that. Now Ian wasn't the man who "deflowered" me, although he was the first man who I truly enjoyed being intimate with, both physically and emotionally, so I guess in a sense, he was. In actuality, I lost my virginity about a year before I met him. My boyfriend at the time told me he loved me, that he couldn't do without me, and if I loved him I'd "let it happen between us."

So, yes, I did let "it" happen between us. Two weeks or so later, he up and decides I'm too immature and "flighty" for his liking. Like an idiot, I call him a few times trying to get back together with him, and he ends up marrying someone else.

Maybe I was flighty. Maybe it's the flighty girls that end up being beach gypsies. It doesn't matter. The point is, I felt used. I would have felt better about the whole thing if I hadn't allowed myself to be pressured by someone who obviously didn't respect me enough to protect my feelings. Old-fashioned? Yes. But I think it's more about refusing to sell yourself short to some cute guy with big biceps who thinks he can get what he wants from you and then toss you away. I don't find being disrespected sexy or desirable at all.

That's not enough for me. Give me your heart first. Show me you deserve my trust. Make me lavish love on you and you spoil me with your love. Without a guy's love, it's just sex, not the beautiful act of making love.

To Gray's credit, he handled being told "no" very graciously. We did have a great time that night and then he took me home, followed by a couple of days of no calls from him. I didn't know what that meant exactly; I was disappointed. On the other hand, he was a guy whose life had suddenly become complicated. That "complication" was spelled B-A-B-Y. I tried not to take it personally, instead concentrating on my new job at the Pancake House.

How do you focus on taking customers' orders for breakfast, who wants the pecan waffles or the blueberry pancakes, who wants bacon and who wants breakfast sausages, when a certain mechanic's face keeps flashing in your memory? Despite Mom and Papi's curiosity about Gray, I was kinda mysterious about him. They were only there for a few days and had headed back home to Marietta. Meanwhile, my sister was still calling to, and I quote, "make sure I don't need to send you a few dollars because you've completely frittered away your whole life's savings."

The beach was not my only escape anymore. Though I felt out of place at the Pancake House at first—I was used to a nursing home or hospital setting, not a restaurant, which was a totally different animal—I was relieved to find it didn't take me that long at all to adjust.

That said, my boss had been right, it wasn't easy work. One of my coworkers, Kathy Greeley, was one of those amazing servers who didn't even have to write anything down. I don't know how the woman did it, but she could chat for a few minutes about the weather or give tips about local shops and restaurants, then take the orders of a family of five or a group of nine coworkers and still bring everybody exactly what they'd ordered.

The same couldn't be said for me. I wrote stuff down and still managed to screw up a few orders in the beginning. You haven't lived until a smart-alecky fifteen-year-old makes you feel inadequate because there's no way she would have ordered the strawberry pancakes when she's allergic to them, and by the way, she never drinks milk unless there's chocolate syrup in it. I was good and refrained from, oops, spilling the chocolate milk on her snippy little majesty. In fairness, I have to say that her daddy must have been embarrassed because he left me a decent tip.

All in all, it wasn't terrible. After the first few days I finally got the hang of it. My feet hurt; there were times when nobody came in through that door. The hours dragged. Then there were times when all of us—the servers, the cooks, the bus boys—were hustling.

The place smelled like pancakes and maple syrup and bacon and fresh muffins. I loved that. I also loved the interaction with people, even if I did have to put up with some who were rude and demanding. I had forgotten how much I liked being around other people. Running away from reality, as Papi had put it, has times that are very lonely. Working in a restaurant cured me of that.

And it was, after all, a little extra cash in my pocket. Money that I didn't have to take from my bank account, where my slowly dwindling 401K was stored. What's not to love?

"Ah, look who's on the job now!"

I almost didn't turn around because I didn't think I was the one being referred to until I recognized the face smiling back at me. The dark-haired fireman was back, this time relaxing in a booth that he had all to himself.

"Hey, I had great references," I told him and stuck my order pad into my apron pocket.

I didn't really mind the apron. It was plain blue, not some frilly thing, the kind that went around your waist, with perfectly sized pockets to tuck pens, order pads, and whatever else needed to be stored away. No uniform, anything we wanted to wear. The only things Bob didn't want us wearing on the job were jeans or shorts, and especially not anything too tight or revealing. He ran a family business, he said. Behind the scenes, we teasingly referred to the Pancake House as being "Rated G."

Playfully, he shook an index finger at me. "Yeah, but remember, don't make me look bad."

"I won't. You're going solo today?"

"I'm on my way to work now. What's your name, anyway?"

"Cherilyn Martinez. Cherry, for short. Like the fruit."

"Cherry. I'll remember that." The fireman grinned. "I'm Dallas O'Keefe. Dallas, like the city in Texas."

"Look at that. We both have easy names to remember."

Silly thing for me to say. He just had a really cute smile. Plus, he was staring at me in that I-want-to-have-something-with-a-Cherry-on-top-for-dessert sort of way.

"So what do you do, luscious Cherry, when you're not bringing somebody a bottle of maple syrup?"

"I go to the beach a lot. Exciting, huh?"

"The beach, yeah? Looks like it. Got a nice tan."

"It's coming along. You'd think I'd tan easier. My parents are both Latin."

He liked that. "Yeah? Both Spanish?"

People used that term sometimes, "Spanish." I didn't mind; it was a common mistake. I'm not that fussy, nor do I take myself that seriously as to insist on just the proper label.

"My mother is Italian, my dad is Cuban."

"All right. Hot combo! I'm part Irish, part Cherokee."

"We're so ethnic, you and me."

"And don't forget our easy names are to remember."

What a silly conversation. It was...a flirtatious conversation. We both laughed, but I felt uneasy. I felt guilty.

"Besides the beach, what else do you like to do? Ever go out on the ocean?"

"Out on the ocean?"

"Yeah, you know. Like on a boat. Maybe...fishing?" Dallas held the cup up, closer to his mouth, but he held off on taking a sip. "You too girly-girl for that?"

"My dad had two girls, no boys. He had no choice but to take us fishing."

"Poor guy. He had to deal with two girls complaining about, 'eeeeeww! But I don't want to put the hook through that little fishy's eyes!'"

In mock haughtiness, I tossed my head. "I'll have you know my father used corn niblets. That was much more humane than torturing a little bait fish."

"Yeah. Less icky, too."

"I know that's right."

He laughed. Another table needed my attention. Dallas was sitting in another server's section, which was just as well. I had no business chatting and flirting with some other guy.

And why was that? I'd had one date with Gray. One. That wasn't exactly a committed relationship. He hadn't even called me since our one evening together.

My table needed extra napkins and another needed refills on their coffee. That being payday, I was headed to the nail salon right after work for a manicure and pedicure. After that, I'd be picking up a few things for the week from the supermarket and, at the end of the day, catching up on my reading.

That being payday. I hadn't said those words in a while. I also hadn't gotten a manicure, much less a pedicure, ever since I'd quit my job. Now that I had a paycheck again—and both my salary and tips were what Mom called my "mad money," I was treating myself to those little extras in life. Those things that were nonessentials, the first things that usually get cut out of a household budget when a person gets laid off or can't work for any reason.

Those same little things that I thought I could do without entirely. No, I didn't need to get my nails done professionally. I'm an okay self-manicurist, meaning I can trim my own cuticles and file and polish my own nails by myself. At doing my toenails, I have to admit I'm slightly less skilled.

Then again, living at the beach, I was mostly wearing sandals in addition to my flip-flops. It just looks so much prettier, showing off your feet in those types of shoes when you know your toenails are neat and a pretty shade of coral or red. What was that term Dallas had used? It was "girly-girl."

And there was one more expense I'd squeezed back into my budget. Something I was finding myself forced to get because of the often stifling Florida heat. I'd found it in the classifieds section of The Sandpiper News. After ringing up a customer, I lingered at the register, glancing again at the ad I'd clipped out of the paper.

"That's a great price for a treadmill."

Uh-oh! I was relieved to lift my head and see Dallas standing there, holding his bill in his head, rather than my boss. Bob wasn't a curmudgeonly boss, but he did run a tight ship. That meant no goofing around or buying exercise equipment on Pancake House time.

"Cheaper than a gym in the long run," I agreed.

"Well, yeah. As long as you use it. You don't want to make it a clothes hanger, like most people do when they buy one of those." He handed me his check, scribbled on by his waitress, and a twenty-dollar bill.

"That's what the seller said when I called him. His wife bought it for seven hundred, originally. Expensive coat hanger, he said." I laughed.

"No kidding. So you getting it?"

"Thinking about it. I ride my bike everywhere, so I do get exercise. It'd be nice to be a workout inside, where there's air-conditioning. I have the room for it, too."

"Go for it, then."

I handed him his change. "Easier said than done. I don't have any way to pick it up. It won't fit in my car."

"Hmmm. Well, I happen to have a pickup. I'd be happy to be of assistance to a lady in need of some endorphins." Dallas winked. "What do you say?"

14

After Ian's death, there was no guy in my life. Living in the hot, sultry tropics, it seemed like the males of the species were coming out of the woodwork.

I didn't let myself think about Ian that often. Some things are too painful to dwell on. What made it even more heart-crushing was that, right before the accident, we'd had a fight. Nothing major, but my last words to him had been over the phone.

Over the phone...and angry. A disagreement, if I recall correctly, over weekend plans that had gotten mixed up. He'd forgotten that we were supposed to attend my cousin's party; he'd insisted he'd been given theater tickets by his boss that absolutely had to be used. Stupid, stupid argument.

His last words to me were, "We'll discuss it when I get home." Then he'd never made it home.

The reason he'd come to mind was because Dallas and I passed Meadows Lake Hospital on the way to pick up my new, "slightly used" treadmill. I'm one of those people blessed with good health; I rarely even get cavities. The only time I visit a doctor is for a regular physical or for a checkup at the gynecologist. Even rarer is a visit to a hospital, which only happened once, when I accidentally cut my hand at work (never cut a bagel and chit-chat with a coworker at the same time). I'd needed stitches and a tetanus shot.

The emotional scars of losing someone, the only man I'd ever loved, were still so fresh. It was hard to pass a hospital without thinking of Ian. It was difficult to think about the phone call from his father, how that man's voice had broken while telling me the truck driver had lost control and collided with Ian's car. Passing a hospital forced me to remember sitting in that waiting room for hours while the doctors worked on my boyfriend. Praying, crying, hardly able to breathe.

Only to hear the words: I'm sorry. We did all we could.

If I permitted myself to think about it for too long, I would start to cry. Especially because those last words between us should have been sweet, loving words. Not stupid, fighting words, but words that conveyed what he had meant to me, how a part of me would die if I was ever to lose him.

Yet I couldn't allow myself to think of that. Not that evening.

I know some people lie in their ads, but that couple didn't. We joked about how his wife was doing better at going to the gym than she had at using the treadmill, but that it certainly would come in handy for me. Sure enough, it was in great shape and earned the title of "slightly used." I paid them in cash, the husband helped Dallas get the contraption into his pickup, and we were off to my house.

I'd noticed how different he looked in his "civilian" clothes. It went without saying that he looked pretty sexy in his uniform, but he did a plain black T-shirt and jeans justice, too. Since I'd had a chance to change my own clothes, I also noticed how Dallas looked me over in my jeans and snug-fitting green tank top.

That was the first time I'd had a man—other than Papi—in my house. Gray had been there, but only to drop me off at the door after our date. Dallas had to go all the way in, with both of us lugging the treadmill from his pickup to the bungalow's guest bedroom.

When we were done, he announced, "That's a good spot for it, Cherry. Great workout space."

Cheerfully, I agreed. The owner had left behind that daybed, a dresser, and the nightstand. We were able to set up the treadmill where it was facing the window. There was no TV in the room; I didn't need one. I could blitz out on my Ipod, listening to music or an audiobook.

It would be convenient and safe, since I wouldn't be passing out in the intense heat, and I could hop right into the shower right afterwards.

"I'm going to love it," I said. "And I'll try not to make it into a clothes hanger."

"Listen, it was hard toting that thing in here. You'd better use it!"

I laughed with him. I realized we were standing too close to each other. Fireman or not, I didn't make it a habit of inviting men into my home.

Particularly not a good-looking man who was good at those come-a-little-closer-baby looks.

"If I can ever do a favor for you..." I offered.

"I don't ever do anything with the expectation of getting something in return," Dallas said. "Just the way I was raised."

"Me, too. 'Course...I could let you take me fishing."

He had just turned and was headed down the hallway when he stopped and turned.

"When would you like to do that?" he asked.

"That depends. When can you get us on that boat? I would just need to check with Bob about the time off."

"Give me your number and I'll let you know."

"Okay. I've got a pen around here somewhere..."

"Don't bother. I'll just put it in my cell."

He's a firefighter. A young firefighter. That means he's a player. He won't call anyway.

Handsome guy, tall, great body, a bit on the slim side. Hot, gentlemanly, funny, sweet-as-honey personality. No doubt, he'd be fun on a date.

"Cool. I'll talk to my friend, the guy with the boat," he promised, tucking his phone back into his pocket, "and I'll call you."

"I'd like that. I can show you everything my father taught me about fishing."

"Good girl. I'll teach you a thing or two, too. And there'll be a pop quiz."

I giggled and walked him to the door. "I don't do good at pop quizzes. Any kind of test."

"Neither do I. I did pass my fireman's test, though. First time out."

My breath was immediately swept away when I opened the door. Standing there in my driveway, staring at Dallas' truck, was Gray Kelly.

"Gray!" I called his name.

He turned to face me. "Cherry..."

Gray's expression changed when his stare met Dallas'. The two seemed curious about each other; when that wore off, they quietly gave each other a critical once-over.

"Dallas, this is Gray Kelly," I introduced them. "My...my friend. Gray, this is Dallas O'Keefe. He's...another friend."

"Ah. You got lots of friends, lady." Smirking, Dallas extended his hand cordially. "'Sup, dude?"

"Not much. 'Sup with you?" Gray gave him a half grin.

"Not much. I, uh, was just leaving. Just delivered a piece of exercising equipment for this lovely young damsel. Gotta go, though, so—"

"Yeah, hey, don't let me keep you. See ya round."

"Yep. Will do."

"'Lovely young damsel.' 'Will do,'" Gray mimicked after Dallas had driven off in his flashy truck. "He seemed nice. A little pretentious."

I smiled but squinted at him. "He's a nice guy."

"Piece of exercising equipment?"

"I bought a secondhand treadmill from someone who put an ad in the paper."

"Huh. Okay. Couldn't he just say, 'a treadmill?'" He shook his head in mild irritation.

"He's nice, actually. He's a firefighter," I added, more to break that uncomfortable lull of silence that drifted in abruptly between us.

"Oh. That's interesting." His flat tone indicated that he found it anything but. "I tried to call you earlier, but I guess you were kinda busy. I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"Not at all. Dallas has a truck, and he knew I was getting the treadmill, but it's done now. Want to see it?"

"Sure."

Guys never cease to amaze me. The man disappears for a few days, he doesn't call me, so what am I supposed to make of it? Then he shows up just after another guy asks me out for a date. Sort of. That wasn't set in stone, either. My fishing date with Dallas was impingent on his friend inviting us on his boat.

Unless, naturally, all bets were off now. Dallas wasn't stupid; he had to have caught those uncomfortable vibes between the three of us. He'd probably already decided I wasn't worth the hassle.

Worse...what if Gray had come to that same conclusion? That thought upset me even more.

"She paid seven hundred and she let it go for two?" He nodded. "That's a good deal, Cherry."

"I thought so, too. Using it first thing tomorrow, even before I have my coffee."

"Hope so. Don't let that become a coat hanger now," he warned me in a cute, sort of scolding way. "And you busy tomorrow during the day?"

"I'm off all day tomorrow. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, you don't have to say yes, if you really don't want to go. I'll understand. But..." Gray leaned against the doorframe. "I sold the Harley on Tuesday."

"You did? Great."

"Yeah. I didn't want anything for it. It was my friend's bike; he should get all the money."

"But he still gave you a little something for it?"

Gray shrugged, smiling. "He knew I wouldn't accept anything for it, so he gave it to Uncle Dave to give to me. He got a good price and threw three hundred my way."

"Cool. Nice little commission."

"Yeah. I'm using it all on Cam."

I couldn't hold back my smile. "You are?"

"Yeah. I'm—you know, it's all found money anyway. I figured Cam doesn't have anything from me, so why don't I get him a few clothes, maybe a few toys."

Three hundred dollars.

I'm using it all on Cam.

"I think you'll make a wonderful daddy," I complimented him.

Gray shook his head. "I'm a daddy he never knew about."

"He's also only two. Young enough where you can just come into his life and it'll seem to him like you've always been there."

"That's true." He seemed to take heart at that suggestion. "Listen, I know it's not the most exciting way for you to spend your day off, but I could use you coming along. Helping me pick out stuff that he'll get from me. You know what I mean? I figured, as a girl, you've probably bought stuff for your friends' kids. If you don't have anything else to do tomorrow, I'd love for you to come with me."

I answered without hesitation. "There's nothing I'd rather do than to help you go shopping for your son."

"I kinda thought you'd say that." He touched my face and gazed at me, pulling away after a moment. "Uh, so, yeah. What do you think about me picking you up at one o'clock? I'll take you for lunch and then we'll hit the mall. Okay?"

"We can do that. Or I can make dinner for us after our big shopping spree."

"Yeah? I'd like that. A lot."

"Can we bring Cam with us?"

"Nah, he's back in South Carolina right now with Carlos and Heather."

"Oh. You got sizes for us?"

"Uh—no. Should I call Heather?"

I laughed. "That's the first order of the day. See what size he wears in clothes and shoes, what he likes toy-wise."

"I'll do that when I get home. I'll call Heather. See, I knew you'd be the perfect person for this."

"But of course!" I pretended to polish my nails against my tank top. "And I'll pick up a few things for dinner. You like Cuban food?"

"Yes, and I don't have it enough."

"Right answer! Daddy, you're in for a treat. I'll make my grandmother's arroz con pollo for you. Nothing fancy, just a traditional Cuban dish."

"Can't wait. So...okay." Reluctantly, he pushed himself off the wall. "I'd better get going. Oh—first, can I ask you something?"

"What's that?"

"Is that guy—what was his name, Dallas?—anything special to you?"

You could wreck it all right now by telling the truth. Not an honest approach, I know. If there was anything between us, it would end when he heard what had happened with Dallas.

Either way, I didn't have time to think, and I've always found the truth—no matter how detrimental—to be easier to remember.

"I'm not seeing him," I replied. "But he—he asked me out."

"Uh-huh." Gray evidently couldn't hide his disappointment. "And you said?"

"Nothing is set in stone."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it was one of those, 'we may get together and go fishing' kind of things."

"Go fishing? You'd go fishing on a date?" That appeared to come as a welcomed surprise to him, if nothing else.

"Why not? It's a fun way to spend time together."

"But as of right now, you aren't going with him. Right?"

"Right. As of right now." I tried to read his expression. "Do you not want me to do that?"

Gray spoke softly. "I can't tell you want to do, Cherry. You and me have only had one date."

"Oh-okay."

He pursed his lips. "I wish, though, that you'd hold off on seeing him. I'm not asking you to get serious with me. Maybe that's not what you want right now. But if there's somebody else, then, maybe you wouldn't be giving what we have enough of a chance. Unless you'd rather be with him..."

"You didn't call me," I reminded him quickly. "I didn't hear from you."

"I didn't call you because I was busy. And because I didn't want to push this, just in case."

"You could've called me."

"You could've called me, too." He smiled when I laughed at that.

"I'm afraid to call a guy sometimes."

"Don't be afraid to call me."

I leaned in the doorframe and loosely folded my arms across my chest. "Well, see, now I want to go fishing sometime."

"Fine. I'll take you." Taking my chin in his hand and lifting my face closer to his, he kissed me, hard and long. "Cherry, I don't want to lose you before I have a chance to make you mine."

15

Gray Kelly only went to the mall when it was absolutely necessary.

There had been a time, back when he was younger, when he'd spent nearly every Friday and Saturday at the mall. A couple of hours, sometimes a bit more, were spent walking through those corridors. That was when the mall was the place to socialize—to catch up with friends, have a snack together, take in the latest movies at the Multiplex Theater, and most importantly, to meet girls.

Maybe that was the telltale sign that he was no longer a kid. When he needed some new clothes, shoes or sneakers, he braved those packed parking lots, which he swore attracted the rudest drivers in the entire country. If he happened to be in that section of town and had an urge to eat at one of the restaurants in the food court, especially that place that made the authentic New York-style pizza, he'd head straight there. Otherwise, he didn't care if he ever went to the mall ever again.

That Saturday afternoon, however, was different.

On the phone, Heather Diaz's surprise had turned to delight as she gave him Cameron's sizes. As Aunt Betty had said, three hundred dollars wasn't that much money anymore. Yet, to her credit, Cherry was making the cash stretch. Both of the children's stores, each located on separate ends of the mall, were holding excellent store-wide sales. In that effort to compete with each other, they offered a wide variety of choices to parents...and a newly minted parent, in particular.

If he'd been concerned about Cherry getting bored of shopping for someone else's kid, he'd worried for nothing. With about half the money, she had helped pick out and buy size 3 (because Heather had said Cam was outgrowing his size 2s) toddler jeans, shirts and tanks for the summer, as well as tossing in some training pants and socks.

With the rest of the money they'd purchased a fun pair of sneakers and a few toys on sale at the department store, which actually was more budget-friendly than the toy store sandwiched between a Forever 21 and a Bath & Body Works.

One of the last items was a small, stuffed German shepherd doll. Cherry displayed him against her chest.

"Looks like Roxy!" she said, laughing.

He clicked his tongue playfully. "Looks like her mama, Jessie."

"Even better. You want Cam to have something from his daddy. This will be something that will really remind him of you, especially at bedtime."

At those words, he felt a painful tug at his heart. "Sold!"

"Cool. Let's get this. And this one, too." She tossed a cute, traditional teddy bear that she'd been inspecting into their cart. "I'm paying for that one. He'll have something from me, too."

"Awww. You haven't even met him yet."

"I know, but he's yours. I love him already." She added shyly, "I'd like to meet him."

"I'd like that, too."

Cherry Martinez was the perfect woman. Realistically, he knew no one, male or female, was perfect. That girl came pretty close, though. He walked with her up the aisle as she pushed the cart, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

The woman who rang them up at the register was a chunky lady in her fifties with a pleasant face and a sweet smile. She'd apparently been doing that job long enough to where she was efficient and speedy, completely unfazed when she had to pause mid-sale to change the paper roll for the register's receipts.

"Somebody's mom and dad are making this a very special birthday," she said, winking at Cherry.

"Oh—oh, yes, we are," she fibbed without missing a beat.

Gray exchanged a glance with her. He was grateful that she'd played along rather than going into an explanation with the sales associate.

"I wish we could spoil him even more," he told the woman. He didn't even have to stretch the truth on that one.

The older woman gingerly tucked the toys and stuffed animals into bags for them.

"I'm sure you do, but you know what, honey? That little boy has everything he needs. He has parents that love him. All these other things, sweetie, they're all extras. Nothing's as important as a family."

"Yep. You're—you're totally right about that, ma'am."

He supposed Cam did have those treasures. He had his aunt and uncle, both of whom loved him dearly. They protected him, they tended to his needs, also giving him those "extras." They'd even loved Cam enough to have sought out his biological father.

"But it'll never be normal, you know," he was telling Cherry as they stored the bags of Cam's gifts into his car's truck.

"What is 'normal,' exactly?" Cherry asked.

"What that lady was talking about, about my son having his mom and dad."

He had let her into the passenger seat first and she'd waited for him to come around to the driver's seat before saying, "A lot of kids lose their mom young, Gray. It sounds like Heather's a very loving mother to him. Or, well...she's a mother figure."

"And Carlos—well, from what I saw, anyway—he's a good father figure."

"Gray, are you having second thoughts about this?"

"About what?"

Cherry grinned, going on cautiously, "Are you thinking about telling them you want to raise him yourself?"

Sighing, he revved up the engine. "Sometimes I think I'd like to do that, but I don't know, Cherry. Carlos probably makes a better father than I do."

He watched her pull down the sun visor on her side and check her reflection. Before he could take off, she pulled her eyeliner from her purse for a touch-up. Such a silly, little thing, but so feminine that he had to watch her for those moments before backing the car out of the parking spot.

"That's up to you, Gray. Whatever you think is best for Cam. He's your son. You have to decide what's best for him."

He drove, taking the ramp out of the mall that led back to the highway.

"I guess I'm doing the right thing, Cherry. I've never had to make a decision for anybody else before. Just for me."

"That's what it is. And you're doing the best you can under the circumstances."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Or maybe I'm doing what's best for me.

"Carlos makes more money than I do," he pointed out. "Supposedly, they have a big house in South Carolina."

"That's nice. I'm sure they do all they can for him."

"They do. They really do." He licked his lips. "But sometimes...I know it's stupid, but now that I know he's there, now that I've met him, I feel like a part of me is—is somewhere else. Like I got family that's away from me. A son—a son deserves more of you. You know?"

"Like you said, you know he's there now. It was different when you didn't know about him. And you're not saying it, Gray, but I think that for you, this was a case of love at first sight."

Feeling her hand close around his, which was clasped around the gear shift, he smiled at her. His other hand was firmly grasping the steering wheel.

"I think it was, too, Cherilyn," he said quietly.

"Cherilyn. Hmmm. I like the way you say my name...Grayson."

"And I like the way you say mine."

He kept telling himself that Cam was better off without him. That he could buy him gifts from time to time, maybe even visit him now and then. Put away money for his son's future. Maybe someday in the future, whenever and if he ever did marry and have children, he could bring Cam along for a trip to Disneyworld or the mountains and spend some quality time with him.

Daddy, why do they get to live with you and I don't? Don't you love me as much as you love them?

Just like Cherry said, lots of kids lose one or more of their parents at a very tender age. As heartbreaking a fact as that is, countless kids are abandoned. Even more live apart from one or both of their parents, because of divorce and other factors. Those families still manage to maintain some kind of relationship with the child.

He just didn't know how to reconcile that in his heart. What other choice did he have? The choice to take Cam away from the home he already knew? He'd already been torn apart from his mother by death. She might have had a major problem with drugs, but according to what Heather and Carlos had told him, Brooke had loved her son.

The son she and Gray, a guy she barely knew, had made together.

Those were all things he would have to give serious thought to; for now, he wanted to spend time some quality time with Cherry.

"Wow. This whole house smells good!" Gray exclaimed whom they entered the house.

"My grandmother—Abuelita, we call her—always said that's the mark of a good Cuban meal," Cherry said, tossing her purse into the foyer closet. "Your home has to be filled with the aroma of dinner. Let me let Roxy in first. Prepare yourself, Gray. She's hyper."

At what time had she made dinner? His question was answered when he walked in and saw the slow cooker on the kitchen counter. The room reminded him of his aunt's kitchen: pleasantly neat, warm, inviting. The counter was uncluttered, with room to spare for the slow cooker, a coffee maker, a row of three canisters with a sunflower motif, and a large glass container filled with homemade cookies. Gray helped himself to one.

He barely had time to finish half of it when Roxy zoomed into the room and nearly knocked him over in an enthusiastic and affectionate greeting.

"Hey, Rox-eeeeee! Good to see you, too!" He laughed, rescuing the remaining half of the cookie from being snatched by the dog.

"Listen, I'm looking forward to you tasting my grandmother's recipe," Cherry scolded him, "which my dad swears couldn't be improved, even by a professional chef. So don't ruin your appetite with cookies."

"I won't. These are good, too. You made these?"

"I did. Those are from a recipe I found online. They're the same cookies I was taking to the shop for you the morning I saw you talking to Heather. And I thought...something else was going on. So I pitched them."

Now that was flattering.

"They're too good to toss," he told her.

"I wasn't thinking of that. I only knew they were a thank-you gift for giving me Roxy. That was the official reason. You can figure out the rest."

"I can. But I'd rather you tell me so there's no way I'll get it wrong. And get disappointed."

She was reaching up into the cabinets and brought down two dinner plates and two smaller ones for salad.

"I thought the guy I wanted was taken. I've never been good at pretending I don't care about something that I happen to care very much about."

"Neither have I."

"Mind getting the salad out of the fridge?"

"Oh—sure."

"And I'll only be a minute. I'm going to freshen up and change."

"Freshen up" was a fitting term, in that case. True to her word, Cherry emerged from her bedroom in a flowing, light-and-breezy white sundress, her feet in canary yellow sandals. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid, letting him see clearly and with no distractions the soft features of her face, the creamy brown of her eyes, the gentle olive tint to her complexion.

She looked even better than that table. A traditional Cuban meal was spread out on that white linen tablecloth, complete with a citrusy salad of avocados, tomatoes and red onion on a bed of green lettuce, coated with a drizzle of lemon juice and olive oil. Cherry had made one exception, replacing flaky Cuban bread with whole grain rolls that she'd picked up earlier than morning from the farmer's market. The slow cooker sat on a trivet in the center of the table, a savory celebration of saffron-scented yellow rice with onions, thin strips of roasted red peppers and mouthwatering, tender fryer chicken cut up in pieces. A chilled bottle of Chilean Pinot Grigio was left to breathe before she poured it into their glasses.

"There's this really good flavor to the rice. Can't figure out what it is," he remarked.

"Yes. That's what we call 'Corona.' I threw in a little over half the bottle of beer." She laughed. "That was Abuelita's 'secret' ingredient. A 'secret' known to most Cubans."

He laughed and picked up the long kitchen lighter on the table set beside a pair of candles.

"You want these on?"

"Yeah, I meant to light them," she answered. "I don't have too many people over for dinner. Not a very good hostess, I guess."

"I don't know whether I can agree with that or not."

Her head popped up. "Ohhhhh, really?"

"Yes, really." He smiled at her amusement. "I kinda feel like I'm home. Doesn't feel like you're my 'hostess.'"

"In that case, I'll let you slide." As if suddenly recalling, she added, "We have dessert, too, if you're not too full after dinner."

"Is dessert Cuban, too?"

"Dessert is chocolate cake. As American as the New York Yankees. It's also Entenmann's, I'm afraid. I never made chocolate cake from scratch before and I didn't want to make you my guinea pig."

"You could have. Experiment on me with chocolate anytime you want."

Gray hadn't meant anything suggestive with that comment, but evidently Cherry had caught some double entendre. He laughed at her raised eyebrows.

"You have to work tomorrow?" he asked after downing a gulp of wine.

"Not until later on in the morning. You?"

"Off for the day."

"So you don't have to rush off after dinner?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"Wonderful! Rent a movie?"

That wasn't exactly the after-dinner activity he would have come up with. Even so, he was a good sport.

"I'll even watch a chick flick," he said. "Unless you have some burning desire to see something better."

"'A burning desire.' 'Experiment with chocolate on you.' Is it me reacting that way or is there something Freudian happening to you?"

"It's you reacting that way." Another bite full of his delicious dinner, he had to be honest with her. "But I do have a burning desire for you. Every single moment I'm with you, Cherry..."

16

I couldn't even remember the last time I woke up with a man all curled up around me. What I hadn't forgotten was how good that felt. That had to be one of my all-time favorite things.

It threw me off a little, too. Gray and I weren't just curled up—we were entwined intimately, like a man and woman who'd fallen asleep right after making love. We'd also never made it out of my living room. I woke up to find the coffee table pushed aside, a light blanket tangled around our bodies. Pillows and throw pillows were under us, around us, everywhere.

Then it came to me. Good, filling dinner; that whole bottle of wine shared between us; coffee, slivers of cake, some old, campy 1990s vampire movie we'd found on Netflix. It was a good movie, not that either of us recognized more than a couple of the actors. Still, we drifted off there on the floor, wrapped up in each other's arms.

That was all that happened...right?

I had to think. I'd wanted more to happen, in all honesty, and I could tell Gray did, too. Neither of us could afford that. Least of all, me. I was supposed to be carefree and unattached. Unencumbered by a job or a relationship, just living a tropical, seawater-soaked dream from one lazy day to another.

Except I did have a job now. And all of a sudden, now I had a man, too.

When I shifted so that I could grab my cell phone from the coffee table to check the time—it was 9:02 AM—Gray stirred but didn't release me from his arms.

He had the day off. I had to be at the restaurant by eleven. That gave me some time. What would I use it for, other than what I was doing right now?

"You comfortable?" I whispered.

"Mmmm, hmmm." Drowsily, he sniffed. Kissed my forehead. Rolled on back to the land of dreams.

That felt so good, the natural heat of his body warming my own. I melted against him, noting the contrast of my softness against his muscles, the masculinity of his body. On impulse, I kissed one of those rock-hard shoulders. If he was asleep before, that was enough to wake him. He responded by pulling me in as tightly as he could against himself, his embrace possessive.

This was cuddling. From one moment to another, I knew it could progress to more. This was only our second date, too.

I shouldn't have allowed myself to get in that position. Probably should've excused myself and gone to bed, first offering him the one in the guest bedroom. Ever since Ian had died, I'd told myself I didn't have to sleep with any other guy, that I could go for the rest of my life without that physical intimacy.

That was before Gray had come into my life, riding in like a cowboy on a stallion, the hero in a movie or a book. Had we met at a party with a thousand people, I had no doubt that I would have seen him, that he would have stood out among all those faces.

Because right now, there was nothing I wanted more than him. Nothing I wanted more than to have him inside me. For him to hold me all day long, in his arms and in his heart, if that's what he wanted.

This isn't total freedom. You're supposed to be free. You're supposed to be job-less, guy-less, FREE, FREE, FREE.

My head was saying that.

My body and my soul were screaming something entirely different.

Rolling onto his side, Gray pushed my hair away from my face and smiled down at me. He announced, "If we stay where we are, something's gonna happen between us."

"I know."

"You don't know how much I want that."

I bit my lower lip before I could say something that would encourage him to make his move. Unless I beat him to it. My own adrenaline was racing and I was becoming more and more aroused, a sensation that rose dizzyingly when his hand cupped around my breast. I'd managed to slip my bra out from under my clothes before going to sleep the night before without him noticing, so there was only the sheer fabric of my dress keeping me fully from his touch.

"I only want that if you want that," he said.

Mischievously, I laughed. "I don't think you want a brother or sister for Cam, though."

"Oh, well..." Gray shrugged. "I got something to prevent that. If, um...you know."

"I—I have to get to work. I have 'til eleven to get there, but..."

"Okay, baby. I understand. I guess I should get going. Can I take a shower before I go?"

"Sure. You go first. I'll probably take longer. There are some clean towels—well, I'll get you one."

"Thanks, baby. I'm going to use your toothpaste, too, all right?"

I heard something about toothpaste. The words were a blur. All I could think of was, Gray Kelly. Naked. In. My. Shower.

He didn't lock the door and, in fact, left it ajar. I could hear the steady pound of water against the shower floor and curtain as I brought in one of my best, fluffiest towels. His clothes were in a heap on the floor a few inches away from the sink.

My dress and panties joined them a few seconds later. I stood tentatively, staring at the shower and wondering if I should step out, give myself a chance to come to my senses, or just give in to those desires that had been coming to life again.

"Hey, Cherry! Got any shampoo?"

Shampoo? That was silly and not like me at all. Hastily, I rummaged through the cabinet beneath the sink.

"I usually have it in there," I said. "Here. Actually, I usually have nine or ten bottles in there."

He laughed. "Well, I see all your face cleanser thingies. Not any sham—ohhhhhh..."

He'd pushed aside the shower curtain, only far enough for him to look out into the room. I felt like a model in some racy European TV commercial, holding a bottle of shampoo out and trying to look sultry while simultaneously blushing because Gray was seeing me without my clothes on for the very first time.

"Okay if it smells like rainforest flowers?" I tried to sound sexy while asking the question and feeling ridiculous.

Gray pushed the shower curtain fully open, which allowed me to see him fully. My eyes opened wider than normal to accommodate the view.

With or without clothes, his hair and skin glistening wet, that was one gorgeous man. He was also very excited to see me.

"I've never been to the rainforest, but I'm sure the flowers are cool. Come 'ere."

I hesitated. "I have to be at work by eleven."

"Trust me, baby, I won't take that long. I'm just about there, just from looking at you." As if suddenly remembering, he mentioned, "And there's something in my wallet. Back pocket of my jeans. Unless we want to give Cam that baby brother."

It didn't take me that long. Even so, it was long enough to hear a voice calling from somewhere else in the house.

"Cher-ry! Hey, answer me!"

Gray's expression turned serious. "Somebody's in the house."

"Cherryyyyyyyyyyyyy! I know you're here, your car's in the driveway!"

"Oh, no, that's Krystal!" I exclaimed, handing him the shampoo. "Finish up. Please."

"Who's Krystal?"

I scrambled for my dress, yanking it over my head. "My sister."

"The door was open?"

"The back door was. I let Roxy out."

"What's she doing here?" His voice shook slightly with frustration.

"Who knows?"

Getting her little sister out of trouble. That had to be the best answer I could have given him.

Though, to be honest, I didn't want to be rescued from what had almost happened between me and Gray. If it wasn't clear to me before, it was now: He was starting to mean more to me than I was ready to admit. The whole idea, originally, had been to be free—not tied down to a job, a relationship, anything. Least of all, to a man.

And what amazed me most was that I felt more content and free with Gray than without him.

17

My sister was standing in front of me for not even five minutes before I was busted.

"There's a guy in here, right?"

With my back to her, I was measuring out tablespoons of coffee and dropping them into the machine's paper filter. The regular coffee maker, the one I kept on the counter, not the cappuccino/espresso maker. That was for later on in the day or after dinner.

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh, come on. Was I not supposed to notice the car outside? The one parked behind yours? And up until a minute ago, I heard the water running in the shower...but you're in here with me. Plus, you have that look."

"That look? What look?"

"You know. That I'm-in-love look." She planted her hands on her hips, which had always been a lot curvier than mine.

"I'm not in love. But I am over eighteen. I'm an adult. I can have a man in here without Mom and Papi's permission. Can't I?"

"Ahhh, now it's clear. So that's why you came down here. 'All that getting away from civilization,' 'I'm going to live my on Gilligan's Island' craziness. You met somebody online and you wanted to be close to him."

I turned to her. "Oh, heck, no, I'm not that crazy. I don't meet guys online. And nothing happened between us, Krystal. He just...slept over."

"Really? I see. It was a pajama party." She wiggled her eyebrows at me. "Soooo much more fun with boys!"

"You know what I mean. He's leaving anyway."

"He doesn't have to. I can stay at a hotel. There are plenty of them down here. I passed a few on the way."

Krystal was staying for a few days? That shouldn't have surprised me. With that long drive, it made more sense than staying a couple of days. I brought out some bagel thins and was about to get the butter and strawberry preserves from the fridge. She stopped me with a shake of her head.

"I had breakfast at the Pancake House," she said.

"No way. That's where I work."

"I know that, silly. I was hoping to surprise you there. The Healthy Option omelette is good, by the way."

"Everything's good there. The not-so-healthy options, too. Listen," I continued, "don't you dare go to a hotel. I have a guest room. It's very comfy."

Krystal took a seat at the table. She seemed subdued. "I don't want to be in your way, Cherry."

"Shhh. You're never in my way. I missed you, you pain in the butt." That was when I noticed the diamond solitaire missing from the ring on her left hand. "Something you want to tell me?"

"Yes. Why did you move so far away from me, Cherry? I feel like you're a thousand miles away, especially right now. And FYI, you've been a pain in my butt since you were born. I told Mom to send you back."

"Luckily for me, she didn't listen to a four-year-old." I laughed and smoothed her hair affectionately.

She held onto the back of a chair but stayed on her feet. I followed her gaze to the doorway.

"Hello!" Gray smiled and waved at her, receiving a wave back. His hair was damp and he was fully dressed, thankfully.

He smelled of soap and shampoo and looked refreshed, if slightly embarrassed.

"Gray, this is my sister, Krystal Martinez. Krys, this is Gray Kelly. Grayson, his proper name."

"Gray Kelly. I like that. Sounds like Grace Kelly."

He smiled broadly. "Yeah, my grandma told my mom that would come up. I'm impressed, though. Not too many younger people know that."

"I'm a drama teacher at a high school. Kinda my job to know about stuff like that. Even the stars of yesteryear." She wasn't being snippy, just stating a fact.

"Well, I'd better be going. Nice to meet you, Krystal. And..." He gave me a hug, dropping his hand down to pat my behind without my sister catching on. "I'll let myself out. See ya later."

"Okay. See ya." I took his face in my hand and gave him a quickie kiss.

That, Krystal did see. She watched until he left before she made her remark.

"Very nice," she purred. "He's hot."

"Believe me, I've noticed. We're not serious or anything," I insisted.

"Yeah, I can tell."

"No, really, that's the truth. I'm not ready."

"Cherry, you're young. When are you going to be ready? Ian is gone. Time to live."

My sister might have had breakfast, but I hadn't and I was starting to get hungry. I popped a whole wheat bagel thin into the toaster for myself.

"He has a baby from another girl," I confided.

"Oh. That's not good, then."

"But it's not what you think, Krystal. She died, too. It was one of those young guy things. Anyway, his life is a bit more complicated than mine is right now."

My sister finally sat down. "How old is the child?"

"He's two. Little guy."

"Ah, that's not too bad. Except you have to be careful. Maybe he's looking for a mommy for that little guy."

I'd thought of that, though I hadn't dwelt on it. In the short time I'd known Gray, he didn't strike me as that kind of person. Still, I wanted a man to want me for no other reason than for myself.

Grabbing the jar of preserves and the butter, I joined her at the table. The coffee was ready by then.

"Forget my dramas," I instructed her. "What's going on with your engagement?"

"No engagement. Not for me, anyway." She must have heard the bitter edge in her own voice because she smiled and forced a little sugar into her tone. "Jake's a jerk. He's with some skinny twenty-two-year-old. You have time?"

"A little. I have to take a shower and get to work by eleven."

"What time do you get off?"

"Four."

"Okay. We'll talk then." Krystal was like that, able to toss her head proudly, even when things weren't going her way. "So where's that cozy guest room of yours? I'm going to unpack and then I am hitting that beach!"

18

Gray had written his uncle a text message, and the reply made him smile, how Uncle Dave's affection came through his words. Never mind how his uncle had initially insisted he didn't need text messaging on his phone, that a voice message was enough and certainly more personal. In the end he'd consented to getting that feature on his phone and Aunt Betty's, who liked texting even more than he did. Gray received more texts from his aunt than anyone else.

dont worry about us. the station is fine. you go on and have fun with your son. miss you, d

Uncle Dave always signed quick notes and texts that way, with a simple "d" or "D". Gray had adopted the practice and sent him back the message, thanks & miss you too, g.

He then tucked his cell back into his pocket, gave the Diaz home's guest room one final glance and headed down the stairs. Gray had to admit, the couple had a lovely home. Heather had told him they'd bought the patch of land with the old house on it—for a good price, too—later renovating the house to their specifications. The eighty-year-old house now had a welcoming entrance with a small fountain and rosebushes in the front yard.

Inside, the modern kitchen with the stools surrounding the island stole the show, though both the dining room and Carlos' office were inviting, as well. There was a breakfast area with a table and the family room, with access to the deck and then the twenty acres of land they referred to as "the backyard."

Part of the grounds was a wooded area, which Carlos admitted wasn't used for much more than after-dinner walks and quiet contemplation. The greater part was used for Dreamer, the couple's horse. A sleek Palomino, he had an entire fenced area to himself to run around, besides the stable that had recently been built. Heather claimed they'd be getting another horse in a year or two, if and when they found the right one. Dreamer was supposedly Heather's horse, but the couple shared the responsibilities of grooming, feeding, and whatever other tending the stallion needed.

Owning a horse had been a lifelong dream of Heather's that Carlos had made come true for her when his parents passed away and left him and his brother their successful Fort Lauderdale nightclub as an inheritance. His brother had eventually bought him out, and with his earnings Carlos and Heather had purchased the horse and their home, located only a short drive from Myrtle Beach.

"You ready for Dreamer?" Heather called to Gray after getting his saddle on him.

"I think I'll pass," he replied. "Me and Cam can watch you from here."

Heather didn't press him. He wasn't much of a horse person, thanks to one bad experience. At eighteen, he'd gone horseback riding with some friends. Gray's horse had been snorting and testy from the get-go, ultimately charging at the fence and nearly throwing his rider from the saddle. It had been a scary experience, one he'd avoided repeating for the years that followed.

It was, however, a pleasure to watch Heather, someone who was experienced at handling a horse. It seemed to come second nature to her. Dreamer's movements beneath her were graceful and fluid as he trotted, then ran, his golden mane flying in the wind.

"Daddy, that's Dreamer. He's a horsey."

He'd been holding Cam, seating him on the fence railing, his arm holding him securely around his little waist. Had Gray heard right? Both Heather and Carlos had been referring to him as "Daddy" in front of Cam, but it was the first time the little boy had actually said the word.

Daddy. Great word, beautiful word. Gray gave the baby's forehead a kiss.

"Yeah, he's a nice horsey, huh?" he asked.

"He's nice. I like him."

"I like him, too. You gonna ride him with Auntie?"

From across the corral, Heather glanced at Gray over her shoulder and smiled. In less than two days, Gray had learned that Cam's favorite meal was homemade chicken nuggets and French fries. He preferred apple juice to any other kind of juice. He refused to go to bed without the stuffed animals his daddy and Cherry had given him. His favorite TV show was "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse." Cam liked to grab a ringing telephone and deliver it to the nearest grownup. Fireflies, to him, were outrageously comical, to the point that he laughed until he got the hiccups. He loved going for rides in the car, particularly when accompanied by his aunt and uncle's cocker spaniel and Chihuahua mixed breed dog, Brownie.

He had instantly become one of Gray's two favorite people. The other, whom he also hadn't known for very long, was Cherry Martinez.

Heather guided the horse closer to the fence.

"C'mon, Cam," she said, leaning at the waist and holding out her arm. Let's show Daddy what a cowboy you are. You'll be ready for the rodeo by the time you're twelve!"

Gray laughed, but he found himself reluctant to let go. Was that really safe, her riding the horse while holding Cam? Heather had told him she'd done it dozens of times.

But there's always that one time, he thought.

"Hold on good, Cam!" he called out to his son.

If Heather thought he was being silly, she was too gracious to show it. Instead, she grinned at him and even slowed Dreamer's gait.

"Carlos will be home soon," she reminded him. "Hot dogs and burgers okay?"

"Fine with me. I love burgers."

"So do I. My potato salad's pretty good, too." Heather then said, "Next time you come up, if you want to bring your girlfriend, you can."

Cherry wasn't his girlfriend. Not officially, anyway. Soon, hopefully. He didn't correct Heather, though.

"I'll ask her. She wants to meet Cam, so..."

"And we'd like to meet her."

Gray took that remark in the spirit in which it had been said, as if a family member of his had said it. He didn't feel as if he was under so much scrutiny anymore. Maybe Heather and Carlos, having seen him take a sincere interest in Cam, were satisfied with what they'd come to know about him.

On another note, he leaned against the fence and took in the property with sweeping glances. All that room, lots of country living, half an hour from the beach and a horse or two to boot. What a great place for a boy to grow up.

More than he could ever give Cam.

"Gray? You okay?"

"He'd been staring at his hands. His cuticles seemed to be permanently discolored by dirty motor oil. It didn't matter how much he washed them.

"I'm fine," he said hoarsely.

She neared the fence on Dreamer and leaned down to hand him Cam, who wasn't very happy about getting off the horse.

"You sure? You look...I don't know. Deep in thought," Heather guessed.

Might as well be honest.

"I'm just thinking about how much better Cam is here with you and Carlos," he said. "'Cause I could never afford anything like that."

Heather dismounted and grasped the horse's bridle.

"This is actually very modest," she said. "It may look like a lot because it's big, but it's just a patch of land. Owned by the bank right now, in fact. And we got lucky. The sellers were getting divorced, so they were anxious to unload it."

"Yeah. Well, I don't own anything but a car. Clothes on my back."

"Cam's mother didn't own anything, either. Believe me, he was born with much less than you could give him." Heather paused, coming around to open the gate for herself. "And that's not to say that we wouldn't miss Cam here. The idea of him living so far away from us—well, that's just the way things are. But I don't want you to think you don't have anything to offer him. He'd have a father's love."

Gray nodded. He waited for her to take the saddle off Dreamer and go through her whole routine. As he walked back to the house with her and Cam, who kicked up the dust in his little cowboy boots, he found the courage to finally pose the question that had been on his mind.

"So...you and Carlos would be okay with that? With me taking Cam and raising him on my own?"

Gray expected her to be taken aback by that. There was a definite lack of surprise on her face, though she smiled sadly.

"We knew when we started looking for you that it was a possibility," she replied.

"How did you know how to find me?"

"It wasn't hard at all. I remembered where my sister met you. I'd forgotten, though, that she said you were a mechanic. I figured Sandpiper Beach is a small seaside town. Couldn't be too many car shops to find you."

He asked the next question gingerly. "Why didn't your sister come find me when she found out she was pregnant?"

"I asked her that once. I know you left an impression on her." Her grin turned misty. "She said you were the nicest guy who'd ever paid attention to her. I asked her why she didn't tell you about Cam. She just said, 'Well, what if he doesn't want anything to do with us?' And that was that. I don't claim to understand it, either."

Neither did Gray, who moved on to a different subject as they neared the house. "If I did take Cam...you and Carlos, you know, you'd still always be there for him, wouldn't you? Because you're the closest thing he has to his mom. I didn't really know her. You did. He'd know about her from whatever you could tell him."

Heather stared at her scuffed cowboy boots. "Gray, please don't be angry with us, but I think you should know we ran a background check on you. We paid to have that done. We needed to know if you were being truthful with us about your past, your character. Obviously, you were. You've never been in trouble, you're not a violent person, you're a well-adjusted, hardworking young guy."

They stepped onto the enclosed porch and Cam trotted into the house ahead of them. She turned to Gray.

"Some days, I'm okay. And some days I remember getting that call from Carlos. I was out shopping and he was home when my mother called to tell us my sister had been taken to the hospital, that she'd overdosed and she wouldn't be coming home. Twenty-four years old, that's all I kept thinking. That nobody dies at twenty-four. That my sister was gone. That's....all."

Before she turned, Gray saw her painfully blinking back tears.

That wasn't all. He understood what had been left unspoken. Heather had tried to protect Cam, her sister's son, as best she could, and she would have taken any and all measures necessary to do that.

"You wouldn't have to worry about us being there," she added. "We would be there for you, too. And we did contact you because we didn't want Cam to learn one day that you were out there but that we kept you two apart. But we also want to be a part of his life, even if you were to decide to raise him on your own. And if you did...who would watch him for you while you're at work?"

"I've already talked to my Aunt Betty about that. She'd be happy to take Cam until I get home from work."

"Is she of good health and everything to do that?"

"Aunt Betty?" Gray chuckled. "She's sturdier than a lot of people our age. She's more like my second mother than an aunt. I go see my parents as much as I can, too. They live in Homestead, but they've been divorced for a long time now. Aunt Betty and Uncle Dave are my other parents."

"And in a couple of years it'll get easier, anyway. Cam will be starting preschool by then..." She almost sounded as if she were thinking out loud. She faced Gray, who was now leaning against the kitchen counter. "Seems like you're more open to the idea of raising him yourself."

"Been thinking about it. Not sure yet."

"There's no rush, either. Just understand there'll be an adjustment period for him." Shrugging, Heather said, "And for you. You open your home and your heart to a child, your life is going to change. Nothing will ever be the same again. Also, your aunt and uncle, that's one thing. Anyone else who comes into your life—a girlfriend, eventually a wife—has to understand she's getting more than a husband. She's getting a ready-made family. Someone who won't see Cam as a nuisance or a reminder of another woman, but as someone else to open her heart to. And you won't be a carefree bachelor anymore. You'll be a daddy."

He tossed a glance over his shoulder at the kitchen table, where Cam sat playing with one of his toys and waving back at him.

"I think that change is already happening to me," he said.

19

Some worried sisters may visit their runaway sisters at the beach for three or four days. Mine was a high school teacher with a broken heart, plus the whole summer off, so there you have it.

Between us, Krystal was always the daredevil. I knew I was in trouble when she decided that flying seven hundred feet over the Atlantic would be the best medicine.

Let me just point out that, in the few months I'd been living in Sandpiper Beach, it had never once occurred to me to strap on a harness and get dragged through the heavens by a tiny speedboat.

Thanks to Krystal, there I was, strapped into some contraption with lines and a huge parachute attached to a boat with the name SKYDREAMS PARASAIL. One of the two guys who'd brought us out there was giving us last-minute instructions. Krystal didn't look heartbroken over her unfaithful fiancé, at least not at that moment. She looked like an excited little kid about to take her first ride on a roller coaster.

Except this was much, much, much more insane.

I'd only agreed to it because she said she didn't want to go alone, but it would do her heart good. The things I do for sisterly love.

"All righty, then," the captain drawled. "You girls ready?"

My sister cooed like a baby being tickled. The best I could do was give a shaky, "I g-guess."

"Great! You'll love this, ladies! Here we go..."

Oh, my sweet Lord. There's always, in those things, that initial freak-out moment, where you realize that's it, there's no turning back now, you are stuck. So the boat's engine roars to life and we're zipping along the water at a good clip. My sister points out how we're not that far at all from the beach and the sunworshippers out on the sand. She's got her shorts on over her bikini bottom, I've got my shorts on over my tankini. We pick up speed, the sun's in my eyes in spite of my sunglasses, and the wind is whipping up our hair but good.

Suddenly, but nice and easy, we are sliding up and away from the boat's stern.

Six hundred, seven hundred feet, we'll be climbing. Ohhhhhh, God. I swallow hard, sure I'm about to have cardiac arrest. You fall in water at that height, it's like hitting concrete. Are the cables secure? Can I accidentally slip out of that thing? What if the boat loses power or crashes into another one?

Beside me, Krys lets out a happy peal of laughter. We're climbing, the parasail is billowing like a golden sun behind us. It really does feel like we're flying.

"I'm up here now," I whisper to myself. "Can't do anything about it. Might as well enjoy it."

"What'd you say, hon?"

"Nothing. I said look at the view," I replied to my sister's question. "Is that not gorgeous?"

"It really is," Krys agreed with an exaggerated sigh.

I was scared but that was passing. How fascinating, that perspective from the sky. That was what the birds could see of the ocean and the land. From up there, the world looked so different, so beautiful.

"Sometimes it's hard to see how wonderful everything is." To clarify, I added, "With your feet on the ground."

"Oh, man was definitely meant to fly. Women was, anyway!" Krys enthused.

I relaxed enough to laugh.

And...to remember another time. A time when I wasn't flying or carefree, some months after Ian died...

It was a day when we were shorthanded at work. When wasn't that the case back then? I hadn't stopped working that day since the second I'd walked through the door. If I had to guess, I'd say I was doing the work of four people that day. No exaggeration.

I remember, very clearly, that it was also a day when I didn't feel like being there at all. I didn't feel like being pressured. I didn't feel like being reprimanded for stupid things. Of course, my supervisor came down on me for something. She'd been friendly to me at first; we even had lunch together often. For some reason, I never knew what exactly had happened, she'd transformed into an ice queen. Even if she hadn't, I'd still dreaded going into work every day. If felt more like being in prison.

Shortly after I left her office, I fell apart. I didn't collapse; I didn't faint. I just fell apart.

Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. I told the charge nurse that I was leaving, that I had to get to my doctor's office. Then I sat in my car and cried and cried. I stayed there until the security guard saw me and gently helped me out of the car. They called Krystal to come pick me up.

My sister took me to the hospital that day. That part is all a blur. I followed up with my doctor a few days later. He put me on anti-stress and anti-depressant medication. I never went back to work.

Months later, I started making plans to live at the beach.

20

That might as well have been a century ago. I didn't need those pills anymore. I had the surf and the sand and the sun. I had freedom.

It was happening. I hadn't even noticed it, but I had begun the process of healing.

"Ooooh, shoot! It's over," Krystal lamented.

Apparently, it was. We were being drawn back down to the confines of Earth—or rather, the boat. Knowing that we were leaving the sky, after all that anxiety, made me sad. At first, I didn't know how the landing would be. I'd assumed they'd pull us down to a safe height and cut us loose, which was silly.

They did, however, dip our legs in the water. That refreshed us and made us laugh. Then, ever so gently, we were guided back by the cables onto the boat's stern.

"How was it?" the captain asked, grinning.

"Wonderful! Totally worth the money," Krystal said.

"We're tough chicks, huh?" I remarked. "We survived that."

"Sure we did. With us, should there have even been the teensiest doubt?" My sister smiled and squeezed my hand.

21

I missed Gray.

It was great going parasailing with Krystal, but now—if he was willing to do it—I wanted to do that crazy thing again, this time with him.

That same late afternoon, after we returned from our day at the beach, he was on my mind. I'd let Krystal take a shower first. Since we were going out for dinner, I took advantage of that forty minutes, more or less, to work out on my treadmill. Dinner, drinks, maybe a movie or something, then we'd come home and fall fast asleep. We'd sleep until twelve the next day.

But wait—I remembered I had to be at the Pancake House at one o'clock the next day. My sister had suggested I simply quit whenever I didn't feel like going into work. How could I do that to Bob, though? As a boss, he was such a sweetheart.

"Three hundred and sixty-two of those little bad boys—poof! Gone." Krystal was talking about the calories recorded as having been burned away on the treadmill's panel. "Good girl. I need to do that, too."

"Use it whenever you want," I offered.

"I think I need some motivation."

"You do it continually, you start seeing results," I said helpfully, "believe me, you'll be motivated."

"Wow, that works for you? I was thinking more along the lines of something tall, dark, and macho as all get-out."

I frowned. "You really think you're ready for another relationship? So soon?"

"Honey, who's talking about a relationship? I just want a man to have some fun." She was wearing panties and a crisp white tank over her bra and held up a familiar item on a hanger. "Mind if I wear this? I know you're smaller, but it's that stretchy fabric."

If she was looking to catch a man's eye, she'd catch it in that cute little summer dress, which showed off lots of leg and hugged curves better than a Mustang.

"Keep it," I told her.

"Keep it? I don't want to keep it. Granted, I'll probably stretch it out on you—"

"I never wear it, Krys."

"Oh. Okay, well. In that case..." She held up a pair of blingy, high-heeled sandals. "Cute?"

"Ah, look at those. A pair of Come-and-Get-Me Shoes. Perfect combo." I hopped off the treadmill. "Going to take a shower."

"No rush. Hey, let's get some mariscos!"

"Mariscos or pescado," I showed off my own Spanglish. "Shell fish, fish, I'm in. And some frozen margaritas to wash it all down."

"Yeah, baby!"

Man. Jake who? I couldn't tell if it was our earlier parasailing adventure or the fact that we were together that was working better than Xanax on my sister. That's not to say the two of us didn't get into some heated shouting matches from time to time, because we did. We fought like any other sisters.

But when Krystal and I were fine—and especially when one of us was hurting and the other was coming to her rescue—we were more than sisters. We were each other's best friend. She brought out the mischief maker in me, and I brought out even more mischief in her. That's just the way we rolled.

I stepped out of the shower, loving the little shiver I got from the bungalow's central air, and heard my cell signaling that I had a voicemail message. Wrapping a towel around myself, my hair wet and dangling around my shoulders, I grabbed my phone and smiled.

"Hey, baby! You should see Cam riding on a horse. Not by himself, of course. Sorry I missed you. Call me when you can. Can't wait to see my other baby..."

"Muchacha. Talk about a sexy voice."

My sister was behind me, putting on some big, dangly silver earrings. I'd had the phone on speaker.

"'Can't wait to see my other baby," she teased, trying to mimic Gray's deep, masculine voice and then fanning herself. "He sounds very caliente."

"He is. Now shoo!" I turned and slapped her behind lightly with my phone. "I can't leave until I fix myself and I'm about to pass out from hunger. Can't wait for those crab legs."

22

In the short time I'd lived in town, I'd yet to go to the Coral Shell Suites, other than that time I'd gone there for dinner.

Papi was the one to credit with finding the place. One of my mom's biggest complaints was that my father rarely wanted to go out to eat. Not because he was cheap, either. Papi didn't throw money away, but when he spent it, he did it wholeheartedly, on things to be enjoyed. No, his thing was that even most chefs, according to him, didn't cook as well as his wife or his mother.

We drove around that evening looking for a restaurant. Papi happened to like the name Bimini Road Café, advertised on the sign right outside the Coral Shell Suites. I looked it up on the computer, and apparently it was named after a real-life wall or something in the waters near the Bahamas, which some people believe is part of Atlantis. Cool! As it turned out, the service in the restaurant was great, the ambiance was even better, and the seafood menu was phenomenal.

That was only my second time there, though I'd wanted it to be with Gray. Still, my sister appreciated it. After dinner, which included sharing a sinfully amazing Key Lime pie, we headed outside to the miniature golf course next door. The hotel let us bring our glasses and a pitcher of margaritas with us.

"You know that guy over there?" Krystal asked after we'd paid and started off. "I'm asking because his eyes could eat you up in one bite."

I turned and suppressed a groan.

Dallas O'Keefe. Oh, no. The last person I wanted to see, especially with my feelings for Gray becoming steadily stronger.

"He's a friend," I responded.

"He's a hunk."

"He's a firefighter."

"He's alone." That was one weird conversation. Krystal licked her lips in a predatory manner. "He's looking your way. Lustfully."

I'm taken.

Or was I?

I didn't have time to sort it all out. Dallas trotted to catch up with us after motioning to the guy with him.

"Fishing buddy!" he greeted me. "Been meaning to call you. You playing mini golf?"

Krys waved her golf club in an arc. "Not really. They just make really cute fashion accessories. Don't you think?"

He chuckled and complimented her. "You're funny."

"That's my sister, Krystal Martinez, the family comedienne," I introduced them. "Krystal, this is Dallas O'Keefe—Sandpiper Beach Fire Department, local guy, good tipper."

"Good tipper?" She looked to him for the answer.

"Eh, I'm more generous than he is," the guy beside Dallas tossed in. "I'm Shane Rolands. Also Sandpiper Beach Fire Department. Nice to meet you ladies."

"Nice to meet you," Krystal drawled.

"You girls mind if we join you?" Dallas asked.

"We're playing?" Shane didn't hide his surprise.

"Yeah, man, it's miniature golf. C'mon, that's fun."

"Okay, but that's not nearly enough margaritas for all of us. Let me go get us another pitcher."

Two girls, two guys, margaritas and miniature golf. Well, maybe two girls, two guys, margaritas and a steamy Florida night. Sounded innocent enough, but it worried me.

Hands down, Dallas was more handsome than his friend. On the other hand, my sister wasn't being especially choosy that night. I knew her, so I knew she was more upset over her broken engagement than she was letting on. I also knew Krystal Martinez had never been one for locking herself in a room with a box of tissues and wallowing in her misery. Even if she did that, it wouldn't be for very long. She preferred the route of going out for a night on the town, having fun and reminding herself that, if nothing else, she was still alive and kicking.

I had stolen away earlier to return Gray's call, disappointed when it went straight to voicemail. That might have meant he'd hooked it up for the night to recharge the battery. Wistfully, I left him a message. I told him how much I missed him, how I wished I could be there with him and Cam, and how I couldn't wait to see him again.

Yet there I was, drinking and playing games with another guy.

I was free to do that, after all. There was a part of me that found Dallas very attractive. During the first few holes of the game, I managed to relax a bit. It's only a game, I told myself. Miniature golf was anything but exotic, but with this one, boasting a view of the beach, the palm trees and the ocean, was dusted with more than a bit of tropical magic.

"That's part of your problem, Cherry," Dallas said as I got ready to take my next shot. "The way you're holding the club..."

No. He was not doing that. Not the oldest trick in the book of coming up behind the girl, wrapping those big, firefighter arms around her and pretending to teach her how to hold the golf club. Granted, that's an effective old trick, and from that close proximity his cologne was making me tipsier than the tequila concoction in both pitchers.

"Nice, eeeeeeeasy. Like that," he whispered in my ear.

Hit the ball, hit the ball already!

I glanced at Shane, who was smirking and rocking from one foot to the other restlessly. Krystal, beside him, was watching us like a woman who hadn't eaten in days and she was staring at a chocolate-upon-chocolate cake.

"See? You got a lot closer that time. So did I..."

Dallas nibbled on my neck. I wriggled free from his hold, in spite of how titillating that little episode was, admittedly.

"Yep! Looks like I did better. Thanks for the tip." After that, I needed a refill on my drink.

"See, now, I've been playing this for so long. This was my mom's favorite game." To demonstrate, Shane twisted around, flicked the club behind him, hit the ball with ease and it shimmied down a perfect path and disappeared into the hole.

My sister found that wildly funny. That either meant she was getting margarita'd-up, or she was just having a really, really good time.

"Very good, very good, baby!" The way she was brandishing that pitcher in the air, I swore she was going to drop it at any minute. "You get another margarita for that."

"Another margarita? Hey!" Delighted, Shane held up his nearly empty glass. "That's what you get for being good?"

"Yessir. That's what you get here. We aim to please."

Really, now. Could she not see his next move coming from a mile away?

"So what do you get for being bad?"

Even though it was my sister's turn, she still had the club in her left hand and the pitcher in her right. I couldn't hear what answer she was giving Shane. It must have been juicy, judging from his swarthy grin.

Dallas edged up next to me and kept his voice low. "I think they're hitting it off. What do you think?"

"I think he should be careful," I replied honestly. "She just broke up with her fiancé."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that. So she came to visit you because she knew you'd cheer her up?"

"That was the plan, yes. But she's pretty good at cheering herself up." I laughed with him. "She talked me into going parasailing with her today."

"Yeah? Cooool! Krys is funny. I take it good looks run in your family. She's beautiful, too."

"Hey, uh, Dallas. Whenever you're done over there, it's your turn," Shane announced.

"Oh. Like it matters. I'm losing pitifully," Dallas muttered playfully.

I take it good looks run in your family. She's beautiful, too.

That was nice of him to say, though the beautiful one between us was definitely Krystal. Krystal had been the cheerleader in school, the one who'd taken tap and jazz and other dance classes. She never missed a chance to audition for a school or community play. Always made it, too, often to a leading role. There was a time when she talked about the both of us moving to California so she could pursue a career in film. As for me, she said I could study at a college out there and I'd be fine, since nurses could work anywhere; they weren't as limited as actresses.

I never thought it was fair that it didn't happen for her. Not because she's my sister—although, albeit, I am partial, because I would have probably been her biggest fan—but she was beautiful and talented. She could sing, dance and act as well or better than what passes for actresses today, a lot of whom seem to be skinny mops with lots of hair and makeup and only marginal talent.

That never quite panned out. Krystal tried for almost two years. Instead of California, she roomed with two other show business hopefuls in a cramped Staten Island apartment that was only a ferry ride away from Manhattan. New York, the other land of dreams for actors. During that time, she waited on tables, earning more money in tips than she ever did as an actress. She went on audition after audition. Now and then she would land a role in a commercial and non-union roles as an extra in about three movies. She couldn't get into Equity or SAG because she hadn't yet gotten enough experience.

In the end, she gave up on her dream. Really, what I think happened was that discouragement killed her dream. There is a Mariah Carey song from a few years back, "Hero", that Krystal used to tell me she thought of as her theme song. She paraphrased it to me, tearfully, the day she moved out of that apartment, before she went back to school and began working on a new dream for herself that still involved something she loved, about how chasing her dream had proved too hard for her. She'd said she'd let this world and so many failures take her dream away from her, so maybe, she said, she wasn't deserving of it anyway.

I completely disagreed with her.

"You did poorly!" Krystal sang out after Dallas missed the hole by several inches. "That means you get another margarita, too!"

"Ah, Krystal, you're too kind, you're too kind," he said, smiling and holding out his glass. Then he turned to me.

"Listen..." He rubbed the small of my back. "What are you doing this Saturday? Want to finally take that fishing trip with me?"

My sister came to my rescue. Krys came up from behind me and hugged me with her free arm.

"Mira, mira! Look!" She held up the pitcher. Most of the ice had melted away and there was barely enough left for a glass. "We're running out of happy juice."

"Yeah, I know. We need to slow down on the drinking."

"Slow down? Mijita, I'm just getting started. C'mon, walk me to the bar. Let's get one more."

"Uh...Cherry?" Dallas was looking at me hopefully.

"I—I have to help her get another pitcher."

And that was how I wheedled out of turning Dallas O'Keefe down for a date.

Only the night wasn't over. There were still enough hours left to get into trouble.

23

What woke me up the next morning was my cell phone, hooked up and re-juicing its battery on my nightstand. I hadn't drunk more than three margaritas the night before, nursing the first two and gulping down the third, but I was still kinda groggy.

"Hey, baby, it's me!" That was Gray on the other line, sounding a lot more alert and awake than I felt. "I'm home. Did I wake you, beautiful?"

"Did you—no! Oh, no!" I pulled myself into a sitting position. That involved first pushing aside someone's arm from around my waist.

It took me a moment before I realized it was a hairy arm.

That woke me up. Fast.

"I'm so glad you're home, babe," I managed to say. "I missed you."

"Aww, I missed you, too. Can't even tell you how much. You going to work today?"

Ever notice how hard it is to form coherent sentences when you're in the throes of a panic attack? There was enough light coming in through the room that I could see there was not one but two other bodies in that bed with me. The light summer sheets were pulled over them, but a sleeping Dallas was sandwiched between me and my sister. Krystal was snoring lightly.

"Cherry? You there?"

"Yes!" I lowered my voice, since I'd very nearly screamed the word.

"Yes, you're there? Or yes, you have to go to work?"

"Yes—yes, I'm here. No, I'm off today. Gray, can I call you back in a few minutes?"

"Sure. Sure you can, baby. I'll be right here."

As soon as I clicked off the phone, I scrambled out of bed.

"Dallas, get up!" I shouted. "Get up! What're you doing in my bed?"

"Ay, caballero! Cherilyn," my sister uttered my name with her lavish Cuban accent. Said that way, it always sounded like another name. "Stop screaming. My head is going to explode."

"Mine, too, baby." Dallas was addressing me. He rested his hand down, then he must have noticed that lump under the sheet was Krystal's bottom. Quickly, he withdrew it. "What time is it?"

"Time to leave. I don't know why you're still—ohhrumph!"

I'd stepped backwards and went flying onto my behind. That other lump on the floor happened to be Shane, curled up on the floor with Roxy.

"What happened here last night?" I demanded.

Shane, wearing his shirt and boxers, got up on his knees.

"Nothing, Cherry, nothing. Promise. I fell asleep, that's all."

"Oh. Okay, well. That's good to know—"

"But I think you and Dallas were—uh—having a nice time last night."

"Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no." I shook my head. "I don't even remember that."

"Gee, thanks." Dallas flashed me a sheepish grin. "I remember it. I sure do. It was a...a lotta fun."

"I remember that, too. It was magnificent!" My sister sat up and hugged her knees. When her starry-eyed gaze drifted from him to me, her smile evaporated. "Oh—oh, I mean—"

"That was you?" The color drained from Dallas' face. His head shot around to face me. "You mean that wasn't you, Cherry?"

I tamped down on my emotions, trying desperately not to get hysterical. "Please tell me you two didn't—in the same bed with me—oh, eeeeewwwww!"

"We didn't! We didn't!" Krys struggled to free herself from the sheets. She was wearing Dallas' T-shirt and, I assume, nothing else. "Nothing happened. Cherry, I swear, I'd never touch your boyfriend—"

"Wow, this is real Jerry Springer stuff," Shane mused out loud.

"Shane, pleeeeeeeeeeeeease!" I squealed.

A phone rang, the ringtone a few bars of Marc Anthony's "I Need to Know." Personally, I didn't. Krystal caught it in mid-ring.

"Mom. Hi. What's up?" My sister tried to sound normal, as if we were all sitting around having coffee and bagels. Dallas chose that moment to stagger out of bed.

That man wasn't wearing one stitch of clothing on his very male body.

"You're naked! Cover up, cover up!" I ordered.

Krys rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, no, Mom, everything's fine. There are no naked men here. We're just watching something racy on the news. Can I call you back, Mima?"

"I hate to tell you," Shane said then, "but I have to throw up."

"Oh, you would!" Later on, I'd feel badly for scolding him. For now, I pointed to the bathroom. "In there. Hurry!"

"Really, Mom, that's wonderful!" my sister went on cheerfully with her conversation. All the while, she was turning green. We could hear retching sounds coming from behind the bathroom door. "I'm so glad you and Aunt Annette are getting your nails done...oh, and a facial, too. Look at that..."

"Cherry, baby, I know how bad this looks," Dallas whispered to me as he wrapped his pants around his waist. He covered up anything essential. "I didn't mean for this to happen. You gotta believe me. I thought she was you. It was dark. She came onto me. I thought she was you—"

"Wait a minute, Mom. Hold on, okay?"

To my horror, with Mom still on the phone, Krystal grabbed a pillow and popped Dallas one with it.

"Don't you dare do that!" She was livid. "Don't you dare tell Cherry that I came onto you. You were the one who started it, Dallas O'Keefe! And I had seven—okay, maybe eight—margaritas. Who knows how much I drank. I didn't know what I was doing. I would never, ever have sex with my sister's boyfriend!"

Suddenly, we could hear our mother's voice, sounding tinny and frantic, asking through the cell, "What is going on over there? Krystal, Cherilyn—"

Krystal pressed the phone to her ear. "Nothing is going on. I have to go, Mom. I have to go now. I'm going to be sick."

I couldn't tell if she'd hung up or not, but she tossed the phone onto the bed and banged hard on the bathroom door.

"Hurry up in there! I'm dying!" she hollered.

"I wasn't accusing your sister," Dallas was telling me, his gaze lowered like a penitent child. "I don't know. Like I said, Cherry, it was dark. I had too much to drink. She had too much to drink..."

"Dallas, I'm not angry."

"You're—not mad at her. But you're mad at me."

My sister ran out of the room. My guess was that she was trying to make it outside so she could throw up in the backyard.

Unfortunately, she made it as far as the hallway before she began retching miserably. Dallas looked queasy when he turned to me, swallowing hard.

"You're mad at me," he half wailed.

"I'm not mad at you." I was glaring back at him sullenly, so I knew my body language wasn't backing up my words. "Please, Dallas. We'll talk later. I promise. Right now, you and Shane have to get out of here. My boyfriend's going to call and he might just show up."

"Your...boyfriend? Ohhhh, Cherry!" Dallas was hungover and whiny. The combination, in spite of his handsome features and that trim six-pack, was not very sexy. "I wanted us to go out with each other. I wanted us to have a shot together."

"Please, Dallas. I don't want Gray to come in here and think we've been having a wild orgy."

"A wild orgy? What the heck is going on down there?" Suffice to say, Krys' phone was still on. My mom had been quietly eavesdropping. "Cherilyn Martinez! Young lady, answer me right now..."

I grabbed the phone. "Mom, everything's okay. We're both fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes. Don't worry."

"Don't worry? You and your sister are—"

Shane at last emerged from the bathroom. His hair was a mess, but the color was coming back to his face.

"That's better," he said. "Hey, Cherry, you got any ginger ale? Alka Seltzer? Something to settle my stomach?"

"Just give me a chance, Cherry. Please, c'mon, baby," Dallas said, going from whiny to needy in four, three, two...

"Where's your mop?" Krystal asked in the bedroom doorway. "Your boyfriend's car is in the driveway. I don't think you want him to see that yucky mess in your hallway. Oh—and he has a little kid with him. A baby."

"Ohhh, he's got the baby with him?" It was my turn to whine.

"A baby? What baby? Oh, my God—whose baby? Put your sister on the phone. Right now!"

Roxy, hearing the doorbell, sprang into action. Barking with that deep German shepherd voice of hers, she almost knocked Shane down in her haste to race out of the room.

"Here—talk to Mom," I told my sister, thrusting the phone into her hand. "Boys—either you hide or you escape out that window. Do not come out, even if there's a fire. You hear?"

"Even if there's a fire, they're firemen!" Giggling, Krys accidentally slammed her cell shut. "Ooops. Sorry, Mami."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Cherry." Dallas glanced at my sister. "I'm sorry to you, too, Krystal."

"We'll talk about this later. You and Shane—now. Out, let's go." She opened the window for them.

I was going to get caught. I just knew I was. I'm one of those people who never gets away with anything. Ten people can zoom past a cop car doing eighty-five on the Interstate, but I'm the one who gets caught doing eighty-four. Behind me, my sister was mopping up the mess on the hallway floor as fast as she could. She looked up at me, her eyes welling up with tears. I tried to comfort her with a smile.

I wasn't jealous. Not really. Well...maybe a little. As unfair as it was, as silly, I was jealous that Dallas O'Keefe and my sister had...an experience together.

A little tequila-laced adventure. But he wasn't mine.

Yet....I saw him first.

Later on, I'd ask her about it. For right now, I had to get the door.

24

Gray waited patiently on the porch, even though it was taking Cherry longer than usual to come to the door. He'd set Cam down on his feet and had to chuckle at his son's fascination with the line of wind chimes hanging from the porch ceiling.

Finally, the door opened. Cherry smiled, and when her gaze dropped from his face to Cam's, her smile got even wider. She pushed open the screen door.

"I didn't know I had two handsome guests!" she breathed. "Hello, baby!"

Gray laughed softly. He had envisioned the moment when Cherry and Cam laid eyes on each other for the first time. He'd thought about it, on and off, all the way home from South Carolina.

"Surprise!" he exclaimed. "This is my best buddy...and my son. Cam, this is Cherry."

"Ohhh, he's so cute." She turned to Gray. "Would he—will he let me hold him?"

"Think so. He's shy, but he's Mr. Personality. He loves everybody. Come here, pumpkin..." Crouching down, he swept Cam up into his arms and stood. "This is Cherry. The girl I told you I couldn't wait for you to meet."

Cherry drew in closer to them. She wrapped her arms around them both and smiled at Gray. He licked his lips and then his mouth met hers in a long, awaited kiss savored by them both.

"Well, I missed that while I was gone," he growled.

"Me, too. Missed it a lot."

"Aren't you going to invite us boys inside?"

"Oh. Uh, of course. Give me a sec, Gray. My sister was sick a few minutes ago and—well, I'll spare you the icky details. Wait one sec, okay?"

"Okay. Yeah."

The door was closed but not locked, slightly ajar. Leaning to the side, Gray saw the car parked behind Cherry's.

That was the same rental that had been there before he'd left for Loris. Probably from the car rental place at the airport.

What he didn't see were the two men walking around the back of the house, through the back yard, and down the next street over.

Cherry was acting a little...weird. Why was that? He hadn't given her a heads-up about Cam coming. Was that it? Was she one of those people who felt uncomfortable around kids? Or was there something else?

"Back!" Cherry announced as she opened the screen door again. She held her arms out to Cam.

"Come with me, cutie," she urged.

"Hmmm. He likes you," Gray observed. "The young man has good taste."

"That means he must already be quite a flirt."

The comment had come from Cherry's sister. She sat on the arm of the loveseat in the living room. Dressing in a kimono-style satin robe, she smiled at him over the rim of a mug.

"Hello, again, Krystal."

"Hi, Gray."

"Cherry tells me you're not feeling too good."

"Yeah. Must've been something I dr—ate."

He frowned. "Something you drate?"

"Ate. I must've gotten some bad crab legs or something last night." She cleared her throat. "I'm better now, though."

"Good. Glad to hear that."

"She's having chamomile," Cherry said. "But I was about to fix some coffee. Want some?"

"Actually, I was going to invite you out for breakfast. I thought maybe you'd like to join me and Cam. Unless you can't make it. I'll understand. Short notice and all."

"Short notice? That's fine. Give me ten minutes. I'll be ready."

Gray smiled. "You sure?"

"Sure, yes. I missed you." She set Cam down on his little sneakered feet. "And I wouldn't want to miss having breakfast with you two. Be right back."

One more kiss and she disappeared down the hallway, which had been sprayed with mountain-fresh air freshener. Absolutely no visible trace of what had gone on there the night before.

25

Most people probably wouldn't want to go to the same restaurant where they work for a surprise breakfast date. When Gray asked if I'd mind, my answer was, "Cam would love our silver dollar pancakes."

And I was right!

"So you asked them to let you keep Cam for a week and they let you?" I asked as I passed Gray the container of maple syrup.

"Yeah, I was surprised, but they did." He smirked from across the table at me. "I guess the private eye they used convinced them it was okay."

My eyes widened. "They sent a detective after you?"

"They paid for some kind of detective. Background check. I don't know." He shrugged. "I would've done the same thing in their shoes. Just never been checked out like that before, so it feels kinda weird. Anyway, Heather and Carlos let me take Cam for a week. We're seeing how it works. Aunt Betty's watching him for me while I'm at work. We also want to see how Cam does."

"How is he doing?"

"So far, so good. But I only got back from South Carolina last night. This is a whole new family he has to get used to."

"Uh-huh."

He's not the only one who has to get used to it.

I had to admit, it was...odd for me. I'd never been on a date with two guys—double date, yes—at once, and one of them had to use a booster chair to sit at the table. Taking a sip of my coffee, I watched Cam struggle with a fork until his daddy helped him with a morsel of pancake. For a man who hadn't been a parent for very long, Gray wasn't doing too badly at all. He'd dressed Cameron that morning in a little pair of shorts and a T-shirt with the words DADDY'S LITTLE HELPER amid a hammer, a screwdriver, and other tools.

"Cute shirt," I said. "Was that one of the ones we got for him?"

"No, my cousin Blaine got it for him. Nice, huh?" He chuckled.

"Very nice. I like that."

Working at the Pancake House, I'd watched other parents with their kids. Just like them, that little toddler sat there with the coloring page and crayons—red, blue and green—that the restaurant provided for parents to entertain their kids. He drank his apple juice from one of the sippy-style cups we gave to children and nibbled at his pancakes and strips of bacon.

As a nurse, I'd been around kids. I worked for about a year in the Pediatrics Department of a health department. It's one thing to do your nursely duties, taking a kid's temperature, giving them their vaccines, etc., and it's another to go out on a date with a tiny boy and his dad. I ate my own breakfast of scrambled eggs and wheat toast very slowly, fascinated by the interaction between him and Gray.

Cam had also kept his eye on me. He held up one of the crayons and said, "This is blue!"

Both his father and I laughed. So much excitement contained in only three words!

"Yes, it is. I like blue," I told him.

"Me, too."

"Is that your favorite color, Cam?"

"Yeah."

"What's your favorite thing to eat?"

"Hmmmm..." The question gave him pause. "Cookies!"

"Oh, I love cookies," I agreed lavishly.

"Yes, but we can't have cookies until we have our dinner, right, Cam?" Gray raised his eyebrows at him. To me, he said, "Heather had to move the Oreos to a higher shelf in the pantry. He found out where she kept them."

"I see. So he gets into mischief sometimes?"

"She left him alone for a few minutes in the living room. When she came back, he had every single movie DVD in a huge mountain on the floor in front of where she keeps them."

I giggled. "Guess that's why they call them the Terrible Twos. But he's still a good boy."

"Yes, he is." Gray nodded and gave me the most tender smile I'd ever seen on a man's face.

Then he reached across the table and squeezed my hand. A customer, one of our regulars, passed our table on her way to pay for her meal, ticket in hand.

"Oh, look who's here! Nena, you're the customer today, huh?" She was genuinely delighted by that.

"Yes, today I am. How are you doing, Blanca?"

Nice lady, really sweet. Raised in the Bronx, she'd lived in New York all her life and had recently moved to Sandpiper Beach to be close to her only child, a daughter, and her family. Blanca Santiago reminded me of my great-aunts on my dad's side. Same outgoing personality, very warm and funny.

"I'm doing good, mamita. Feeling better since the doctor changed my blood pressure pills," she reported.

"Good, mi amiga. I'm glad to hear that. You walking more, too?"

"I'm walking more, yes, like the doctor told me. See? I listened to him." She drew closer to the table, widening her eyes and holding her hand to the side of her mouth in a stage-whisper. "Sometimes. When he bothers me enough."

Gray laughed but I pretended to be stern, shaking an index finger at her. "You better be good. I'll tell your doctor. He comes in here for his muffins."

"See that? He eats muffins. He tells me not to." Blanca winked at Gray. "And is this your husband and baby? Beautiful family."

Instinctively, I glanced at Gray. He continued to smile at her, though Cam took his attention away by dropping his fork on the seat beside him.

"He's—well, actually, that's my boyfriend, Gray and his son." Awk-ward!

Blanca looked slightly embarrassed, too. "Oh, I see. Well, your little boy is adorable, eh—"

"Gray Kelly," I introduced him. "And that is Cam, his son. Gray, this is Blanca Santiago. She's a customer and a friend."

"My pleasure, Ms. Santiago." He extended his hand to shake hers.

"The pleasure is mine. Anyway, I'll let you young people enjoy your breakfast. Sweetie, no se te olivide. La reunion es el miercoles, si puedes venir."

"Wednesday. Got it, Blanca. If I can go, I'll see you there," I responded in English but added in Spanish, "Te veo."

"Que Dios te bendiga, nena. Cuídate."

After she left I turned to Gray. "She's inviting me to the Ladies' Meeting at her church. They get together and cook once a week for the battered women's shelter."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she was telling me about it one day when she was here. I think she's trying to get me to go to church." I laughed. "But that is something that sounds worthwhile. And I'm a beach bum, so I have time to make some macaroni and cheese or something in a casserole dish and take it over there."

"That's nice, baby. That's a good use of your time. Wish I could do that."

"Maybe you can help after work or something."

"Yeah, maybe." Gray grinned. "And you called me your boyfriend."

"Yes. That's true." Nervously, I tapped my fork against my plate. "Ummm...anyway, any idea what you want to do afterwards? Am I joining you?"

"Thinking about taking one of those boats out. Maybe we can see some dolphins. You like that, right, Cam? Go see the dolphins?"

The little guy's eyes brightened. "Yeah, go see doll-fins!"

"Yep. Cam, what's a dolphin?"

He gave a shrug of his little shoulders. "I don't know."

That relaxed me enough to giggle. "I'd love to see the dolphins."

"Cool. Doll-fins, it is." Since breakfast was winding down to an end, he reached for the check.

I beat him to it. "It's on me today."

"Yeah, but I invited you."

"That's all right. You fix us dinner later."

"Wow. Breakfast, a boat ride, and dinner with my son and girlfriend. You know, baby," he leaned across the table, giving me a kiss on the mouth. "That's going to be a great day spent."

26

Blanca wasn't the only one who'd assumed Gray was my husband and Cameron was my son. That day, just about everyone on that dolphin-seeking boat mistook us for a family, too.

Something about that saddened me. Let's face it: If my fiancé had lived, we eventually would have married and had kids. I wouldn't had had to correct perfect strangers and a well-meaning acquaintance then.

Yet the man I was supposed to have married did die. Gray was the new man in my life. And Cam was the son he'd had with another woman.

Why allow that to bother me? Lots of people find themselves in that position. Sometimes it's the man who becomes involved with a woman who already has a child by another man.

Except...that wasn't the way I'd always imagined it. I'd always pictured, well—the usual. The big, elaborate wedding, the honeymoon (preferably in Hawaii, the dream locale Ian and I had been saving for before he died), the house with the spacious backyard. Then we'd have our baby, the one that would have had my husband's height and my eyes.

That was how it worked in "the perfect world," as they say. As we all know, neither the world nor life is perfect. Both tend to be sorta messy, in fact.

If I'd owned a business, I would have loved for it to have been Dolphin Safari. Family-owned, two boats, two trips out onto the ocean every day except Tuesday. A disclaimer in posted on the bulletin board in the company's offices on the marina clearly stated that dolphin sightings were not guaranteed. Still, as any local or returning tourist could vouch, sometimes you'd not only see dolphins, but marlins, sharks, whales, and other awesome sea creatures, too.

We were among the lucky that day.

That afternoon, was there anywhere in the world more wonderful to be than in a seaside town? There were times when I was especially content and grateful to have escaped to Sandpiper Beach, and that was one of them. It was typically sweltering Florida afternoon, but on that boat, with about forty other people, the breezes cooled us as we moved at a brisk speed. We had the added bonus that it was a glass-bottom boat.

Cam was too little to grasp that, though I have to say it was fun, both his father and I trying to explain what he was seeing. There was something so lovely, so precious, about a child that age taking in the view of marvelous, colorful fish weaving their way through a kingdom of undersea coral.

"Look, Cam, look—there they are!" I called out when we were back on deck.

Gray was holding his son between us. It was the first time since we'd left the dock, a good forty minutes into the cruise, by the time the dolphins finally appeared to us. Cam was with us at the railing, safely in his father's arms, and I was pressed up close to them.

"Dolphins, Cam! Aren't they great?" his father asked.

That little boy and his sweet disposition! He gave us that little laugh, in awe and probably unsure of what to make of those amusing creatures in the distance, jumping playfully out of the water, only to dive gracefully back beneath the surface.

"It's like they're showing off for us," I said.

"Yeah. They know they have an audience," Gray agreed. "And they love it. What great creatures, huh, baby?"

Cam gave us his verdict: "I like the doll-fins."

"Me, too, sweetie," I told him.

"Baby, hold him for a second. Can I use your camera?"

"Sure. It's in the bag."

I'd held Cam before, so I was fine taking him. He could walk, too, but to see over the boat's railing, he had to be held. My camera, a digital that I used to always carry in my purse, hadn't been used in some time. I made a mental note that it would come in handy with a little one around, since you never knew what cute or funny thing they'd do next that just had to be recorded. Before setting out for breakfast, I'd found it in my dresser drawer and tossed it into Gray's bag, excited that I could email pictures of Cam to him and keep copies for myself.

But that's not your son. Why are you thinking that way?

"You want your juicy?" I asked Cam.

"No, I want water."

"Okay, honey."

His water bottle, a toddler-sized one with Mickey Mouse on it, was tucked into a bag Gray had brought with him. I took it from a side pocket and handed it to the thirsty little boy.

In the same bag were diapers, in case Cam had an accident, since he was still potty training; some toddler treats, including a bag of Cheese Nips crackers, small boxes of juice, and baby wipes.

That was all new for me. And yet there was something so sweet about it, about watching Gray being a daddy, that made him even more manly to me.

After he'd had his fill, Cam handed me the bottle.

"Good?" I asked.

He nodded. Lord, I thought, what a gorgeous kid he is. I felt a yearning, a tug on my heart.

How I wish he was mine.

Then, quite unexpectedly, he took my face in his little hands and gave me a peck on the cheek. I thought my heart would burst.

"Hey, hey, I saw that, young man," Gray teased. "Movin' in on my girl, huh?"

I laughed and kissed him. Inside, I had to think about how much Cam was like his father. Someone who was so easy to love.

The dolphins continued to entertain us. One even came right up to the boat, close enough to appear to be smiling up at us. I didn't know a baby could laugh so heartily.

It was the best date I'd ever been on in my life.

27

The original plan was for Gray to cook dinner at my house. Then, since I hadn't been to his place yet, he suggested we have dinner there. His cousin and roommate, the restaurant manager, was working late and then spending the night at his girlfriend's. I suspected that played a role in the locale for dinner, too.

My sister hadn't picked up her phone in a couple of hours, so I asked Gray to drop me off, that I would ride my bike over to his place afterwards. He had been sweet, telling me Krystal was invited, that he could always set the table for one more.

I was shocked to walk into the house and find my sister's bags, packed and ready to go, in the living room.

"My flight leaves in a couple of hours," she explained. "I'm already late. And I have to drop off the car at the rental place."

Krystal was one of those people who loved to fly. She was dressed in a breezy pair of white pants and a light, flowery top. Her makeup was worthy of a Hollywood diva and her hair was swept up in a sophisticated style. The finishing touch to her elegant look was a pair of small but lovely diamond-studded earrings. As Papi would say, she had that Cuban style going on.

"This is...sudden." I frowned. "I stopped by because you weren't answering your phone—"

"Oh, sorry, Cherry. I've got it juicing up. I forgot to do that yesterday and it was totally dead."

"Well, I also wanted to invite you for dinner. Gray's making dinner for us."

"He's making dinner? Wow. He's a keeper." Her smile was rather sad. "I'd love to join you guys, but I have to get back home. I just miss my house, I guess."

"Ah. Okay." I stepped right up to her, holding her forearms. "That's the only reason you're leaving, though, right?"

"The only reason. Yes." She sighed. "And because—because that thing happened last night with that fireman. I cried all day. That's why I didn't answer when you called."

Seeing her eyes well up, I groaned and pulled her in for a hug.

"Unbelievable, Krys. You went through all that misery for nothing. Listen, Dallas is great, but I'm not with him. I want Gray. You can have Dallas' baby, for all I care. I'm the one who'll be throwing you a baby shower."

It came as a relief to see her laugh.

"I think he thought I was you last night," she explained. "He called me 'Cherry' at first. He's got a major crush on you, if guys can still get crushes at this age. And I had too many margaritas last night, so..."

"Again, he's a friend. He probably knew it was you after a while."

Krys shook her head. "Still shouldn't have happened. It's too weird. Besides, I'm so messed up right now. The only lover I need is called Xanax."

"Sorry. I don't believe that. You're one of the most resilient, strongest people I know. You're going to bounce back from this broken engagement. Listen, it wasn't meant to be." I cupped my hands around her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "If you have to go home, or you just want to, I'll understand. But please don't leave because you think you wronged me and I don't want you here. You drive me crazy sometimes and you know that, but I would love it if you and I still lived close to each other. I'll always need you."

Krystal fidgeted with her bracelet. Mom and Papi had given us each an identical one, both eighteen-karat gold, but mine bore my name and hers bore hers in Oriental-style lettering. My sister wore hers often; I lost mine in a ladies' room at college.

"I love you so much," she said.

"And I love you. You really have to go? Can't you cancel your flight?"

"Ay, Cherilynn. If I could, I'd stay."

"So stay." Smiling, I urged her, "We have schools here, too, you know. God knows, they need drama queens—I mean teachers—everywhere!"

"You're talking about me never leaving."

"Yes, I am. That would work for me. So I must be getting my point across." I laughed. "Just think about it. Okay? Put off leaving for one more day."

A beat passed. Krys shrugged

"It's been so good for me," she confessed. "Being here with you, I mean."

"Of course. And it's been good for me, having you here." Certainly, it wasn't very mature of me, what I admitted to next. "I want family close by. I need my big sister."

After what she'd been through, it seemed to be exactly what she needed to hear.

As for me? So much for running away to some exotic, seaside hideaway

I helped her take her bags upstairs. There'd be time later to unpack them. Then we took the rental car to Gray's, with plans to return it to the airport in the morning. The bill for it was expensive enough already.

28

Something had happened earlier between Cherry and her sister. Krystal's eyes, reddened around the edges, was a dead giveaway to Gray.

No one offered an explanation and, very earnestly, he had no intention of prying. He assumed she was still getting over her broken engagement. Cherry's sister was in high spirits otherwise, sipping a Diet Coke and chatting with him and her younger sister as he cooked.

Gray knew that, as a cook, he was no Bobby Flay. He kept dinner simple—a salad of field greens, tomatoes, cucumbers and strawberries, mimicking his Aunt Betty in that area. Baked potatoes were easy; just pierce them a few times with a fork and toss them in the oven for an hour, an hour and a half.

After dropping Cherry off at her little house, he'd stopped in at the supermarket with Cam to buy chicken and New York strip steaks. He made the meat with chimichurri sauce, something he'd learned from his cousin, the restaurant guy.

For Cam, he sliced the chicken into strips, breaded and fried them. Cam loved chicken fingers, and Gray decided he would also warm up some leftover mac and cheese for him, along with a few boiled carrots.

He and Cam were still getting used to each other, but he was starting to know what his son liked. Carrots and corn were always welcomed, but the little boy turned up his nose at the sight of peas, string beans, broccoli—in short, anything green. "Green is yucky," Cam had said.

Gray couldn't blame him. Chicken tenders, slider-sized cheeseburgers, peanut butter and jelly, and meatloaf were all deemed "yummy." So were mashed potatoes, especially dotted with cheese; milk, with or without added chocolate—and Gray was pleased to note—most fruits. Bananas, sliced apples, pineapple, peaches and mango were among the fruits Cam loved. Again, nothing green. That meant kiwis were out.

Krystal stayed until a bit after dessert. After that she said she had some unpacking to do at home, that her sister had talked her into staying a little longer, and then she kissed Cam and hugged Gray and left.

Cam fought to stay up, but after the day's activities, his dad found him asleep on the loveseat in the living room. Heather had packed, along with clothes and a few of Cam's favorite toys, a child-sized blanket. Gray spread it over him, tucking it around the baby's shoulders, and bent over to kiss his head.

He heard a tongue-clicking sound before him and turned to see Cherry smiling at him.

"I love watching you two," she said. "Babe, give him a minute. I'm calling my sister. It's about to storm. I just want to make sure she made it back home. And Roxy's outside, so I want Krys to bring her in."

"Sure, baby. I'll go put some coffee on for us."

"I already did. It's almost ready."

"Good." He straightened up, grinning at her.

"We can watch the storm from the sun porch. Be better than a movie."

As if right on cue, they heard a clap of thunder in the distance.

"And that must be the coming attractions," Cherry joked, laughing with him. "Be right back."

Trying not to gawk, he watched her saunter back into the kitchen. Those shorts hugged her narrow hips and shapely behind, showcasing also her legs, now more tanned than when he'd first met her. He'd noticed people tan differently. Hers made her look even more Latin and exotic, all of which equaled sexy. At the doorway to the kitchen he could breathe in the unmistakable aroma of coffee.

Cherry was staying the night. He'd asked her to and she had agreed, though the oncoming storm he would have kept her there for a while longer anyway.

Alone with Cherry for the first time that day. Other than after her sister left and Cam sat watching The Power Rangers on TV, with both Gray and Cherry periodically checking on him, they had a few precious moments alone.

"Coffee good?" she asked.

They had just gotten settled in the enclosed sun porch. The storm was moving in rapidly, though the downpour had held off for now. So far only the thunder, rumbling through the clouds in the night sky, had made an appearance.

"Pretty good."

"Enough sugar?"

He smirked. "I don't take as much as you do in your coffee."

"Well, I'm one of those people who likes a little coffee with her milk and sugar."

"I noticed that," Gray teased her affectionately, then moved on to another subject. "Your sister still getting over what happened? About her engagement?"

Cherry rested her head on his shoulder. "I think it's been good for her, being here with me."

"I bet it has, too. Would you want her to move down here?"

"I'd love for that to happen."

"So would I. I know you didn't move down here to get away from your family. If anything, you seem very close, you two. My aunt says it's good to be close to your 'people.'"

"It is." She curled her legs up under her, and as she did, the night sky lit up with another silver bolt of lightning. "That was a beautiful one."

"The storms are pretty dramatic here. Maybe it's being so close to the ocean."

The lightning was followed by a loud explosion of thunder.

"I thought about that before I moved here." Her tone was relaxed, almost drowsy. "I kinda thought I should move a little further inland. Then it was like, well...I'll just rent. See how it goes."

"This place has been here a long time. It was rebuilt once."

"It was rebuilt?"

"Yeah. That was Hurricane Andrew. That was a bad one."

"You were here?"

"No, I hadn't moved here yet. My uncle says it tore up the town real bad. He said it was scary. Big winds, storm surge." He pursed his lips. "That's one of the downfalls of living close to the ocean. That makes some people say, 'Well, why do they live that close to the ocean? That's asking for trouble.' Listen, for those of us who want to live close to the beach, this is home. Drives some people away. Some of us, not yet, maybe never."

She glanced up at him, smiling. "It's home for me, too. I don't regret moving down here. Now that I met you and Cam, I really don't regret it."

"I'm glad you did, too. And if your sister comes down here, that might keep you here. Unless she patches things up with the guy she was supposed to marry."

"That's not going to happen. Things weren't going so well between her and her fiancé for a while," Cherry added. "But Krys kept thinking it was just jitters before the wedding. I think, at this point, she might be ready for another relationship."

"That's good. Hope so. And...what about you, Cherry? You ready for another relationship?"

That time, the entire sky lit up at once, followed by an explosion of thunder that began first as a distinct crackle. It was so dramatic, in light of the timing of it, that they both laughed.

"I think I might be," she replied. "I didn't expect this to happen."

"This?"

"You. Us."

He set his coffee and hers onto the wrought-iron coffee table, with its glass top, in front of them. Taking her face in his hand, he said, "I'm not meaning to rush you, either. I've wanted to meet someone like you for a long time. Doesn't seem like most women are like you."

That amused her. "What am I like?"

"Ah, maybe it's just the girls I've met. Most of them are party girls. You meet lots of tourists here. They want fun while their vacation lasts. That's all they're looking for. Then, some of the other ones, they're party girls, too, only they live here. When they do get serious, finally, there's not a lot under the surface."

"I thought that was only true with guys." She seemed surprised.

"Yeah, I'm sure there's lots of jerks out there, too. Women seem to want to know how much money you have before you're worth their time." Gray swallowed hard and shook his head. "I don't have a lot of money. I work hard, but I'm not rich. I'd like to be, but I don't know if that's going to happen. It's like, to you, other things are more important. So you're beautiful on the outside, and you're sexy, and you know how to be a party girl, too. But there's a lot more to you, Cherry."

Naturally, since his mouth seemed to know its way to hers, they shared a kiss.

Cherry hadn't given him the answer he'd hoped to hear, and maybe he wasn't expressing himself as well as he would have liked. The kiss between them spoke for them both.

It always happened when they were alone. When there was any intimacy at all between them, Gray found himself wanting more. His whole body reacted to her. He wanted more than a kiss. He wanted her, every piece of her, from head to toe. He wanted to take her right there, in the privacy of the sun porch, beneath a stormy south Florida night.

Was she holding back, afraid to go further in the relationship because he already had a child? Gray could understand that. It was frustrating to him, because it was a situation he wasn't used to dealing with, but he sort of understood, too. If the shoe were on the other foot, it would be an issue for him, as well.

An issue...but not an insurmountable one. It wouldn't have been a roadblock. Had Cherry been the one with a child from a previous relationship, he would have not only wanted to be with her for the simple reason that he was crazy about her, he would have loved the kid because it was hers, too.

Or was it easier for him to say that because he was the one with the child from a woman who hadn't even shared a relationship with him? Cam's mother, sadly, had been some summer fling, a one-shot deal.

But that was then and this was now. How could he make it clear to Cherry that, sure, he was a dad, but he was also still a man? That he wanted her as a woman, not as a mother for Cam?

The next roll of thunder brought a frightened Cam running into the room. Finding them on the loveseat, the baby threw himself into his father's arms. He was in tears and shaking all over.

"Ohhhh." The word, spoken by Cherry, came out as a half-groan and a half-chuckle. "Poor Cam."

As Gray picked up his son, Cherry was rubbing his little back. He'd thought of her at attractive; at that moment, she was unbelievably irresistible.

"It's just a storm, buddy," his father said. "Nothing to be scared of."

Cam only understood one thing. "I'm scared, Mommy!"

Gray's eyes widened. His son hadn't said Daddy; he'd said Mommy. And he was snuggling against Cherry, nestling himself in her arms, when he said it.

Gray studied her expression, trying hard to read her reaction. Though she looked surprised, she held Cam and comforted him, kissing the soft hair on his head tenderly.

"It's okay, honey. You're not alone. Daddy and I are here," she said.

29

Someone had left a pot filled with cooking oil out on the stove, then stepped out to look for something in his car. According to the young man himself, he was making French fries, but he hadn't gotten that far. By the time he made it back from the parking lot, the intensely overheated oil had splattered, the fire had ignited, and the whole kitchen had gone up in smoke and flames.

If there was one thing Dallas O'Keefe had learned, it was that human error could be deadly. In this case, thank God, no one had gotten hurt or lost their life. Most of the apartment, and everything in it, as well as the two units closest to it, were destroyed.

The location was actually in Homestead. With the incident having raged into a four-alarm fire, four engine companies were called, including Sandpiper Beach's Engine 2.

"Those were some expensive French fries," Shane Rolands said as he passed Dallas, muttering a cuss word under his breath.

Dallas laughed. "Yeah. He would've been better off going to Mickey D's for lunch."

He looked around before heading back into the apartment building with Shane. What a mess! he thought. Besides the engines, the police cruisers, and the news trucks, four ambulances were on the scene. Paramedics had brought down two patients—an elderly woman and a man in his twenties, both suffering from smoke inhalation. The fire was still burning intensely, though it was now contained in one section. Firefighters from Engine 22 were on the cherry picker, with the hose trained on the flames lapping out from the windows on the side of the building.

Shane glanced back over his shoulder. Like Dallas, he was in full gear—helmets, gloves, boots, mask and oxygen tank.

"Somebody's dog," he said, crouching down in the hallway. "He's hiding. Poor little dog's scared."

"Yeah, I don't blame him. Got him?"

"Got 'im."

Dallas smiled at the sight of his friend cradling the terrified terrier in the crook of his arm. The dog—a small breed to begin with—looked even tinier, maybe the toy version of the terrier.

It made Dallas think of Roxy—Cherry Martinez's dog. He didn't know why and it was crazy that he should think of her, there in that burning building. Never mind that the German shepherd was a much larger dog and bore no resemblance at all to the little thing Shane had just found. Hidden somewhat under his mask, he winced.

Screwed up royally with that girl.

Even worse, as much as he'd been attracted to Cherry, he couldn't get her sister totally off his mind. Only a jerk could do something like that. Or was he being too hard on himself, something he'd been known to do? Cherry was all wrapped up in that other guy, the one who'd been at her place that time. She'd reiterated that fact the night they'd played golf, when they'd also kept pouring the margaritas, and it happened with her very beguiling sister Krystal.

Cherry could have been like some other young women he'd had the misfortune to become interested in, who'd strung him along just so they could tell their friends about that fireman in Sandpiper Beach. They'd done that while also cheating on their boyfriends or trying to make them jealous. But Cherry hadn't done that; she'd been honest with him.

All the same, he'd wished she hadn't told him. Dallas had wished, and he knew it didn't make him a particularly nice guy, that he could have charmed her away from that Gray guy, the mechanic.

Then—how crazy was he?—he'd noticed Krystal. That girl was a mistake for him to even touch, fresh from a broken engagement. What if the fiancé came crawling back on his knees, pleading for her forgiveness and for them to give their relationship a second chance? Dallas knew that then he'd be out in the cold, as he had a few times in the past. His dad had told him he was "unlucky in love" for a "good-looking, young guy."

And going after Cherry's sister would seal the deal. You'd really be known as a Total Jerk then.

Besides, it was completely unwise. It didn't sound like Krys Martinez was staying. She was only in town for some healing time. Fun with her sister, with whom she was obviously very close, sun, surf, tanning, and let's not forget margaritas!

Dallas chuckled. She was a lot like Cherry: fun, sexy, feminine. Probably a handful, too. He didn't mind. That made it all the more interesting.

Behind him, he heard a deafening crash, a familiar sound. He'd heard that in the past. Even before turning around, he recognized what he was hearing. Several feet away, much of the floor had disappeared, the carpeting and the wood underneath it having given way. He caught sight of a gloved hand in the air, emerging from the black smoke, before it, too, slipped away.

"Shane?" Dallas called. "Shane!"

30

"Mommy. He called me 'Mommy,' Blanca. He didn't ask for his dad. He wanted me."

That wasn't the time or the place for that conversation. The thing was, my friend Blanca and I had gotten a few minutes alone while we readied the rest of the breakfast sandwiches, which we'd made with eggs, cheese and thin strips of ham. I figured that since the woman was the mom of four kids, she definitely counted as an expert when it came to children. Even though it had been a while since she'd been around toddlers; all of Blanca's kids were either around my age or in their thirties, with not one grandchild yet in the bunch.

Blanca was a little older than my mom, yet she reminded me of her. At the same time, she was unique, her own person. Cool, too. I thought, I hope I grow up to be like her. The lady always looked good and presentable. Always, even if she was dressed casually, she looked like she was meeting her friends for brunch at a nice place. She was a lady who accessorized, though she swore she got good deals on everything. Never a hair out of place, figure still trim in spite of a diet that included Latin yummies like tres leches cake, which she made from scratch. I suspected being a regular at the gym and keeping active had a lot to do with her figure-maintenance.

"Soooo, nena, how you feel about that?" she asked. "Did it freak you out? Or did you like it?"

"It...surprised me. I was stunned. And then I liked it."

She smiled. "What did Cam's daddy think about it?"

"I don't know. He didn't say anything."

"Maybe he was worried about what you were thinking. He has to take his son back to his aunt and uncle, no?"

"He already did."

"And how's he doing with that?"

"Not so good. He misses his son."

"Well, you know, Cherilyn..." She said my name with that same Spanish ta-da! that my sister used. "He sounds like a good, decent man. You let him put that ring on your finger, girl. Trust me, they don't make 'em like him anymore."

That ring on my finger. That was what terrified me. More than a baby sweetly mistaking me for his "Mommy."

Because it wasn't just the ring. I'd been down that road before. It had led straight to a dead end, like one that came to an end at the edge of a cliff.

It was the ring...the preparations...the anticipation. The dress, the wedding party, the fittings, the alterations. The favors for the guests, the flowers on the table, the gifts for the bridesmaids. Picking out the reception place, the wedding colors, the photographer/videographer, the DJ, the music, the food.

I hadn't gotten through all of that. The man I'd been about to marry died before we could get to all of that.

Those invitations had gone out. We'd gotten that far. Krystal had gotten the fun task of calling everybody to tell them what happened. She'd had to give the explanation as to why there wouldn't be a wedding after all.

I couldn't have done it. I locked myself upstairs in my room for a couple of weeks. The only reason I came out was because I had to either go back to work or I'd lose my job. My bosses didn't say so in so many words. They'd let me know, diplomatically, of course, that they couldn't keep my position open forever.

The world was still turning. Although for me, it was like it had stopped spinning altogether.

That had been torture enough the first time around. How could I even think of going through that again?

"That wasn't what I came here to the beach for," I explained patiently.

"No? Then what were you expecting to find?" Blanca was curious.

"Well, the whole idea was for me to never have to work again. So that I could become a beach bum. Every day would be a vacation. No cares, no stress, no...you know."

"You win the lottery? That's the only way that could happen. And you do work, Cherry." My friend laughed and handed me a few shopping bags to fill. "You work a lot, in fact, at that pancake restaurant."

"Well, yeah. But that's just a little part-time. Just for a little extra money."

"Still, that's having a job, honey. You work here, too. And you help the Ladies Ministry with our monthly dinner for the battered women's shelter. Now you're helping me with the food pantry."

"That's not really working."

"Yes, it is," Blanca corrected me. "You don't get paid for it. Your boss is the Lord, so that's a big plus. But this is work. In fact—help me to bag these few things that are left, Cherry."

Different people came at different times during the morning. Some were regular visitors to the food pantry. Living Water Tabernacle's Food Pantry was for those who lived in the county, individuals and families who'd fallen on hard times and could use some groceries for free. Once a month, the church also fed them. Christian music was played, bags were given out with items either donated by church members or local supermarkets, or purchased with monetary donations to the Feed My Sheep Pantry Ministry.

We filled the paper bags with things like canned tuna fish, dry beans, corn niblets or yams, and boxes of pasta, instant mashed potatoes, cereal and pasta.

"This isn't work," I said again.

"Because you like to do it. Because you find purpose in it."

"Shouldn't I have found purpose in being a nurse? That was a good career. It helped others."

I was talking more to myself. Nevertheless, she turned to me. "Maybe it wasn't your purpose. It wasn't where you were supposed to be. And it's not the profession itself that gives you purpose. God gives you that. The neat thing is that, if we listen to that little voice inside us, and that's Him speaking to us, we'll know where we should be."

She would say that. Blanca was a very fervent believer in God. When she talked about Him, it was with great love and affection. Who was I to say she was wrong?

"I feel like it's here. My purpose is to be here. I don't regret, ever, coming here. Like I'm supposed to be here, exactly where I am. And, no, I haven't won the lottery and that money won't last me forever, so it's unrealistic to think I can do that forever. But I've never been as happy or as free as I am right now, Blanca." Quickly, I changed the subject. "I'll help you take these out there."

"Okay. Then we just need to help them clean up. That shouldn't take too long with all of us working."

"Right on time, too. I have to get to work this morning."

I've never been as happy as I am right now. But something is missing. And Gray and Cam both fit in that spot.

I was crazy. I had to be.

Spending time with a boyfriend's child didn't mean I was ready to be anybody's mother. Worse: I would be Cam's stepmother. Because he would have to know the truth. I couldn't be passed off as the real thing. Sooner or later, he'd want to know why I didn't look anything like him; why my eyes and hair were darker than his; why my complexion was light olive and his was fair; why there were no pictures of us together when he was a baby. He needed to know about his real mother, his biological mother, Brooke.

Every day wouldn't be as idyllic and sweet as our fun, little excursion out on a dolphin-watching boat. Real life wasn't always idyllic or sweet.

"Cherry Martinez! Thanks for your help, dear!"

I smiled at the silver-haired, elderly gentleman, casually dressed in a loose-fitting, short-sleeved shirt. With all those pockets in the front, I knew it was called a guayabera. There was no way to describe it except to say it was a traditional shirt worn by older Cuban men, though I'd seen young guys starting to wear them, too. My dad owned one, rarely worn, but his dad had loved those things.

"Thanks, Pastor Alvarado," I said.

I liked the church. I was raised Catholic, supposedly. We weren't a churchgoing family, not even on Christmas or Easter. It didn't matter; any time anybody asked, my parents always said, "We're Catholic." There was nothing wrong with that, except I was unprepared for people like Blanca, who spent more time in church than just on Sunday mornings.

For a small, modest church, Pastor Alvarado's congregation did a lot for the community. The Ladies' Ministry, the Men's Ministry, the Youth Group—the congregation was active in spending time with each other and reaching out to people outside the four walls of that building. I respected that and I was happy to be a part of that reaching out. Another volunteer, a broad-shouldered man, was working the table with me, helping to hand out the bags of groceries.

"Cherry Martinez? That's your name?" he asked.

"Yep. That's me."

"Very easy name to remember. You know Dallas O'Keefe, right?"

That was when I noticed the words and emblem on his T-shirt: SANDPIPER BEACH FIRE DEPT, ENGINE 2. I smiled.

"Sure, I know him. Dallas is a friend," I added clearly.

"A friend. Yeah." His mischievous smile only lingered for a moment. "Then you've heard he's in the hospital?"

"He's—Dallas is in the hospital? No, I didn't know that. What happened to him?"

"He and Shane Rolands were injured in that fire. Big one over in Homestead."

"No. I know Shane, too. Please tell me they're all right."

"They will be, thank God. Shane's in worse shape than Dallas. Dallas is supposed to be released in a day or two, I think. Shane might be there a day or two longer."

The news had upset me. "Where are they? Which hospital? Beachview?"

"No, they're in St. Mary's." The chunky fireman grinned. "I'm sure they'd appreciate a visit, a call. I know Dallas would love to see you."

I mumbled something that sounded like yes.

But then...poor Dallas! And Shane, too. I didn't know him as well. Still seemed like a sweet guy.

Later on that day, because I was getting off at four, I'd drop by St. Mary's Hospital and visit them. Bring them some little trinket or some goodies to eat, something to cheer them up. Gray and I weren't married, and even if we were, I was only visiting a friend in the hospital.

And there was one thing I could do that would ensure it would be perceived—by everyone—nothing more than an innocent visit.

If my sister agreed to it.

31

"You're not listening, Gray. I said the place will make a mint. As in, you and I will be business partners. You in?"

Gray's cousin was right about one thing: He wasn't listening. To Blaine, who was so passionate about what he was presenting, he had to appear to be at least intrigued. If he hadn't been reliving the weekend's events all morning, he would have been more riveted to the conversation. As it was, he couldn't get what he'd left behind in South Carolina out of his mind.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he stated flatly. "Like they say, you know. Family shouldn't go into business with family."

"Are you kidding me, cuz? Family goes into business with family all the time. You're working for my dad, for Pete's sake. It's a little late to think about that one. So why would you think you and me couldn't make this work?"

Blaine had picked the worst time to have an impromptu meeting about buying and running a restaurant in town that had been a hotspot in the 1960s and '70s, but that now had been run pretty much into the ground. He was talking big changes—renovating the place from top to bottom, changing the name and a complete overhaul of the menu, with the focus on a trendy place to attract the avid foodie in every tourist.

Gray had heard a word here and there...in between replacing the starter on a customer's Honda Civic.

"I don't know, man," he muttered. "I don't know about restaurants. They're risky."

"Yeah, except you're forgetting I do know about restaurants. La Guitarra Mexicana isn't my first rodeo." Blaine winked at him. "We can make this fly. And any new business is risky, come on. We'll make money. Don't you want to hang up your mechanic tools?"

Subconsciously, he looked down at his hands, already stained more than usual by the work he'd done in those few hours.

"There's gotta be somebody who'd know more than I do in that area," Gray protested.

"There sure are. Offhand, I can think of at least four somebodies."

Irritated by the ego-bruising that shouldn't have come as such a surprise, Gray scowled.

"So why not approach one of them?"

"Because, my hardheaded cousin, I don't trust any one of them as much as I do you. You also come very highly recommended...by my dad. He thinks of you as his best mechanic, right-hand man, all that good stuff. You care about work, you take pride in it. So...you in?"

Gray was appeased, but he wasn't one to be pressured, not even by family.

"Could I take a little time to think about this?"

"Sure. Just not too much time. We wait too long and the opportunity will be gone. Indecision is decision, right? Ever hear that saying?"

"Yeah. I won't take too long. This week. I do have one question."

Blaine turned to him. "What's that?"

"If these owners couldn't make the place work, what makes you think we won't fall flat on our butts, too?"

"That's easy: The previous owners aren't us."

"Oh." Gray laughed. "Okay, well, that makes sense."

"Thought so. Think about it. See ya later at home."

Indecision is decision.

Those words cut. Blaine hadn't meant them to, and he was referring specifically to the joint business venture. Emotionally—and typically, Gray wasn't that emotional—he connected the words to Cam.

Cam had looked confused at first when his dad had handed him over to his aunt and kissed him goodbye. He was happy to see Aunt Heather and Uncle Carlos. Initially.

Two years old, and he understood something was happening to his world. Cam had that baby voice call after him tearfully from a confused little child.

Where you going, Daddy? Can I come, too?

Aunt Betty had fallen in love with him. Once she'd laid eyes on him she was head-over-heels in love. He was Gray's child, and Gray was like another son to her, more than a nephew. Cam was so easy to love. The same held true for Uncle Dave, who behaved just like a proud grandpa. Speaking of which, his actual mom and dad were also looking forward to meeting their grandchild.

And Aunt Betty told him that Cam understood who Gray was, that he was a person who somehow belonged to him. She said that even the smallest child sensed when he or she was loved and cared for, and that it didn't take much for that love to be returned and a bond was formed.

Gray tried to concentrate on his work while that last morning he'd shared with his son kept coming back to him. How was it possible that he felt that way? As if something so valuable was missing from his life? Hadn't Cameron been missing from it before when Gray hadn't even known he'd existed? He'd gotten along fine then. He'd just been an unmarried guy, a bachelor, with no ties and no one except himself when it came to responsibility. He hadn't had to separate a small chunk of money each payday for someone else's benefit.

You know about him now. That's the difference.

He hadn't even wanted to look at Cam after handing him over to Heather. All the way to his car, those several steps from Heather and Carlos' front porch steps, he'd told himself it was for the best. That Cam was better off with both of them. That he could spend plenty of time with his son during visits. Loris wasn't that far away from Sandpiper Beach, after all. He was determined to be a part of his son's life. They just wouldn't live together. He was better off with his aunt and uncle, in that big house with the even more spacious property and their horse. What kid wouldn't want that? He would also send money, not just until Cam turned eighteen, but whenever his son needed his financial help. He was even thinking of opening a savings account, something that would go towards his son's education in later years.

A house, a horse, money, toys, clothes, vacations. All those things were good.

But could any of those things ever really take the place of a loving parent?

Everywhere, there were single mothers raising a child—or more than one—on minimum wage. Living in a one-room apartment, serving spaghetti, hot dogs, cereal, and other foods that could be stretched on a tight budget. There were single dads working at low-paying jobs and picking their kids up from daycare, taking days off to see a Christmas school pageant or for a visit to the pediatrician. Sometimes there were two parents in the home, both working, and money was still tight, but the kids came home each day from school or awoke on Saturday mornings to orange juice poured by a parent that was always there.

It could be done; it was done.

I don't want you to think you don't have anything to offer him. He'd have a father's love.

Behind him, the door to the customer waiting area opened. One of the other mechanics, Mitch, leaned out and hollered to him.

"Gray, come on in here!" A dirty rag hung from his free hand. "Hurry!"

A father's love.

Those words resonated within him. For now, he left the car he was working in and followed his coworker through the waiting room, which was sparsely filled—just with some of those awful, plastic chairs that were orange and red and uncomfortable, and the two vending machines, one of which dispensed soda and the other that sold chips, cookies and such—and into the reception area.

At once, Gray saw Mitch's cause for alarm. Uncle Dave was in a chair, his head back, his eyes closed. His face was flush. Someone, probably Mitch or one of the other guys, had a dusty old fan perched on the counter and pointed downwards, trained on his uncle. The air-conditioning in the room was always set to a comfortable, almost chilly level for the customers and whoever worked the counter that day. Still, his uncle's shirt was stained with perspiration.

"Uncle Dave, what's the matter?" Gray frowned with concern.

"He passed out," another of the guys, Enrique, said.

A male customer in his forties looked on from one of the chairs. "Do you want me to call 911?"

"I didn't pass out, I didn't pass out." Dave's speech was unusually slurred. "I just had a dizzy spell. I'm all right."

"A dizzy spell?" Gray repeated incredulously.

"He fell behind there," Mitch said, indicating the counter.

"I lost my balance," Uncle Dave almost barked, trying to push himself out of the chair. "Just give me a minute. I'll be okay."

"Uncle Dave, it's cool in here. You look like you just ran a marathon." Gray turned to the customer. "Please call 911 for us. Thanks."

"No problem." The customer whipped out his cell.

His uncle was trying to be adamant despite collapsing back into the chair. "I don't need an ambulance. I'm all right."

"Okay, well, we'll just let the paramedics decide that." Gray was firm and at the same time gentle with him. "Don't move, Uncle Dave. Humor me. Relax..."

32

Krystal was in one of her moods all the way to the hospital.

"I'm only staying for, like, five minutes," she told me as we got onto the elevator.

I pressed the button. "The fourth floor. Wasn't there a scary movie by that name?"

"It was the fifth floor. About an insane asylum or something. And you're trying to change the subject and I'm not going to let you. Again, I'm leaving in five minutes."

"Why? Because you're so 'embarrassed' by what happened the last time you saw him? I thought you were fearless. Nothing embarrasses the woman of steel."

My sister made a face at me, but I knew it was enough to keep her from leaving too quickly. With Krys, flattery gets you wherever you'd like to go. In most cases, not all, and within reason, but definitely that one.

When the door opened, she was the one to change the subject. "Bring back memories to you?"

"I'm doing okay. So far."

"I didn't mean about Ian," she pointed out softly. "I meant about work. Makes you miss it?"

"Not at all. I like the smell of pancakes and maple syrup in the morning."

That was the truth. Being in the hospital, I really didn't miss my former profession at all. That wasn't to say that there hadn't been a time when I did enjoy it. It's just that the time I'd spent wondering if I was where I was supposed to be in life stretched out a lot longer.

Dealing with the public can be brutal. That was true for servers and those in the health care field. For some reason, whether they're buying breakfast or getting medical care, some people believe they have a right to be rude and demanding to other people. The opposite is true, too: Both Blanca Rodriguez and Dallas O'Keefe had once been members of that sometimes nameless "public" who came into my life as strangers and became more than acquaintances. In those cases, I considered them both friends.

The moment we walked into the room, Dallas glanced away from the television set perched on the opposite wall, then did a double take at us. He chuckled and smiled in surprised.

"Hey, my favorite Latin princesses!" he exclaimed.

I happened to glance at my sister. Dallas O'Keefe looked handsome enough in his uniform...the man looked great in his weekend clothes, too...evidently, even in a hospital gown, with his bare, manly legs on display, he could still make Miss I-Didn't-Notice-He's-A-Hot-Babe blush.

"She's a princess." I jerked my thumb at Krystal. "I'm only an average, human noblewoman."

I stood to his right and leaned over to kiss his cheek. My sister stood on his left, her greeting kiss slightly more awkward.

"So are you really hurt or are you doing this just for attention?" Krystal demanded with an arched eyebrow.

"What? No." Dallas had the best laugh, so heartfelt. He hadn't said so, but I could tell he appreciated my sister's teasing sense of humor. "The floor collapsed from under us. I broke my ankle. They kept me here because I also have a concussion and they're still checking me out."

"Oh. Well, you're going to be okay, right?" Krystal dropped her gaze.

My sister? Shy? Wow. Anything was possible, if that was true.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. Shane is worse off. Broke his leg, his arm, and a rib. He's going to pull through, too, though. He's right down the hall."

"He's our next stop," I said.

Playfully, he narrowed his eyes at me. "How'd you girls know I was here?"

"I have my sources. My cover is working at that pancake house."

"Hmmmm. Okay. So when are we all playing mini golf again?"

That's as good an intro as any, I thought.

"As soon as Gray can join us."

"Oh. You and Gray are getting serious, huh?"

"Yes. We have been."

Saying those words, interestingly enough, was a lot less scary than I would have thought it'd be.

With her head tilted, Krystal smiled at him. "There'll be time for fun and margaritas later."

"I hope so. I'll live to golf on a mini course a day longer. But it's driving me crazy being in here." His gaze lasted suspiciously longer than expected on Krystal's face. As if remembering I was also in the room, he addressed me. "I'd just as soon be back at work."

"Hey, listen up. You do what the doctor says," Krystal scolded.

"Yes, ma'am."

Hmmm. I smirked, telling them, "Uh, I think I'm going to get a cup of coffee. Anybody else want one?"

I half expected Krys to insist on coming along. Instead, she curled herself up in the armchair beside Dallas' bed.

"I'm fine," she said.

"I'll take one, if you don't mind."

"Can you have one, Dallas?"

"Sure, I can. It won't bother my foot any." He winked at me.

"How do you take your coffee? Oh, never mind, that's right. Regular, whole milk, 'none of that two-percent stuff,' two sugars."

"That's my favorite Pancake House lady!"

My sister, smiling, agreed. "She's amazing."

Krystal O'Keefe. The name had a great ring to it. Not that she would be getting hot and heavy with another relationship so soon. Of course, I wouldn't have thought Krystal could get over-tequila'd and have a naughty, one-night romp with a sexy fireman, either. To be honest, I loved having the idea of having such a likable, good-natured brother-in-law. I'd never liked Jake much; I'd found him kind of anti-social and annoying. More importantly, he hadn't always treated my sister with the tenderness and respect she deserved.

Dallas O'Keefe would be a vast improvement. My sister didn't deserve anything less.

That small, seaside town! As I stepped off the elevator, who should I nearly collide with but Gray Kelly? He looked exceptionally yummy that late afternoon in his faded jeans and short-sleeved black T-shirt. He looked fresh from a shower, his hair still slightly damp and wavy. In his hand he held a coffee cup from the hospital's on-site Starbucks.

"Cherry! What're you doing here?" he asked.

"I should ask you the same thing."

"They brought Uncle Dave in this morning."

"Your uncle Dave? What happened?"

"Heart attack."

"A heart attack. No." I reached for his free hand.

"Yeah. I think he's doing better now. Hope so. They said we can see him soon. That was an hour ago, though." He tugged on my hand. "You were going to the cafeteria, right? C'mon. I'll walk you. And were you here for an interview?"

"An interview? No. I'd dress better than this." I laughed.

Actually, other than the open-toe sandals, I guess I could have pulled it off. Interviews were not as stuffy as they once were, when even as a woman you had to wear a suit, so that white skirt and embroidery-laced flowery top could have landed me a job. Albeit, not in a managerial position.

"Who are you here to see?" he asked again.

"Dallas. You know, the fireman. He was hurt on the job."

Gray didn't look pleased. He managed to keep his tone even. "You...keep in touch with him?"

"He's a friend. I think he and my sister might be, um, more than that. Eventually."

"Your sister?"

"Yep."

"Isn't she getting over a broken engagement?"

"She's resilient."

He shrugged, though he still looked cautious. "Hope he is, too. He's okay?"

"Broke his ankle during a fire. And a concussion. His friend Shane broke even more than that.'

"Oh. Sorry to hear that. I hope they'll both be okay."

"Me, too. I think they're doing better than Uncle Dave, though." I walked with him past the desserts. For a hospital cafeteria, they had some mouth-watering stuff. Yes, I know life is short, but I could do without the gazillion-calories, oozing-with-chocolate afternoon snack.

Instead, I went straight to the coffee counter and ordered a tall, skinny latte.

"Aunt Betty? How's she doing with this?"

"Okay. She's in the family waiting room with Blaine. I'm worse if I have to sit for hours and wait, so I got myself a coffee." His brow furrowed. "I really hope he's okay. He's like a dad to me."

"I know. You guys are close. And Blaine?"

"He's pretty shaken." Gray took a deep breath. "My dad, I love him, you know? And I know he loves me. But he's always been into his own life. Lots of women, not too much time for a son. Uncle Dave loves being a dad. He was always my anchor."

"Was? Is, baby. He's going to be all right."

"I really hope so." Before I could pay the girl behind the counter, he had a five-dollar bill out of his pocket. I thanked him with a kiss.

"And how is our favorite little guy?"

"I talked to him on the phone earlier. He's not doing well with this...with being apart."

"He isn't? Or you aren't?"

Gray grinned. His voice cracked as he replied, "Neither of us is. I love him, Cherry. I love my son. Never thought I could love someone like that."

Slipping my hand into his, I walked out into the corridor with him. "He's your son, Gray. He's your flesh and blood. Of course you love him."

"But I want him back. I don't want to be there for him for a weekend or a week in the summer." Pausing, he licked his lips. "Maybe I'll come to my senses. Because that's all I could ever give him."

"Gray, if you're feeling that way now, then being a part-time dad isn't going to work for you. You'll regret that in years to come."

"But am I wrong? If I really cared about him, I'd give up on that. Just leave things the way they are, right? Let him have what his aunt and uncle can give him. Everything I can't."

I wasn't imagining it: Gray was asking me for advice. My stomach suddenly did a somersault.

"I can't tell you what to do," I said, sighing. "You need to make that decision. But maybe your heart is trying to tell you what you both need."

His expression was clouded with visible pain. "What would you do, baby? If it was your call, what would you do?"

"I'm a woman. I'd be the mother. And that's something I've never been. But..."

I would move mountains to be with my child.

He pressed. "But...?"

"I can't tell you what to do." That time I didn't sound as certain as I would have liked. "That's your decision, Gray. Just don't think you have to make that sacrifice. Keeping him would be a sacrifice, too. Your life will never be the same."

He wrapped an arm around me, giving me an impulsive kiss on the lips.

"My life hasn't been the same since I met him..." Gray smiled. "Or you."

"Mine hasn't, either. Not after you and your son."

That was a dangerous thing to admit. Usually, I'd steer clear of saying something like that. Since he'd said it, as well, I went for it whole-heartedly.

Then he kissed me. The best way to describe it was to say he took that kiss. Took it fast, possessively. With all this fire and emotion. There was no one around, just the two of us in that corridor, in front of a large window, beyond which was one of the hospital's courtyards, with its chairs, tables, and garden of plants.

I pushed him away gently at the end of the kiss, more to catch my breath.

"I have to go see Dallas' friend," I told him. "Pass by. See how he's doing."

"All right. I have to get back, too."

"Can I...after I see my friend, can I go wait with you and your family? For a little while." I cleared my throat. "I think my sister wants a little time alone with Dallas anyway."

"Oh. Okay." He winked. "Works for me. Keeps him away from you. And I'll be waiting for you. We're down at the South Wing of this place."

"Okay. I shouldn't be too long."

I kissed him with that same fervor and urgency. That wasn't part of my original plan.

When I quit my job, took out every last dollar of my 401K, and decided I was giving up everything to live my dream, I wasn't counting on meeting this man who already had a child. Nothing, it seems, was working out the way I'd planned.

What happened? I wasn't even going to the beach as much as I had when I'd first moved there. Much of my time was taken up by a job that, if I wanted to, I could leave at any time. Another fraction of time was taken up by another "job," this one at a church, doing volunteer work that paid zero in cash but that was still rewarding enough to make me want to go back again and again.

He walked me to the elevators for the North wing. We would be seeing each other in a few minutes, half an hour or so at the longest. Still, when those elevator doors opened, he seemed reluctant to withdraw his arm from around my waist.

"I'll see you in a few minutes," I promised.

"Okay. Cherry—"

I had pressed the button and the elevator was closing when he put up his arm and stopped the door. Luckily, there was no one else in the car with me.

"I love you. With all my heart. I love you, Cherry."

My hand gripped the railing on the wall. It took me a few seconds to get the words out, to push them through a veil of fear, but he heard them. I know, because I saw him smile before those doors closed.

"I love you, too, Gray."

33

As uninteresting as he found TV, Gray was too restless to do much else. Taking a nap would have been a good idea if that hospital room furniture wasn't as uncomfortable as torture equipment.

So far, he'd gone through twenty channels and found nothing worth watching. He liked the news—just not twenty-four hours of it. By that time of the evening, he was completely news'd-out. There was a talk show with some bubble-headed actress droning on and on about herself. A show about aliens; another show about aliens; a reality show with a man and a woman arguing over a pair of shoes, of all things; American Pickers, which he liked to watch, but it was nearly over; and another show, this time an old movie, about aliens. As far as he was concerned, life from other planets visiting Earth couldn't possibly be that intriguing.

After all that channel-surfing, he came across one of those classic cable TV stations. The name of the show, now in progress, was Emergency! A pair of paramedics were in the station house kitchen, bantering back and forth with a third man, a firefighter. Gray huffed.

That Dallas guy was a "friend." That was the way Cherry had referred to him. He was also, according to her, becoming involved with her sister.

Gray wasn't totally comfortable with that, but that was what Cherry had told him, and he trusted her. That, in itself, put him at ease enough to smile.

I trust Cherry.

That was so, so true. It didn't erase that bit of jealousy he felt any time O'Keefe's name came up. On the other hand, he could trust Cherry and take her at her word. Because, frankly, she wasn't like anyone else he'd been involved with in the past. Gray had thought, at first: woman quits her job, trades in everything for a carefree life as a beach gypsy.

He smiled at the thought. Wouldn't most people do that if given the chance? Throw away the stressful grind of a job that drives them crazy in favor of a slow, sweet life by the sea? Or the mountains or the country, wherever their heart leads?

Cherry Martinez was more to him than that now. People could claim she'd quit her job because she was lazy. Lazy? Really? She was one of the most active people he knew. She liked to keep busy when she wasn't at the Pancake House, she was helping out at the church, straightening up or cleaning her house, working out on her treadmill or doing something else.

"Hey, son. You still here?"

Gray lowered the remote. "Ooops. Sorry, Uncle Dave. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Nahhh. Don't be silly," his uncle grumbled lightly. "You're not bothering me. You know I can tune that out."

He smiled. Was that one of the advantages of being a car mechanic? That you learned to live with constant noise? Because, now that Gray thought about it, he was good at tuning out most noise, too.

"And we're watching a show about a hospital. Nice!" Uncle Dave quipped.

Gray laughed. "We can watch something else."

"No. That's all right. Where's your aunt?"

"She went downstairs for a cup of coffee and some fresh air."

"Good. And Blaine?"

"He's with her. They'll be back in a few."

Uncle Dave nodded. Grunting, he tried to sit up. Gray rose and adjusted his pillow for him.

"Need anything? Water?" he offered.

"No, no. I'm fine. I appreciate all the attention I'm getting from you three, but it's going to be short-lived. Soon as I'm out of here, it's back to the shop for me."

"That's not what the doctor said," Gray reminded him.

"No, I know. That's what I said. I have a business to run."

"I don't think your boss is going to agree with that."

"Your aunt? She knows I have to be there."

"She knows she wants you in one piece. The doctors want you to rest. It'll only be for a month, Uncle Dave." Taking a deep breath, he said, "I can take care of things until you get back, and if anything comes up that I can't handle, I'll call you."

His uncle gave his head an even firmer shake. "No, sir. I won't do that to you. I can't do that to you."

"Because you don't think I can handle it?"

"Because you have enough on your plate right now." Sternly, he added, "I know you can handle it. You might be raising Cam on your own. You don't need to be saddled with my shop. That's my problem."

Slightly hurt, Gray shrugged. "Sometimes—well, I think of it as my shop, too, sometimes."

"Do you? Really?" Uncle Dave struggled mildly to breathe. "I didn't know that. I thought maybe it was...well, that the shop was something you're stuck with. That—that means a lot, Gray."

"Uncle Dave, rest. Catch your breath. Don't exert so much."

Halfheartedly, Dave protested. "I'm fine. I'm not that delicate."

"Maybe not. But you heard the doctor. You're not out of the words yet, either. Let us look after you, okay? You look after everybody else. Let us take care of you for a change."

That seemed to resonate with his uncle. Gray was grateful for having found the right words, finally.

And it was true, not just some empty words of appeasement. His uncle was, without a doubt, the patriarch of the family. While his dad was into his own life, with his women and his work, Uncle Dave was all about the Kellys. He was the one who made a point to call people and coax them into attending the yearly reunion. It was Uncle Dave who kept in touch with every last uncle, aunt, cousin and even the in-laws, who encouraged relatives to drop their grudges against each other and mend their differences.

We're family. Blood. Gray had heard his uncle telling someone. Like it or not, God gave us to each other. Forgive and forget. Move on. We're family.

"My father—your grandfather—he died at forty-seven. You know that."

Gray heard that quiver of fear in Uncle Dave's voice. He was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes moist.

"I'm fifty-eight," he said.

"Uncle Dave, that was Grandpa. That's not you. Rest. Don't worry yourself. We're here for you. Me, Blaine, Aunt Betty. We'll take care of everything."

And I've got the shop for you. That's my responsibility.

"We're back, Gray, honey," Aunt Betty said at the door. "You should go home. Get some rest. You have to get up early and open up tomorrow."

"Okay. Bye-bye, firemen!" With a smile, he switched to another channel.

"I appreciate all you do, Gray. You know that, don't you?"

"'Course. And, hey, in case I've never told you, I appreciate all you've ever done for me."

Uncle Dave dismissed that statement with a wave of his hand.

"Just things a father does for a son," he said.

Gray leaned over, hugging him carefully. Uncle Dave's chest still ached from the CPR they'd performed on him.

I thought the shop was something you were stuck with.

Had he really made Uncle Dave feel that way? Gray started driving in the direction of home and impulsively turned off at another corner. There was one stop he wanted to make first, no matter how late it was getting.

Back when he'd finished high school—barely, because school had bored him—Dad had asked Uncle Dave to take him under his wing. Learn a trade, Dad had advised him.

Gray had countered that he wanted to go to college. Yet when it came to telling his father what he planned on studying, his answer was murky. One month he wanted to pursue a degree in education for the purpose of becoming a gym teacher. That way, Gray figured, he could coach football, which he thought would be fun, and have the summer off. Every single summer, before and after he retired someday.

Another month he wanted to study Business Administration. Whatever that meant. It sounded vague but he interpreted it to mean, I can be the boss.

Not just because he was bossy or some sort of Type A personality, either. Gray wasn't the type to "boss around" anyone, though he did enjoy being in charge. He also liked, very fervently, being his own boss.

College lasted one semester and, at least in his case, was a wild, three-month ride. He majored in American History, simply because it was one of the few subjects he'd enjoyed in high school, and then partied whenever he could with other freshmen in the Student Union's pub. Jokingly, he told friends he was majoring in Coronas With Lime 101.

Maybe Dad had a point in handing him over to his brother and asking him to teach him something he could use in the meantime.

Gray pulled off the road and parked in an available space. It was close to nine o'clock. At that hour, there were plenty of them. Locking up his car, he walked up the street, his feet, clad in sneakers, treading a quiet path.

That restaurant his cousin had told him about was nearby. So was the party boat that was up for sale, the one docked in the marina, the Blue Water Mirage.

As of that month, he had repairs to make to his own car. Necessary repairs, or the Mustang wouldn't be passing inspection. His car insurance was due, his credit card was maxed out, and he was hoping to send a hundred dollars, if possible, to Heather and Carlos for Cam.

Sometimes, there was just no getting ahead. Just when he thought he would, bills popped out of nowhere. How did people make it? How did they get all their bills paid? How did they have money left over to take their kids to Disneyworld or for other special treats in life?

Maybe he would never get ahead. Maybe he was destined to work in his uncle's shop for the rest of his life. And to be a weekend, two-weeks-in-the-summer kind of dad.

It was a struggle getting over the dunes, though worth it. Tourists didn't come to that section of the beach. Gray had been going there for a long time, stealing away when he needed to hide himself and think.

People said that there'd been a rogue wave there once, long time ago, in the 1950s. No one knew what a rogue wave was, so for years it had been dismissed as public legend. Could it have been a sneaker wave, he wondered?

Whatever it was, those who'd claimed to have seen it said it was a monster. A thirty-, perhaps forty-foot high wall of water. Supposedly, it had rolled in without warning. Some teenagers had been out there, a boy and a girl, "necking" as they'd called kissing back then. The wave had swept them out to sea, never to be seen again. Their bodies, according to legend, had never washed up anywhere on Sandpiper Beach.

Gray had always thought of that sneaker wave, or rogue, or whatever it had been. It didn't spook him enough to keep him away on nights that he wanted to be alone, to think, just to watch the palm trees rustle with the breezes and see the dark, endless sky illumined by those millions of silver stars.

His breath caught at the back of his throat when he heard his phone's ring tone. Lifehouse's "Hanging by a Moment," one of his all-time favorite songs. He was almost afraid to check the text, afraid it would be his aunt or his cousin summoning him back to the hospital for bad news.

To his relief, it was a picture message from Heather. Earlier, he'd texted her to tell her about his uncle, since she and Carlos had become friends, regardless of the distance between them. She had called back, concerned, wanting to know how Uncle Dave was doing. This time, as if to cheer him, she'd sent a video with the text, Cam wanted to say good night to Daddy.

The video took a couple moments to load, but once it did, Gray was smiling at the result. Only thirty-seven seconds in duration, the camera showed a happy Cam, dressed in his Batman pajamas and waving at the camera.

Off-camera, Heather's voice was urging him to say hello to Daddy. And what did you do today, honey?

Through his phone's speaker came the answer, We went to the beach.

Yeahhh. And what did we do? Did we walk around?

Yes.

What else?

We ate ice cream...

And? Heather coaxed.

And I went on the merry-go-round and the cars.

That's right. Daddy would love to hear from you today, you know? That would make him very happy. He didn't have a fun day like you. What would you like to say to him?

Gray didn't realize he was smiling, and even less that his eyes had welled up. Cam was holding the teddy bear he and Cherry had gotten him.

I love you, Daddy.

Ohhh. We're going to say a prayer for Daddy, okay? Like we always do. First, say, Good night, Daddy.

Good night, Daddy. Come see me.

Some time had passed. Gray had almost forgotten how cautious Heather and Carlos were with him, even to the point of having a background check done on him. Now, with time, they had become friends, and would in all probability become even closer. After all, they would forever be connected to each other because of Cameron.

They had never pressured him into making a decision, either. They had made it clear that they could continue raising Cam and that would have made them very happy. They also understood that he was Cameron's father, and that he had every right to raise him, or at the very least, to be a part of his life. Heather and Carlos had both kept in close touch with Gray, keeping him updated on all going on in Cam's life and sending him pictures.

He pressed the button to record a voice message. "This message is for Aunt Heather: Thanks for the prayers, ma'am. They seem to be working. My uncle's not out of the woods yet, but he's doing a lot better than he was this morning. So don't stop praying just yet, okay? And thank you for that great video. Cam, this next message is for you, buddy. Daddy loves you, too. Let's see if we can get together again next week. Okay? Love you, little guy. Good night to you, too."

Clicking the phone off, he knew. For some reason, it had become clear to him, what it was he had to do. What was most important to him in his life, those things that were more valuable than dreams. Gray tucked his phone back into his pocket and headed back up the dunes in the direction of his car.

That night, a sneaker wave had overtaken him, one that had brought clarity and sense of purpose.

34

Mom was handling it better. Papi was the one who was beside himself. If I put myself in their shoes, I have to admit I'd be concerned, too.

First one daughter uproots her life and moves to the beach, determined to live off her savings for a while. Now the other daughter had made the same decision. Lightning wasn't supposed to strike twice in the same place. As usual, we Martinez girls were the exception rather than the rule. For our parents, that called for another visit to the Sunshine State to check on not one but two crazy daughters.

This time, my sister was the one on the hook. All I had to do was serve breakfast to the table filled with my family, the table with a huge window and a view of the boulevard.

Adding to the drama was the bombshell that my parents were delivering some unbelievable news. Papi waited until I returned from the Pancake House's kitchen with their orders to make the announcement.

"He wants me to take him back?" Krystal was incredulous. "Jake wants me to forgive him, take him back, wedding's back on? Is he out of his mind?"

I observed my mother as I poured coffee into their cups. Mom's expression was noncommittal, and that was good, considering Jake was the son of one of her longtime friends. Both sets of parents had sort of gently nudged forward those nuptials, so tickled that they'd finally be joined as one big family.

All it took was for Jake's infidelity to surface, and it was Goodbye, One Big Happy Family. Mom's friendship with her friend, which had been cooling anyway, became perfectly chilly after Jake had treated my beautiful and intelligent sister so shabbily.

In response, Papi shrugged, nonchalantly salting and peppering his eggs and home fries.

"You want me to tell him where to go?" he offered. "I'm dying to do that anyway, mamita."

"I'd be happy to do that, too," Mom readily agreed with him. "None of my business, but it'd be fun."

One thing that has to be said about a family with all that Latin blood running through their veins: You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us.

"I'm free, I can do it," I said, the last to throw my hat into the ring. "As a matter of fact, I'm off this afternoon. Want me to let him down easy? I'll be really nice about it. An angel."

My sister gave a wicked laugh. "I'm sure you would. This is my problem, though. Can you text Rosario and tell her to have him call me, Mom?"

"Text Rosario?" Mom appeared to like the sound of that. "Sure. I'll do that right now."

"Oh, Mom, not now. Have your breakfast. He can wait."

"I know, but this should be good. Let's get this ball rolling."

"And besides," Papi said, "the guy is a major pain in the butt. He keeps calling and bothering, wanting to know if it's okay for him to call you, crying to us over the phone. He begs, he wants to know when you're coming back."

I lifted my head. "He's crying over her? Really? Awwwwwwww."

"That was the most unsympathetic awwwwwww I've ever heard in my life," Krys declared.

"Was it?"

"Yes. Absolutely beautiful awwwwwww."

"Glad you liked it, girl!"

Mom was more amused than Papi. He muttered something in Spanish that was best left not translated.

"Rosario will get in touch with him pretty fast," Mom was saying, more to herself. "She's always got her phone on her. Plus, I think she's expecting you to run right back to her son."

"Oh, wow. Be a lot of disappointed people right now in that household," I said before leaving to take care of customers who'd just been seated by the hostess.

Over the years I'd had friends who would have taken a guy like Jake back, practically falling all over themselves to reconcile. I don't know if that's because sometimes, as women, our self-esteem isn't where it should be. There are times, too, when one person in the relationship makes a mistake, however hurtful to the other person, and with forgiveness and patience, the couple can work things out.

Then there are men like my sister's former fiancé. Like I said, he hadn't always treated Krystal lovingly or respectfully. What he'd wanted had always come first, probably because he was Rosario and Ernesto's only son among three sisters and prized little boy who'd never grown up. He'd never quite gotten past that, I guess. Everything he wanted came before anything Krystal wanted, up to and including letting his mother and sisters override his bride when it came to the wedding arrangements that both he and she were paying for, so money wasn't the issue. He had made careless remarks to her, insinuating at times when she would sometimes gain weight, how he wanted his future wife to care about her appearance—that is, if she was really proud of being with him.

Un-be-lievable.

Naturally, my nosey self zipped right back over to my family's table right after I dropped off the other patrons' orders at the kitchen. They weren't diversionary tactics, gossiping about Krystal's former fiancé, aka The Bullet She'd Dodged, but they'd steered Papi away from other topics. That hadn't lasted too long.

"Please tell me you didn't really quit your job in the school system," he pleaded with his elder daughter.

"Okay, Papi. I won't tell you. I'll get another job, Papi. As a matter of fact, I have something else lined up. Looks good, too."

"Mamita, how could you do that? You had so much time in that school. Remember how long it took you to get in? Are there really that many jobs for drama teachers?"

"Papi, please don't worry about it. Let me worry about it. Dallas is very good friends with the director of a private school about fifteen minutes from here. And it's not a teaching position, either. It's as an administrator. So this is a step up." Krystal grinned. "Plus, I still get summers off...and I can walk to the beach."

I patted Papi's back. "Better than serving pancakes with a nursing degree, no, Papi?"

My father looked thoughtfully at me. "Well, I never thought I'd say this, but I haven't seen you this happy in a long time. I don't think that has anything to do with maple syrup, either."

"No, it doesn't." Krys looked from him to me. "It has a lot to do with taking charge of your life, which Cherry did. And finding out she can fall in love again."

My answer was to laugh lightly and nod my head. Her words rang more true than I'd realized.

On both counts.

Although I don't know too much about the "taking charge of your life" part. Sounds so—what's that overused word again, the one that's become a cliché?—empowering. Realistically, though, can anyone ever really do that? What I've found is that you can take charge to a certain point. You can decide where you want to live, what you want to do, who you want to be with.

For a while...then life happens. Things change. People get sick. People leave. People die. Jobs come to an end or you just decide, if you can swing it, that you'd rather have your sanity than a paycheck from that madhouse. You take out your life savings. You move to the beach.

And if you're lucky, you meet someone like Grayson Kelly.

It was quieter than typical that morning. The hostess seated another family in my section, so I went ahead and brought them menus, brought the other table their orders, and then returned to bring drinks and take orders for the people who'd just arrived.

You know where I am. Gray had said that when he'd called late last night and I'd talked briefly to him, promising to call him the next day. We were going to South Carolina that weekend together. He was going to talk to Cam's aunt and uncle, break the news to them that he'd made his decision, and then he was going to make all the arrangements he needed to make to raise his son on his own. I was going with him, more as moral support, also because I hadn't seen Cam in a while and I'd missed papito, as I called him. "Little daddy." Eh, it's a Cuban thing. My boyfriend didn't mind; he thought it was cute.

Call me when you can. You know where I am. That meant his uncle's shop. A couple of weeks had passed since Uncle Dave had gotten out of the hospital. Gray had taken on extra responsibility and time at the shop. That made sense; he was, after all, Uncle Dave's best mechanic.

And I was so proud of him.

That had to be my lucky day. I made it back to the table, in between all my server tasks, to hear Krystal's cell ringing. It could have been Dallas or any one of Krystal's zillion friends, or it could have been—

"Jake? Hey. My parents said you wanted to speak to me?"

Smiling, I leaned against the cushiony end of the booth, close to Mom, who smiled conspiratorially up at me. Since we were kids, Krystal and I had always fought like any other sisters. Sometimes, as at that moment, I thought of her as possibly the coolest girl I'd ever known.

True, time had passed. She'd had time to heal. She still sounded so at ease, calm, not a bit of anger or resentment in her voice.

"Yes, I'm at the beach...No, Sandpiper Beach...Yeah, that's Dade County..."

Krys rolled her eyes. Took a bite of her toast. Our parents had stopped eating. They watched her with a fascination that matched mine. It was like watching a spider play with a fly before devouring it.

"Jake, hon? Hold on a sec, all right?" Setting the phone on the tale, she ate a couple nibbles of her blueberry muffin. She swallowed her bite fully before returning to her call. "Okay, I'm back. Having brunch with my peeps. You know—Mom, Papi, my sister. Speaking of Cherry, she says hi, by the way."

I made a face and shook my head. Krys looked as if she were holding back a giggle.

"When am I what?...Oh, when am I going back there?...I'll probably be back there later on this year. Go see my parents. We don't know what we're doing yet...No, I'm planning on staying here for good. I like it here. My sister lives here. I've met someone. Wonderful, sweet guy. A fireman."

For some moments, Krys was quiet. He was speaking, apparently. Her expression grew stony.

"Engineers make more money than firefighters? Really? And you're telling me this...because?" she drawled. "I'm not looking for a man who makes a lot of money. I'm not looking for a man at all. All I want is to go on with my life and be content with what I have, and if the fireman and I can be more to each other than we are right—what's that?...Oh, I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry you didn't realize what you had, Jake. And I'm sorry it didn't work out with you and the girl you wanted so much that you thought she was worth breaking my heart over.

"But I deserve to be happy, too. And I deserve to be loved for who I am, not who you wanted me to be...Sorry, but, no...No...No."

She wasn't teasing him anymore. She was also firm with him, and at the same time Krys was kinder than I would have been.

"...I do forgive you. And I wish you only the best..." She looked up, then seemed suddenly rushed. "I have to go now, Jake. Have a good life. Say hello to your family. Goodbye, Jake..."

Her eyes weren't even misty as she clicked off the phone. When I glanced up, I saw the reason for all that big hurry to get off the phone.

Dallas, dressed in his uniform, was walking straight in our direction. Gracing me with an affectionate grin, he greeted me first with an almost brotherly hug.

"Oh, my favorite sisters!" he exclaimed. "Cherry and Krystal—and the rest of the Martinezes, I hope?"

Papi was beaming, Mom looked impressed. She liked men in uniform. When she met Papi, he was in the Air Force. She obviously approved, and it seemed like my father did, too.

Dallas slid into Krys' side of the booth, first giving her a respectful hello kiss.

"These are the original Martinezes," Krystal said. "My mom, Angie, and my dad, Joe. Mami, Papi, this is Dallas O'Keefe."

Papi extended his hand across the table. I loved the smile Dallas gave him. He seemed genuinely excited to finally meet my dad.

"Hi, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you," he told Papi.

"Breakfast, Dallas? Let me get you a menu," I offered. "Coffee. Oh, never mind. Of course, coffee..."

Bob always kept the restaurant's radio set to a comfortable volume that wouldn't compete with the patrons' conversations and turned to an easygoing satellite station. We could change it and often did. One of the cooks liked the country music stations; Bob's wife, Patty, in her forties, was partial to the 80s station. Daisy, the hostess, sometimes tuned us in to the ethereal and relaxing spa music station.

I wasn't picky. My parents had very eclectic tastes when it came to music—Krys and I grew up listening to everything from Santana to Pavorotti—so when it came to the radio, I wasn't hard to please.

I did think it apropos that Five For Fighting's "Superman" was playing right then. As I grabbed a carafe full of fresh coffee, knowing Dallas would have more than one cup, I listened to the words.

Sometimes music speaks to your heart. That song did to mine, especially about what I was looking for. I'd thought about that summer, about what I'd done. Even if I didn't always let on, especially to my family because I didn't want to worry them, I'd still felt scared at first.

Beach or not, to go somewhere and start new, from scratch, that's nerve-wracking. Even harder was thinking about the man I'd almost married, the man taken away from me by one terrible night. How sad that I would dwell only on that night, when we'd had so many other days and nights together. When you love someone, when you share so much with him, and then one day he's gone, in an instant, it's almost impossible to think of going on without him. He was the only thing that was right about my life at that time...or so I'd thought.

Now I could think of Ian. Of us. Of all the happy times we'd shared, of how he'd loved me and I'd loved him. And it was okay to grieve. I couldn't heal until I let myself go through that process. It didn't matter where I lived, either. Beach living had always been my dream. Beach, mountains, the country, the city.

There's no running away from pain or life. Somehow, though, I'd managed to find that best part of me, not in a place, not because of what I did for a living but in that simple acceptance of my life.

35

Up until the moment Heather made the announcement, that last day in Loris had been bittersweet. Suddenly, a glimmer of hope sparked in a day that was both happy and sad.

"We got the news this week," she was saying as they all walked out to Gray's car. "I'm pregnant. Took a long time, but God answered our prayers."

Instantly, Gray looked from Heather to Cherry, who broke into a wide smile. She was the first to hug Heather, so he reached for Carlos to congratulate him.

"So great to hear," Gray said.

"It is. Is really is!" Carlos exclaimed.

"Especially—especially now," Heather stammered. "I mean, we knew there was a possibility that this day would come. We knew that there could come a time when we'd see this day. The day when Cam would leave with his dad and—and you know, that's good. That's for the best."

Gray had Cam's hand in his but turned to reassure her with an embrace.

"Please don't ever think," he told her, "that I'm taking him away from you."

"No. No, I know—"

"It's hard, I know. Cam has me now, but that doesn't mean he needs you two any less. You and Carlos will always be an important part of his life. Anytime you want to come down, I hope you'll do that. We're all family now, Heather."

She didn't seem to trust herself to speak, only nodding and accepting another hug from him.

Gray had known this would be difficult. So much was involved, what with transferring medical records from one pediatrician to the other, and for the sake of everyone, dealing with the lawyers for both sides.

Less than a year had passed. Actually, only one season: the summer. That was when he'd learned he had a son.

"I'll put Cam in his car seat," Cherry said, taking the little boy in her arms. "You go on and talk to them."

"Thanks, baby." Smiling, he turned back to Heather and Carlos.

Both looked on the verge of tears. Gray was, too. What did he really need to say to them?

"Thank you for everything," he was able to rasp out. "Thank you for all you've done for my son. You're stuck with me, by the way."

He was relieved to see them laugh.

"And you're stuck with us," Heather said.

"I hope so. Thank you for finding me. Thank you for letting me know about my son. For going the extra mile to protect him. I will never be able to repay you for all you've done, and I know you wouldn't accept it anyway, that you did it out of love for Cam."

Carlos draped an arm around his wife, who nodded.

"You know you can visit us, too," Heather told him.

"'Course."

"Anytime you'd like."

"And anytime you want, Cam can come and spend time with you. Except, you know, when he starts school in a few years."

Him? Talking about a kid in school? That was really happening. The truly awesome part was how easily it was coming to him.

Cherry stepped out of the car and motioned to Heather.

"He wants to say bye," she said.

Again, Heather nodded. "Okay."

Carlos also took his turn, hugging and kissing Cam, securely strapped in his seat and sipping from a juice box.

"Oh, don't forget this," Heather said, reaching for a bag on the porch and handing it to Cherry.

"What's that?" Gray asked.

"Turkey sandwiches with lettuce and tomato on whole wheat. Little bit of mayo. I figured if you get hungry on the way home. It's a long ride and you three haven't had lunch."

"Hmmm." Gray turned and told Carlos, "I still have a lot to learn."

"You will," Carlos said with confidence. "We don't doubt that."

Cherry stood beside him and he hugged her waist. She wasn't rushing him, allowing him to have all the time he needed.

"We do have a long ride," he said. "So we'd better be going."

"Okay, well. Call us if you need anything," Carlos reminded him.

"I will. And you do the same.' Gray plucked his keys from his pocket. Before opening the passenger side door for Cherry, he said. "You'll get a call tonight. I'll have Cam say good night to you. It'll be good for him, too, to hear your voice."

"We'd really love that," Heather said.

"And congratulations again on your baby. You'll be amazing parents to that little guy or girl."

"So will you," Heather said, stepping back to hug her husband.

They both waved, then waved again when he backed out of the driveway, before he drove away down the road.

"Going to Daddy's house," Cam chimed in from the backseat.

"Yep. Going home," Gray gently correctly. "Your other home. The new one. But we'll call Aunt Heather and Uncle Carlos later on tonight. Okay, buddy?"

"Okay, Daddy."

"You think he'll be okay?" Cherry lowered her voice to pose the question.

"I think he will. Probably going to have a period of adjustment. Thanks for helping me fix his room."

"Oh, it was fun. So...what'll it be?" Pulling down the sun visor on her side, she skimmed through the CDs tucked into the sleeve. "Barenaked Ladies. Haven't heard them in a long time."

The Mustang's radio hadn't worked in some time. Getting it fixed wasn't at the top of his priorities list, either. Cherry never seemed to mind those things; that was who she was, just a go-with-the-flow kind of girl. To listen to music, they had to bring along his portable radio/CD player. He rotated the CDs in the sleeve attached to the visor so they always had a variety. Sometimes they hooked up his MP3 player to the radio.

That afternoon, however, he had something of more importance on his mind. He'd thought of talking to her on the way up to Loris, choosing instead to wait until the trip back. His heart began beating faster with anticipation.

"There's something I've wanted to talk to you about, Cherry. I've been rehearsing it for a few days now."

To his surprise, she turned off the music just as the first song began to play.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Cherry didn't hesitate at all.

Gray gripped the steering wheel in his hand tightly. "I know we haven't known each other for a long time. We've only known each other since the summer began. I don't really need to know you more than that. I already know I love you."

"And I don't need years and years to know I love you, Gray. And I love Cam."

That was it. He couldn't keep driving. Pulling over onto the shoulder of the road, he put the car in Park and turned to her. She leaned forward in her seat and reached for his hand.

"We're a family, me and Cam," he told her. "We want you in that family."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes." Cherry's laugh drew one from him. She leaned in even closer and kissed him. "You both belong to me. I didn't know that at first. I know it now."

"Baby..." He laughed again, more from excitement. "You know, I don't have much money."

"Neither do I. I'm a beach gypsy. Remember?"

"Well, what I have is yours and Cam's."

"And what I have is yours and his, too."

"Our son. Mine...and yours."

"My son." Cherry smiled. "Wow. Let me say that again. My son."

"Good. You try those words on for size. And I'll try these: my wife."

The next kiss was a burst of fire and love, a celebration. From the backseat, Cam asked, "What're we doing, Daddy?"

Gray took his time, enjoying the kiss. He touched Cherry's face before smiling back at his son.

"We're going home, buddy," he replied before putting the car in gear and driving in the direction of Sandpiper Beach.

EPILOGUE

For nearly a week, a tropical storm that had blown through the Virgin Islands had been threatening our little corner of the world there in Florida. I swear, the weather forecasters loved that stuff. After days of dire warnings and advising us to stock up on batteries, water, milk, bread and other supplies, the storm fizzled out and left Sandpiper Beach alone.

But as they say, you can never be too careful. We took all the usual precautions because, let's face it, when you live beside the ocean, you have to respect her strength and her moods. Also, when you live that close to water, you don't dwell on that. Home is home.

A week after that was the second week of August. It was as if there'd never been a tropical storm in the area at all. The weather was Florida-brand scorching, skies the bluest blue and decorated with giant, white clouds. We'd gotten there early with the kids—Cam, Claire, and Dallas and Krystal's son, Logan—and claimed a whole section to ourselves to take in the sand and the sun and the surf.

Where had the day gone? It was fast approaching five o'clock. Time to collect our beach chairs, which we'd set up in a semi-circle, our umbrellas, coolers, kids and other things.

"Can we come back tomorrow, Mom?" my daughter, Claire, asked in that cute baby voice of a two-year-old.

"Sure, we can, honey. Right now we're going to Aunt Krystal's house. Okay?" I reminded her. "Uncle Dallas is going to grill dinner for us."

"Cool," her pleased older brother, Cam, now six, said. "And let's come back here tomorrow, Mom."

"Tomorrow's Sunday. We'll do that for a little while, right after church."

I glanced around to see Gray, who winked at me. My handsome husband, gathering the umbrella and other items, stopped to pull a T-shirt over his head. Dallas must have made a joke, because he and Gray both chuckled.

We'd been honest with Cam. We'd told him about his mom, the one who'd given birth to him and taken care of him as best she could when he was a baby. His Aunt Heather also made sure to tell him about her, and with the pictures she'd given him of her, I'd made him a photo album that he treasured. But he also called me "Mom," and he had my heart as much as my daughter did.

Krystal, with a beach tote dangling from her shoulder, took my arm and pointed out to the water. "Look over there! Remember that?"

Out on the water, a boat was tugging along a large parasail with not two but four pairs of legs dangling from it. I laughed.

"Yeah, we were crazy," I said.

"We keep saying we're going to do that," Gray, overhearing our conversation, added.

"Let's just keep talking about it. Defying gravity once is enough for me. Besides, there's so much else to do here."

"Ah, I'm taking you up there once more. This time with me."

I paraphrased the well-known bumper sticker. "I'd rather be fishing. And we got a boat for that, so it makes it even easier."

Gray replaced his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose to shield his eyes from the potent rays of the late afternoon sun. "If we get a chance next week, we'll do that."

"Hey, we're inviting ourselves along!" Krystal shouted.

"Fine with us. You get to pack the lunch this time."

The fishing boat didn't completely belong to us. Gray, Blaine and a friend of Gray's cousin were co-owners of the Weekend Mist. They'd bought it a little over two years earlier, fulfilling Gray's longtime dream of being a business owner.

For the most part, Gray was a partner in the business. He left the day-to-day maintenance to Blaine and Darryl. Much of his time was taken up, work-wise, with Dave's Car Repair, which his uncle had renamed D & G Car Doctors. It had made sense to Dave Kelly to do that since he'd decided Gray had been with him long enough and it was time he became a partner. Gray is still his best mechanic, after all.

I don't know if I'll ever go back to work. For now, I stay at home with the kids and my life is pretty full. To this day, I help to make and deliver meals to the battered women's shelter and I still help out regularly at the church pantry. Maybe one day I'll return to work. Right now, I love the work I'm doing. It's not a career, for certain, and I don't get paid. But I love it.

With all that, we're still not rich. Oh—we were able to move out of my little bungalow, where we've lived since that day we came back from Loris with Cam. Our home is modest, more of a cottage than a luxury home. Roses grow in the front yard and vegetables in the backyard, with lots of room for Roxy to run and play. Our little family doesn't need a mansion.

Everyone was sunned-out. I could tell by the way we were trudging off the sand, even the kids. It was that good kind of tired, where all it would take to revive us was something cold to drink and a good dinner around Krystal and Dallas' backyard table.

Gray, moving slightly faster than me, stopped and turned to face me. I could see his eyes through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, filled with so much love and more warmth than in all the tropics. A breeze came off the Atlantic and tousled his hair, giving the man I loved a boyish look that went so deliciously with his sun-bronzed complexion.

"Come back here tomorrow, my little cherry cocktail?" he wanted to confirm.

"Of course."

I looked around. There were still some people, I assumed both locals and tourists, taking in the last hour or so of sunrays. The sea's music and its winds sang to me. The palm trees, to me the most beautiful of all trees, reminded me of the excellent decision I'd made a few years ago in running away to a place where summer is king.

Who needs a mansion when your home is the beach?

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Connie Keenan, an indie author who has also been published by traditional publishers, has written over one hundred short stories and several novels. Her most recent works include the three books which comprise The Larkspur Valley Series. Though most of her books are romance novels, she has also penned two YA books. A mother and grandmother, she lives in North Carolina with her husband, Bill, and three spoiled dogs. When she's not writing or reading, Connie loves to walk, hike, whip up new recipes for her family, and sing with the choir at her church. She is currently working on her next inspirational novel, due out in fall of 2013. For news on her upcoming books and more, visit her blog at http://conniekeenanwriter.blogspot.com.

