river to the south, rocky Little Gull Island offshore to the west, and to the north, Pelican Point light on the soaring headland.
Breathtaking didn’t begin to do the scene justice.
If he wanted a view like this at a fancy hotel, he’d pay megabucks.
Fancy hotel.
Like the kind Stephanie would have frequented during her career.
He rubbed the back of his neck and followed the progress of a pelican overhead, its orange beak a splash of brightness against a low-hanging white cloud.
Stephanie.
He sighed and wandered back to the grill.
Turning down her invitation should have sent a definitive signal that he wasn’t interested in a dating relationship.
And the message had apparently been received. She hadn’t done anything today to imply she intended to try again. Her manner had been amiable, nothing more.
He was the one who was suddenly having second thoughts about drawing the line at friendship.
Spatula in hand, he opened the grill lid and turned the fish again. Almost ready. Time to get the baked potato out of the oven and nuke his veggies while the entrée finished cooking.
Back inside, he went about those chores by rote while his mind churned with weightier matters.
Namely, Stephanie Garrett, and how she fit into his life.
No.
The question was whether she should fit into his life.
Trouble was, the image he’d formed of her early on kept crumbling.
Today was no exception. Seeing her in work attire, hair mussed, fingernail polish chipped, wielding saws and crown molding and putty knives like a pro . . . that had been a shock.
She’d also gone to the national parks lecture without him—proving she truly had been interested in the topic.
He picked up his plate, returned to the patio, and transferred his salmon from the grill to the crockery. Once seated at his table for two, he said a short blessing and began to eat.
In general, he enjoyed the view over the water.
Today, the empty chair got in the way.
And the fresh salmon he always relished lacked its usual flavor.
Or was it his life that lacked flavor?
Sure, he had a job he enjoyed at The Perfect Blend, and chatting with the regular customers gave him social interaction—as did his volunteer gig at the lighthouse. Plus, his work with Helping Hands fed his soul.
But after thirty-seven years of marriage, it was hard to come home at night to an empty house—and a solo dinner.
That, however, wasn’t sufficient justification to get involved with someone.
Except . . . it was more than that with Stephanie.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
From the get-go, she’d made him feel young again. Revved his engines. Added a spark to his days.
Young love was a distant speck in his rearview mirror, but near as he could recall, this was exactly how he’d felt when he’d fallen for Jo Ann.
So what was he supposed to do about it?
Mouth flattening, he put a pat of butter on his baked potato. Watched it melt.
Moving to New York wasn’t an option. Heck, he’d feel like Crocodile Dundee—if anyone even remembered that old movie.
And a woman with a long-term lease wasn’t likely to uproot herself without any guarantees, even if she felt the zing as much as he did.
He poked at his salmon . . . then dropped his fork onto the table and sat back in his chair as two seagulls wheeled overhead.
What a dilemma.
If he did want to test the waters, it would be up to him to initiate it. Stephanie had made the first overture, and she didn’t strike him as a woman who’d push once she got a negative response. On an interpersonal level anyway.
Was it worth having a conversation with her about his dilemma? He’d been wrong on so many fronts—could he be wrong about her willingness to embrace a lifestyle far removed from New York?
Was there any harm in asking?
The two seagulls landed at the edge of his patio, cuddled up together, and stared at him.
Wanting a handout, no doubt.
He broke off a piece of salmon and tossed it to them.
They each took half—but they didn’t fly away after they ate. Nor did they pester him for more.
Strange behavior for gulls, which could be annoyingly persistent.
He forced himself to eat a few bites of his meal.
Having a talk with Stephanie wasn’t a bad idea. With her business background, she’d be used to frank discussions.
But that didn’t solve his other issue—how to reconcile his growing feelings for Stephanie with his love for Jo Ann.
The forkful of potato he’d just swallowed stuck in his throat, and he fumbled