quickly discovered there wasn’t a hardware store, per se, on Passion Key. Rather, there was a general supply store with a bulletin board offering various services. She saw a business card that read Archer Thorpe, Handyman.
She took a quick cell phone pic of the card and then punched in the number. It went to voicemail and she decided not to leave a message since the address on the business card meant that his shop must be nearby.
From the supply store she walked out and headed toward the marina, which was really the focal point of the village, even though it was on the water. The restaurants, oceanfront homes, canal homes and restaurants all radiated out from the Passion Key Marina.
The heat felt great on Justine’s shoulders. She had made a vow to never complain about how hot it was after she’d spent so many winters in Illinois complaining about the cold. The breeze was steady with only occasional lapses in force. However, the moment the wind died down the sun seemed to intensify with startling power and she could feel the heat instantly on any exposed skin.
Although she was of mixed European ancestry (her line could be traced back to various parts of England, Ireland and Norway) she had always tanned easily and quickly. She always wondered if there was a trace of Mediterranean lineage somewhere along the line. Maybe a rebellious great uncle had fled to Spain and become a Spanish noble.
She laughed. Sometimes, her imagination took her to strange places.
Justine crossed a narrow street devoid of any traffic, and strolled along the start of the small village of Passion Key. It was pretty much a straight line to the water, with only a few offshoot lanes that held a store or two, mostly touristy knickknack type places of business, along with the required ice cream shops. There were several restaurants, just as many bars, and plenty of landscaping companies. As the route came closer to the marina, there were a few fishing outfitters, and an adventure gear store, with scuba and snorkeling paraphernalia in the window.
Finally she came to a cute little café two doors down from the marina called the Limelight and stepped inside. The first thing she saw was the back of a man’s shirt. The shirt had rings of sweat and a line of dirt around the neck.
Ewww , she thought.
She almost backed out, but the man turned to face her. His face was smudged with dirt and sawdust, but he had pale gray eyes that reminded her of the shallow water just off the beach. Those beautiful eyes squinted at her and she realized that he must have caught the look of disgust on her face.
Way to dress up for a restaurant , Justine thought. People have to eat food here, you know.
“Good morning,” he said to her. “With that expression, it looks like you could use a cup of coffee.”
Justine’s breath caught in her throat. Had he really just said that? She was momentarily caught off guard by the man’s stunning good looks. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His tanned face was sharp, with classic features and short dark hair that peeked out from beneath a dirty baseball cap.
“And I won’t say what you could use,” she snapped back, before she could shut her mouth. Like a shower and a change of clothes .
Rather than getting angry, though, the man seemed to stifle a smile. He tipped his dirty baseball cap at her and walked out.
Justine sat down at an open table, hoping that it hadn’t been vacated by the man she’d just conversed with, and ordered a cup of coffee (he was right about that) and a shrimp salad. Justine had never been a huge seafood eater, but she figured with her new locale, she might as well take advantage of its freshness.
Justine looked around the place. It was classic Florida with light green walls accented with hand-painted flowers, multiple ceiling fans, and calypso music playing in the background.
Her coffee was delicious, and Justine definitely felt
She took a quick cell phone pic of the card and then punched in the number. It went to voicemail and she decided not to leave a message since the address on the business card meant that his shop must be nearby.
From the supply store she walked out and headed toward the marina, which was really the focal point of the village, even though it was on the water. The restaurants, oceanfront homes, canal homes and restaurants all radiated out from the Passion Key Marina.
The heat felt great on Justine’s shoulders. She had made a vow to never complain about how hot it was after she’d spent so many winters in Illinois complaining about the cold. The breeze was steady with only occasional lapses in force. However, the moment the wind died down the sun seemed to intensify with startling power and she could feel the heat instantly on any exposed skin.
Although she was of mixed European ancestry (her line could be traced back to various parts of England, Ireland and Norway) she had always tanned easily and quickly. She always wondered if there was a trace of Mediterranean lineage somewhere along the line. Maybe a rebellious great uncle had fled to Spain and become a Spanish noble.
She laughed. Sometimes, her imagination took her to strange places.
Justine crossed a narrow street devoid of any traffic, and strolled along the start of the small village of Passion Key. It was pretty much a straight line to the water, with only a few offshoot lanes that held a store or two, mostly touristy knickknack type places of business, along with the required ice cream shops. There were several restaurants, just as many bars, and plenty of landscaping companies. As the route came closer to the marina, there were a few fishing outfitters, and an adventure gear store, with scuba and snorkeling paraphernalia in the window.
Finally she came to a cute little café two doors down from the marina called the Limelight and stepped inside. The first thing she saw was the back of a man’s shirt. The shirt had rings of sweat and a line of dirt around the neck.
Ewww , she thought.
She almost backed out, but the man turned to face her. His face was smudged with dirt and sawdust, but he had pale gray eyes that reminded her of the shallow water just off the beach. Those beautiful eyes squinted at her and she realized that he must have caught the look of disgust on her face.
Way to dress up for a restaurant , Justine thought. People have to eat food here, you know.
“Good morning,” he said to her. “With that expression, it looks like you could use a cup of coffee.”
Justine’s breath caught in her throat. Had he really just said that? She was momentarily caught off guard by the man’s stunning good looks. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His tanned face was sharp, with classic features and short dark hair that peeked out from beneath a dirty baseball cap.
“And I won’t say what you could use,” she snapped back, before she could shut her mouth. Like a shower and a change of clothes .
Rather than getting angry, though, the man seemed to stifle a smile. He tipped his dirty baseball cap at her and walked out.
Justine sat down at an open table, hoping that it hadn’t been vacated by the man she’d just conversed with, and ordered a cup of coffee (he was right about that) and a shrimp salad. Justine had never been a huge seafood eater, but she figured with her new locale, she might as well take advantage of its freshness.
Justine looked around the place. It was classic Florida with light green walls accented with hand-painted flowers, multiple ceiling fans, and calypso music playing in the background.
Her coffee was delicious, and Justine definitely felt
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