Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion on my beautiful friend. “What do you mean he’s charming to you?”

“I just mean he’s always very congenial and polite to me.”

“Do you like him?” I tried not to sound accusatory.

“In the way that you mean, no. He’s a little too intimidating for my liking.”

I studied her, my curiosity shifting from Vaughn back to Emery. “Anyone around here strike your fancy?”

Her pale cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “No one in particular. I’m not really looking . . . I mean . . . I’m not very good at talking to men.”

No shit. I grinned and leaned across the counter. “Sweetie, men are easy. Just pretend to find everything they say fascinating.”

“It’s that simple?”

I eyed the tall, willowy blonde in front of me. “When a woman is as gorgeous as you, yes.” A shallow truth, but a truth nonetheless.

Emery blushed harder. “Believe me, as soon as I try to talk to men they’re desperate to get away.”

I hid my wince because I knew she spoke the truth. Even Cooper had told me Emery’s discomfort around him made him want to be anywhere else than in her presence.

“Man lessons,” I decided. “Jess, Dahlia, and I will give you lessons.”

“Man lessons?” Her blue eyes filled with trepidation.

I waved away her obvious concern. “Don’t worry. We’ll just teach you how to talk to them.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s decided!” I backed away and turned on my heel before she could argue with me. “I’ll organize it for this week sometime. Ta-ta!”

I grinned at my cheekiness as I wandered back out onto the boardwalk. I felt for Emery, I really did. I’d never been shy so I didn’t know what it was like, but I could only imagine how it could cripple your social life. Emery Saunders was too sweet, kind, smart, and beautiful to have no social life. I was going to give her one even if the idea terrified her.

Tom had been pretty shy when I first met him but it was hard to be shy around someone like me. I remembered the way he’d blushed on our first date every time I said something inappropriate. He’d come a long way since then, making me laugh with his own dirty jokes.

I frowned.

He hadn’t made me laugh last night.

Last night he’d made me cry. This morning he’d made me cry.

Melancholy washed over me suddenly and I began hurrying along the boards to my inn. To my solace. To the place I could just bury my feelings in work for now.

Two Weeks Later

The entire north end of Hartwell’s mile-long boardwalk was considered prime commercial real estate. My inn sat at the top of the northern end and was a large version of a typical Hartwell home. It had white-painted shingle siding, a wraparound porch, blue-painted shutters on the windows, and a widow’s walk at the top. It was one of the least architecturally commercial buildings on the boards, even down to my hand-painted sign in my well-manicured garden. A bright neon sign, like the ones so many of the buildings here had, would have clashed with my beautiful inn.

My best friend,