Chapter 13

By the time I shuffle up the driveway of Grams’s house, I have cursed Sunset Harbor and Beau Palmer in every language I know. Which is one. But I have utilized that one language to the fullest.

I step inside and run a hand down my ponytail, cringing. The bottom half is wet from clinging to the sweat on the back of my neck. You could wring me out right now. And I could wring Beau’s neck.

I realize it’s not his fault I insisted on walking home. But it kind of is. He’s been infiltrating my Sawyer defenses and provoking me and calling me Gemma Girl.

It’s all getting a bit out of hand, and I need to batten down if I’m going to spend more time with him before I leave. Not because I’m in actual danger. It’s just a matter of redirecting my thoughts a bit. Trying to keep the plethora of flaws present in my mind instead of getting distracted by the very few things he has going for him.

What things, one might ask? Excellent question. My brain seems to be multiplying them when there truly aren’t many. In fact, it might be beneficial to make a list. That way, my brain can see just how little there is to admire, and those things can be off-limits.

After a few gulps of cold water, I grab the notepad on the counter by the fridge and start writing, cracking open the gate of my Sawyer defenses to allow in—just for a minute—the image of Beau Palmer. I narrow my mental eyes at him and the way the imaginary sun glints off his teeth.

I set my pen to that notepad.

1. That freaking smile. It’s a trap.

Granted, it will be tricky to ignore because it’s pretty much omnipresent, but I’ve got to shoot for the stars here.

I let my eyes travel downward, and suddenly, he’s not wearing the cop uniform but swim shorts and nothing on top. I clench my eyes shut.

2. Annoyingly muscular body. This isn’t a calendar.

The next image that presents itself to me is him helping Grams at chair yoga. I push the image away, but the one that takes its place is him lifting the couch earlier today.

3. Him helping others. It’s the job.

It’s not like he’s handcuffing hardened criminals here. He’s got to make himself useful somehow. Apparently, that takes the form of helping Grams with her cardigan and acting as a moving service.

I put down the pen and stare at the list, then give a satisfied nod before shoving it in the drawer.

See, brain? That’s all he’s got going for him.

The next morning, I sit in the golf cart, parked a block away from the town center with my phone out, considering whether I should text Grams and ask one more time if she’s sure she wouldn’t rather spend the rest of her life in a retirement home elsewhere. Surely, Seaside Oasis can’t be worth what I’m about to do.

I haven’t been able to avoid multiple trips to the retirement home, but other than that, I’ve tried to keep my interactions with the islanders to a minimum. And yet, here I am, about to enter into the belly of the beast: the weekly farmer’s market where I can expect to see more than half the island while I meet up with Beau.

I glance in the rearview mirror and smooth my hair back. I found a can of Grams’s Aqua Net and gave my hair a good spray.

Why am I so nervous?

I shouldn’t care what people here think of me. Either they’re already on my side, or they gave up the privilege of Sawyers caring about their opinions a long time ago.

I get out of the golf cart and walk toward the square, ignoring the way my heart beats faster than usual as the hum of the market grows louder.

The square is charming—I’ll give it that. With a fountain in the middle and small, colorful shops lining all four sides, it gives the island residents everything they need in the same place. Today, market stalls are set up around the fountain on the side nearest me, offering everything from produce and artisanal goods to friendship bracelets being sold by three little girls.

On the opposite side of the square, my gaze zooms right to Beau, running his own little booth next to the one with an enclosure full of dogs needing new owners. He’s got on his blues and is crouched down, talking to a little girl who’s petting Xena. She can’t be older than two and a half, with blonde pigtails and a sundress that doesn’t quite cover her diaper.

The girl says something, and Beau breaks into a laugh that sends a cascade of butterflies beating against the walls of my chest.

What is happening to me ? That smile is literally number one on my list of things not to pay attention to. Maybe I should have made a list of all the problems I have with him and his family. That thing would be pages long.

What I really need is Grams. Every time my body or mind reacts positively to Beau, she can smack me. Pretty soon, I won’t be able to look at him without fiery hatred. Like it should be .

For now, I’ll have to settle for tightening my ponytail until my head hurts.

Movement at the pet adoption booth grabs my attention, and my brows go up as Beau’s friend Phoenix from the cafe picks up a pretty young woman and throws her over his shoulder, then marches out of the square.

What in the world is happening? And why am I imagining Beau throwing me over his shoulder like that ?

Probably so I can sue him for misuse of force. Yeah. That’s definitely it.

I make my way toward the booth, aware that I’m drawing more than a few looks. A couple of people wave at me, while others just stare.

“I hear you’re selling that house,” a man calls to me from a booth full of custom woodwork.

I hesitate for a second before smiling. “Working on it.”

“Who’re you selling to?” His mouth is pulled down at the corners like he’s expecting me to admit I’m selling it to a member of a terrorist watch group.

“If I knew that, I’d save myself a lot of work, wouldn’t I?” I keep walking, hoping my smile strikes the balance between polite and stop-talking-to-me.

I texted with Eugene this morning, and we’ve got pictures happening Monday, which means I’ve got two days to get the place looking amazing.

I take in a slow, deep breath at the thought of all the work—the moving of furniture, which Beau has promised to help with, but also the cleaning. Remind me why I’m at the farmer’s market right now instead of working on that stuff?

My gaze falls on Beau again. He’s still talking to the little girl, but they’ve migrated to the pet adoption booth, and she’s trying to reach over the enclosure for one of the dogs.

Her mom is busy chatting with one of the people running the booth, but Beau taps her shoulder, and they talk for a second. She nods, and he turns back to the little girl.

The next second, he’s picked her up and is holding her out over the enclosure like assisted Superwoman. The dogs crowd under her, some hopping up on their hind legs, trying to lick her fingers. She’s having the time of her life, reaching for the dogs’ heads between fits of laughter, while Beau grins and Xena pants happily at his feet.

I can’t help smiling either.

It occurs to me that this is exactly the type of thing I should be capturing. I scramble to pull out my phone and open the camera, then press record as he lowers the girl closer to the dogs, pulls her back suddenly out of the dogs’ reach, then repeats while she laughs hysterically.

It’s not until I’m taking a video that I realize how strange this must look to others: my recording Beau Palmer from afar. Like a legitimate creep. I need a black shirt with big white letters that say Camera Crew or something.

“Again, again!” the girl cries out as Beau sets her down.

“My shoulders might need a little break,” he says, rolling them back and wincing slightly.

“Who’s that?” The little girl points to me, and Beau follows the direction of her pudgy finger.

I blink and kill the video, then force a flustered laugh.

“That’s my friend,” Beau says. “Her name is GG.”

I open my mouth, but he cuts me off.

“But you can call her Gemma. Gemma, this is Violet.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Violet,” I say. “Looks like you’ve got a whole pack of dogs wanting you to take them home.”

She nods with a huge, mischievous grin.

I crouch down so I’m on her level. “Can you tell me your secret?”

“What secret?”

“How you get all the dogs to love you so quickly. ”

She lifts her palms and shoulders. “They just do.”

“Ah, right.” I stand up and nod knowingly. “They just sense how awesome you are.”

Beau leans toward me, his arm bumping mine as he mumbles from the side of his mouth, “Could possibly have something to do with the bits of Goldfish crackers on her fingers.”

“Well, whatever her methods, it gave us some good footage. The city council will eat that up.” Just like I did .

“Speaking of which…” Beau turns toward the girl’s mom, who finishes talking and faces us, apologizing.

“No problem at all, Mrs. Lee,” Beau says. “We had a great time, right, Violet?”

The girl nods quickly. “I bring home the whole pack.”

My eyes widen at the clear reference to what I said.

“Oh, honey,” her mom says. “Not today, I’m afraid. Daddy would have my head on a platter. But they’re fun to play with, aren’t they?”

Violet’s bottom lip starts to pout and tremble.

“And you can play with Xena anytime,” Beau says. “She gets a little bored with me, you know. She’d love to have a playdate with you sometime. How does that sound?”

Violet’s impending tantrum transforms to a teary-eyed smile like only a toddler can manage.

Beau puts out his hand, and she gives him a high-five, almost missing. He winces and shakes his hand out like she hurt him, and she giggles in delight.

I steal a glance at Beau from the corner of my eye. This man has far too much charisma for his own good. Or any of our goods, really. He’s essentially a public nuisance.

He turns back to her mom, who’s watching the interaction with appreciation. “Is it okay if we use some video of little Miss Violet for a small video project?” he asks.

Look at him, being all ethical and asking permission .

“Oh, of course,” she replies. “Violet wants to be a movie star when she gets older, so maybe this’ll be her big break.”

“The audience will be the city council,” Beau says with amusement, “but hey, you never know.”

“It’s time for us to go, baby.” She takes Violet’s hand, smiles at Beau, and the two of them head to the other side of the square.

“So,” I say as Beau picks up Xena and sets her on the booth table like a show-dog, “how did the conversation with your dad go yesterday? Do I need to delete the video I just took?”

He scoffs and takes his place behind the booth. There’s a small banner draped across the front with Sunset Harbor Police Force printed across. “You doubt me?”

“Of course I do,” I say.

“For your information, the meeting went very well. Grams is still a resident at Seaside Oasis and, barring any more crazy ideas on her part, she will continue to be a resident there.”

“If she hears you calling her Grams, she absolutely will go crazy. But thank you for doing that.” I look around. “So, I’m just capturing you running this booth?”

He nods and runs a hand along Xena’s back. “All the glamor of talking to people about rabies and picking up puppy plops. But if you could record things in a way that allows me to pretend you’re not doing it, that would be great. Cameras make me uncomfortable.”

I cock a brow. “Cop cam get you in trouble one too many times?”

“Har har.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Officer, but I can’t be that inconspicuous. Firstly, because I want these videos to be good quality, and all I’ve got is this”—I hold up my phone—“which means proximity is key. And secondly, because the more subtle I try to be filming you, the weirder I look to everyone else, and I draw a firm line there. ”

His lip ticks up at the edge. “You prefer to record me from the safety of, say, an upstairs window.”

My cheeks flame. “I was showing Mia the yard!”

“Uh-huh.”

I want to plead my case, but methinks she doth protest too much scrolls in front of my brain with bright, flashing lights. “I wouldn’t mind some sort of press badge or something, you know? Or a uniform that lets people know I’m not stalking you.”

“Hold that thought. Looks like we’ve got our first customer. Hey there, Jane.”

I turn and find a brunette walking toward us. I recognize her vaguely, and thanks to Beau’s help with the first name, I can place her last name with her now-grown-up face. She’s a Hayes. And she’s a beautiful one, with the type of friendly smile that lets you know immediately that everyone loves her.

“Hey, Beau.” She sends me a quick glance. “Gemma, right?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Will you be joining book club?” Jane asks. “Your grandma is a crucial member. She keeps things lively.” Her smile says it all.

“Oh, I bet she does. I won’t be here long enough to join, but thanks for asking.”

Xena hops down with the least grace I’ve ever seen in an animal. She goes right up to Jane like she’s greeting an old friend.

I glance at Beau, who comes around to the front of the booth, and suddenly I get it. This dog isn’t a K-9—not that I ever thought she was. She’s a chick magnet. Beau uses her to make women feel like they’ve got that special something.

A middle-aged man with a round belly comes up and joins us. “Well, look at that!” he says jovially. “A Sawyer and a Palmer spotted together in the wild. Turning over a new leaf, are we?”

“No,” I say just as Beau puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his side .

“I like to keep the troublemakers close, Mayor Barnes,” he says.

I tug away. “I’m helping Officer Palmer with a little project. Business.”

The mayor chuckles. “Wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves if the Palmers and Sawyers started getting cozy, would we, Jane?”

“No, sir,” she says with amusement.

“I understand you’re selling your grandmother’s house, Gemma,” Mayor Barnes says as Jane and Beau start chatting.

“That’s right, sir. Hoping to have it up on Tuesday.”

“Nothing we can do to make you change your mind?”

I give him a funny look. “I think it’s a little late for that.” Most people on Sunset Harbor pass their homes down to their children and grandchildren, but if they wanted that for us, maybe they shouldn’t have done their best to drive us away.

“It’s never too late to let bygones be bygones, you know.”

“Sometimes the best way to let bygones be bygones is to say bye and be gone.”

He chuckles, making his round belly go up and down. “You’re as clever as your grandma. You know what’s best for your family, of course, but if I may be so bold…”

I raise my brows, waiting for him to finish.

He frowns, then takes a few steps away from Beau and Jane. He clearly expects me to follow, so I do.

“It would mean a lot to the island,” he says, “if you’d pick your buyer with us in mind.”

“Meaning…”

He tips his head from side to side. “There’s growing interest in Sunset Harbor. And rightly so! But we’d sure prefer to welcome residents who are invested in the island rather than in how much money the island can make them, if you know what I mean.”

I don’t even know how to respond to that. What say does Sunset Harbor think they should have in who Grams sells her house to?

My gaze flicks to Beau and Jane. He’s got his arms crossed, leaning against the booth, while they both laugh.

“Two of Sunset Harbor’s finest,” Mayor Barnes says, following the direction of my gaze. “If you ask me, there aren’t two people more perfect for each other.”

My heart clenches. “How so?” I ask with as much lazy curiosity as I can muster, even as my eyes devour every body language indicator between them: the way they’re turned toward each other, the smiles, the obvious familiarity their proximity implies, the mutual attractiveness. No wonder Xena was so excited to see her.

“There aren’t two bigger cheerleaders for this island anywhere,” the mayor says, watching them with patent admiration. “Jane’s my city manager, you know. Works like a horse for the good of Sunset Harbor. I won’t pretend I didn’t cheer silently when I found out they’d been going out. They’ll both be on the island forever, so why not together, I say!” He bumps me with an arm, and I force a smile back.

“Seems like a shoo-in.”

“Ah,” Mayor Barnes says, waving to someone across the square. “If you’ll excuse me, Gemma, I need to have a word with Rick Hershey about a city council issue.”

I nod, and he walks off, leaving me to observe Beau and Jane on my own. City manager and island cop. Certainly seems like they have plenty in common—and a close relationship. Together, they’d have a whole lot of power over the direction of the island, and there’s nothing a Palmer likes better than that.

I pull out my phone and take a video of them chatting together—to showcase Beau’s good rapport with the city officials, of course. Not because I plan to analyze their body language at a later time .

Beau glances at me, and his eyes scan the area for Mayor Barnes, I assume.

“I’ll see you later, Beau,” Jane says, taking note of his absence at the same time. “Gotta catch up with the boss.” She waves, leaving us alone as a family who was at the dog enclosure comes to ask Beau some questions about pet ownership laws. I stand to the side but close enough to listen and take some video.

Even when Beau’s talking about leash laws and poop disposal, he draws laughs. Go figure.

I wish I could not have him come over to move furniture later. I wish I could do it all on my own. But I can’t. And, knowing him, he’ll show up even if I tell him I don’t need help. Unless he has another date with Jane today.

There’s only so much video you can take of a man going over laws and regulations with people, no matter how attractive that man is. Also, as it turns out, sitting and observing Beau for an hour goes directly against all three rules I set this morning.

So, when there’s a break, I walk over to him as he cracks open a water bottle and pours it in his mouth.

I blink to get rid of the image. “Hey, I think I’m gonna shove off. Got plenty of material to work with, and I’ve got a lot of cleaning to do before the photographer comes on Monday.”

Beau frowns as he screws the lid back on. “Why don’t you hire that out? You could ask Cat.” He nods to indicate someone behind me, and I turn around.

Two dozen feet away is a platinum blonde with beach waves, holding bags of produce in both hands.

I watch her for a second, narrowing my eyes to reach deep into the memories I purposely discarded a long time ago. She moves her head, giving me a view of her profile, and my eyes widen. “Cat Keene?”

“The one and only,” Beau replies.

Cat and I were friends in elementary school and junior high. She was one of the people I was really sad to leave behind when we moved to California.

“She runs the bed and breakfast with her uncle and cleans for the Belacourts and a couple others, but I’m sure she’d squeeze you in if you asked.”

The Keenes are—or at least were— Team Sawyer. I’ll gladly pay her to clean Grams’s house. She’ll do a much better job of it than I would.

“Okay, yeah,” I say. “I’ll go check with her. Thanks.”

“I’ll be over around one,” Beau says as I start walking away.

I give a grimacing smile and head for Cat, hoping I can shore up my defenses a bit by one.