The Devine Doughnut Shop(71)

“Amen!” Grace and Audrey said at the same time.



The day was beautiful, so Travis drove with the windows down in his rental SUV so that he could smell the salty air and feel the sun on his face. He passed the Sugar Sands Motel on the way to the beach house, and he slowed down below the twenty-five-mile speed limit to take a good look at the place. Grace was staying right there in one of those units with her family, and he was in town—not with a single idea about charming her into selling anything to him but to spend time with her and relax.

You are acting like a teenager in love for the first time, the aggravating voice in his head said loudly.

“I’m not in love and might never be, but there is chemistry between us,” he whispered as he sped up and drove the last half mile to the beach house.

He parked in the driveway, unlocked the front door, and dropped his suitcase in the foyer. Without stopping, he walked through the open-space living area and out onto the balcony. He inhaled deeply and took in the sight of nothing but a sandy beach and then water all the way out to the horizon. He hadn’t realized how much he needed a few days to unwind until that moment. After a few minutes, he went back into the house, took a beer from the well-stocked refrigerator, twisted off the top, and sipped it as he walked through the place. His assistant in that area had done a good job of getting things ready.

His father had bought the three-bedroom house a year after Travis and Erica had gotten married. They had spent two short vacations in the place before they divorced. He had wondered if he would see Erica in every room and was glad that he didn’t. Maybe memories of her—both bad and good—were finally fading into the past, where they belonged.

The company owned the property, from the bottom of the staircase leading down to the sand to the water. It hardly even seemed like his private beach since no one person or even any company should own something like that, so he didn’t fuss if folks jogged across it or even set up a chair to sit in and watch the sunset.

He checked the time on his phone and muttered, “Three hours with nothing on my planner. I can’t remember the last time I had this.”

A dozen questions went through his mind about what he should do and how he should go about doing things that evening. Would Grace think that he was trying to impress her if he hired a limo to take all of them to the restaurant? Seven people would be a tight fit in his rented SUV. But if he got a limo, he could sit in the back with his guests and enjoy the ride rather than having to drive.

After he’d checked every room, he returned to the foyer, picked up his suitcase, and carried it to the master bedroom. He tossed it on the bed, unzipped it, and hung up his clothing, worrying about what to wear that evening. Would khakis and a knit shirt be too casual? He hadn’t worried about what he should wear for years, until the night before. Thank goodness he had packed a lot of slacks, shirts, shorts, and even a pair of sandals for the beach. His suits and ties were back home in Texas, but he wished he had brought one along. Somehow, riding in a limo in casual clothes didn’t seem quite right.

He finished unpacking and carried the rest of his beer out to the patio. He sat down in a chaise longue, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and called Delores.

“Don’t tell me something else has gone wrong,” she said.

“Nope. Flight was good, with very little turbulence, and I’m here at the beach house,” he answered. “I have no idea which limo service we use when we’re down here. I’m finding out real quick how much you do for me. I’m glad you have your intern soaking all of this information up!”

“It’s nice to be needed,” she told him. “I’ll have your assistant text you the numbers of the service. I’ve already made arrangements for Julie to come in daily to clean or do errands for you while you are there, and to be ready to take the boat out. Now, go have a good time. Anything else?”

“That should do it,” Travis answered, “unless you can tell me what I should wear to this place.”

“It’s basically a step up from a family restaurant.” Delores chuckled. “Wear khakis. A knit shirt with a collar or a button-up will be fine, and casual shoes—not the Italian loafers. Just be comfortable and be yourself. You said that Grace was open and honest when she came to lunch with you, so you should do the same for her.”

“Then no limo?” Travis asked.

“Depends on why you are ordering one,” Delores told him. “If it’s just to impress her, then no. If it’s for more room and so you don’t have to drive, then yes. For someone who makes billion-dollar deals on a daily basis, Travis Butler, you sure are a nervous wreck today.”

“Yes, I am,” he admitted, “and thank goodness I’ve got you to settle me down.”

“I’m always here for you,” she told him.

“Thanks, Delores,” he said. “I’ll try not to check in every day.”

“You can if you’ve got personal questions, but do not call for business. As far as that goes, you are on vacation. It’s my teatime, so goodbye. Have a good evening.” She ended the call before he could even say goodbye back.

He waited a moment, and then a ping that told him he had a text sounded off. He called the first number on the list—the limo service—and made arrangements for a pickup at his house at six fifteen. Then he opened another cold beer, took a sip, and let the peacefulness of the ocean waves calm him. For the first time in . . . He tried to remember the last time that he’d had a couple of hours that weren’t taken up with business and couldn’t.