As I check the time and clean up my sewing room, I find myself humming again. My mind instantly rushes back to hours earlier, and I put my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound, but it’s too late.

“Kylee,” Jamie growls from the other side of the window, and I chuckle.

“Sorry.” I step up to the window and look at the gorgeous man ripping apart my back deck. He’s the epitome of virile male. Rock hard, fierce, a guy not to fuck with, yet I’ve been doing just that, and it’s been damn amazing. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask as a peace offering. “I made some fresh lemonade.”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, and wipes his brow in such a guy way my ovaries clench. Seriously, I’m not making that shit up. My ovaries are actually clenching at the sexy sight of him. How could they not, right? I stare at him, memorize his hard body, take in the long, hard length of him so I can draw on it later when I’m back in Atlanta, stuck in a job I don’t want. I commit broad shoulders that taper to a trim waist and washboard abs to memory. Everything about this man exudes power, strength, an animal unleashed, and most times I can barely catch my breath when I’m around him. I’ve never seen a body with so many tattoos, never thought I would like it or find it sexy, but on Jamie it just works. Everything works, even his too-long hair, which keeps falling into his eyes.

Drenched between my legs—again—I leave the sewing room and hurry to the kitchen, but my phone rings. I fish it from my purse and when I see my dad’s number, reality hits me over the head like one of the cold Atlantic waves from my backyard view.

I stand there, debating whether to answer or not, but if I don’t, he’ll probably fly out here and check up on me. I slide my finger across the screen and lower my voice.

“Hi Dad,” I say quietly.

“Kylee,” he says. “How are things at the cottage? I’m sure everything is to your liking.”

“It’s beautiful here,” I say, not a lie. I try to cover the phone, to hush the sound of the saw in the background.

“Trevor said you’d love it there. He said he’s hoping to find some time to visit himself this summer.”

Trevor, God. I so do not want to hear about the man my father is trying to set me up with. Yeah, he might have summered here his whole life, told Dad I’d love the place, which is what prompted him to buy this house in the first place, but that does not mean I want to spend time with him here. Seeing him in Atlanta is enough for me.

Outside I watch Jamie’s muscles flex and relax again, and because he keeps distracting me, I turn my back to him and try to focus on my father and our conversation.

“What’s all that noise?” he asks.

My entire body stiffens. The man is a million miles away, yet he still has the ability to put me on the defense. “Oh, the back deck was rotten, so I thought I should replace it.”

He goes quiet, and I can practically see him now, rubbing his chin and nodding his head as he deliberates on whether or not replacing the rotting deck is a good investment.

“Well, if you think it was in need of replacing, I’m sure you’re right. A new deck will only add to the value in the end.”

And there you have it.

With my father, everything is about money and stature—everything Jamie is not—and Trevor, well, he’s Dad’s Mini-Me in every way. Maybe that’s why I’m attracted to Jamie. They say opposites attract. As soon as Jamie passes through my thoughts, he appears in front of me.

“I have to go. Talk soon,” I say quickly. I don’t need Dad asking questions about my contractor or why he’s inside my cottage. I’m about to set the phone down when it pings, indicating a text coming in. I give it a quick glance and stiffen when I see the text from Trevor, asking me how I like the place. Ignoring it, I shove the phone into my purse, out of sight. The phone keeps pinging, more texts, and I slide my hand into my purse to turn off the volume.

Jamie narrows his eyes, his gaze moving over my face, and I relax my shoulders to present calm. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say and hope my voice sounds as light as I’m trying to make it. Jamie and I are simply having sex, albeit great sex. He doesn’t need to know what’s going on in my life, just like I don’t need to know what’s going on in his. My problems aren’t his, and his problems aren’t mine. “Let me get you that drink.” I race to the kitchen and pour the lemonade. I turn to take it to him outside, but find him leaning against the doorjamb, watching me carefully. “Here you go.”

I hand him the drink and his throat works as he swallows the entire contents in a few gulps. “More?” I ask. He wipes the back of his mouth with his hand and shakes his head.

“I’m good. Are you?” He still has that strange, worried look on his face.

“I’m good. I was just cleaning up and getting ready for Gram and Summer.”

His head rears back. “Gram and Summer?”

“We’re going into Hope Falls today, remember?”

He narrows his eyes like he’s checking his memory bank. “I remember them mentioning it. Didn’t think it would be something you were interested in though.”

“No? Why not?”

He opens his mouth, but a noise behind us has him closing it again. He spins, and both Gram and Summer storm into my place like they own it. Okay, maybe that’s not true for Summer. With baby on board, she’s much slower than her animated Gram.

Jamie jumps back, physically and emotionally. What the heck? I look at him but he avoids my gaze. Okay, obviously he doesn’t want anyone to know what we’ve been up to behind closed doors. Maybe he doesn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea that we’re an item, or heck, maybe I embarrass him. Either way, it’s a good reminder that what we’re doing is temporary and between us only.

“I haven’t been in here since the Reddens owned it,” Gram says, glancing around at the furnishings.

I follow her gaze. “I haven’t really had a chance to make it mine yet,” I say. “It came furnished, and I’m only here until the end of the summer, so I wasn’t sure about putting all the work into it. The deck though, that was a hazard.”

“On that note, I’ll get back to it.” Jamie turns to go, but Gram stops him.

“Kiss your grandmother first.” Gram taps her cheek and I grin as Jamie, all tough and rough, mellows into such a softie around her. For a man who has such a softness in him, he sure is an animal in the bedroom.

“Wait, Jamie,” I say quickly and he goes still.

He turns again, and I grab the suntan lotion from the counter. “Your shoulders are burning.” I toss it to him and he catches it.

Murderous eyes lock with mine for a long moment, a raging storm in a tropical forest, then he tears his gaze away and heads toward the screen door. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

Summer breaks the uneasy tension before it expands and questions are asked by rubbing her stomach. “We’d better get going. Someone here is anxious for a Grande Americano.”

I momentarily think about asking Jamie if he’d like me to bring him something back, but after that deadly glare, I think twice about it.

As I follow the women outside, leaving Jamie in charge of my cottage, I turn the corner and expect to see Gram’s big truck. Instead I see one even bigger, with two-row seating and a long truck bed.

Summer pulls out her keys and I frown. “You okay to drive?” I ask, and point to my car. “We could take mine.”

“I’m fine. Besides, we need the truck to fit the crib.”

Oh right, I’d forgotten the purpose of our trip. “When are you due?”

“Not for three more weeks, but with the way I feel, I’m beginning to wonder if they mixed up the dates.”

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Let’s put it this way, I’m afraid to go too close to the water when I walk Scout. I don’t want anyone to mistake me for a washed-up beluga. Next baby is going to be a winter baby. When you have kids, keep the heat in mind.”

I laugh. “Poor you, but no kids are in my future.” I make a move to jump into the bench seat in the back when Gram stops me. “Nope, you ride up front.”

I open my mouth to protest, but when she scowls at me, I meet Summer’s eyes and she grins. It’s the same grin that Benny gave me, one that says don’t mess with Gram. “Besides,” Gram adds. “I’ve driven with Summer before, and I’m much safer back here.”

“Hey,” Summer warns, but she’s laughing hard. “I’m a good driver. That old truck was just too big for me.”

“And this one isn’t?” Gram retaliates.

I slide into the passenger seat and sense a story, but I guess Summer will tell me when she’s ready. I glace at Summer’s protruding stomach as she tries to get behind the steering wheel. Honestly, I can’t believe that in all the children and grandkids, there has never been a girl. I can see how much Gram treats Summer likes she’s one of her own. The two clearly have a special bond. I buckle up, just in case, as Summer backs out of the driveway.

As we pass her place she points. “That’s where Sean and I live.”

“I wasn’t sure which one was yours.” I glance at the chiropractor sign and turn to her. “You’re a chiropractor?”

She nods, and a smile pulls at her mouth. She goes quiet for a moment, like she’s remembering something. “I moved here from SoCal last year.”

“You’re a long way from home,” I say.

“Nope. This is home. This is where I’ve always belonged.” She meets Gram’s eyes in the rearview mirror and my stomach clenches. These women are so close it makes me long for the same. The only time I ever heard from my grandparents was around the holidays when they sent a card with an impersonal check. I didn’t want their money. I wanted their love, their friendship. But there is no sense in thinking about that now. I just want to enjoy the company of these ladies for today.

We chat about Summer’s upcoming baby shower at the local bar, Winchesters, where she used to work before opening her chiropractic business. It seems odd to me that she worked as a bartender when she was a certified chiropractor, but I don’t say anything. I’m delighted when they invite me to the shower this weekend and secretly grin at my surprise, pleased with the original outfits I designed. Jamie said she’d like them and I’m hoping he’s right. Okay, stop thinking about Jamie already.

We get to Starbucks and we all place our orders, then slowly drive down the main street to the furniture outlet where she bought her crib. All the guys seem so handy, I’m surprised one of them hadn’t made one themselves.

I sip my latte as Gram goes to the back of the truck. She opens the cover and I see containers full of food.

“What’s all this?” I ask.

“Last night’s leftovers.”

I look at her confused. “What are you doing with them?”

“You see that building over there?” I turn and take in a brick building on the corner. “That’s Hope Falls’ shelter. For women and children who’ve fled domestic violence. I always make a little extra for Sunday dinner, so I can share.”

My heart squeezes, and I reach into the truck to help with the containers. I want to say something. I try to say something. But there is a lump in my throat, so I just close my mouth and follow Gram to the shelter while Summer goes in search of a public bathroom. According to her, she knows every public bathroom in all the towns hugging Blue Bay. That certainly doesn’t make me want to hurry and get pregnant.

I have no idea what to expect when we enter the shelter. The truth is, I’ve never seen one. I was raised in a privileged area of town, and I might lament that my father is all about power and prestige—and does pro bono work because it looks good to the public. Lord knows he’d never do it for selfless reasons—but how am I any better? I grew up wanting for nothing, yet I don’t see myself running out to help those less fortunate than I am. Since actions speak louder than words, what am I going to do to change that? Gram here might not come from the same kind of wealth I have, but she gives what little she has, and that makes her a much better person than me.

A woman greets us and I stand back as she and Gram chat, then Gram passes her the containers. “Come along, Kylee,” Gram says to me and we walk down a long hall until we reach what looks like a child’s play area. A young girl, I’m guessing she’s around four, comes running when she seems Gram. Gram bends and the little girl gives her a kiss on the cheek. Gram beams, and I smile. I really hope Summer is having a girl, although I’m sure Gram would be fine with a boy, too. I’ve seen her grandsons. She did a great job with them.

“Katrina, have you been a good girl this week?” Gram asks and taps her on her pert little nose.

“I’m always a good girl,” she says, a slight lisp with her letter S.

“Then I have something special for you.”

“Cupcake!” Katrina squeals.

The little girl claps her hands and her mother, a thin woman with dark circles under her eyes, comes out to join us. She goes down on one knee and puts her arm around Katrina. The bond between this mother and daughter is a powerful one, and my heart squeezes again, reinforcing my decision not to have children. A mother can’t bond with her child if she’s never there.

“You’re going to spoil her,” the mother says.

Gram laughs. “She deserves to be spoiled.”

“Why don’t you run into the kitchen and see about that cupcake,” Gram says.

The little girl nods and says, “I made something for you.” Katrina disappears into the kitchen, leaving the adults to talk.

The conversation turns serious. “How are you, Miranda?”

“We’re doing good,” Miranda says, but I can tell her smile is forced. She’s clearly trying to make the best out of a bad situation, and my heart goes out to her.

“Work?”

“Not yet, but I’m still looking.”

“Oh, my goodness, beg my pardon.” Gram says, putting her arm around my waist and pulling me closer to her. “Miranda, this is Kylee. Kylee, this is Miranda. Kylee just bought one of the cottages in Blue Bay. Jamie is replacing her deck and she’s helping Summer and me pick up the crib for the baby.”

We exchange a handshake and Katrina comes running back with a picture in one hand, a sweet treat in the other, and a ring of chocolate around her mouth. She hands the picture to Gram. It’s a little girl riding a horse. “Why Katrina, this is gorgeous. I’ll put it next to the last one.” My mind instantly goes back to Sunday dinner. Gram had drawings on her fridge but I didn’t stop to give them a second thought. “You’re going to be a famous artist someday, like Kylee here.”

The little girl’s eyes go wide. “You’re an artist?”

“Well, I design clothes,” I say. I look her over, and can’t help but think that one or two of the dresses I have sitting in a tote would look so cute on her.

Just then Summer comes in and she greets Miranda and Katrina. After a few more exchanges Gram sends us to get the crib, telling us she has a few more people she’d like to talk to.

We head out into the sunshine, and I feel a little odd deep in my gut. This is a side of life I’ve heard about, of course, but have never really seen.

“That’s a nice thing Gram does.” She is a very selfless woman, and I could only aspire to be like her.

Summer nods. “She’s one of a kind, isn’t she?”

“I really like her.” I think about the goodwill at Dad’s company. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but it’s just so . . . I rack my brain but can’t come up with the right word to describe it. Regardless, what Gram does, this one-on-one connection, is so meaningful. She really cares about the families, and they obviously care about her too.

“I’m hungry,” Summer says, and rubs her stomach. “Why don’t we find a café and grab a bite after we get the crib loaded?”

“I could eat,” I say, my stomach taking that moment to grumble. I had quite the workout earlier that morning and was in such a hurry to get ready that I forgot to eat.

“Great, let’s get the crib, then I’ll text Gram to meet us.”

“Gram texts?” I say, my mouth agape.

Summer laughs. “Gram does a lot of things.”

At the mention of texting, my phone pings. Could it be Gram? Nah, she doesn’t have my number. At least I don’t think she has it. I reach into my purse and when I see it’s yet another text from Trevor, I frown. If I don’t answer him, he’ll never let up, but answering him just might lead him to believe I want his texts—that there is more between us. I quickly type back, Things are good and nothing more, then drop my phone back into my purse, hoping that will put an end to his texts.

Summer glances at me as we make our way into the department store. “Everything okay?”

Fine,” I say injecting a lightness into my tone as Summer hands her slip to the guy at the pick-up counter. When she catches me grinning she asks, “What?”

“I don’t know. This is just so small-town. Back home we’d just order from Amazon and it would be delivered in a day or two.”

“I know. It was like that in SoCal too. Today everything is about instant gratification, and it’s so impersonal, right?”

Impersonal, that’s it. That’s the word I was searching for. The donations my dad’s company makes are so impersonal, much like the way I’ve run my life, really. Sadly.

The delivery guy wheels out a big box with a picture of a pretty white crib on it.

“It’s gorgeous,” I say.

“Not as beautiful as the one Jared made.”

“Really? If Jared made one, why do you need this one?”

“It’s an extra crib for Gram’s place. For when she babysits, plus I’m going to be staying with her for a bit after the baby is born.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.”

There is a deep sadness on her face when she says, “I was an only child and my mom died young. I don’t really have a lot of experience and need Gram to show me a few things. She offered to stay with us at the cottage, but I’d rather not put her out like that. She loves retiring to her own bedroom at night, and no kitchen can compete with hers,” she adds with a grin. “So Sean and I are going to stay there for a few days instead. And really, I think it will be nice to be surrounded by the whole family those first few days.”

“That’s so nice.”

“What about you? Do you have family?”

“My dad is a lawyer in Atlanta. Mom was a lawyer too, but she died a few years back, and I didn’t have any siblings.”

“I’m sorry about your mom. I bet she would have been proud that you followed in their footsteps.”

I force a smile. “For sure. So how long will you be staying with Gram?” I ask.

“For at least a week. I’m hoping Jamie will stay at the beach and take care of Scout.”

Jamie at the cottage, a few doors down. Talk about temptation.

She crinkles her nose. “Maybe you could check in on him once in a while. Make sure he remembers to feed and walk Scout. Sometimes that boy is such a dreamer, I think if Gram didn’t feed all the grandsons once in a while he’d starve.”

“Sure,” I say. I could also make sure he’s fed, well rested . . . and well fucked.

“He always was a dreamer, you know. Ever since we were kids.”

She knew the guys when she was young? Shocked by this, I’m about to press when Summer goes stiff. For a second I think she’s having labor pains, but then I follow her gaze. Up ahead I see a guy coming our way. He’s very well put-together in khaki pants and a polo shirt, and looks more like he’s a guy I’d associate with, and not one Summer or the Owens boys would know. His blue eyes flash over Summer, like he’s trying to place her, then slide to mine. As he takes me in, a strange feeling of familiarity moves through me. Do I know this guy?

My gaze goes from the guy, to Summer, back to the guy again and I rack my brain as he breezes past, but when I see the alarm on Summer’s face my steps slow. “What’s wrong?” I ask quickly.

“Nothing . . . just that’s Ben Jackinoff.” She gives me a nudge to keep me in motion.

“Ben Jackinoff?” I say. “What kind of name is that?”

“It’s what the guys used to call him when we were young.”

“So he’s from around here?”

“No, not really.”

I’m not sure who the guy is, but he sure has Summer flustered, and it seems to me after hanging out with the Owens crew, agitating Summer takes a great deal. “I take it they didn’t like him too much.”

Then, as if she’d said too much, she hooks her arm in mine and points to Gram coming from the shelter. But if they guys hated him, I want to know more.

“Who is he?” I press.

Her eyes widen, and she touches my shoulder in warning. “No one you want to know, okay?”

What the hell is going on?