Seaside Sunsets by Melissa Foster Page B

I didn’t even know I could.”
    “Why are you embarrassed? We dig each other. That’s a good thing.”
    “Yeah, but I don’t…you know. And to do it without…you know.” Oh God, shut up! Her cheeks felt like they were on fire.
    “You don’t you know ? Well, we’ll have to fix that, now, won’t we?”
    He gathered her in his arms again and kissed her tenderly. “You’re incredible. Don’t ever be embarrassed around me. I think you’re lovely.” He kissed her again. “And sexy as hell.” He kissed her neck. “The sweetest person I know.” He gazed deeply into her eyes. “And I want to spend more time with you, and I want to make you…you know.”
    Oh yes, now she knew.
    And she wanted to… you know …even more.

Chapter Six
    JAMIE STAYED UP half the night answering emails, working through issues that had come up at OneClick, and thinking about Jessica. The best thing about being a computer professional was that he could work from just about anywhere, but he was a hands-on guy when it came to his business, and he’d learned the hard way that giving too much authority away could bite him in the ass. Luckily, Mark Wiley, his attorney, had been with him since the inception of OneClick, and he was in the office daily, keeping an eye on the goings-on at the company from a legal standpoint. Jamie no longer sealed deals with a handshake, and although Mark was a bit overprotective of Jamie and his interests, warning him off of money-grubbing, ladder-climbing employees and women, they made a good team.
    He read a brief email from Mark alerting him to a situation . We have a potential bug with the search engine. Checking into it. Don’t worry. Enjoy sun and fun. Will call if any further issues arise. Mark could handle just about anything. He shot off a quick note of thanks, then began his hunt for the owner of the baseball card store. It was a piece of cake tracking him down through public website records and forums, and Jamie could hardly believe that the owner, Steve Lacasse, lived in Plymouth, Massachusetts. According to the information he’d dug up, Steve sold his goods on eBay, and like many other local collectors, he worked the Wellfleet Flea Market over the summers.
    Jamie arrived at the flea market Saturday morning while vendors were still setting up their booths. He traipsed up and down every aisle, stopping at every booth that had a single sports item, but had no luck finding Steve.
    He climbed back in his car and drove over to Kurt Remington’s house on the bay to see Leanna.
    Kurt’s house, and the separate cottage from where Leanna ran her business, were built on a dune overlooking the water. Jamie parked behind Leanna’s old Volkswagen Bus that her father had refinished and painted with colorful seaside scenes when she’d graduated from college. He didn’t bother going to the front door. Kurt was a creature of habit, and he was as methodical as Leanna was disorganized. He went for his morning run, then had coffee while he scanned the news. By nine o’clock he had his fingers on the keyboard pounding out his next bestseller. Leanna was his polar opposite. She would surely be scrambling to get to Seaside to see the girls before heading over to the flea market to set up her booth—late, as usual. At least that’s what Jamie was counting on.
    He heard their voices before he reached the steps to the rear deck. Pepper bounded toward him, tongue lolling from his mouth as he tried to climb Jamie’s legs, barking for a little love. Jamie scooped him into his arms and petted his tangled white fur.
    “How’s it going, Pep?”
    “Jamie?” Leanna peered over the deck as he ascended the stairs. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, and her white tee was streaked with jam. Her eyes were wide with the smile on her lips. “Want a scone? They’re fresh.”
    “No, thanks. I just wanted to pimp you for a little info.” He set Pepper on the deck and hugged Leanna, then gave Kurt a brotherly pat on