Lakeshore Chronicles [10] Candlelight Christmas by Susan Wiggs Page B

the first place. She got up and went to the window, opening the plantation shutters and looking out over the gardens.
    There was a unique sort of beauty in the tropical morning. The air was warm already, and according to the tide chart posted on the wall above the writing desk, the surf was going to be perfect. She slipped into her borrowed swimsuit, cover-up and flip-flops and headed down to the beach.
    In the morning quiet of the garden, Darcy woke her mouth up with a calamondin plucked straight from the tree, wincing at the taste of the bittersweet peel and tart center. Then she plucked a couple of oranges and tucked them in her bag.
    “Can’t stay away from the beach, can you?”
    She turned, already blushing. “Oh, hey, Logan.”
    “Hey yourself. You’re up early. It’s not even seven.”
    “I wanted to get a little more beach time in before I have to go. I have to get back to New York this evening.”
    “Mind if I join you?”
    Mind? Mind? “That’d be great,” she said.
    They walked in silence—a silence she found to be quite companionable. For no good reason, she felt very comfortable with Logan. He was easy to be with, easy to talk to. Easy on the eye, though she pretended to look around and not at him. The air was sweet with the smell of magnolias and the sea, and a light breeze brought with it eddies of warmth.
    “Your folks have a great spot here,” she remarked.
    “Yeah. We’re really lucky.”
    “Some would say spoiled.”
    “Yeah, okay. Spoiled. But in a good way.” He flashed a grin.
    “True,” she said. “That was really nice last night, helping out at the children’s center.”
    “Thanks for coming along. But I thought you were allergic to kids.”
    “I guess I like them in small doses. Especially when they’re at a place like Ryder House. It’s nice to help.”
    “Agreed. I’ve been really lucky in my life, and I never want to take that for granted. It feels like a special privilege to help out.”
    “You’re right. I’ve heard it called a ‘helper’s high.’ Otherwise known as doing the hokeypokey.”
    He chuckled. “You’re a good sport.”
    “I like to think so.” She passed through the arch of beach roses and dune grass and stepped onto the sand, which was still slightly cool and damp from the night.
    “We practically have it all to ourselves,” she said, enchanted by the shifting blue of the water, the slight pink tinge of the morning sky.
    A few hundred yards away was a lone jogger, heading up the coast. In the other direction was a woman doing yoga poses. The rest of the beach belonged to the seagulls and sandpipers.
    Logan stopped at the cabana and took out two boards, along with a couple of bars of wax. They applied the wax to the already-bumpy surface of each board.
    “Okay,” he said when they finished. “Surf’s up.”
    She nodded and peeled off her oversize tunic, knowing without looking at him that he was checking her out. His gaze felt like a waft of heat on her bare skin.
    He didn’t even pretend not to stare. “Sunscreen?” he asked, offering her a tube.
    “Thanks.” She spread the cream everywhere she could reach while he did the same. Then she donned her rash guard, a tight jersey shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves.
    “You missed a spot,” said Logan. “Turn around.” He went down on one knee and smoothed his hands down the backs of her thighs.
    She was startled by the sensation of his bare hands on her skin. It had been so long since a guy had touched her, she’d nearly forgotten what that felt like. And until this moment, she hadn’t realized that she missed it.
    She was flustered by the time he finished and stood up. “Thanks,” she said, hoping her thoughts didn’t show on her face. She’d never been good at playing it cool.
    “My pleasure.” He picked up his board. “Really.”
    She followed him to the surf. The warm water swirled around her ankles in a rhythm that pulled at her, reminding her of why she loved the