Kiss Me in the Summer - Barbara Dunlop Page 0,40

the bottom and we still had to climb back up again.

Josh went first with Butch pulling eagerly out front. I lingered a little, keeping some space between us.

The climb was worth it to get to the beautiful and mostly natural stretch of ocean. The pier was one of the few man-made structures and was lit with small white lights. A boardwalk stretched across the rough rocky beach in both directions.

“This way,” Josh suggested, pointing to the north.

I turned and started walking, gazing up at the stars twinkling in the black sky and the big moon hanging close to the horizon. You could make out the crater patterns across its surface, and the light shone slightly blue across the water.

It looked bigger than normal. Maybe because of the ocean. Whatever the reason, it was spectacular. The wind was light, and the salt tang was stronger down here.

The smooth boardwalk was wide enough for Josh to keep Butch and me apart. The dog tried to come my way a few times, nose first, obviously curious. Josh held him back.

I appreciated that.

“You seem happy here,” Josh said unexpectedly.

“On the beach?” I was, in fact.

“In Rutter’s Point.”

It was true. As time slipped by, I thought less about the problems back home and more about the moment. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. It was an odd thing.

“I’ve been busy, that’s for sure,” I said.

“Ah . . .” he said in a knowing tone.

“What ah?”

“You don’t want to admit you like it.”

I didn’t mind admitting it. “I like it here. It’s a lovely little town.”

I felt something cool and damp on my hand and suddenly realized that Butch had made his way over to me. Before I could jerk away, his tongue laved my fingers.

I jumped at the sensation.

“No, no, Butch,” Josh said calmly, easing the dog around to his other side. “Laila’s not your best friend yet.”

“Yet?” I joked.

“Give it time.”

“You dream big.”

I knew that if I worked really hard, maybe, maybe by the time I left for home I’d be comfortable around Tippy. But even that was a big ask.

We came to the end of the boardwalk, and I discovered the beach was smoother here. It was covered in small rounded pebbles that were easier to walk on. The waves rolled in, their bright white foam breaking on the beach and sparkling in the moonlight.

I was finding I loved that sound. I hadn’t thought much about it before arriving in Rutter’s Point, but there was something elementally soothing about the rhythm of the waves.

“I want to let Butch off the leash,” Josh said.

My stomach contracted at the image of Butch eagerly romping my way—so much for soothing.

“I’ll boost you up,” Josh said, pointing at a six-foot-high boulder jutting up out of the ground.

I wasn’t afraid of heights, but the steep-sided rock looked daunting.

“There’s a good foothold on the side,” he said, moving to show me. “I’ll give you a boost. You can sit up there safe and sound while Butch romps around a bit. He needs the exercise. It’ll calm him down and help him sleep.”

Well, how exactly was I supposed to say no to that?

“Fine,” I said in what was probably not the most agreeable voice.

“Great.” Josh anchored Butch’s leash on another large rock nearby. Then he came back and positioned himself next to the boulder. “Right here,” he said and pointed out the foothold.

It was about two feet off the ground, not as daunting as I’d feared.

“Hold here,” he said and showed me a little outcropping at the top. “It’s flat on top, and you can just swing around to sit.”

“Right,” I said, taking a breath and lining myself up. I lifted my foot to the little ledge, and Josh’s hands closed around my waist. I grabbed the outcropping and pulled up while Josh lifted me. Seconds later I was balanced above the ground.

His hands moved to my outer thighs to steady me. “Twist around.”

I twisted and plunked down. Cold water soaked into the seat of my pants, making me gasp.

“What?” he asked with obvious concern.

“It’s wet!” I quickly retrieved my phone from my back pocket to protect it.

“Really wet or just damp?”

“Pretty wet! Wet enough.”

“Is it a puddle?”

I shifted. “Not exactly.”

“So, damp.”

“My jeans are soaked through.”

“Do you want to come down?”

I thought about that. “Is Butch still going to run around?”

“He’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t.”

Well, there was a choice. Deal with a wet butt or disappointing a dog.

I found myself contemplating Butch. Not