Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(65)

“It’s been done in other industries,” he concluded modestly, then flattened his palms on the table. “But not in real estate. I’m psyched. It’s a real opportunity.” He laughed, and she enjoyed the sound of it. “I had to leave San Francisco and come to Charleston for the best idea I’ve ever had. Go figure.” He reached for his glass. “So that was a long way of telling you what I’m doing.”

“That’s all?” she asked teasingly. “You’re creating a computer program that’s a game changer for an industry.” She looked at him obliquely. “Me? I’m a nanny.”

“I’m living in my mother’s house,” he countered.

“And me in my aunt’s.”

They both laughed, sensing the attraction between them growing.

The waiter returned and discreetly left the black padded folder on the table. Linea looked around the restaurant as John took care of the bill. It was nearly empty. They were closing down the place. It had been a long time since she’d had such a good conversation that time flew by so fast she didn’t notice.

“Shall we go?” John asked, extending his hand.



IN A COMPANIONABLE silence, they walked along the narrow beach at high tide. Overhead a full moon rose high, its golden light a shimmering ribbon across the sea. Linnea took his offered hand and slipped off her sandals, letting them dangle from her fingertips.

“That’s the Sturgeon Moon,” John told her, pointing to the moon. “That was when the American Indians near the Great Lakes knew it was time for fishing.”

She stared, feeling the majesty of a full moon rising. “I used to wonder if more sea turtles came to shore during full moons,” she said. “You know, with the tides and all.”

“And do they?”

She laughed lightly. “No. It’s a myth. Like more women having babies during a full moon. It seems to make sense when you think of the pull of the moon and tides. But babies and turtles both come during all phases of the moon.”

“I love it when the moon looks like a golden road on the water,” he said, stretching out his arm to indicate the light over the ocean. “It always makes me want to try to walk it.”

“Like following a rainbow to the end.”

“Right.”

“When I see a moon like that, I think of a poem I read as a girl. It’s so dramatic and I’ve never forgotten it. There’s this great beat to it, like hearing the horse galloping. It’s called ‘The Highwayman.’?”

John cleared his throat and recited in a baritone:

“The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor.”

Linnea, delighted he knew the poem, joined in:

“And the highwayman came riding—

Riding—riding—

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.”

They both laughed when they finished, and Linnea leaned against him.

“My heart still breaks for the lovers.”

“You’re a romantic,” he said.

“Everyone is a romantic under a full moon.”

“So”—John stopped and faced her—“let’s do something romantic.”

“Like what?”

“Go for a swim.”

Linnea looked at him guardedly and took a step back, dropping his hand. “I don’t have a suit.”

John’s eyes lit up. “You don’t need one.”

“Uh-uh, I’m not going skinny-dipping with you. First of all, it’s illegal.”

“So swim in your underwear. It’s no different than a bikini.”

“Who says I’m wearing underwear?”

John’s mouth hung open. Linnea laughed, pleased she’d got him. “Secondly, I never swim in black water. Nighttime is feeding time for the sharks.”

“We’re not their prey.”

“So I’ve heard. But it’s dark in there and they can make a mistake. I’ve released a lot of hatchlings and I know how many sharks are out there.” She turned and started walking away, calling flirtatiously over her shoulder, “But nice try.”

John trotted to catch up with her. “Linnea, I think this neighbor thing has made things awkward between us.”

“Awkward?” she said, looking at her hands. “I thought it’s been nice.”

“It has, but I feel like we’re like . . . pals who surf together. Hang out at each other’s houses. Laugh at each other’s jokes.”

“Friends,” she said.

“Yeah.”

She was keenly aware of his closeness.

John reached over to take her hand. Looking at it, he gently rubbed his thumb over her tender skin. Linnea’s attention was focused on the small patch of skin, each neuron aflame as the ball of his thumb grazed over it, sending sensations throughout her body. She stared at her hand too, holding her breath.

“Here’s the thing,” he said in a low voice. “I like having you as my friend. But that’s not what I want.”

Linnea felt a thrill ripple through her body; spreading her arms out, shoes dangling, she swirled in a circle. “What do you want?”

His eyes were the dark green of a stormy sea. She felt she could drown in them. She felt the heat between them, felt his arms slip around her. She began to tremble with anticipation and her breath held as he lowered his head.