Stranger on the Shore (Mirabelle Harbor, Book 4) by Marilyn Brant Page B

than I’d gotten from anybody other than Olivia, Ellen, or Kathryn in several years. “Thank you,” I murmured.
    “Open it.”
    So I did. Inside, under a layer of tissue paper, was the beach towel with the picnic scene on it. “Oh! I was admiring this one today,” I told him. “I loved it. It’s so creative. But, um—” I paused. “You really don’t need to give me—”
    “Marianna,” he interrupted, his voice strangely stern. “I’m the owner of the store. I can give away whatever I want, to whomever I want, whenever the mood strikes me.” Even in the dark, I could see his blue eyes glinting and his attractive features forming an expression of amusement. “I’d sort of tricked you into visiting Castaways. If you’d come in there while I was working, I would have insisted on giving it to you then, just for taking a chance on my place. New customer special.”
    He stopped at the next corner and waited as I glanced down the side street in search of my Civic. “I appreciate that you took my advice that day at the beach. That you bought something you needed at my shop. And that you’ve been kind to my sister. She seems very open but—actually—she doesn’t take easily to many people,” he said. “I like seeing her happy.”
    “Joy is wonderful,” I told him with feeling, finally spotting my car and pointing to it. He followed me as I turned to walk toward it. “And so are her friends. I’ve never met people so warm and welcoming.”
    He assessed me silently as we sidled up to my car. “She’ll be thrilled to hear that you think so.” He paused. “I know people are supposed to say nice things about their sisters but, in Joy’s case, I happen to mean them. You won’t find a more kindhearted person on the planet. Or a more artistically talented one.”
    This was refreshing to my ears. Incredible, really. To be around a pair of siblings who loved and respected each other this much. Who genuinely seemed to want to build each other up in the eyes of the world. I loved my sister but—let’s face it—I didn’t always like her. And vice versa.
    I nodded at the sketchpad he was carrying. “Joy’s pretty impressed with your artistic talents as well,” I told him. “And so am I. I truly enjoyed looking at your paintings today in several of the shops, and your sister is awfully proud of your work. I could tell by the way she talked about you.”
    I noticed Gil swallowing, and I saw an expression I couldn’t identify flashing across his face. At first I thought it was pleasure, but I soon realized it was more than that. It was gratitude.
    “Well, thanks,” he said. “I like to paint seascapes with some surrealistic images. It’s relaxing for me.”
    “How many have you painted?” I asked him. “Just the ones at the shops I visited today—yours, your sister’s, and The Golden Gecko? Or are there a lot more?”
    He laughed. That deep, throaty laugh I remembered from our meeting at the beach. “Oh, I’ve got a bunch. If you’re coming to the Craft Festival this weekend, you won’t be able to escape seeing them. I’ll have a box of my painted greeting cards in the same booth as Joy and her bracelets. And she’ll outsell me a hundred to one.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “So, if you were only being nice by complimenting my artwork, you’re stuck pretending to love it. At least through the weekend.”
    I laughed in return—feeling younger, suddenly, as if two decades had just melted away and I was a nineteen-year-old girl again. My daughter’s age. Talking on a hot summer night to the charming lifeguard at the community pool. Daydreaming secretly about what it might be like to date someone smart and funny like him...someone so different from Donny...even though I was already a married woman back then and not free to act on those fantasies. A window to a world of brand-new possibilities had been flung open for me on that long-ago night. But, after my quick peek out into that exotic