Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(22)

“I don’t know, he never said. But he’s been around?” I ask, zoning in on the important details. “Sawyer didn’t tell me they were hanging out. Did Will . . . say anything about me?” I add, trying to sound casual.

“Why, do you want him to?” Lottie shoots back.

I pause. Do I? I’m still no closer to figuring out how I feel about him, or what I want. But still, his presence itches at me, tantalizing, and just out of reach.

“Anyway, you don’t have to worry,” Lottie continues, slurping on a juice-box. “I haven’t heard anything. The man doesn’t kiss and tell. But, you do,” she adds, fixing me with a quizzical stare. “And I’ve heard exactly nothing about this date of yours. What gives?”

I shrug, picking at my sandwich. “There was no kissing to tell.”

Lottie snorts in disbelief.

“I’m serious!” I protest. Her eyes widen,

“So you must really like him then!”

“No!” I yelp. “What? No. Why?”

She gives me a sidelong look. “C’mon, Dee. This is you we’re talking about. He’s hot, single, and willing. If you didn’t care, you would have broken off a piece of that man candy and taken a bite by now.” Lottie makes a suggestive face.

“Stop! I do have some self-control.” I laugh and playfully push her. “Maybe nothing happened because I don’t feel anything for him, and we’re just going to be friends.”

“Sure. Maybe.” Lottie smirks, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me—and the problem is, neither do I.

“Want to come fishing this afternoon?” I ask, changing the subject. “Sawyer and I are heading out on the creek.”

Lottie wrinkles her nose. “I still don’t get why you like it. You just sit around in a rowboat for hours, trying to murder poor smelly fish.”

I laugh. “Because the sitting around is relaxing. And you know Sawyer, he can’t stand to hurt anything. We wind up throwing most of it back.”

“Gee, sounds great, but I’ll pass.” Lottie grins. “But come over tomorrow? We could do pizza and a movie.”

Her smile slips a little, and I remember, those were her regular Saturday night plans with Eva, when she was in town. However much I’m missing my BFF, Lottie is missing her sister just as much. “Sure,” I say, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Count me in.” I check my phone, then wolf down the rest of my lunch. “I better get back. Marcie promised me five minutes before she heads out for the weekend, and I want to tell her all about my new clients.”

“And how perfect you’d be to take over,” Lottie grins.

“That too.”

I say goodbye to her and Kit, then head back across town, striding fast as I try to get my mind focused back to the most important thing in my life right now: proving to Marcie I’ve got what it takes to take over the business when she finally retires. I know I’m young, but my sales list speaks for itself: nobody knows this town like I do, and nobody else can give Oak Harbor Realty the energy and direction it needs. I’ve been hustling hard ever since those part-time jobs in high-school, but now I finally feel like my dream is within reach: a business of my own, something I can build and really be proud of.

I step into the offices, ready to set my tasers to “charm.” Marcie is in her office, so I grab the bakery box I picked up earlier on my break and go tap on her door. “I was at Franny’s, and I couldn’t resist.” I hold up the box. “Key lime pie, it’ll take you right to the tropics.”

“Ooh.” Marcie brightens. “Sounds delish.”

Step one, sugar high. Check!

I set the open box on her desk with two forks—then sit back and let her dig in alone. “How’s the boat?” I ask, nodding to the magazines she’s got spread on her desk.

“Oh, it’s great,” Marcie replies, through a mouthful of pie. Her bright red hair is blown out into its usual bob, and she’s wearing her uniform of a flowing chiffon blouse and linen pants; chunky gold bracelets on each wrist. “We just got done redecorating, and Bob can’t wait to take her out on the open water . . .”

I smile and nod as she continues talking, telling me every little detail about the new slip they’re renting down in the Keys, and the tour of the islands she’s been planning all year. Even though it’s annoying sometimes to be the only one busting my ass around here, Marcie deserves the break; with two kids full-grown and a beach house calling, I can’t blame her for checking out. “When are you heading down next?” I ask, when she pauses for more pie.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Marcie suddenly looks serious. “Bob’s been talking, and, well, there’s a big Parrothead get-together in Key Largo at the end of the month. We’d love to take a couple of weeks and cruise on down there; get the old girl wet. I know it’s last-minute, we’d leave in a couple of days, and it’s our busiest season—”

“I can handle it!” I exclaim.

Marcie pauses. “Are you sure? I was thinking of just closing up shop, give you a chance to take some vacation, too. You haven’t had a day off since, well . . . I don’t think you’ve ever even called in sick. And all these weekend open houses—”