Oliver pursed his lips, and Tucker smothered a grin as the man reluctantly ordered rye toast. Poor rascal. He tried so hard.
Tucker checked his watch. He had to gas up his boat before they opened. When Sabrina returned with the toast, she set his tab on the table.
He reached for his wallet. “See you tonight around six?”
She nodded once, no eye contact. Tucker watched her gather dishes a few tables away, her motions efficient and fluid.
“No way.” Oliver glanced back and forth between them, gray brows crouching low over his eyes.
Tucker pulled out three bills and set them by the saltshaker.
Oliver lowered his voice. “You did not get a date with the Ice Princess.”
Tucker stood, pocketing his wallet, taking one last peek at Sabrina as she put an order on the wheel.
“Is she going out with you, McCabe?”
Tucker pushed in his chair and adjusted his hat as he walked away.
“McCabe?”
A smile tickled Tucker’s lips as he exited the café.
Harbormaster: My twin sister called tonight. What a mess. Her jerk of a husband cheated on her and now they’re separated. If I see him again, I’m afraid what I might do to him. He deserves it for what he’s putting Tracey through.
A large, teal envelope was waiting in Sabrina’s mailbox when she arrived home. She hurriedly tore it open and skipped the card’s flowery greeting. Her aunt had signed for both of them.
Love, Uncle Everett and Aunt Bev.
She held the card a moment, then dropped it in the wastebasket and checked her email. Nothing. She reread the email Tucker sent early that morning.
Happy 25th birthday! I hope you have a great day. I’m thinking about you.
After she showered and dressed in modest shorts and a clean blouse, she gathered her hair into a ponytail and headed for Tucker’s.
Her palms sweated against the handlebars, turning sticky. Would she ever relax in Tucker’s presence? Being with him was painful. Bad enough serving him at the café, but there was something intimate about being in his home. And the man would not leave her alone. If he didn’t stay in the office, he peeked in every few minutes. She was constantly tense, waiting for him to materialize.
She wiped one damp palm at a time on her beige shorts.
You have got to relax. As far as he’s concerned, he’s only your employer. Do your job and forget about the relationship.
It was the relationship that prevented her from relaxing.
It’s not a relationship. It’s just a—a correspondence.
A daily, intimate correspondence.
He doesn’t even know my name.
He knows who you are deep inside.
Sabrina’s stomach tightened as she clutched the handlebars. It was true. Tucker did know her, better than anyone ever had.
Except Jared.
A pool of panic welled up in her. Had she made a terrible mistake in corresponding with Tucker? She’d thought the anonymity provided safety, but then, she’d thought Jared was safe, and she’d been wrong about that. How was she to know he’d hurt her when she’d met him under such noble circumstances?
It had been the second semester of her sophomore year at college when she met Jared. After high school she left Macon to study literature at Miami University in the quaint town of Oxford, Ohio. Putting distance between herself and her family had been both frightening and liberating. Without her beautiful and charming Southern cousins at her side, a seedling of confidence began to sprout.
One night she walked from her last class to her car, unlocked it, and slid inside, closing the door against the bitter-cold wind. She had twenty-three minutes to be at Bruno’s, where she would serve pizza to a rowdy weekend college crowd until closing.
Vapor plumed in front of her face as she slid the key into the ignition, and she turned it, eager to get some heat going.
But nothing happened at the motion. Nothing except a clicking sound.
No, no, no.
She turned the key again, and the same noise greeted her. A dead battery, she was sure, but she had no cables. She glanced around the darkened parking lot through windows that had begun to fog with her breath. There was no one in sight. Besides, she wondered how many college students carried battery cables in their cars.
She could call her roommate, but by the time Zoe arrived, Sabrina would be late. She’d have to walk to Bruno’s and worry about her car later. She grabbed her backpack and exited the car, locking it and hoping it wouldn’t be towed in the dead of night.
The hum of an approaching engine startled her. It was a dark pickup truck, and the man behind the wheel was a stranger. But that wasn’t unusual, given the size of the campus.
“Need help?” He’d rolled down his window and leaned out, the corner of his elbow poking from the vehicle. He had short, dark hair, but shadows masked his facial features.
Sabrina was suddenly aware of how alone she was in the massive parking lot. She clutched the keys in her palm, searching for her car key in case she needed to unlock the vehicle quickly. Just last month she’d overheard students discussing the latest sexual assault that had occurred at the victim’s off-campus home.
“No.” She hitched the bag higher on her shoulder, hoping he’d leave. “Thanks for asking though.” Her words should’ve dismissed him.
He looked out his front window, then back to her. “Can I call someone for you?”
“No, thanks.” She made her voice sound confident. Should she walk toward town or get in her car and lock the door? Maybe she should call Zoe and be late for work.
But the last person who’d been late for work had been fired. Bruno had no tolerance for irresponsible college students. He’d only hired her because of her shining references from her former bosses back in Macon.
“It sounded like a dead battery. If you have jumper cables, I can give you a jump.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Shoot, I don’t either. Listen, it’s not safe to walk around at night, especially a pretty girl like you. If you don’t have anyone to pick you up, I can give you a ride.”
As if jumping in a car with a stranger was safer. “No, thanks, I’m fine.” She turned in the opposite direction and began walking toward Main Street. Her legs wobbled as she navigated the maze of cars, huddled against the wind.
She was relieved when she reached the sidewalk, but the short distance to Main Street seemed to stretch out forever.
When she heard the hum of an engine approaching from behind, her legs pumped faster. Was the man returning? He seemed friendly, but she supposed that had been the rape victim’s last thought before the guy violated her.
Her longer stride was no match for the vehicle. The truck pulled along the curb and kept pace with her.
The man rolled down the passenger window and called through it, “Hey, why don’t you just let me give you a ride? It’s too cold out there. You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine. I’m almost where I’m going.”
“Have it your way.” His voice had changed, and the kindness peeled off his face like a mask. He put the truck in park, and he reached for his handle.
Fear clawed at Sabrina’s spine. She broke into a run. She heard footsteps behind her, rubber soles grinding on the pebbled cement. Then she ran into something hard.
Run! You’ve got to move!
But the hard thing she’d run into steadied her. The man released her and stepped around her. “Everything okay here?”
The truck driver stopped in his tracks ten feet away. His hard face slackened as he sized up the man in front of her and found himself on the short end. He stepped back. “No trouble, dude. Just trying to help the girl.”
The new man looked over his shoulder. “You all right?”
Sabrina swallowed, her breath still caught like a bubble in her throat. She nodded.
“I’ve got it from here,” he said. “Why don’t you get back in your truck and call it a night?”
The truck driver’s jaw twitched as he clamped it down, staring at her. Sabrina’s gaze fell to his tennis shoes as she prayed he’d leave. He seemed to stand there forever before he returned to his truck. It roared away loudly.
The other man moved from her side, walking away, and she wondered where he was going. Then he stooped and picked up something. Her purse. She hadn’t even realized she’d dropped it.
“Thanks,” she said as he handed it to her, meaning the word in more ways than one.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Her hands shook as she set her purse on her shoulder, and she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the belated terror kicking in.
“I’m fine,” she said, feeling oddly safe for someone who’d nearly been attacked. Jared had walked her to Bruno’s that night and had eaten there two nights later. Because of how they’d met, she’d thought of him as her knight. Thought it was safe to love him. It had been three years before she realized the foolishness of her thinking.
Sabrina shook the memories from her mind as she turned into Tucker’s drive.
“Hey, neighbor!” She followed the sound of the voice to the porch next to Tucker’s house. A blond guy leaned on the railing, smiling widely.
“Uh, hi. I don’t live here, actually.”
“Renting?”
“I’m just working here for a few weeks.”
Blondie ambled down the porch steps and onto the lawn barefooted. “My friends and I rented this place for the month.”
Sabrina slid off the bike and set the kickstand. “Hope you have a nice visit.” She smiled in a dismissive way. She had enough on her mind with Tucker.
“Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Maybe.” She stepped onto Tucker’s porch and rapped, conscious that Blondie was still standing on his lawn, watching her.
Keep your head in the game. Be professional. Do the job, and don’t let it become personal.
Tucker opened the door and ushered her inside. “Hey there.” His voice was chipper, his smile engaging. There were tiny lines beside his mouth that made him look a little older than his twenty-nine years. And that little scar by his mouth . . .
Look away, you ninny.
“Something to drink? Iced tea?”
“No, thank you.” She went straight to the office and settled behind his desk. He stood in the doorway. She could feel him staring into her back. “I’ll go ahead and get started.”
She’d hoped the words would dismiss him, but the quiet behind her made her think he hadn’t gone anywhere, and the way the hairs on her neck stood on end made her sure of it. She opened the email program, then the folder where the messages were stored.
Go away.
She couldn’t think with him standing there.
She started where she’d left off, opening the letter and reading it. The messages became short and quippy, and she remembered it was a time they’d both been at their computers, exchanging emails for a couple hours.
She heard a shuffle in the doorway and felt that Tucker had left. Finally, she could concentrate. It took almost an hour to read one evening’s messages. Opening each email for only a sentence or two was tedious and time-consuming. At some point she heard the phone ring, followed by Tucker’s friendly greeting, then the sliding of the patio door as he continued his conversation outside.
Turning her attention back to her work, Sabrina saw that she’d finally reached the last emails sent that night. She remembered it well. She had opened it expecting another short quip, and had gotten the shock of her life instead.
This is me, he’d written.
Pasted into the email was a photo. Her breath caught and hung in her throat, choking her. The photo was from a distance, but she would’ve known Tucker McCabe anywhere.
It can’t be.
She stared at the photo, taken beside a boat. No, it was definitely him. The blue cap, the dark curls, the T-shirt with his company’s logo. Tucker McCabe whom she waited on every morning at the café. How could it be? What were the chances?
What do I do?
He was sitting at his computer, waiting for her reply. Did he—oh, for heaven’s sake, no—did he expect her to send a photo of herself?
I can’t do it.
Sure, it was easy for him. He had nothing to hide with his dark good looks and muscular physique. What would he think when he discovered who he’d befriended? That it was the Ice Princess from the café? The plain, gawky one with a ponytail and sharp tongue? He’d want nothing more to do with Sweetpea, that’s what. And maybe that was best, because a real relationship was not going to happen.
Her pulse began to pound at her temples.
I have to write back. What do I say?
She cupped her forehead in her palms. Maybe if she didn’t reply, he’d think she’d gone to bed. But that would be rude after he’d sent his photo. And they always said goodnight before they signed off for the night.
Another email appeared.
Hello?
She had to respond. She put her fingers on the keyboard.
I’m here.
She sent the message and waited
.
Finally a reply appeared.
Am I that ugly?
She closed her eyes, then forced her fingers onto the keys again. What to say? She bit her lip.
Of course not.
She hit Send.
A few seconds later another email appeared.
I’d love to see who I’m spending all these hours with. I want to picture you. ..
She’d known it was coming. What should she do? If she sent her photo, he’d know who she was. It would be the end of their relationship, one way or another. At the very least, mornings at the café would become awkward. What if he wasn’t repelled by the fact that Sabrina was Sweetpea? What if he wanted to start dating or something?
An email appeared in her inbox.
Are you there? Are you downloading a photo or fretting over it? I don’t care what you look like (in case you’re won-dering).