Cape Cod Kisses (Love on Rockwell Island 1)

As they walked hand in hand through town, past the library, a park overflowing with flowers, and a baseball diamond, he asked, “So you own a coffee shop?”

She had to pause to focus for a moment on what he'd just asked her. With his hand over hers all she could think about was pulling him into her for another kiss. But she couldn't, not yet. Not when she still needed more proof that he wasn't just like every other rich, preoccupied guy out there.

“Yes,” she finally answered. “My café is in Severn, Maryland.”

They stopped to let a car pass, and Quinn looked at her in surprise.

“Severn? You’re kidding me. I live in Annapolis. What’s the name of your café?”

Severn was only a thirty-minute drive from Annapolis. It really was a small world. “It’s called the Creek Café. Have you heard of it?”

“Heard of it? I was there two weeks ago on my way back from a meeting. But I don’t remember seeing you there.”

He’d been to her shop? She would have definitely remembered seeing him. Quinn Rockwell wasn't the kind of man it was possible to forget. “I’m guessing you must have come on a Tuesday. That’s the day I work with my suppliers, and I usually do that from home, because otherwise I get too involved with my customers to get any real work done.”

They walked through a residential neighborhood with lush gardens and expansive beach houses. The hilly street had an incredible view of the town. By that point they’d taken so many turns that the resort was no longer in sight, but the view of low tide was awe-inspiring.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Quinn said, clearly noticing how enthralled she was by the view. “This is one of my favorite views on the island. At high tide it looks like the bay is spilled out before us. Now, at low tide, it’s more like the bay has been sucked away, leaving footprints on the sea floor.”

“Footprints. I love that.” And she also loved finding out about Quinn’s surprisingly poetic side. One more lovely surprise to add to the others. “Low tide always feels like such a miracle. Just the idea that all that water recedes like it does is amazing. When I was a kid I used to envision a water god that would inhale a deep breath, sucking all the water into his lungs at low tide, and then at high tide he’d blow it out until it refilled the mold it had left behind.”

“A water god.” He looked as pleased by her imagination as she’d been with his. “That would explain the footprints. When I was a kid we’d skateboard and ride our bikes all over the island. I used to wish there was a ramp big enough to send me flying up over the water.”

Shelley was stirred by the wonder in his voice, something she’d never heard in either of her parents’ voices, or from anyone in their extremely wealthy social circle—a true love of life and dreams of something other than mergers, takeovers, and investments.

Seeing the hint of nostalgia in Quinn’s eyes and hearing it in his voice as he talked about his childhood made her extra interested in finding out more about him. How could a guy from a family as wealthy as the Rockwells have had such a normal childhood, with skateboards and bicycles? What had it been like to grow up on this island? And how could he have ever left it?

Having met Abby, Shelley already knew that Quinn’s mother was a far cry from her own cold mother. But since she’d also met his grandfather, she had to wonder how the rather forbidding older man fit into the Rockwell family equation.

“Did you like growing up here?” she asked.

Tension suddenly filled Quinn’s grip, and she realized she’d struck a nerve. He was quiet for several moments as they headed down the road, then cut over toward the marina. He seemed to take careful consideration before answering.

“Growing up on an island isn’t like growing up in the city. Not that I have that experience to compare it to, but there aren’t as many things to do here, and there are limited career choices, obviously.”

“But did you enjoy it? Spending afternoons riding your bike or your skateboard? Being so close to the bay and growing up in such a close-knit town?”

Instead of answering her questions, Quinn stopped beside the boathouse and looked at her. “You have a way of making me think about things that I’d long ago forgotten.”

“A good way or a bad way?”

He stepped in close and caressed her cheek. She barely stifled a moan at how good it felt to be so close to him. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his body all along hers. She wanted to close her eyes and revel in the intimate moment, but she didn’t want to miss the intense look he was giving her. A look full of not only desire, but something else, too. Something deep and sweet. “A good way, Shelley. A surprisingly good way.”