that couldn’t have been it. Maybe a favorite
hat
? I did notice yours has gone missing.”
Now her grin wouldn’t be kept down. She sighed, her whole body, once rigid as a nail, relaxed. “It’s not you,” she admitted. “I’m just mad as hell because every time I ask Hank to let me do something real, he puts me to work doing
this
crap.” She gestured to the pile of boards. “And I’m not even the one who screwed it up in the first place!”
“Maybe he worries about you,” Tucker suggested.
Edie flashed another glare in Hank’s direction. “That’s not it. He’s even more a drill sergeant than usual because my dad’s running a job in Eastham. And Hank can’t stand the idea of a girl being a better carpenter than he is.”
“Are you?”
Edie frowned. “Not yet—but I could be,” she added firmly. “If he gave me a damn chance. He thinks he knows what’s best for me and he doesn’t.”
“Yeah,” Tucker said quietly. “I know the feeling.”
“Ede, the spade bits! Come on, already!”
They both turned at Hank’s call, Edie’s cheeks suddenly soaked in scarlet. Tucker steeled himself for another of her cuss-filled shouts, but instead she just turned back to him and rolled her eyes. “I have to go,” she said, “before I get court-martialed.”
Tucker smiled. “You’re always welcome to come down to the beach to cool off after work, you know.”
Edie squinted up at him skeptically.
“I’m serious,” he said. “It must be awful hot out here all day. I’m sweating like a dog right now and I’m not even doing anything.” Which wasn’t entirely true; he was talking with her—could that have been the source of his heat?
“We’re not allowed on the beach,” Edie said.
“Says who?”
She shrugged. “Everyone knows that.”
“Well, I don’t, and it’s my beach as much as anyone’s. I say bring your suit tomorrow. Heck, tell everybody on the crew to bring one.”
“What would your father say?”
“Never mind my father; I don’t,” Tucker said as he began to walk backward toward the roadster, the lie feeling as refreshing and thrilling as a cold drink.
• • •
A ll the next day, Tucker had the strangest sense of killing time. Even while he and Jim battled it out over badminton and took a drive to Orleans for a late lunch, Tucker couldn’t shake a sense of impending excitement. When four thirty drew near and Jim suggested Tucker join him for a before-dinner swim, Tucker changed into his trunks but said he’d follow later, wanting to be in sight when the crew—and Edie Worthington in particular—began to put up their tools.
It had been a hot day—not as grim and humid a heat as he would have endured in Charlotte if he’d been there, but it was thick enough that a quick dip would have been welcome. At the first sign of cleanup, Tucker pushed out the side door and crossed the driveway to where Edie and the others were packing up.
“So where’s your suit?” he asked brightly.
She looked up and blinked at him. “You were serious?”
“Of course I was.” Tucker shrugged. “Never mind, you don’t need one to get your feet wet.”
He watched her eyes shift back to the rest of the crew; Tucker spotted head carpenter Hank looking their way as he deftly wound an extension cord between his elbow and wrist. Tucker offered him a cheery wave; Hank didn’t send one back.
“So what do you say?” Tucker asked.
Edie smiled, giving the group one last look before she answered. “Just give me a minute to say good-bye.”
• • •
E die was almost to the guest house when she saw the Mustang slide down the driveway and swing into an open spot beside Hank’s truck. She knew the hot-pink Mustang—everyone in Harrisport with eyes in their head knew it—but what Edie
didn’t
know was what business its owner, twenty-year-old Missy Murphy, the daughter of Harrisport’s most-loved restaurateur, Teddy Murphy, had at the Moss job site.
In
hat
? I did notice yours has gone missing.”
Now her grin wouldn’t be kept down. She sighed, her whole body, once rigid as a nail, relaxed. “It’s not you,” she admitted. “I’m just mad as hell because every time I ask Hank to let me do something real, he puts me to work doing
this
crap.” She gestured to the pile of boards. “And I’m not even the one who screwed it up in the first place!”
“Maybe he worries about you,” Tucker suggested.
Edie flashed another glare in Hank’s direction. “That’s not it. He’s even more a drill sergeant than usual because my dad’s running a job in Eastham. And Hank can’t stand the idea of a girl being a better carpenter than he is.”
“Are you?”
Edie frowned. “Not yet—but I could be,” she added firmly. “If he gave me a damn chance. He thinks he knows what’s best for me and he doesn’t.”
“Yeah,” Tucker said quietly. “I know the feeling.”
“Ede, the spade bits! Come on, already!”
They both turned at Hank’s call, Edie’s cheeks suddenly soaked in scarlet. Tucker steeled himself for another of her cuss-filled shouts, but instead she just turned back to him and rolled her eyes. “I have to go,” she said, “before I get court-martialed.”
Tucker smiled. “You’re always welcome to come down to the beach to cool off after work, you know.”
Edie squinted up at him skeptically.
“I’m serious,” he said. “It must be awful hot out here all day. I’m sweating like a dog right now and I’m not even doing anything.” Which wasn’t entirely true; he was talking with her—could that have been the source of his heat?
“We’re not allowed on the beach,” Edie said.
“Says who?”
She shrugged. “Everyone knows that.”
“Well, I don’t, and it’s my beach as much as anyone’s. I say bring your suit tomorrow. Heck, tell everybody on the crew to bring one.”
“What would your father say?”
“Never mind my father; I don’t,” Tucker said as he began to walk backward toward the roadster, the lie feeling as refreshing and thrilling as a cold drink.
• • •
A ll the next day, Tucker had the strangest sense of killing time. Even while he and Jim battled it out over badminton and took a drive to Orleans for a late lunch, Tucker couldn’t shake a sense of impending excitement. When four thirty drew near and Jim suggested Tucker join him for a before-dinner swim, Tucker changed into his trunks but said he’d follow later, wanting to be in sight when the crew—and Edie Worthington in particular—began to put up their tools.
It had been a hot day—not as grim and humid a heat as he would have endured in Charlotte if he’d been there, but it was thick enough that a quick dip would have been welcome. At the first sign of cleanup, Tucker pushed out the side door and crossed the driveway to where Edie and the others were packing up.
“So where’s your suit?” he asked brightly.
She looked up and blinked at him. “You were serious?”
“Of course I was.” Tucker shrugged. “Never mind, you don’t need one to get your feet wet.”
He watched her eyes shift back to the rest of the crew; Tucker spotted head carpenter Hank looking their way as he deftly wound an extension cord between his elbow and wrist. Tucker offered him a cheery wave; Hank didn’t send one back.
“So what do you say?” Tucker asked.
Edie smiled, giving the group one last look before she answered. “Just give me a minute to say good-bye.”
• • •
E die was almost to the guest house when she saw the Mustang slide down the driveway and swing into an open spot beside Hank’s truck. She knew the hot-pink Mustang—everyone in Harrisport with eyes in their head knew it—but what Edie
didn’t
know was what business its owner, twenty-year-old Missy Murphy, the daughter of Harrisport’s most-loved restaurateur, Teddy Murphy, had at the Moss job site.
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