The Sweetest Thing

She made another sound before she could stop herself, then bit her lip. Bending, she concentrated on tying up their boat, but her fingers wouldn’t work. “Dammit.”

Two hands appeared in her vision-big, work-roughened hands-not taking over the task, but guiding her into the correct knot. “Like this,” Ford said.

“I was fixin’ to do it myself.”

“She can do everything by herself,” Chloe told him, heavy on the irony. “Bless her heart.”

Tara straightened and shot Chloe a look, and got an eye roll in return.

“Come on, Mad,” Chloe said. “I think Tara needs a little time out.” And then she took her itty bitty bikini-clad body toward the i

Once again leaving Tara with Ford.

Tara flashed a vague smile in his direction without looking directly into his eyes-the key to not melting, she’d discovered-and went to step onto the dock.

Ford slid his hand in hers to assist, not letting go of her, even after she tried to tug free. He merely tightened his grip and waited her out.

With a deep breath, she tipped her head back and met his gaze. And yep, right on cue, as she took in the two-day stubble on his square jaw, the fine laugh lines around his mesmerizing eyes and the effortlessly charming smile, she melted like a glob of butter on a stack of pancakes.

“What?” he asked.

She studied his big, wet, gorgeous self and slowly shook her head. “Why couldn’t you have gone bald or gotten fat?” It really was a bee in her bo

His brow shot up. “You want me to scratch my ass?”

“Yes,” she said. “And maybe you could also pick your nose in public.”

His smile came slow and sure.

“What?”

“You want to jump me.”

God, yes. “Look, I have bigger problems than this, okay? Problems far more pressing than our being comfortable with each other now that we’re living in the same town again.”

Ford looked at her for a beat, then stepped into her space, crowding her up against the wall of the marina building. “I can give you something to take your mind off your other problems,” he said in a silky promise.

There was no doubt in her mind.

Sensing capitulation, he pressed his mouth to the underside of her jaw. “Just say the word.”

Word, she thought dizzily with a delicious shiver.

With a single stroke of his finger along her temple, he pulled back, eyes dark on hers as he waited.

Sex. Just sex. And it’d be great. But not enough. Not nearly enough. “No,” she said with far more resolution than she felt.

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show as he backed away, leaving her leaning against the wall for support, her clothes wet from his body, her body overheated to say the least.

Not a new state when it came to him.

When he was gone, Tara blew out a shaky breath and headed up to the i

“Ms. Daniels? You okay?”

Tara turned to Carlos Rodriguez, the local high school kid they’d hired for the summer to do odd jobs like moving furniture, painting, and cleaning. With his multiple visible piercings and homeboy pants that hung just a little south of civilized, they’d all been a little leery of just how good a worker he might turn out to be, but he’d done well. At seventeen, he was already six feet tall, with a lanky build that suggested he didn’t get three squares a day.

Tara knew from his application and obtaining his work permit from school that he was smart but an underachiever, and possibly a bit of a troublemaker. But that’s what happened when a kid had no authority figure in his life and was forced to work odd jobs to support himself, his younger siblings, and his grandma.

“I’m fine,” Tara assured him.

“I did the weeding and painted the laundry room.”

“Perfect. Did you eat lunch?”

“Yes.”

She bit back a sigh at the lie. “I left you a sandwich in the fridge.”

“Thanks, but-”

“No buts. Eat it.”

He turned away so she couldn’t see his face. “I’ll bring it home with me.”

Where he’d undoubtedly give it to his sisters or grandma. “Eat it here. I’ll make you more to bring home.”

He turned back and looked at her for a long beat, clearly struggling between pride and hunger. The lure of food won out, and he went into the kitchen.

Chloe came into the room from the hallway, pulling her cute little sundress on over her bikini. “Hope you’re pleased with yourself,” she said to Tara. “You chased Maddie away again. Little Miss Hates-Confrontations just up and vanished for friendlier waters.”

“There was no confrontation.”

“Are you kidding me?” Chloe said. “You’re a walking confrontation.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who starts everything. You never know when to just keep something to yourself.”

Chloe stood hands on hips, irritated. “Because sweeping things under the carpet and keeping everything deep inside would make me what, you? Sorry, no can do, Sis. But since you’re never going to see my side of this, maybe we should just agree to disagree.”

“Fine,” Tara said.

“Fine. And let’s not speak for a while either, at least until you can admit you’re actually wrong once in a blue moon.”

“I’d be happy to admit I was wrong,” Tara said. “If I was.”

Chloe tossed up her hands, then turned to Carlos as he came back from the kitchen, eating the sandwich. “Hey, Cutie,” she said with her usual easy charm, as if she hadn’t just been snarling at Tara. “What’s up?”

Carlos shot her a rare smile.

Chloe had that effect on men.

“Almost done for the day unless you have anything else.”

“Yes,” Chloe said. “I do have something else. Maybe you can tell my sister here that no one likes a sanctimonious know-it-all.”

Carlos divided a glance between them.

“Don’t put him in the middle,” Tara said.

“You’re just worried he’ll side with me.” Chloe turned back to Carlos. “I’ll give you a raise if you’ll also tell her she’s getting wrinkles from holding all her shit in.”

“There’s a recipe on the Facebook page for that,” Carlos said, stuffing in the last bite of his sandwich.

Oh for the love of God, Tara thought, grinding her back teeth together. “She means I’m-”

“Uptight,” Chloe said helpfully, laughing. “And could you also tell her that it’s a

“Actually,” Carlos said, finally looking interested, “that wouldn’t a

Chapter 5

“Never mess up an apology with an excuse.”

CHLOE TRAEGER

A few days later, Ford was at The Love Shack, out back in the small yard hosing down the tables and chairs. He had his music on low, but no matter how low he kept it, his neighbor next door-Ted the used bookstore owner-would poke his head out and ask for it to be turned down. Ford tried to picture what the guy’s house must look like and decided it was probably all Enya, cats, and houseplants.

Jax, who’d come to help, sat on top of one of the freshly cleaned tables, texting-obviously being hugely helpful.

“Working hard?” Ford asked, heavy on the sarcasm.

All hunched over so he could see his screen in the bright sun, Jax didn’t answer.

“Earth to Jax.”

“Hmm.” Jax’s dark head remained bent, his thumbs flying. “Working hard here, man.”

Ford narrowed his eyes. Once upon a time, Jax had been a hotshot lawyer who wore designer suits and drove a Porsche, but these days he stuck with Levi’s, tees, a beat-up old Jeep, and the laziest dog on the planet. He spent his days renovating and his nights doing Maddie, and he’d never seemed happier. Ford walked behind him to read what he was typing. “ ‘That’s very naughty, little girl; you know what happens to naughty girls,’ ” Ford read out loud. “Looks like work all right.”