Summer on Lovers' Island (Jewell Cove 3)

“You’re probably right about that last part.” Lizzie sighed. She should have known. Charlie always had a contingency plan, always had her bases covered. Lizzie suspected she’d never stood a chance. Not that she’d truly put up much of a fight. God, she was weaker than she thought. What did that say about her?

“Does this mean you want the job?”

“Are you really going to make me ask?”

Charlie’s smile was so big Lizzie thought her cheeks might crack. “You’re really thinking about it?”

Charlie looked so excited it was impossible to remain immune to her enthusiasm. The idea of going back to Springfield and begging for reinstatement filled Lizzie with dread. There were memories back there, too, memories she’d rather not face. Why not give herself a break?

She’d been top of her class at Harvard. Every step of the way she’d gotten what she wanted. It had really thrown her to have someone else call the shots in her career. She was more daring in her personal life; maybe it was time to employ a different strategy professionally.

So she laughed and threw caution to the wind. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this. I’m not just thinking. I’m offering. Just for the mat leave, though. I don’t think I could stand more than six months in a place so small there isn’t even a Starbucks.” She gave a false shudder. “Where am I going to get my macchiato?”

Charlie let out a squeal. “Hot damn, Dave owes me ten bucks. I told him I could do it!”

They had been sitting at a stop sign for so long the driver of a truck behind them laid on the horn. “Keep your shirt on!” Lizzie called back, and Charlie giggled.

“You sure you want that? The driver seems awfully cute. Definitely shirt-off material.”

Lizzie gave a cursory glance in the rearview mirror. She could make out streaked blond hair and broad shoulders. Okay, so he was kind of good-looking. She sent Charlie a stern look as she proceeded through the intersection. “Look, you’ve already played havoc with my professional life. No matchmaking. I mean it, Charlie.” All teasing aside, the last thing Lizzie needed in her mess of a life was a romantic entanglement.

“I promise.” Charlie crossed her heart.

“When would I start?” Despite Lizzie’s reservations, excitement fizzed through her veins.

“End of June, first of July? It’s nearly six weeks away. Lots of time to make arrangements.”

“So where are we going?” Lizzie checked the rearview mirror again, and the truck turned off on a different street.

Charlie smiled. “Put on your turn signal and get back on the highway. I’m going to show you the cottage at Fiddler’s Rock.””

* * *

The afternoon was getting on when the Realtor met them at the cottage, less than two miles away from Charlie and Dave. The property agent smiled as she turned the key in the lock. “The owner got married and moved somewhere bigger,” she explained, shoving open the door. “He rents it out now.”

“I can’t believe it’s not rented already,” Lizzie replied, stepping onto the wraparound deck.

Charlie grinned. “Dave was renting it when we met.”

“Tom, the owner, likes a long-term renter, none of those rent-by-the-week vacation types,” the agent replied, sticking her head back out the door. “You coming in?”

Lizzie looked back at Charlie. “Come on. This is your party.”

Charlie laughed, her brown eyes twinkling at Lizzie. “You were a lot easier to convince than I expected.”

“You caught me at a vulnerable moment.”

They stepped inside the cottage and Lizzie caught her breath. It was perfect. Solid wood cupboards in the small kitchen, a drop-leaf dining table in front of sliding deck doors. The kitchen led into a living room with warm oak flooring, and at the back of the cottage were two bedrooms and a beautiful bathroom complete with an old-fashioned

claw-foot tub for long evening soaks. Trees around the cottage added privacy; endless windows provided views from every angle. The décor was decidedly masculine, sturdy, with dark-plaid upholstery on the sofa and chair. But it worked, somehow. It felt settled, and comfortable and welcoming. Very different from Lizzie’s modern condo in Springfield but cozy like her childhood home had always been.

The agent wisely kept quiet. Lizzie opened the patio doors and stepped out onto the deck. She thought she understood now why the knob of land in the middle of the cove was called “Fiddler’s Rock.” From this vantage, the shoreline curved in the shape of a violin, until widening out into the bigger bay, then on to the open ocean.

Her life had been spiraling for some time now. Maybe this was a desperate move in the current circumstances, but it was a deliberate one, and one she was making on her own. It was both heady and terrifying.

“I’ll take it,” she said.

She pretended not to see Charlie’s fist pump the air.