Emily leaned against the railing. “Just you and your hubby? No kids?”
“Just us.” She remembered Ben’s warning not to let on they weren’t renters.
“I hope my crew aren’t bothering you.”
“Not at all. We hardly hear anyone.”
She laughed. “Lucky you. I could use some quiet. Are you an artist? What a great place to come and capture nature. I won’t bother you. Creative people need their space, I know.”
Children’s voices rose, distantly from inside the house, perhaps in teasing or in anger. Hard to tell.
Emily said, “Better go. See you around.”
“Bye,” she waved.
Juli watched Emily vanish from view as she entered her side of the porch.
She’d maintained the image of being a renter without actually having to lie. The renter had taken her for a creative type.
She had to laugh. Two weeks ago this woman, or someone like her, could have been checking out at Juli’s register, griping about the price of food, the lack of brands she wanted, the poor quality of the help, whatever. If Juli said the wrong thing, the woman might have complained to the store manager—all because she was in a mood, or mad at her husband or kids, and gotten Juli written up.
Here she saw Juli as a fellow vacationer who could afford one of these houses on the oceanfront for a week, and one stupid sketch pad and pencil made her a creative type who must have her space respected.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden steps coming up from the parking area below the house. That stairway led up to the crossover where it met the front porch. She leaned over the railing to see who was visiting and her good mood evaporated.
She and Luke were going to clash. She could feel it in her bones.
“Ben here?” He joined her on the porch.
Not even a hello? She bristled. “He’s at his doctor’s appointment.”
“By himself?” After a long stare, Luke turned toward the beach and put his hands on the porch railing. His three-quarter profile was classic with a strong forehead and chin, and high cheekbones. Handsome. In a hard way.
The innate artist in her admired his bone structure and polished appearance. The worker in her scorned his long-fingered, uncalloused hands. His gray dress slacks and shiny shoes looked out of place in this world of sand and sea oats.
She asked, “What’s your problem?”
He shrugged as if shaking off something unwelcome.
“Don’t pretend. Spit it out.”
“I wasn’t going to pretend. I don’t mind speaking the truth. Can you say the same?”
“What does that mean?”
He faced her, his demeanor proclaiming cool as he leaned back against the railing and let his hands hang from his pockets. He even slouched elegantly, but he couldn’t hide the tension that started in his clenched jaws and seemed to run the length of his body.
He glanced past her to the sketchbook. She flipped the book over to a blank page.
“My concern is Ben. He met you two weeks ago and here you are. I don’t know how you managed it, but I won’t let you take advantage of him. He’s vulnerable.”
“He’s a grown man and can make his own decisions.”
“A grown man who found out barely a month ago he’s terminally ill.”
Ben hadn’t actually told her when he’d found out. Had he married her on the rebound? Instead of a bad love affair, he was rebounding from dreadful news? Yes.
“I can tell you I have no ulterior motives and this is a business arrangement—of Ben’s design, not mine—but you won’t believe me. It’s me you have a problem with.” She waited, but he didn’t speak. “I’m not one of you. I’m a waitress. A cashier. A night-stocker. I never even graduated high school. But guess what? Ben likes me and wants to spend his last months with me.”
“You think it’s about pedigree? Well, I’ve got news for you. We aren’t blue bloods either. But we’re also not thieves.”
Heat rushed up her chest, her neck, and flooded her face. “You need to explain that.” She clenched her fists.
“Do I?” He pushed away from the railing and moved closer. “Maybe I should explain to the police instead. Items were taken from the coatroom. I saw you with your friend going through the jackets and coats.”
She remembered Frankie being in the coatroom when she was about to leave. Other than that she had no idea what he was talking about. Had the act of getting her backpack looked suspicious to him? What an arrogant jerk.
“I don’t owe you explanations. This arrangement is between Ben and me. When Ben is gone, you’ll never see me again. In fact, you don’t have to see me now. You can turn around and go. Leave me alone.”