Her eyes widened again. “Is everything—”
“Yes. Everything is okay. For me, I mean. I just . . . well . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. It was damp with sweat. He was still in the jeans and T-shirt he’d put on to travel and wasn’t dressed for this muggy southern weather. He hadn’t thought much of this through, he realized. Not the details anyway. He’d acted on his feelings, and so here he was, sweating in his inappropriate clothes and stammering through his explanation for being here. Showing up out of the blue, not just here in South Carolina but here to interrupt her life unexpectedly. “I actually need your help with something.”
Dammit. That was not how he wanted to broach the subject, and he hadn’t meant to say that so soon. He just didn’t know what trivial niceties to use to make this less artless. He should have figured out what to say to her, but he hadn’t. He’d been nervous, so here he was winging it, and it was all wrong. I need your help with something. God, that sounded stupid. Maybe it was stupid. Not just the words but even asking at all. He was suddenly second-guessing this whole thing. It was lovely here, serene, drenched in sunshine. And she was tanned and happy and peaceful looking and so beautiful it ripped his fucking heart out.
She was still staring at him, and he squinted up to the blue, blue sky and then looked back at her standing in front of a tropical-looking plant studded with tiny white flowers. “Man, the places we’ve been together.” He wanted to cringe. Why had he said that? But she huffed out a small agreeable breath, his words seeming to bring her back from the momentary shock-stupor she’d been in. “You look great,” he said.
“Thank you. So do you.” She picked up the handle of the cart. “Walk with me?” She glanced back over her shoulder again. “I have a few more deliveries to make, and then we can talk.”
“Okay. Great.” He followed along as she turned down a path, pulling the wagon behind her.
“What do you do here?” he asked. He’d looked at the website, but staff hadn’t been listed there, and so he had no idea what job she performed.
She glanced back at him, a smile gracing her lips but quickly fading. “Technically, I’m the owner’s assistant,” she said. “But I do a little bit of everything. Two of our employees went back to school last week, and so we’re a bit short staffed.” She reached into the wagon and took out a stack of white fluffy towels before turning toward a cottage they’d come to stand in front of. Noelle knocked on the door, and a woman answered, smiling as Noelle handed her the towels.
“Thanks,” the woman called as Noelle turned with a wave.
“The owner’s assistant,” he repeated. “The owner being Chantilly Calhoun.”
“The one and only,” she said with a smile. “And you?” she asked as they continued along the path, turning and following another. Here and there were wooden signs that pointed toward each cottage, spelling out the names. LETTERED OLIVE, BANDED TULIP. And below each name was the picture of a seashell. “What are you doing now, Evan?”
Feeling like a moron, following you around at your job when what I really want to do is take you in my arms, hold you for hours, and then ask you questions that actually mean something. “Well, ah, you’ll be surprised to know that I’m a private investigator.”
She stopped and turned toward him. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I dropped out of Stanford and became a PI.”
She tilted her head, a wisp of hair falling across her cheek. His hand itched to push it back. “I bet your dad loved that.” She gave him the first genuine smile since he’d shown up here unannounced.
He smiled back. “He’s still steaming mad,” he admitted. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck again. “But it’s my life. I’m happy with my choices.”
Their eyes locked for a few beats before she looked away, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and glancing off through the trees. What did she keep looking for? Someone to rescue her? Or was she worried her boss would be unhappy with her chatting with him as she worked? “Well, that’s good to hear,” she said.
“Thanks.”
He glanced at her hand as she leaned over the cart. She wasn’t wearing a ring. His lungs expanded. He didn’t want to admit how relieved he felt, but he did. He wouldn’t think about why. He wouldn’t.
She pulled a blue beach bag full of something out of the cart and carried it to the door of another cottage just through two tall trees. He heard Noelle and a woman exchange a few words, and then Noelle returned a minute later. “That’s it,” she said. “I have a few more things to do back at the house, and then I can meet you for a drink in an hour or so?” That worried look over her shoulder again confused him. “There’s a place in town that has really good sweet-tea vodka. It’s sort of a local favorite.” She looked suddenly flustered. “I don’t even know if you drink. Well, anyway, they have everything. Are you staying here, or are you flying home later today?”