Haven Creek by Rochelle Alers Page A

went out, several cameras slung around his neck, looking for new subjects to capture on film. When she was about eight she could be seen with her own camera, snapping pictures of flowers, butterflies, or anything that would stand still long enough for her to shoot them.
    Even though the Shaws and the Danes lived within walking distance of each other, Nate hadn’t regarded them as neighbors. It wasn’t until he and Morgan rode the same bus to high school that he realized she’d changed. She was tall—much taller than her female counterparts and many of the boys her age. She’d either style her hair in a single braid or occasionally pull it up in a ponytail. He would already be seated on the bus when she would board, and she and Francine would always sit together.
    He usually didn’t say much to her except to acknowledge her when passing in the halls. The few times he’d engaged her in conversation she was either with her older sisters or her cousin Jesse, who treated her as if she were his younger sister.
    The fact that he was four years her senior meant that she was off-limits. Nate had preferred dating girls his age or a year or two older. There was still a four-year age difference between them, but things had changed. Both were consenting adults, if either decided they wanted a relationship.
    Relationship! That single word rocked him to the core. He’d told himself he would never become involved in another relationship, but here he was contemplating one with Morgan. And he knew if they did have one it would never lead to a commitment or marriage.
    I doubt if I would ever marry a man who grew up here. Morgan’s statement came rushing back with vivid clarity. Even though he’d been away for a long time, Nate was one of those who had grown up on Cavanaugh Island. He didn’t know what it was about Cavanaugh Island boys that turned her off, but this was one time he was glad they did, because in that instant he decided he liked Morgan enough to date her—and not because she’d helped thwart Trina’s amorous advances.
    “Didn’t I tell you that you don’t get out enough?” she said teasingly. “Jack’s started delivering last year, when the locals complained they couldn’t get a seat at the restaurant because of the tourists. Otis and Miss Vina hired high school students to make deliveries to island residents. They begin the Memorial Day weekend and end Labor Day. Once the tourists leave everything goes back to normal. We don’t have to jostle for space on the sidewalks, you can always find a parking spot in the business district, and if you take the ferry then you’re not packed in like sardines. A couple of summers ago they started running two ferries instead of one between here and the mainland.” She glanced at her watch. “Jack’s is probably filled to capacity and you’ll have to wait more than an hour to be seated. Tell me what you want and I’ll add it to my order. Deliveries usually take under a half hour.”
    “You’re right, Mo.”
    “What am I right about?” Morgan asked.
    A hint of a smile softened Nate’s mouth. “Not getting out enough. Maybe you can help remedy that.”
    Her eyebrows lifted inquiringly. “How can I help you?”
    “Go out with me. Since I’ve been back the only places I go are the Charleston lumberyard and the hardware store to pick up supplies and tools.”
    “All work and no play, Nate. You know what they say about that?”
    He nodded. “I know. It will make me dull.”
    She sobered quickly. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
    “Well, I did promise Jesse I would come to the club.”
    She pushed out her lips. “And my cousin can be relentless when you promise him something.” Morgan studied him with a curious intensity that made Nate believe she was about to reject his offer. A beat passed, then she said, “Okay. I’ll go with you to the Happy Hour. I’ll let you know when I’m available.”
    Nate curbed the urge to pump his fist in triumph. He’d