Irene Hannon - Second Chance Summer

He frowned as he continued to follow her progress. He ought to just leave. The mental state of Eleanor’s niece was no concern of his.

Yet for some reason her dejected posture bothered him.

Fletch drummed a finger on the wheel as Gram’s admonition about manners echoed in his ears.

Polish them up. You were raised better than that.

He blocked out the part of her comment about attracting a nice girl. His impulse to go to Rachel’s aid had nothing to do with creating a more favorable impression on her. But Gram was right. He had been raised better than to let a woman carry heavy stuff without assistance. The influence of his Southern upbringing might have faded through the years, but enough remained to niggle at his conscience as he watched his beach companion from last week trudge along—especially after her purse slipped and she almost lost her grip on one of the tote bags.

With a quick shift of gears, Fletch pulled back into his spot, slid out of the SUV, and wove toward her through the cars.

Rachel was plodding along, head bowed, when he stopped a few feet in front of her.

“We meet again.”

As he parroted her words from Sunday back to her, her chin jerked up and she came to an abrupt halt.

Fletch gestured toward the overstuffed tote bags. “You look like you could use a hand.”

Her gaze flicked to his leg.

His temper flared.

What was with her, anyway? She’d seen him swim, watched him walk without any problem on the deep, shifting sand. If they’d met under any other circumstances she wouldn’t know he had a prosthesis. What did he have to do to prove he was fully mobile—dance the tango?

Since that wasn’t an option even if he had two good legs, Fletch settled for grabbing both bags from her before she could protest. “Where are you parked?” The question came out more clipped and curt than he intended.

Rachel looked up—and his breath jammed in his lungs.

Her jade eyes shimmered with distress, and that braid thing she did with her hair accentuated the taut planes of her face. When she swallowed and moistened her lips, a twinge of some unidentifiable emotion tugged at his heart.

He cleared his throat—and softened his tone. “Your car?”

Rachel gestured to her right. “The silver Focus.” As she spoke, she led the way, giving him an excellent view of sandaled feet with polished toenails, shapely legs outlined by white capris and a trim waist belted with a silky scarf. As for those soft wisps of hair that had escaped her braid...they whispered at the neck of her sleeveless knit top, calling out to be touched.

While she popped the trunk with the remote, he took a deep breath.

Don’t go there, Fletcher. Rachel Shaw might be attractive, but you don’t need a summertime romance—even if she could get past the leg issue. She’s the niece of your grandmother’s best friend. This would only complicate your life.

Check.

After setting the bulky bags inside the trunk, Fletch lowered the lid and faced her, searching for some innocuous comment to ease the tension that seemed to underscore their every encounter. “Must have been quite a shopping trip—though your frown would suggest it wasn’t successful.”

She positioned her purse in front of her and gripped it like a shield. “The Pier Road shops are more for tourists. Besides, I’m not a shopper.”

That was one thing in her favor, at least. How some women could roam through malls for hours with no agenda was mind-boggling. If you were going to a store, you made a list, bought what you needed and left. Anything else was a waste of time.

When the silence lengthened and Rachel didn’t pick up on his subtle offer to share what was bothering her, Fletch took the cue and stepped back. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He expected her to return the sentiment and make a beeline for the driver’s seat.

Instead, she stayed where she was and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Look...I’m sorry.”

At her off-script comment, he frowned. “For what?”

“I stared at your leg again.” Bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks, but she didn’t break eye contact. “The truth is, I’ve never met anyone with an artificial limb. I always assumed it would be a major impediment, but you swim better than anyone I’ve ever met—and you have absolutely no limp. I’m awestruck...and totally impressed. But staring is rude, and I understand why you’d be offended. So I apologize.”

He appraised her in silence. Was her explanation on the level?

Maybe.

The sincerity and contrition in her eyes seemed legit. There wasn’t a shred of deceit—or pity—in her expression.

Meaning he’d overreacted. Big-time.

Fletch relaxed his posture and summoned up a smile. “Apology accepted. Let’s just say we got off on the wrong foot and start over—pun intended.”

Her eyes widened, as if she hadn’t expected him to find any humor in the situation, and then her own lips wobbled up. “Thanks for being a good sport about it.”

“It’s either that or go through life feeling sorry for myself. So what brought you to the historic area today?”

Rachel’s tremulous smile faded. “I teach a children’s art class at the hotel two days a week every summer. Today was my first session of the season.”

“It didn’t go well?”

“Most of the kids had a great time. But there was one little girl...” Her voice trailed off and she gave him an apologetic shrug. “I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to my tale of woe.”

Yeah, he did. Newark was expecting an answer to a lengthy email, and he had some schematics to review for a new military aircraft manufacturing facility in Washington state. He also had to prep for a wee-hours-of-the-morning conference call with one of his European clients.

But as the dipping sun gilded Rachel’s hair and she looked up at him with those vivid green eyes, work was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind.

“To be honest, I’m at loose ends for a couple of hours. I dropped Gram off at the Sea Turtle Center for some special event she’s helping with, and I was going to grab a quick dinner. Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“I’ll tell you what. If you keep me company during dinner, I’ll listen to your tale.”

As the words hung in the air between them, Fletch frowned. Where in the world had that come from?

Rachel seemed clueless, too. She gave him a wary look and played with the strap of her purse. “Aunt El had a meeting at church, but she was going to leave me a plate in the fridge.”

There’s your out, Fletch. Take it.

But once again, foolish words slipped out.

“Eat it for lunch tomorrow.”

What was going on here?

Before he had a chance to ponder that question, Rachel did that distracting lip-moistening thing again, drawing his attention to the soft curve of her mouth. The woman had great lips. Lush and full and very kissable...

“Okay.”

He jerked his gaze back to her eyes. “What?”

“I said I’d have dinner with you.”

Dinner. Right.

Fletch did his best to keep the heat on his neck from creeping above the collar of his sport shirt. “Great. Any recommendations? Everything was shut down when I came at Christmas, and I’ve only been here for a few days this trip.”

“Fins is pleasant. It’s on the other side of the island, but Shell Road cuts straight through. It has a deck that overlooks the beach, if you like to eat outside.”

“Works for me. I’ll follow you.” Fletch gestured across the parking lot. “I’m in the black Explorer.”

Rachel eyed it. “That looks very tactical—which seems appropriate for a former Navy SEAL.”

He folded his arms. “You know my background?”