Foolish Games(62)

“And now?

His eyes bored into her. “I’m working on developing a different game plan.”

The boat bumped the edge of the dock, nearly knocking her from her perch. Hank stood, picking up the picnic basket, and reached down to help Annabeth to her feet. She slid her hand into his, the warm contact feeling right.

They disembarked and headed up the hill.

“You aren’t planning on us hiking one of the trails, are you?” She gestured to her sandals with the wedge heel. She’d dressed carefully today in a peach linen blouse and cream capri pants.

Hank leisurely looked her up and down, his face registering his approval. “No. Our chariot awaits us at the surf shack up there.”

True to his word, a golf cart with a piece of paper bearing Hank’s name taped to the seat was parked outside the shop. He loaded the basket into the back and helped Annabeth in before walking around to start it up. The cart sputtered up the bend through a line of tourists heading for the lighthouse.

“Hey, is that lighthouse actually open to the public?” he asked.

“It is,” she laughed.

Hank jockeyed the golf cart up to the small store at the base of the lighthouse. “I’ve never been in a lighthouse before. Let’s go up.” His childlike exuberance was hard to ignore.

“It’s one hundred and eight steps to the top; do you think you can handle it?’ she teased.

“Oh, Annabeth, now you’ve challenged my manhood and we have to go.”

He bought them each a ticket, and Annabeth was grateful for her thrice-weekly spin classes as they nearly sprinted to the observation deck. The windows were small and they had to crowd together to see out. The boats in Chances Inlet Harbor bobbed in their slips, the sunlight reflected off them winking back at the lighthouse.

Annabeth peered at her home. “The town looks so small from over here.”

“It is a small town,” Hank said from behind her, his breath fanning her ear. The heat from his body warmed her back. “Do you ever feel like it’s too small? Like you want to explore somewhere else?”

Exploring someplace else would be far out of her comfort zone. She knew who she was in Chances Inlet; she didn’t have to fake being someone she wasn’t. But there were times she wanted to see what else was out in the world. She just didn’t think she could face what was out there alone. Not yet, anyway.

“I don’t do well with new things and new experiences,” she whispered.

Hank braced his hands on either side of the wall beside her head. “Maybe you just need to quit trying new things solo.” His words caressed the back of her neck.

She turned her head slightly, her lips an inch from his. “Maybe.”

A group of chattering teens stormed up the stairs, and Hank led her back out to the golf cart. They drove across the island to the west side, where a row of spectacular beach houses dotted the dunes bordering the Atlantic. Hank pulled up to a driveway of a large cedar-shake house situated right on the ocean.

“We’re eating here?” Annabeth stared at the massive house she was sure she’d seen featured in a magazine somewhere.

“No. Out there.” He pointed to a gazebo out on the sand, one side enclosed by a brick wall complete with a fireplace; two of the other three sides were glass to shield it from the wind. Hank parked the golf cart in the small carport. “There’s a bathroom at the back there if you want to freshen up.” He pointed to a service entrance adjacent to the carport.

After Annabeth made use of the bathroom, she peeled off her sandals and walked out to the gazebo. A table was already set, complete with a linen tablecloth and silverware. Wine chilled in an ice-filled wine bucket.

“Obviously you’ve been here before.”

“Nope.” Hank pulled out a chair for her. “It’s just my reward for beating a friend of mine at golf yesterday.”

“You have some pretty wealthy friends.” Most of Annabeth’s friends picnicked in the sand.

Hank took the seat across from her. “I have lots of friends, Annabeth. Not all of them wealthy. But I grew up in that world. I won’t apologize for that.”

His words stung a bit. Had she become such a snob that she faulted him for his birthright?

Hank reached over and grasped her hand on the table. “This is supposed to be the perfect spot to catch the sunset. I brought you here so you could enjoy it.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, not wanting to ruin the evening.

He poured wine into each of their glasses. “So now it’s your turn to tell me your story about your marriage.”

She nearly choked as she took a fortifying sip. “I . . . I was never married.”