Chapter 14

I’ve got that same tightness in my stomach as I approach Cat, probably because I realize that in the fourteen years since I was last in Sunset Harbor, it’s possible she’s turned to the Dark Side and now identifies as Team Palmer.

But I need a cleaner if I’m going to have the house looking its best for pictures, so I pull up my bootstraps.

“Cat?”

She turns and looks at me, her eyes searching my face for a second. She smiles. “Gemma!”

Relief floods me as she pulls me in for a hug.

“I heard you were back,” she says, “but I swore not to believe it until I saw it with my own eyes.”

I put out my hands to display myself. “Duty calls. How have you been?”

We catch up for a few minutes on things at Keene B&B and the work she’s doing for the Belacourts, including a side job with Noah—the only son to even out a whole lot of estrogen. Beau wasn’t lying when he said Cat keeps busy.

“Wow,” I say. “So, I’m guessing you wouldn’t have time to come clean Grams’s house, right? I’m trying to get it ready for pictures so we can sell it.”

“I’d love to,” she says. “How much cleaning are we talking?”

“It’s in decent shape, so nothing major.”

She nods. “When do you need it done?”

I display a smile full of clenched teeth. “Um…before Monday at five?”

Her mouth twists to the side. “I’ve got some work I’ve got to do for Noah on Monday.”

“Look at you, hanging with the bougie Belacourts! Is there something I should be aware of?” I cock a brow.

“Oh, gosh no,” she says, but her cheeks go pink. “I’m just taking all the side jobs I can to earn some extra money. Speaking of which, as long as you’re okay cutting it close, I could come clean for a while tomorrow, then finish up on Monday afternoon?”

I shut my eyes with relief. “You’re an angel! That’s perfect. If you’re sure.”

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you! What’s your favorite drink?”

“Um, LaCroix. Why?”

“I’ll have a six-pack in the fridge with your name on it. And obviously I’ll pay you real money, too. I owe you big.”

I part ways with Cat, a smile on my face. It’s nice to be around the people in Sunset Harbor who don’t hate me.

I mean, I don’t think Beau hates me either, but he doesn’t count. Because I don’t want him to count.

I swipe down on my email inbox to check for anything new, but aside from a few weekly emails I’m automatically copied on, nothing new comes through. It’s a bit surprising, honestly. I was worried I’d be responding to constant questions during my time here, but it looks like Meredith meant it when she said she’d try to make sure I wasn’t bothered more than absolutely necessary.

The doorbell rings, and my heart does a little flip. Out of pure surprise and nothing else .

I put a hand to the claw clip holding my hair back instead of the usual elastic. I try to keep things interesting, you know? Switch things up. Live life on the edge.

Not really. I pulled my hair so tight earlier as a form of self-flagellation for admiring Beau that my scalp started feeling bruised. So, claw it is. I specifically dressed not to impress, so I’m in some ratty old sweats of Mom’s and a very faded Pearl Jam tee.

I pull open the door, and Beau smiles back at me. He’s shed his uniform for a pair of pale blue shorts and a white tee. “Sorry I’m late,” he says as Xena comes charging into the yard and up to the porch. “What! How’d you get out? Come on, girl. Back home. Go.”

“No, no,” I say, crouching down to pet her. “She’s fine. Aren’t you, Xena?” I feel more at ease having her here. Then Beau and I won’t be alone. Technically. If I get some weird urge to stroke Beau’s bicep, I can channel it to Xena and pet her instead.

“You sure?” he asks. “I can send her packing. She does listen to me occasionally.”

I stand and move aside, and she bounds into the house like I just opened the doors to Walmart on Black Friday.

Beau stares after her incredulously. “By all means,” he calls, “make yourself at home.” He shakes his head and follows after her, looking around appreciatively as we head for the kitchen. “This is a great place.”

“Thanks,” I say, shutting the door behind us. But I’m not dumb—I know Beau’s house is a lot nicer. “Grams has taken good care of it, thank heaven. Makes my job a lot easier. Anyway, I realize it’s Saturday night, and you probably have a hot date, but we should be able to get things done pretty quickly.”

Beau gives me a view of his amused profile as he heads to the living room. Is that confirmation? Or is he laughing at my not-so-subtle way of fishing for information on Jane and him?

“Down, Xena,” he says. She obediently lies down in the corner, panting as she watches us. “You got a phone date with your boyfriend?” Something about the way his eyes twinkle as he says it tells me he doesn’t buy that I actually have a boyfriend, which is, quite frankly, very true and very offensive.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” I say, fully accepting my new habit of lying to cops as I take my position at one end of the loveseat. “We’re watching a show together.” Technically, he’s acting in the show, but potato-potahto. “You and Jane have romantic plans? Tour of the island sewage plant, maybe?”

“I try to save that for a fourth date,” he says as we both squat and lift. “But if you’re asking whether Jane and I are dating, the answer is no.”

“What? I…I didn’t…I don’t care?—”

“We went out a couple times,” he says, bulldozing my stuttering as we shift the couch to its new place, “but we agree we’re better as friends.”

I suppress a scoff. They agree? Right…that’s Breakup 101. Pretend it’s mutual. If only I knew which one of them was pretending.

“This good?” he asks, stepping back for a better view of the couch. “Looks pretty straight.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” I say.

“So, what’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Why? So you can do a background check on him?”

“That would be misuse of department resources, GG,” he says with a chastising look. He rearranges the pillows on his end. “I’ll just stalk his social media.”

“He doesn’t have social media,” I say. It’s true. He lived in the 1700s.

“Convenient,” Beau mumbles.

“What was that? ”

He looks up at me, face innocent as a newborn lamb. “Hm? I didn’t say anything.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “His name is Jamie, if you must know. Would you help me with the rug real quick?”

“Of course,” he says.

“If you can lift that end of the couch, I’ll straighten it out.” It doesn’t actually need straightening, but I’m grasping for any other subject of conversation at the moment than my fake, 18 th -century boyfriend.

Beau obediently lifts while I pretend to tweak the rug. It’s probably less straight now, but whatever. Maybe I can get Cat to help me fix that when she comes. It’ll drive me crazy otherwise.

“Well,” Beau says, setting down the couch.

I give one more tug to the edge of the rug, then stand and find myself face to face with him.

He’s got the same twinkle in his eyes that makes me think he might still not believe me. “You tell Jamie for me that he’s a very lucky man.”

Heat creeps up my neck and into my face, and my heart hammers. What’s he playing at here? Is this some twisted way of establishing dominance over me—messing with me and making me react to him?

“He already knows that,” I say, pulling my phone out of my back pocket as it vibrates.

The text preview displays across the screen.

Mia

What’s the latest? How’s Officer Palmer?

I angle the screen away from him, but he’s not trying to look at it. He’s still looking at me.

Gemma

Evi l

I turn off the screen and hold up the phone. “Just Jamie checking in.”

Beau smiles. “Good man.” At least that’s what his words say, but his face and tone say something more like I don’t believe you for a second, Gemma Girl. Stupid cop intuition. “So, what’s next on the list?”

I hesitate. We’ve moved the big stuff in this room, but ideally, I’d like to switch things up in the master bedroom and on the deck. I also don’t need any excuses for Beau to stay longer, though. I’m already struggling as is.

“You don’t need to stick around,” I say. “You’ve done your job, and I should get ready for my date.”

Beau raises his brows and glances at his watch, then up at me again. “Early date?”

“He really misses me,” I say.

“That’s sweet.” Beau scrunches his nose in a way that makes me want to punch it. “What is it, ten in the morning there?”

Shoot. I forgot about the time difference. Fake boyfriends are such a hassle.

“Well,” he says, not even waiting for my explanation of my mid-morning date, “if you just tell me what you need done, I can probably do it while you shower and get dressed. I did promise to help you get the house ready for sale, and I’m a man of my word. You said pictures are Monday?”

Ugh. I didn’t need that reminder. It’ll take more than twice as long for me to try to do things on my own when I could use the warm body right in front of me.

“Maybe I’ll just ask Jamie if we can push back the show a bit,” I say.

“Good idea,” Beau says. “He’ll understand. He’s a reasonable guy.”

I shoot him an unamused look, pull out my phone, and send another text to Mia with the words so evil while Beau watches me with the hint of a smile. This man will drive me absolutely crazy.

I ignore him and lead the way to the deck, while Xena follows at our heels. I explain the adjustments I want to make to the setup, and we get to work unsecuring the furniture from the anchors that keep things in place during the tropical storms Sunset Harbor gets.

Beau’s about twice as fast as I am, but that’s only because one of my anchors has rusted and is completely rigid, trapping the carabiner so I can’t take it off. I growl with frustration, and Beau crouches beside me to give it a shot.

I suppress a smile when he too fails.

“We’re going to need a couple tools,” he says, shaking his fingers out. “Does your grandma have a hammer?”

“Grams is a hammer,” I say, trying the carabiner again. I know I can get it if I work at it a little more. “But I’m sure she has one inside.”

Beau heads inside, and Xena follows.

I want more than anything to get this carabiner unstuck by the time Beau gets back. It’ll feel so good to rub it in his stupid, sexy face.

The sound of kitchen drawers opening and closing meets my ears. It takes me a second to realize the problem with this. I go still, then swear softly and scramble to my feet.

I run, but everything shifts to slow motion when Beau opens the drawer next to the fridge as I charge inside. By the time I scramble around the island, he’s picking up the paper with a knit brow.

Each second splits into a thousand frames as his brow knits in a frown and the edge of his mouth inches up on one side. I grab at the paper, but Beau swipes it away as I collide with him.

His arm wraps around me, his hand pressing against my back as he stumbles, then stabilizes. My cheek hits against his chest, my hands clenching the fabric at the waist of his shirt .

“What’s this?” There’s a distinct smile in his voice.

I clench my eyes shut, not moving because if I move, I’ll have to face him. I’d rather take refuge in the valley between his sturdy pecs. Maybe if I’m lucky and stay here long enough, his body will just absorb mine. That’s a thing, right? Please say it’s a thing.

“Gemma?” Beau prods gently. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“That’s Grams’s,” I mutter into his chest, throwing her under the bus without a second thought. I can feel Xena at our heels, turning circles around us like she’s concerned. And rightly so.

“Mm,” he says. “You realize she’s had to fill out a lot of paperwork for me, right? And that I know her handwriting pretty well? It looks like a feral cat got hold of a pen.”

I don’t respond. What can I possibly say? I’m trying to remember what exactly I wrote on that stupid piece of paper. Something about his smile, definitely. His body was on the list.

“You wanna look at me sometime soon?” His hand is still pressing against my back. Gosh, he smells good. “Or do you plan on hanging out there indefinitely? I’m fine either way, for the record.”

“Please give it to me,” I say. “You shouldn’t go rifling through people’s drawers, you know. Don’t you learn this stuff at cop school?”

“Police academy,” he corrects. “Let me just ask you one thing, and I’ll give it back to you.”

I nod into his chest, my eyes still closed. If I open them, will I wake up from this nightmare? This humiliating, warm, delicious-smelling nightmare.

“ Do you have a boyfriend ?” He punctuates each word.

I clench my eyes as tightly as they’ll go, my brain sorting through the ramifications of whatever response I give. It’s not really Beau I invented my boyfriend for. It’s the island. “Fine.” I pull back and meet his gaze, my chin lifted. “No, I don’t technically have a boyfriend.”

“Technically?” he repeats.

“Or actually. Or really. Or metaphorically.”

He smiles and hands me the paper. “I already knew that.”

I yank it from him. “How could you possibly know that?”

He shrugs and crosses his arms. “You’re not a great liar, GG. And I’m a very good cop.”

I roll my eyes and stuff the paper in one of my back pockets, jamming it to the very bottom. I will be setting it on fire later. Not that it helps. He already saw it. “We can argue that, but the important thing is that you please not tell anyone else.”

“That you’re a bad liar?”

I shoot him an annoyed look. “That I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Why?”

“Because. It makes things a lot easier. Less rumors to deal with.” My phone buzzes again, and I pull it out. It’s Grams, so I move away from Beau and put it to my ear as I head for the deck. “Hey, Grams. Everything okay?”

“Yes,” she says. “I just wan?—”

“Hi, Virginia!” Beau calls out.

I whirl around, my eyes wide. Of course he’s grinning.

“Who’s that?” Grams asks suspiciously.

“What?” I slide the deck door open and try to squeeze through. “No one.”

“It’s Officer Palmer!” Beau yells as I slide the door shut so hard it bounces back and I have to shut it again.

He’s dead. So. Dead.

“What?” Grams barks. “Where are you?”

I wince. I could lie, but Beau’s right. I’m not a good liar. “At home. ”

“In my home? With a Palmer?”

“Grams,” I say. “Listen to me for a second. You remember how you pulled the fire alarm?”

“Yes.” The calm of her voice is audibly fragile.

“And how you told me to do whatever it took to ensure you didn’t get kicked out of Seaside Oasis?”

There’s a pause. “Did that Palmer boy blackmail you into going out with him?”

“What? No! Of course not. He’s helping me move some furniture for the listing pictures tomorrow.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” she prods, entirely unamused. “ Moving some furniture ?”

“Grams!” I instinctively glance at Beau through the glass pane to see if he heard. He’s holding Xena in his arms like she’s a chihuahua instead of a Chow Chow. He picks up her paw and makes her wave at me. It’s obvious he didn’t hear, though. “I’m hurt.”

“And how do you think I feel? You’ve sullied my house. You’re canoodling with a Palmer!”

“You think I’m enjoying this? I’m sacrificing for your sake.”

She hmph s. “You watch yourself, Gigi. Those Palmers are expert deceivers. They make you feel you can trust them and then WHAP ”—she smacks something—“the rug’s pulled out from under you.”

“Simmer down. I’m not in any danger here. I’m just doing what I can to make sure you can stay there. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Not like this.”

“Grams,” I say firmly. “Is it what you want?”

There’s a long pause. “Yes,” she mutters. “But no funny business!”

“I promise this is just regular old business—with a side of animosity and loathing. I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay? ”

“You’d better.”

“Oh, and Grams? Please, for the love of all that’s good and beautiful, behave yourself until then.”

She cackles and hangs up.

That woman. I love her so much, but she is a piece of work. I can’t imagine what she must have been like as a toddler and a teenager. I also genuinely don’t understand how Dad turned out so…normal.

I head back inside, march straight up to Beau, and sock him in the chest. He doesn’t even flinch, but Xena does a little yip.

“Thanks a lot for that,” I say. “You almost got me disowned.”

“Relax, GG,” he says. “Let your hair down a little.” He reaches around me, and the next thing I know, my hair is falling to my shoulders.

He actually undid my claw clip. This man has a death wish.

I scramble to scoop my hair back again, and he tries to stop me by intercepting my hands. “Leave it. I like it.”

I swipe the claw from him. “You like it kinky?” I freeze, and he snorts softly. “I…that’s not what I meant. Grow up, Officer.” I smooth my hair back and twist it. “Now can we please get back to work?”

“Waiting on you,” he says.

We find a hammer and get the carabiner situation handled, then spend the next two hours moving furniture and debating what to take out to the garage to make the home feel roomier. As promised to Grams, I’m all business. I barely notice Beau. There is zero notice taken of smiles or bodies or helpfulness.

He puts his hands on his waist and looks around the kitchen while I grab us lemonade from the fridge. “You know what this room needs?”

“What?” I ask warily. I need this room to not need anything else. I need the way it is right now to be perfect because I don’t have the energy to do anything more to it. It already looks like those homes that have oodles of counter space that are never ever ever actually used.

“Dinner,” he says. “I can call up the Beach Break Bar and have them deliver som?—”

“No, no,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear my stomach growl. “I’ve got boxes to sort through and some work to do.” That work is called emailing my boss to check in and make sure everything’s gravy over there. That’s normal, right? People on vacation checking in at work?

“All right,” Beau says. “Come on, Xena. We’re no longer wanted here.” He slaps his thigh twice, and she hops up from her place in the corner.

I don’t bother countering his statement. Grams wouldn’t want me to, and this is her house. Best not to make him feel too welcome here. I probably shouldn’t even be walking him to the door. But I have to make sure he actually leaves, right? It’s called being thorough.

Doing business with enemies is a lot more complicated than I realized. A lifetime of etiquette experience tells me to say thank you, while a lifetime of animosity toward the Palmers tells me to grab a shotgun and tell him to get off my lawn.

“Thank you for the help,” I say, because the shotgun is behind loads of things at the back of the garage.

“No problem,” he replies. “Oh, hey. I should probably get your number.”

My brows go up. That stupid list is giving this man ideas. “I don’t think so.”

He frowns. “So, you want me to throw rocks at your window if I get a work call?”

I open my mouth wordlessly. He wants my number for our arrangement. Like I said, this is all a bit complicated for my tiny brain. “Um, no. The last thing I need right now is a broken window.” I reluctantly put out my hand, and he unlocks his phone, then slips it into my palm .

I save my number under the name Camera Crew.

He smiles. “Enjoy your movie date, GG.”

I watch him walk off, determined not to see him until I absolutely have to. I will be praying tonight for zero crime in Sunset Harbor—and no Grams shenanigans either.