in her heart as her real inheritance. Of far more value than the physical possessions Bea had left to her only niece had been her words of wisdom. One part, in particular, stayed with Honey always.
Don’t ever settle for less when there could be so much more. Life is not meant to be lived in the shadows. Don’t assume there is no welcome mat out there for you. I know there is one right here, Honey Pie, waiting for you. Trust me enough to come to my island, to my home, and find out for yourself. Love yourself enough to give it a true and honest chance. I love you, child of my heart. Twin to my soul.
Honey heard her Aunt Beavis as clearly as if she were sitting beside her.
“Well,” she murmured, pushing her glasses up and wiping at the corners of her eyes. “I’m here. So . . . now what?”
Bea had been right about one thing; Honey couldn’t reinvent herself or turn over a new leaf in Juniper Hollow. So she’d set out for the east coast.
Bea would be proud of her. Hell, she was proud of herself. She’d made it all the way to Georgia. To Sugarberry Island. Albeit barely. Her car had started coughing and spitting—more like gasping its final death rattle—as soon as she’d crossed the causeway to the island. A sign? She didn’t know. Her curse didn’t include knowing things that would happen to herself—which she’d long since determined was a definite blessing.
She’d barely managed to get her car to the garage before it sputtered and died right in front of the island’s only repair shop. She prayed it would survive this latest bout of operational ennui. A new car wasn’t in her tightly detailed budget. Nor was an old one, for that matter. She needed the one she already had to hang in there.
Fortunately, the mechanic—Dylan Ross of Ross & Sons—hadn’t seemed to think her car was a complete lost cause, though that might have been wishful thinking on her part. It had been somewhat hard to tell what he’d been thinking, actually. He gave new meaning to tall, dark, and brooding. James Dean could have taken lessons from that guy. Truth be told, Dylan Ross had it all over the movie icon in the looks department, too. He was the poster boy for every broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, six-pack toting, pouty-lipped hunk of modeling clay who’d ever slid a pair of perfectly faded jeans over muscular thighs and very fine ass to pose, all smoldering intensity, in front of a camera lens.
Only hotter. He wasn’t some smug, young dude. More like . . . well, it was hard to tell how old he was, but he was no kid. He was all man, and . . . seasoned. Experienced. Grooves at the corners of his eyes and a pouty-lipped mouth lent character to the chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbones. His gray eyes had that wise-beyond-his-years look as if they’d seen far too much already and would be perfectly happy to tune out what came next. It made her wonder what the story was behind the attitude . . . although she quite honestly hoped she never had the opportunity to find out.
He was the polar opposite of the cheerful young man—Dell, he’d said his name was—who’d greeted her at the desk and taken her keys and information, before taking off on his motor bike to run an errand. Conversely, Mr. Ross had been rather abrupt, almost bordering on rude, while asking a few more questions to help determine her situation. She’d been thankful for that, though. Mostly. A little less curt wouldn’t have killed the guy. Or her.
She’d heard so many stories from Bea about the goodwill of the island denizens that she’d spent the last two states of the drive bracing herself for the physical onslaught that could quite possibly envelop her upon her arrival. Dell had certainly lived up to those standards, although thankfully without the hugging, but it was only after Mr. Ross had been so abrupt, with minimal conversation and little or no eye contact, that she’d realized how grateful she was for his brevity. And his distance.
She would handle whatever was coming at her, but she wasn’t ashamed to admit it would help enormously if she could get a good night’s sleep first
Unfortunately, nothing was going according to plan. She’d anticipated curling up in Bea’s old apartment, which, as emotional as that was likely to be, would also