to get called out, it would probably be on a weekend. We’d been living together now over a year and it was good. We were good. I knew it was time to consider the next step. But he hadn’t asked and I hadn’t hinted.
I liked our life exactly the way it was. For now. I hoped Greg did too. I ran upstairs to change for the run. The pile of bills could wait.
When we got to the beach, I questioned Amy’s Vegas choice again. And cursed myself for offering to plan the party. What was I thinking? The beach was empty, so I unsnapped Emma’s leash and shoved it in my pocket. Then we started running.
The best thing about running on the beach was getting out of my head. I worried a lot. I worried about the store. About my aunt. About Greg, when he was on a case. About us as a couple when he wasn’t. You could describe me as a serial worrier. Or maybe slap a label on me, like OCD. It wasn’t like I checked the light switch three times before I went out of a room, but I did think about what part of my routine I’d missed when I’d left the house.
Today, Amy’s party was my focus. I didn’t have a plan. And I loved a plan. I made plans for everything, including the shop’s future goals and any upcoming trips Greg and I were taking, even just for the weekend. So first step, who had she invited? I knew my aunt, and Mary, and probably Darla. But what about Esmeralda? What about Tina, her boss’s wife? I’d call Amy as soon as I got home. I’d pull out a notebook and get this party started. Well, the planning part of it anyway.
I was so lost in my planning that I hadn’t noticed the stranger walking toward me. Emma’s bark drew me out of my thinking mood, and I paused next to her, watching the man move toward us.
He was dressed in plaid shorts and a crew neck T-shirt. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short, yet long enough to blow around a bit with the breeze. He waved and smiled at me and, with the action, just above his chiseled, cut jaw, two dimples appeared. Well, wasn’t he just a cutie pie? When he was within earshot, I nodded. “Sorry about having her off the leash. I thought we were alone out here.”
He put his arms out to soak in the beauty of the day. “I bet you get a lot of days out here without any tourists ruining your run. She didn’t bother me at all.”
Emma sniffed the man’s hand, then her tail started wagging. In dog terms, that meant the man wasn’t a serial killer. Or at least he hadn’t killed anyone lately that Emma could discern. My dog tended to like most people, so I didn’t totally trust her judgment on new arrivals. “Glad to know. You staying in town?”
“Yes, I have a room for at least a week at the South Cove Bed and Breakfast. Lovely place, although the room is a bit fluffy for my tastes. Unfortunately, I don’t have a Mrs. to enjoy the décor.” The smile came out again.
I wondered if I was being hit on. It happened so rarely since I was living with the South Cove police detective. No one wanted to challenge Greg. I decided to move this conversation along and finish my run. “Well, have a nice stay in South Cove. I run the bookstore coffeehouse downtown, so if you’re in need of some reading material, I can hook you up.”
“I brought a bunch with me, but if I run out, I’ll stop by. Actually, I’m here to write a story. About you, Jill Gardner. Well, actually, about your house.”
His words made me freeze. He must have seen the concern in my eyes when I heard him call me by name.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. I’d been expecting a gun or, maybe, a knife. I took it, not liking the way my hand was shaking. I looked down at the information and almost laughed. “You’re an author?”
“I write those travel books everyone buys. The local-charm books? I’m working on a series of historical places not on any register, and your house and the Mission Wall came up during one of my interviews.” He held out a hand. “Mike Masters. That’s my real name. I write under several