Chapter 26

My heart starts up a quick beat. Is Beau trying to cut in? Is he saving me from Drunken Dancer?

“If you’d like to dance,” Beau continues, “you can set your drink back on the table and come ask again.”

I turn my head and look at him incredulously. What is he doing ? This is the worst damsel-in-distress rescue in history.

The guy looks at Beau suspiciously. “You gonna steal my drink if I go set it down?”

“I’ll do my best to resist,” Beau promises.

The guy looks at him for a second, then nods and turns around, walking to his friends.

“Wow,” I say in a colorless voice. “Thanks a lot, Officer.”

“You’re welcome.” He takes a step toward me.

“What’re you doing?”

“I promised not to steal his drink,” he says, taking my hand in his. “I didn’t say anything about stealing his partner.”

My stomach flips, and I look to Grams, who’s made her way over with her walker.

“All these hooligans swarming my granddaughter.” She motions with both hands for Beau to leave. “Scram!”

“Grams,” I say, aware in my peripheral vision of Drunken Dancer heading this way with both hands free. “Please. Let me dance with him so I don’t have to dance with—oh hey! You’re back.”

The guy’s hooded lids fix on Beau’s hand holding mine. “That’s dirty, bro. I had her first, and you know it.”

“She’s taken!” Grams shoves her walker toward him. “Can’t you see? Now go dunk your head in some cold water and stop being an embarrassment to your parents.”

He blinks a couple times, looking more sober than five seconds ago.

Grams makes another threatening motion with her walker, and he stumbles backward a few steps before turning to his friends and his waiting beer.

Grams shoots Beau a tight-lipped look. “One dance, mister. And keep those hands where I can see them.” Then she turns and walks away.

“I love Grams,” Beau says, watching her disappear in the crowd. “Now, where were we?” He pulls our hands up toward his shoulder and deposits my hand there, then puts his around my waist.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.

“Thanks for all your help today,” he says, looking down at me as we sway from side to side.

I shrug, doing my best to be as unruffled by this dance as he is. “It’s no biggie.”

“You better be careful about helping out too much around here.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll fall in love with Sunset Harbor.”

I scoff softly, shaking my head. But I’m not scoffing inside. I could see myself getting attached to this island. In fact, I can already feel it. But at this point, my feelings for the island and my feelings for Beau are all jumbled up.

“I’m really glad you stayed, Gemma.”

“Yeah, think of all the footage I would’ve missed if I’d left,” I reply, hoping to lighten things. My emotions want to read the most intimate and serious interpretation possible into his words, and that is a dangerous way to live.

His eyes twinkle with amusement. “You know that’s not what I mean, right?”

“Officer Palmer?” A man jogs up to Beau, his cheeks pink with exertion.

Our swaying slows until it stops, but Beau’s hands stay right on my waist. I glance over my shoulder and catch Grams’s eyes on us.

“There are some kids doing fireworks on the beach,” the man says.

Beau nods. “I’ll come right away.”

I drop my hands from his shoulders as his apologetic gaze turns back to me.

“It’s fine. Go get ’em, tiger.” For reasons I don’t understand, I bump my fist into his shoulder.

He smiles slightly, then turns and jogs off toward the beach.

I debate whether to go after him—I don’t particularly enjoy feeling like a little puppy following him around—but when I catch sight of Drunken Dancer’s friends pointing me out to him, it’s decided.

I hurry after Beau, ditching my sandals so I can run in the sand. I can already see Beau talking to the kids up ahead. It’s getting pretty dark, but they can’t be more than tweens. I grab some video, trying to keep their faces out of it and focus it on Beau, while still making it clear what he’s doing.

Sometimes I wish he’d look just a bit more severe when doing his job. The city council could look at these pictures and think he’s having a grand ol’ time with a class of junior high students when he’s actually saving them from shooting their eyes out with explosives.

Soon, the kids’ parents start appearing—informed, no doubt, by the same man who told us what was going on. Beau gets caught up talking to them, and I head back to the dance, taking care to avoid my drunk neighbors. Instead, I visit Jane by the stage and see if there’s anything I can do to be helpful. Watching Beau run around all day makes me feel like a couch potato in comparison.

Jane asks if I can check with the band—Mo and the Kokomos—to see if they need anything since they’re on a short break.

I head behind the stage and chat with the nearest band member, who takes me up on my offer to get them some drinks. They’re all sweating up a storm.

Drunken Dancer and his friends have dispersed, leaving me free to fulfill my commission. A few minutes later, I head back to the band, balancing drinks in my hands. The band members take the cups with genuine thanks, gulp the contents down faster than I’ve seen anyone chug drinks in my life, then set down the empty cups on whatever surface is nearest, and hurry on stage to perform more.

I gather up the paper cups one by one and walk them to the nearest garbage can. The one on this side of the bar is full, so I walk around, hoping to find another less popular trash receptacle.

I’m in luck. There’s one against the wall in the back of the bar, and it looks almost entirely empty. “You look lonely back here,” I say to it. “Don’t worry. I’ve brought friends for you.” I drop one stack of cups, listen as it hits the bottom, then send the other stack to join it.

A hand slips around my waist, and I cry out in surprise, flipping around and backing up right into the wall.

“It’s me,” Beau says—very unnecessarily, I might add, since I can see him now. It’s dark back here, but the lights from the stage and the bar provide enough for me to verify that he’s looking as good as ever.

“What’re you doing?” I hiss, my heart going berserk.

“I didn’t get my full dance,” he explains, interlocking his fingers with mine .

“And you thought you’d come claim the rest of it here by the trash can? Is that some kind of subliminal message for me?”

He laughs and gets closer. “If next to a trash can is where you’ll agree to dance with me, next to a trash can is where I’ll dance with you.”

How does this man make a woman swoon while repeating the word “trash can” so many times? That’s got to contravene some universal seduction code.

“Did Grams see you?”

“I have no idea,” he says, playing with the frill on the neckline of my shirt. His fingers graze my collarbone, sending chills across my skin.

“And that doesn’t worry you at all?”

“Not even a little.”

“Beau,” I reason as he gets near enough to brush my nose with his, “you’re a Palmer. I’m a Sawyer. Your entire island—the one you’re crazy about—has expectations about how we should interact.”

“Gemma,” he says, matching my tone, “I couldn’t care less what people think or feel about the Sawyers and Palmers. I don’t adopt other people’s issues—not even people I love as much as my family. What I care about right now is what you think and feel. So…”

His lips are so close I can almost feel them on mine. It’s killing me. My mind is a complete blank, apart from its sole current goal: get those lips on mine.

“Do you still hate me?” he whispers against my lips.

I clench my eyes shut more tightly, trying to focus on his question. “Yeees?” I eke out. I may as well have screamed no .

“Gigi!”

I startle at the sound of Grams’s voice calling to me from nearby. In my hurry to put distance between Beau and me, I stumble right into the garbage can. My upper body pitches forward, but Beau’s hand on my arm pulls me back, preventing me from face-planting straight into its nearly empty depths as Grams appears a dozen feet away.

“What’re you doing, Gigi?” Grams barks.

“So,” I rush to say, motioning to the garbage in a way that forces Beau’s hand to let go of my arm, “this is the other can I was talking about, Officer. As you can see, it’s almost completely empty.”

Beau smiles in amusement. “Right. Thanks for showing it to me personally, Miss Sawyer. I never would’ve found it otherwise.”

I give a curt nod and turn to Grams. “Do you need me?”

“I’m tired,” she says in an ornery voice. “I want to go home.”

“But you’ll miss the fireworks,” I protest. And so will I .

Beau folds his arms across his chest, then uses his concealed hand to pinch my side.

I jump slightly, then press my lips together and ignore him, leaning my body away.

“I just lit off my own fireworks,” Grams says.

My eyes widen, flitting to Beau. “Okay,” I say, wanting to ask what she means but also trying to navigate her foul mood. “I might have to come back to help out after I take you, though.”

“You’ve done plenty today,” Beau says.

I shoot him a hard stare, and understanding dawns in his eyes.

“Though,” he says more loudly, “I could really use an extra pair of eyes during the fireworks show.”

I sigh like it’s a big ask. “Fine. I’ll try to swing by after I take Grams. For Jane’s sake.”

Beau nods meekly. “Jane will be very grateful to you.”

“As she should be.” I head toward Grams. My heartbeat is still normalizing from that whole trash can encounter, but it’s settled by the time I help her into the golf cart, where Deedee is waiting.

I glance at Grams as we get on the road. “You okay? ”

She grunts.

“She saw Rick Palmer,” Deedee explains. “Always puts her in a mood.”

“You shouldn’t let him get to you, Grams,” I say. “It gives him all the power.” A bit hypocritical coming from the woman whose brain powers off when she’s around Beau, but it’s true.

“You expect me to be nice to him?” Grams says. “Cozy on up to him like you have with Officer Palmer? Been there, done that.”

I frown. “What?” She’s not making sense. She’s probably tired from all that dancing.

Grams doesn’t say anything, though, so I look to Deedee—my trusted confidant.

“Virginia and Rick Palmer had a little…connection…a few years ago,” she explains.

My head whips toward Grams, and I accidentally jerk the wheel in the process. I hurry to correct the error.

“A few years ago?” Grams scoffs. “Your age is showing, Deedee. More than fifty years ago! When I was still an idiot.” Her eyes narrow as she stares ahead at nothing in particular. “He lured me right in with those pretty eyes and those juicy lips.”

My eyes get big.

“And then he dropped me like a hot potato.”

“Virginia didn’t know he already had someone,” Deedee explains.

Grams shakes her head. “And when I told her before the wedding that he’d been two-timing us both, she didn’t care! Guess his money was consolation enough for her.”

I don’t even know what to say. My head is reeling. I mean, I knew the Palmers and Sawyers had history, but I thought it had started with neighbor disputes and then grown into the politics and the pool stuff. I had no clue Grams had dated Rick Palmer—or that he’d cheated on her .

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. It’s unlike Grams to withhold information that could strengthen anyone’s dislike of the Palmers.

“You think I like broadcasting that I was made a fool of by that man? Besides, what difference does it make? It’s a drop in the bucket.”

I’d say it’s more like a two-gallon jug’s worth, but okay.

We get to Seaside Oasis, and I help Grams with her walker, then to her room, where she and Deedee take seats on the deck to watch the upcoming fireworks show.

“We’re fine,” Grams says. “You can go back, Gigi.”

I hesitate. With this new information in my head, I’m feeling a little off-kilter. “Maybe I’ll stay.”

“Go help Jane,” she says. “I like that girl, and she’s been running around all day like a chicken with its head cut off. Just stay away from the Palmer pig.”

She and Deedee start chatting about the gossip they acquired at the dance, and I leave them to it. I’m not sure what to do with what Grams said. It’s not like I found out anything about Beau. This is his grandpa we’re talking about, and it’s been half a century. Rick’s probably not even the same person at this point. Maybe he really regrets what he did to Grams. And maybe his side of the story would be different if I asked him about it. Who knows?

But I can’t help feeling just a bit unsettled by it. I know how similar Grams and I are, despite having a generation between us. What if Beau is a lot like his grandpa and doesn’t mind stringing women along? If nothing fazes him, why would that ?

When I get to the intersection of the softball field and the beach where the fireworks are being set off, they’ve already started, peppering the night sky with sprays of red, white, and blue. Almost everyone is seated now, whether at tables or on beach blankets and towels. I force my eyes to search for Jane instead of Beau .

My eyes settle for a moment on Tristan Palmer and Capri Collins. The two of them are looking mighty close. Does Deedee know what her granddaughter is up to? I’m actually not sure if she’d even care. I suspect she doesn’t care as much about the Palmer/Sawyer drama as she pretends to. She’s just being a good friend to Grams.

I can’t find Jane anywhere, but I do find Mayor Barnes.

“Beau had to go handle an issue with those guests staying next door to you,” he says, gathering up some flyers. “They were lighting fireworks on the beach. While drinking.”

Sheesh.

He doesn’t say it, but I could swear there’s an implicit message in his words: this is what your investor will bring more of to our island.

“I was actually coming to find Jane to see if I can help with anything,” I say, trying to send my own message: you’re wrong in your assumption that I’m looking for Beau. Kind of.

“Ah,” he says. “Very nice of you. I’m not actually sure where Jane is”—he looks around with a frown—“but I think we’re in the homestretch now, so you should go enjoy the fireworks.”

I thank him and find a seat in the back of everyone on the grass of the softball field. The weather is perfect. Warm with a slight breeze. It smells like summer—a mixture of beach, grass, and fireworks. And as I look around at the families and couples watching the show together, I can’t help wishing Beau was next to me.

It’s kind of scary how quickly my heart is progressing when it comes to him. It’s running a hundred-meter dash while my brain is still stretching and warming up. It’s hoping to finish off that kiss with Beau, while my brain is pulling back on the reins. It wants me to stick around after the show in case I see Beau, while my brain tells me to go home and have a think about things.

I strike a balance when the fireworks end, helping pick up trash for ten minutes, then heading out when there’s no sign of him. When I plug in the cart in Grams’s driveway, the sound of an engine approaching reaches my ears.

“Gemma,” Beau calls.

I take in a breath, then turn and smile at him. “Hey! I hear you’ve been handling issues with our party pals.”

He blows out a breath as he heads my way. “They tipped over a bottle rocket, and it grazed the leg of one of the kids playing nearby.”

“Jeez,” I gasp, horrified. “Is the kid okay?”

“Yeah. Just rattled, as you can imagine. Now I’ve got a boatload of paperwork to fill out. I thought I’d stop by here first and see if I could catch you.”

He acts like any catching is necessary when I stayed to clean up trash just in case I might see him. I mean, that’s not the only reason, but it was definitely a factor.

I lift my shoulders. “Caught me.”

He smiles. “I think I can do a bit better than that.” He grabs my hand, pulls it above my head, spins me around, then dips me like he did Marge.

I look up at him, my back resting on his thigh and my heart thudding. I want him to kiss me, but I also don’t want him to. I need to give my head some time to catch up, and Beau’s kisses send my head straight to la-la land.

“Hold on,” I say, using all my abdominal strength to raise myself.

He helps me up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I rub my lips together. “I just feel like…things are moving kind of fast.”

“I can dip you more slowly this time.”

I smile in spite of myself. “I’m serious, Beau.”

His expression grows more sober, and he nods. “Okay, let’s talk. ”

I shrug. “There’s half a century of enmity between our families.”

“Half a century too much, don’t you think? Or are you suggesting we keep the hatred alive purely out of tradition?”

“No, I’m just…” I sigh with frustration at my inability to say what I need to say. It’s no surprise, though, given how jumbled my thoughts are. “I just need to catch my breath, I guess. A little space.”

He nods and takes a step back. “Okay. I understand.”

Now that I’ve set the boundary, I’m having buyer’s remorse. It’s my heart trying to pound my head into submission.

We stand there for a second in silence.

“I’m headed to bed. See you tomorrow?”

He smiles—almost like he’s relieved. “Sure thing, jelly bean.”

And then we go our separate ways.