of her. Gia’s roommate, who was also her part-time employee, wouldn’t like it, but some things couldn’t be helped.
She’d juice vegetables for Grammy and they’d go for long walks on the beach and in the evenings, they would sit on the porch swing, quilting and watching the sunset. Grammy would heal and grow robust and live to see Gia get married and have kids of her own, offering her sage child-rearing advice. She’d die quietly in her sleep at a hundred and one. Everything would work out.
It had to.
“Hey, stranger.” A jovial male voice broke through her trance.
Gia’s eyes flew open to see Grammy’s next-door neighbor, Mike Straus, standing on the stone wall separating his property from the Moonglow Inn. In the 1920s, the well-to-do Chapman family had built the Craftsman-style bungalow as caretaker quarters for their grand Victorian manor, but during World War II, the family downsized, sectioning off half an acre of beachfront property and selling the bungalow along with it.
Mike’s family had owned the bungalow long before Gia and her sisters came to live in Moonglow Cove. After his parents retired and moved to Arizona for his father’s health, Mike bought the place from them.
Mike was seven years older than Gia, and at thirty was a year older than Madison. He was a master carpenter who built magnificent handcrafted furniture. He’d made the inn’s four sturdy white rocking chairs, and the two Adirondack chairs, along with the three-person porch swing. Mike was also the one who’d gotten Gia into kiteflying and he’d been the first one to encourage her to follow her heart and do what she loved for a living, even as others pooh-poohed her interest.
They kept up with each other on social media. However, she hadn’t seen him in months. Although Gia came home to visit Grammy every week, since the first of the year, Mike had been out of the country with Habitat for Humanity’s Disaster Response program, helping to rebuild houses on a hurricane-devastated Caribbean island.
He was a square-jawed man with ocean-blue eyes and molasses-dark hair that swirled at the crown with an intractable cowlick. His tanned skin contrasted with the rolled-up sleeves of his crisp white shirt, and his heartfelt smile stunned bright in the morning sun.
She caught her breath for a beat, surprised by the quick kick of sexual attraction. What was wrong with her? This was Mike. She’d known him for as long as she could remember. Why was she suddenly seeing him in a different light?
“You’re back from the Caribbean,” she murmured, flabbergasted by the quickening of her pulse.
“Just this minute got home.” He suppressed a yawn, then held his arms wide. “Get over here, Short Stack, and give me a hug or I’m gonna pout.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice. I can’t stand pouting.”
“I know. That’s why I threatened it. You haven’t changed. Same little peacemaker.” He wriggled his fingers. “Now, bring it in.”
She tucked the envelope in the pocket of her purple cover-up and launched herself into his embrace.
Mike wrapped her in a bear hug and swung her around in a circle as if they were still kids. She felt giddy and girlish and warm all over.
He put her down, stepped back, and shook his head. Beamed at her with his big old Texas-sized grin. “How have you been?”
“Great. Well . . . except for . . .” She waved a hand, tears pushing against the back of her eyes again at the thought of Grammy. “You?”
“Except for what?” He frowned in concern. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” Aww damn, here came the waterworks again.
“What’s wrong?” His hand went to her forearm, comforting and solid. “What’s happened?”
Dabbing at her eyes, she told him about Grammy.
He shoved his hair back with a palm. “Damn, Gia, that sucks hard. I’m so sorry. If there is anything I can do, anything at all, you say the word.”
“Thanks.” She tried for a smile, failed.
“Do you need another hug?”
“Please.” She fell against him and he gathered her close. His shirt smelled like fresh laundry, his skin like sunshine, and beneath that, a rich, more masculine scent.
He smelled good. Too good. It was weird how good he smelled and how much she liked it.
“Hey, how’s your girlfriend?”
He winced. “We broke up.”
“I’m sorry.” Except she wasn’t. Did that make her a bad person? And why did the thought of Mike being girlfriendless send a tingle through her body?