darn iPad. She looked up to see that her victim was the red-haired man she’d passed on the path.
“So sorry,” Kit said. She felt like an idiot.
“It’s my fault, too,” he said politely. “My mind was elsewhere.”
She wondered if it had been on the conversation he’d had earlier. Well, whatever, decent of him to let her off the hook. He held her gaze tightly for a couple of beats, with eyes that were a light but piercing blue.
“Have a nice day,” she said. He nodded and they both went on their way.
She walked the beach and started shooting photos with her Samsung, mostly of the luscious white sand. She loved to catalogue shots of things whose names were the same as colors—like sand, olive, lavender, ash, or bone. It was fascinating to see how many variations there were, and to liberate them all from the confinement of their names. Later, she read and ate lunch under a palm tree by the small, turquoise-bottomed pool. Then she changed into street clothes and took a taxi to a shop in town.
It was on the main road that ran through the island, a kind of honky-tonk strip, but there were a decent few stores, some of which she’d already perused, scouting for her client. The woman had vacationed as a girl in the Florida Keys and wanted the same vibe for a Jersey Shore cottage she’d recently purchased. That was actually part of the reason Kit had picked Islamorada to begin with—killing two birds with one stone. But now she was shopping just for herself. One of the stores specialized in fanciful exotic stuff, including a mounted sawfish bill that she’d practically drooled over.
The place was nearly empty but she liked that. She started down an aisle, relaxed in the moment. And then there he was again, Mr. X, the red-haired guy from the morning, wearing a tight, heather blue T now instead of the long-sleeved shirt. It was as if she’d conjured him up, the way a magician pulls a dove from his sleeve.
“Hello again,” he said, suddenly seeing her. His eyes held hers the way they had earlier.
“Oh, hi. Sorry again about this morning. No injuries, right?”
“No, none at all. Though I should warn you. I hear they’re going to make that illegal in some states—walking while reading a tablet.”
“Good to know,” she said, smiling. “I’ll leave my iPad at home—or use a designated reader.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at her, as if weighing a decision.
“Are you hunting for souvenirs?” he asked finally.
“Sort of. What about you? You don’t seem like the type who goes for mirrors with seashells hot-glued to the frame.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d teased him that way. It was a tactic she sometimes relied on with awkward male clients, to entice them to open up.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he said. “I was actually trying to find a gift for my big sister’s birthday. Any ideas? She’ll be forty-one. Nice taste but on the casual side.”
She wondered suddenly if he might be trying to pick her up. But she’d never been drawn to red-haired men. Weren’t they supposed to be brooding or even wildly mercurial, the type who’d think nothing of bashing another man over the back of the head with a bar stool?
“Will you need to pack it in your luggage?” she asked. “If that’s the case, you might want to think small.”
“She’s got a place in Miami. I’m headed there by car tomorow so I can take it with me.”
“So size isn’t an issue?” she said.
“Not really. But don’t women hate gifts in large packages? They assume you’ve brought them a juicer or an emergency kit for their car.”
“You’re so right,” Kit said. He looked, she thought, like the kind of guy who’d never given anyone a juicer in his life, and if he needed juice himself, he’d just crush a half-dozen oranges in one fist. Maybe he was a Navy Seal, decompressing after a raid on a terrorist cell or Somali pirates. “Okay, let’s see, then . . .”
She turned to scan the store and then headed down an aisle, with him trailing just behind her. After a minute or so, she spotted a hammered metal frame tucked behind a group of decorative boxes.
“What about this?” she said, easing it out. “A woman can never own enough frames. And this one would work with any style.”
“Even casual? Though maybe a better way to describe my sister is