The Truest Thing - Hart's Boardwalk

She strutted across the store, her icy gaze flicking between Emery and Jack. He barely noticed what she was wearing. She was always showing off her figure in a summer dress that looked the same to him, if not for the variation in color.

“I thought it was you I saw as I was passing.” She came to a stop at the counter, eyeing him and Emery with a narrow smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m Dana Lawson.”

Emery shifted uncomfortably but nodded.

Dana raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Do you speak?”

“Dana,” Jack warned.

“It was just a question.” She smirked at him. “I actually came in to ask if you like brisket, Jack. We bought a slow cooker and Cooper was thinking of trying brisket for dinner this Thursday. He wanted to invite you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Dana made no move to leave, even though Jack’s look was pointed.

She pushed up off the counter. “I’ll walk you to Coop’s.”

Realizing his progress with Emery had been well and truly blocked by his buddy’s annoying wife, Jack sighed. He looked at Emery who watched them both with those intelligent eyes of hers. He handed her the money for the coffees.

“You have a great day, Emery.” He gave her a small smile.

She returned it as she took the cash. “You too, Jack.”

It was the first time she’d said his name.

And he would not lie—he felt it in his gut and his dick and in the sudden increase of his pulse.

The urge to shout “Fuck it!” and grab her by the nape so he could kiss the hell out of her was an almost uncontrollable itch beneath his skin. Instead, Jack swallowed the impulse, raised his coffee to her in salute, and walked out of the store with Dana trailing behind.

As soon as they were out on the boardwalk, Dana snorted. “Please tell me you weren’t flirting with her.”

At his silence, she huffed. “Jack, you can do so much better than a shy bookworm.”

“I’m not going after Emery Saunders,” he bit out as he yanked open the door to Cooper’s. “You know I’m not the settling-down type.”

Dana seemed satisfied. Too satisfied.

Lately, she’d been a little too concerned about who Jack had in his bed. It worried him.

The sight of Cooper coming around the bar to accept the coffee Jack held out, while wrapping an arm around Dana’s waist, soothed him somewhat.

Dana snuggled into Cooper’s side, smiling up at him like she actually did love him.

Maybe Jack was being paranoid about her.

He could blame growing up with Ian Devlin for that.

Cooper took a sip from his cup and sighed. “That girl can certainly make a good cup of coffee.”

Dana snorted. “That’s about all she can do. People think it’s shyness, but I think maybe she’s a little dumb.”

Cooper rolled his eyes. “I doubt it.”

“C’mon. I said hello and she just looked right through me.”

“I think that’s because she’s the opposite of dumb.” Jack turned heel and walked out before either of them could call him on his sly insult.

No one would say shit about Emery Saunders around him.

Ever.

4

Emery

Seven years ago

After weeks of Iris’s not-so-subtle hinting about Hartwell’s annual, midsummer music festival, I gave in and agreed to go.

I’d closed the store for the afternoon and walked along the boards toward Main Street. Passing Cooper’s Bar, the building next to mine, I saw it was open, which probably meant the bar staff were running it. According to Iris, Cooper wasn’t the type to miss out on town events.

Beside Cooper’s was the Old Boardwalk Hotel, the largest and tallest building on the boardwalk. Built at the turn of the century, it was a red-brick building with small, white-framed windows. Every time I passed it, I marveled at its history but also thought it was sad there was no vantage point from any of the rooms to enjoy the spectacular ocean view.

The owner didn’t live in Hartwell. He was a real estate mogul from Florida and relied on his staff to take care of the place. I’d been inside out of curiosity, and the slightly musty-smelling hotel needed a revamp.

Iris said Bailey’s place, Hart’s Inn, at the north end of the boards, was always fully booked because people would rather stay at her establishment before choosing the Old Boardwalk. I didn’t blame them. The inn was a stunning New England–style home with white shingles, a wrap-around porch, and a widow’s walk overlooking the water.

Next to the Old Boardwalk Hotel was George Beckwith’s gift shop where he sold tacky souvenirs the vacationers loved. Beside his store sat Antonio’s, which was open and would be managed by Ira today, since I was supposed to meet Iris on Main Street in ten minutes.

I passed the pizzeria, the surf shop, and Mr. Shickle’s Ice Cream Shack and approached the bandstand at the top of Main.

A band was setting up under the covered stage. The town had hired several musical groups for the day while businesses set up stalls to sell everything from music memorabilia to jewelry.