She had that right. He also didn’t remember ever seeing the ghost of Cap’n Bill. But he hated the idea of letting go of the possibility. “Do I have to see a ghost in order to believe they exist?”
“Of course.”
“Why? I mean, you believe in God. I know because you go to church every Sunday. Have you ever seen Him?”
“Of course not. It’s a matter of faith,” she said.
“My point exactly.”
“You’re crazy, you know that? You’re just teasing me. Dishing it out in some weird payback for my vile behavior when I was a bratty little girl.”
He refrained from pointing out that she still had her bratty moments. That would not have gone over well. So as usual he said nothing at all.
She put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Just stop encouraging Jackie, okay?”
A contrary part of him wanted to push her buttons further, asking her whether he could still encourage him to throw the football or climb the tree. But he didn’t. He just nodded.
And then he closed the door gently, even though he wanted to slam the damn thing right in her face.
* * *
Saturday morning dawned cool and clear with a steady sea breeze likely to make the sailors in town happy and the merchants on Harbor Drive, including Kerri Eaton, ecstatic.
Half the customers strolling into Daffy Down Dilly during the day wanted one of Kerri’s marked-down sundresses, and the other half were looking for unique Christmas gifts. Her customers were predominantly the wives and daughters of the sailors who’d come for the big regatta.
These people had serious bucks, which explained why the Saturday of the festival weekend was one of Kerri’s best-grossing days of the year. It also afforded her an opportunity to move leftover summer merchandise out the door so she could start fresh next spring.
But it was a long-ass day. And by four thirty, when the afternoon crowd finally began to diminish, her feet were beyond tired. Good thing Katia Rivers, the teen who sometimes helped on busy days, would be back from her early dinner soon, and Dottie Peyton, who’d worked at the store on and off for years, was coming in at 5:00 p.m. to give Kerri a break.
During the festival, Kerri usually kept Daffy Down Dilly open until 10:00 p.m., because the restaurants along Harbor Drive would be chockablock with hungry sailors, who would want to go shopping before and after dinner.
She was sitting on a stool behind the counter, waiting for her part-time help, when the St. Pierre construction truck pulled into the parking slot that had just been vacated.
Colton emerged, wearing his maroon golf shirt, the late-afternoon sun burnishing his skin a golden bronze. Kerri’s middle hitched, and a wave of yearning seized her. Followed in short order by teeth-gnashing irritation at her own self.
He stood there on the sidewalk, his gaze rising to the windows above the boutique. Jess was up there, working her tail off for the second weekend in a row. Topher Martin must be a nightmare of a client because he’d apparently rejected her first plan and now wanted a second one. Jess had stopped in to borrow some sweetener packets earlier in the day and had grumbled about the short time frame her client had given her. Evidently, Topher wanted to sail off to Lookout Island for a second time on Monday, and Jess needed to have a plan to show him.
Jess had looked exhausted, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well. Kerri hoped the sleeplessness was caused by her difficult client and not her decision to give Colton his walking papers.
Because one look at Colton hesitating out there on the sidewalk was enough to underscore the fact that he was having second thoughts about walking away.
No matter what Jess might say, the coast was not clear. Suddenly more than Kerri’s feet hurt. Heartache was a bitch. And like the day follows night, she could count on it rising up and grabbing her in the chest if she let her libido run away with her emotions.
She looked away from the window to focus on a customer who had selected the very last daffodil dress, a size sixteen. Hooray, she was officially cleared out of her summer merchandise.
She was ringing up the sale when the bells on the front door chimed. Another customer. It was looking like a red-letter day for the cash register.
She completed the credit card sale, wrapped the dress in tissue, and tucked it into