Home to Seaview Key

As the two women went inside, Luke gestured for Seth to remain behind. “You okay? You look a little dazed.”

“She’s not exactly the woman I thought she was,” he admitted.

“Meaning?”

“Remember she was in a bathing suit when we met. Her house is a mess. Then I find out she’s developing Blue Heron Cove herself and that she was a successful businesswoman, who was married to a minister, for heaven’s sake. Does that sound like anybody who’d ever look twice at a guy like me?”

“Seemed to me she was looking at you with interest,” Luke said. “She directed just about everything she said toward you. Hannah and I might as well not have been here.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I don’t think so,” Luke said. “Settle down. This is just about dinner. Nobody, least of all Abby, is looking for anything more tonight.”

Seth gave him a wry look. “You sure about that? I think there are at least a couple of people around hoping this will turn into something else. Are you denying that you and Hannah have an agenda?”

“Not me. I’ve already told you I have reservations about you jumping into a relationship with Abby. It doesn’t really matter what Hannah or anyone else might be after,” Luke insisted. “You and Abby are the only ones who get to decide what, if anything, comes next.”

“I suppose,” Seth conceded. The problem was, as intimidated as he’d been feeling for the past half hour or so, he was still attracted. And that, given the obstacles he saw ahead, was more disconcerting than all the other expectations combined.

* * *

Over a delicious dinner that Hannah sheepishly admitted she’d bought at a specialty store on the mainland, Seth finally relaxed, especially once the conversation turned to old memories. Shared right along with laughter and plentiful wine—beer for him—the evening ended on an upbeat note.

As things were winding down, he and Abby agreed that neither of them had any business driving home. Once again, he found himself walking her back to her house in Blue Heron Cove.

“You do know those two just hoodwinked us,” Abby said as they strolled along the beachfront.

“You mean naming us co-chairs to raise the money for that rescue boat?” Seth asked, laughing at the very neat trap that had been laid, some of it his own doing since he’d suggested getting Abby involved in the first place.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I hope you know something about fund-raising because it’s a long way out of my area of expertise.”

“But you know why the boat’s a critical necessity for the community,” she countered. “And I can plan bingo nights and bake sales with the best of them. A minister’s wife excels at creative ways to raise money.”

“You do know how much that boat costs, right? It’ll take a lot of bingo and baked goods to raise that much,” he said, his skepticism plain.

She winked at him. “Not the way I do it,” she said.

They walked along in silence for a few minutes before she turned to him again. “Were you the one who came up with the idea for asking the developer of Blue Heron Cove for a major donation?”

He nodded. “At the time I had no idea that might be you.”

“But isn’t it lucky that it is me?” she said. “And all your arguments were completely valid. The people who buy those houses are going to expect reliable access to medical care on the mainland. Plus it will be wonderful PR for me to support this. I’ll need that going for me when those permits come up for review.”

Seth wasn’t sure how he felt about her pragmatic thinking. It seemed a little sneaky to him. At the same time, a donation might mean the difference between getting that boat and not. He had to remember the goal. And he’d been well aware of those benefits to the developer when he’d first suggested the idea to Luke. It hadn’t bothered him until that person turned out to be Abby. Why was that? It was something he needed to think about.

“So you’re in?” he asked now.

“I’ll get you a check by the beginning of the week to kick off the drive to raise the money,” she promised, then held his gaze. “Will it offend you if I do it in a very public way? Maybe hold a little press conference?”

“That is the way the game is played, isn’t it?” he said.

She studied him. “But you don’t like it, do you?”

He sighed. “Actually I totally get it. The community needs that boat. I’m not going to do or say anything that might undermine the prospects for that happening.”

They reached her front porch then.

“Would you like some coffee or a glass of tea before you head home?” she asked.

Seth told himself he ought to leave, ought to avoid anything that might lead to the two of them getting any more involved. Despite the stern mental lecture, though, he said, “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee, if you’re sure you’re not anxious to get to sleep.”

“I’m a night owl,” she assured him. “That’s what it takes to run a restaurant and I’m still not out of the habit. But I’ll make the coffee decaf, in case you’re not.”

“Decaf’s probably a good idea,” he said, following her inside.

Though she’d made good progress in airing out the house and cleaning it up, there were still enough signs of the years of neglect for him to guess that the task had been monumental. That she’d been tackling it on her own didn’t seem to fit with the woman wearing those expensive linen slacks, a silk blouse and diamond stud earrings, and shoes that no doubt cost as much as his weekly take-home pay.

“Can I ask you something?” he said when they had their coffee and were back on the porch with a light breeze coming in off the water.

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you hire a cleaning crew to tackle this place? It would have been finished in a day.”

“I needed a project,” she said simply. “More important, I think maybe I needed to remember who I used to be.”

“Since I doubt you were ever a maid, you need to explain that one.”

“You asking for a history lesson?” she quipped.

He nodded. “I’m trying to figure you out,” he admitted.

“Okay, here’s the short version. When I was a kid, my parents owned this land, but we didn’t have a lot of money. My grandfather had settled on Seaview Key when it was still just a mostly inaccessible fishing village. He fished, but he also invested in land, which my parents inherited. They were determined to keep it, to keep the island as unspoiled as it had been. Back then I didn’t fully appreciate that, especially since I had to get a job in high school to help out and needed scholarships for college.”

“If that’s true, where’d you get the money to start that restaurant? Did you sell off an acre or two back then?”

“No way. The land wasn’t mine then and my parents would never have agreed to sell. I’d worked hard and saved every extra penny. It turned out I had a head for business. I made a few investments with my savings and they paid off. It gave me enough of a nest egg to start the restaurant.”

“How old were you then?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Holy mackerel!” he said, impressed.

She smiled at his reaction. “Step one in the evolution of Abby Dawson,” she agreed. “Then I got married. My husband was pastor to a very wealthy congregation. I told you earlier that my restaurant caught on. It catered to a very upscale clientele. I got used to keeping up appearances. That completed the evolution to Abby Miller.” She wrinkled her nose as if she found that Abby distasteful.

“What was so terrible about her?” he asked. He knew that having money could change people and not always for the better, but she still seemed pretty down-to-earth to him. In fact, that’s why he remained so intrigued. If she’d been a rich snob sporting a moneyed, entitled attitude, it would be easier to ignore these sparks that kept flaring between them.