Sunset Beach(34)

“Nice,” she said.

“How about you?” he asked.

She turned toward the dune line. “That’s my place. Up there.”

“Really?” He looked surprised. “You’re the new tenant? What happened to Leonard?”

“Leonard?”

“The previous tenant. He’s lived there for, I don’t know, since before I bought my place, and I’ve been at Land’s End for seven years. Nice old guy.”

“I figured it must have been a guy. He had some seriously questionable decorating taste. I’m actually not a tenant. I own the place.” She stuck out her hand. “Drue Campbell. First-time homeowner.”

“Corey Wagner. Random beach jogger and chair usurper.” He shook her hand. “Welcome to Sunset Beach.”

“Hey,” she said impulsively. “Wanna come up and have a drink on the deck?”

“I’m not really dressed for cocktails,” he said.

She grabbed her beach bag. “Me neither. C’mon up.”



* * *



By the time they walked onto the deck, he’d donned his shirt, unlaced his running shoes and left them at the edge of the dune line.

“I do that too,” Drue said approvingly. “I love the beach, but I can’t stand tracking sand in the house.”

“I’m compulsive about it,” Corey confessed. “Glad to know I’m not alone.”

He followed her up the stairs to the deck.

“Careful where you walk. Most of these boards are pretty rotten.”

“Yeah, Leonard wasn’t much of a handyman,” Corey said. “And I gathered, from what he said, he was renting the place for such a bargain, he didn’t feel like he could ask the landlord to spend money to fix the place up.”

Drue pushed the sliding door aside and walked into the kitchen with her new friend right behind.

“Wow,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “What all did you do? This place never looked this good while Leonard was living here.”

“A lot of white paint, a lot of Pine-Sol and a lot of trips to the Dumpster at that construction site up the block. Don’t tell the owners, okay?”

She went to the refrigerator and got out a beer. He shook his head and grinned sheepishly. “I actually don’t drink. Anymore.”

“Oh. Okay. Want a water?”

“Brought my own,” he said, brandishing his stainless steel bottle.

She put the beer back and poured herself a glass of white wine.

“I don’t have any real deck furniture yet,” she said, stepping back onto the deck, “so these will have to do.” She pointed at the pair of folding lawn chairs she’d found in the shed.

He unfolded both chairs and they sat, facing the beach.

“So, Drue Campbell, pardon my nosiness, but what do you do that you can afford to own a swell cottage like this, right on the Gulf?”

“I inherited it,” she said. “After my mom died. It had been my grandparents’.”

“Lucky you,” Corey said. “But I can’t believe you didn’t want to live here yourself all these years, instead of renting it out.”

“It’s complicated. My parents split up when I was about five years old, and I moved with my mom over to the east coast. After Nonni, that’s my grandmother, died, I just assumed my mom sold the cottage. But she didn’t. I guess my father agreed to manage the house for her, and he’s the one who rented it to your friend Leonard. That last hurricane did a number on the roof, hence that attractive blue tarp it’s sporting. And that’s when Leonard moved out.”

“And you moved in,” he said. “From where?”

“Lauderdale. After my mom died, I was sort of at loose ends, so when my father offered me a job at his firm, there was really no reason not to move back here. I had a free place to stay, and a job, so why not?”

“I’ve always admired this house,” Corey admitted. “This past year or so, since Leonard moved out and the place was vacant, I had this far-fetched fantasy about buying it myself and fixing it up.”

“Sorry to spoil your fantasy, but I don’t see selling it. Even after Mom and I moved to Lauderdale, I’d come back every summer and spend a couple weeks here with my grandparents. It’s a special place to me.”





14


Drue had done enough talking about herself. “What about you? Tell me the Corey Wagner story. I bet you do something at a gym. Like, maybe a trainer or something?”

“I’m pretty boring. I’m only a trainer in the sense that I’m my own best client,” he said. “My day job is as a physical therapist. I’m in training to do an Iron Man triathlon, which is why you see me running so often.”

“Do you work at a hospital or a clinic or something?”

“I’m in a practice with a couple other therapists. We specialize in sports injuries.”

“Single?” She was mentally crossing her fingers. This man was seriously hunky. He had a great body and brilliant blue eyes and a genuine smile. What was not to like?”

“I am single,” he said. “How about you?”

“Same,” she said.

He pointed at her knee. “Torn meniscus? ACL?”