Eversea A Love Story.

Natasha Boyd.

For Dorothy.

Thank you for being my foundation.

O N E.

You know you're in the Lowcountry when the steering wheel in your old red pick up is slippery from humidity, the news on the radio is all about the projected path of the latest Atlantic hurricane and the road kill you narrowly miss smearing further is a five foot long alligator.

I shuddered as I pa.s.sed the sludgy reptile remains and held my breath. Lifting my ponytail off my neck, I hoped the hot South Carolina breeze coming through the window would at least feel cool against my damp skin.

The upside of fall was the tourists had gone home. The downside was the county stopped spraying for mosquitos and no-see-ums, so the little f.u.c.kers got to gorge themselves in a type of 'eat local' frenzy. There was one inside the cab of the truck, and I tried very hard to ignore him as I went over the cross-island bridge. But, if he dared circle my bare ankles, I was going to have to pull over and hunt him down.

I checked the rearview mirror and started to change lanes, but a loud honking and growl of an engine made me swerve back. My insides lurched as a motorcycle emerged from my blind spot. I'd nearly side-swiped it. The driver pulled up alongside and looked over as I raised my hand in a gesture of apology.

His helmet had a dark visor so I couldn't see in. After a few seconds he lifted a gloved hand in salute and took off ahead with a roar, his white shirt billowing out like a sail. California plates. Tourist. That figured.

I was late for my shift at the grill. Following the biker's example, I floored it too, a.s.suming any police officer would pull over the out-of-towner before me, or at least only give me a friendly warning. When you live in a small town, you either went to school or church with just about everybody. Not that I'd been in either for a while.

Making it home with minutes to spare, I dropped off my truck and hotfooted it to work.

The small seaside town of Butler Cove Island had nine thousand offseason, full time residents, and some days it felt like they all had an opinion. I tried to paste on a smile and nod as I listened politely to yet another nugget of sage advice from Pastor McDaniel. The good pastor was pretending to drink plain iced tea, not laced from the little flask in his jacket pocket. Seriously?

His portly frame was wedged into a booth and the b.u.t.tons on his dress shirt looked to be taking some serious strain.

I wondered if I would get a reprieve from him going on about my house again. The Pastor sat on the town council and seemed to think this ent.i.tled him to lay it on thick. "Now, Miss Keri Ann, yo' gran-mamma would fair turn in her grave to see the last remainin' bit o' real estate in your family turn so dog eared." Nope. He was on it again. "You need to keep that place up." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Why don't I send my Jasper on up there on Sunday after church to give you a little hand?"

"That's very nice of you, Pastor." I hated to turn it down, truly. My family home was the last thing left for the Butlers of Butler Cove, and it was falling apart. I needed the help, but not at the price of the pastor doing me a good turn. And from the way his beady eyes shifted, I felt sure the idea of Jasper and me together had crossed his mind. What better way to get his hands on the house? Luckily, I was certain Jasper and I were on the same page of our platonic relationship. "I'd be glad to pay him, if he wouldn't mind some sanding and painting."

The Pastor puffed his chest out a little. "Well now, there'll be none o' that. My Jasper's a gentleman helping out a lady, is all. Did he tell you he was accepted into Charleston College of Law?"

I nodded.

"He's a smart boy that one, going places. Good with his brains and his hands. I'll send him over Sunday." He adjusted his gaze and seemed to peer down his nose at me, even though I was standing a good three heads above his sedentary frame. "I'll be seeing you at service, I hope."

How did he do that? There must be school for teaching pastors how to guilt people. I smiled slightly and set down the water I was holding right in front of him.

"How about some water, Pastor?" I asked, looking meaningfully at his spiked iced tea. I hadn't been back in church for six years. I might be struck by lightning if I went this Sunday.

It was a slow night; finally calm after the crazy tourist season. The only other people left in the dimly lit restaurant were up at the bar. One was my best friend Jazz, nicknamed for her love of the genre, and the other, a hunched up guy with a ball cap and hoodie who'd just walked in five minutes ago and literally curled onto a bar stool in the corner. He was fishing a phone out of his jeans pocket.

It was almost closing time, I seriously hoped he wasn't going to stay long, I could really use an early night and closing the place down on time sounded like heaven.

"What can I get you?" I called over to hoodie guy as I went back around the bar. He mumbled something, not looking up from the phone he was busy texting on. I sighed and went further down the bar so I could hear him. People could be so rude. I'd had enough of them this summer, and I don't think I was the only one. Reportedly, there were a few cases of locals blowing their gaskets. Not a surprise. The county even had to post billboards reminding residents most of their funding came from tourism.

"A burger, medium, with fries. To go," Hoodie Guy repeated not looking up, the peak from his burgundy ball cap hiding his face completely. "And a Bushmills on the rocks while I wait." His accent was most definitely out of town. He went back to texting. I sighed and jabbed the order onto the touch screen. It was a good thing I had the patience of a saint. Ten seconds later Hector leaned out of the kitchen shaking his head at me.

"Sorry, Hector. Last one, then you can turn 'em off. I'll close it down out here. I smiled at his grumpy face. We both complained at times, but it was good-natured. We loved our jobs at The Snapper Grill. The salary and tips were huge all summer long, and in the off season, when most of the other seasonal employees moved on, we pretty much kept the place ticking. It was only really busy on the weekends when it became more of an islander's bar than a restaurant. It helped that our owner, Paulie, had a subscription to the local sports games. Most residents took offense to having to buy a premium package on their cable contracts just to watch the Tigers or the Gamec.o.c.ks. Hector ducked his dark head back in the kitchen muttering something in Spanish.

"Sooo, what's new in the world of entertainment?" I nodded at the magazine Jazz was devouring while I filled a gla.s.s with ice and some fine Irish whiskey.

Jazz looked up and groaned in happiness. "This is such bliss. I haven't been able to sit around and read a trashy magazine for months. You know my mom won't let me even have them at the house, says I'm liquefying my mind while she's paying my tuition. I can't wait to move out, as much as I'll miss her."

Jazz was going to college up at USC Beaufort, but living at home to save cash and working in a local boutique. I smiled in sympathy at my friend and delivered the stiff drink down the bar.

Hoodie guy was still scrolling through his phone with his long fingers, mindless of the drink I set down with a napkin on the polished wood in front of him. I sighed and strolled back to Jazz.

"You know you can move in, Jazz. It's just me knocking around there while Joey finishes up med school." She pretended not to hear. I had made the offer a million times, but Jazz and my brother, Joey had dated briefly one summer when Joey came back from college. To say he broke Jazz's heart when he left was an understatement. I wasn't sure anyone realized how much Jazz cared for him, least of all Jazz herself. For my sake they had patched a makeshift and delicate friendship for when Joey returned for holidays. But now, between school and interning and an upcoming residency, he was home less and less.

"So McDaniel still trying to set you up with Jasper?" Jazz asked, as she flicked the pages over. "You do need to have a date now and again you know ... stay in practice for when the real deal comes along." She winked.

"G.o.d, Jazz!" I quickly glanced at Pastor McDaniel to make sure he hadn't heard me taking the Lord's name in vain again. Oops. "You know I have too much on my plate to date right now. And who would be the real deal around here for G.o.d's sake?" Wow, I was on a roll tonight. Luckily the good pastor was getting ready to head on out. I returned his wave as he left. It was a good thing he was walking home, I would have had to lift his keys otherwise.

"You won't believe it," Jazz exclaimed, totally dropping our topic and staring at the magazine in her hands. "Audrey Lane had an affair with her married director! That cow. I can't believe it. She's supposed to be dating Jack Eversea." Jazz looked horrified. She idolized Jack Eversea, along with possibly every girl in America.

I laughed at her. "Jazz, you do realize most of that stuff is made up, right?" I leaned over to look at the dubious and grainy photos she was tapping a lime green fingernail at, and then stopped at the abrupt sound of a stool sc.r.a.ping back.

We both looked over to see Hoodie Guy stand up and angle his back to us. He fished a wad of cash out of his jeans pocket, and peeling off a bill, placed it on the bar next to his unfinished drink.

I noticed Jazz's eyes roam down to rest on his extremely nice rear-end, encased in trendy denim.

I smacked her on the hand once, hard.

"Ow!" she yelped and I grinned.

Hoodie Guy tucked his chin down and walked out of the front door.

I met Jazz's eyes as she glared at me in mock outrage. "What? He had a nice a.s.s," she humphed and went back to her tabloid. She wasn't wrong, I was just more concerned with his weird behavior.

"Order's up," Hector barked from the kitchen pa.s.s through, pa.s.sing out a Styrofoam box. Great. Oh well, on the bright side, if he didn't return in five minutes, I was taking a burger home tonight. He better have left enough to cover his tab, I thought to myself. I walked down and grabbed the money off the bar. A hundred. Huh. I rang it up and pulled out the change from the register.

"Hector," I called back through the pa.s.s through. "It was a good tip night." I pa.s.sed eighty dollars in cash over the counter and into the kitchen. As much as I needed the money, Hector needed it more.

"Madre." I heard Hector chuckle.

"Shoot, I gotta scoot." Jazz hopped down from her stool and quickly came around to embrace me. "I'm opening up the shop tomorrow, I hate getting up early. See ya." And with that, my bubbly friend flew out the door.

Jazz and I had been best friends since Butler Cove Elementary when my family moved here to live in the family home and look after my grandmother. Making friends halfway through a school year in a new place was not high up on my list of skills. I wasn't sure how I lucked into Jazz, but somehow this blonde ball of energy with a round face of sunshine had turned her light on me one day in the fifth grade hallway, and I had been basking in the warm glow ever since. Even during the toughest moments of my life.

I turned the music down and followed in her wake to lock up.

It was a gorgeous night. Although the humidity still had a way to go, the heat had finally broken, and the stars were out in full. Standing in the doorway, I looked up and breathed in the fresh air. The cicadas were busy, the sound comforting in it's endless and predictable rhythm. I knew a part of this place would always be in my soul. It was hard-wired in. As much as this town annoyed me at times, there was really nothing quite like this part of the world. I wanted to leave at some point in the future, I knew, I was just waiting for Joey to get done with school and trade places with me. That was the deal. That was one reason I didn't date. I really didn't want it to be harder than it had to be to leave. Another reason was I knew almost everyone in the eligible dating pool, and I was a choosy beggar.

My feet hurt. Tonight, I would probably sleep the sleep of a wellworked day and tomorrow, since I only worked dinner, I planned to continue the painting of the porch. Since funds were tight, I had to prioritize, and with Pastor McDaniel's less than subtle comments about the house's condition, I figured I better continue work on the outside.

Stepping into the restaurant's dimly lit courtyard to straighten some of the furniture, a movement in my periphery almost gave me a heart attack.

s.h.i.t!

Standing up from one of the tables in the shadows, like he'd been waiting for me, was Hoodie Guy. I slapped my hand on my chest, expelling a rush of air.

I judged the distance from where he stood to the door. Could I make it back inside before he got to me? How could I have been so careless? Joey was always telling me to have Hector do the lock up, and here I was not even knowing if Hector was still in the restaurant.

I stood still and tried to make out the guy's face under his hat. He was tall and looked strong, his dark jeans molding to his long straight legs. If he was going to attack me, at least I should try and remember what he looked like. Or wait-maybe that was worse. If I saw him, did that mean he would have to kill me?

I was aware I was frozen like a stunned rabbit, but it dawned on me slowly that he hadn't moved either, and I wasn't sensing anything menacing from him. Not that I was psychic. Unless you counted the times I was convinced Nana showed back up at the house to poke around and check on me. If anything, his stance and the way he hesitantly raised his hands, caused me to stay put. Fear eased into curiosity. I still couldn't see his face. Why did the courtyard have to be so flipping dark?

I was about to speak when his long-fingers reached up to his head, pausing for just a moment, like he was having second thoughts. Then he quickly grabbed his cap and whipped it and his dark hood off.

I found myself not being able to breathe for the second time in as many minutes. Standing in front of me was the most beautiful man I had seen in all of my twenty-two years on this planet. His rich dark brown hair, mussed up from the hat, stood up in a few places and framed a hard-planed face set with eyes the color of ...

Well, I really couldn't tell the color of his eyes in the shadows, but I knew exactly what color they were, a deep grey-green. I hadn't been hiding under a rock for the last five years. And I certainly didn't need to double check the tabloid magazine Jazz had been reading, which definitely did not do him justice, to know that standing in front of me, Keri Ann Butler, outside the Snapper Grill in Butler Cove, population nine thousand, and hundreds of miles away from his expected location in Hollywood, was none other than Jack Eversea.

T W O.

To my credit, I only gaped like a goldfish for a few moments before my p.r.i.c.kly nature-always my 'go to' when I am nervous or caught off guard-made its presence known. I seriously cannot control myself sometimes.

"I suppose you want your burger now?" I'm sure that wasn't the first thing he expected me to say. Frankly, I surprised myself, too. It didn't seem to stop me from going on though. "First of all, don't lurk in the shadows, it's creepy. And second of all, you were so rude, give me one good reason I should let you in after closing?" Seriously. I said all that. To Jack Eversea.

"Rude?" He looked completely taken aback. "What the f.u.c.k?"

I arched a recently plucked eyebrow at him and spun on my sneakers back to the restaurant. I can't really explain my actions except I don't do weird encounters well, and this was way outside of my comfort zone. I definitely had a flight reaction setting in.

"s.h.i.t," he mumbled. "Okay, wait!" He strode forward, and reaching the door I was half way through in three long strides, wedged his foot in as it closed. Hard.

Oops.

"Ow!" he yelped. "Mother..." He stopped his expletive in the nick of time and wrapped his hand around the doorframe. "Wait." For a second, he looked really puzzled. "Wait, okay? I'm sorry about my language, but I paid for my burger." He paused, taking a deep breath and pitching his tone just right to appease me, this banshee of a girl. "May I please have it?"

I simply stared at him. Call it delayed shock setting in. Finally, I managed to snap out of it and stepped aside allowing him entry.

He looked at me warily and then walked past.

I closed the door behind him and locked it. It was a weird move, I admit.

"You taking me hostage?" he asked, his tone light.

"Can't be too careful with the kind of people who loiter around in the dark," I muttered. I honestly don't think he could tell if I was teasing. h.e.l.l, I wasn't sure. I mean, I was obviously, but I couldn't be too sure how things were coming out of my mouth. He looked like he was thinking the quicker he grabbed his food and got out of here, the better. Great. I get to meet Jack Eversea, the Jack Eversea, and I act like a complete imbecile. It was so good Jazz wasn't here, she would have clobbered me by now. For that matter, she would have clobbered him and dragged him back to her lair.

"So why did you say I was rude?" he asked. He shook his head slightly. In all likelihood at his idiocy in prolonging this weird encounter.

I stalked around the bar with a sigh, grabbing utensils and napkins as I did. Well, it couldn't get any worse, so I thought I might as well speak my mind. Or at least justify my odd behavior.

"Well, how about a list? You were so busy texting you didn't bother looking at me while I took your order. You mumbled it, didn't say please, and when I delivered your drink, you didn't say thank you. Did you not learn any basic courtesy growing up?" I delivered a plate to the bar counter and snapped open the Styrofoam box, sliding the contents out neatly, spilling nary a French fry on the way. Impressive. Even though I knew he wanted this order to go. What was I doing?

I continued, "Or are you so used to getting your way, because you look like G.o.d's gift to humanity? Maybe the fame has gone to your head a little bit?" My tone suggested a little bit was not what I meant.

"So I guess that answers my question about whether you know who I am?" He leaned forward against the bar and gave me a familiar furrowed-brow bad boy look. The same look that had been captured in Vanity Fair no less. Bad idea.

I huffed and rolled my eyes.

Jack Eversea finally looked stumped. Like he had no idea what to say and how to get his burger out of this place.

My nerves were subsiding. Not fully, considering I literally had some tabloid poll's s.e.xiest man alive standing across the bar from me. But enough that I thought I might finally be able to converse normally.

"Sit and eat, you can keep me company while I shut this place down. It gives me the creeps after Hector locks up the kitchen and goes home." The fact that I didn't know whether Hector had left yet didn't seem to phase me.

I stuck out my hand and Jack took it warily. His hand was warm and strong, and if touching him didn't give me weak knees and a buzzing head, I was a monkey's uncle. "I'm Keri Ann Butler."

"Ja-"

"Jack Eversea, I know. Have a seat. Another drink?"

He nodded, still not releasing my hand. "Please."

I smiled at him then. The most natural smile I could muster despite the fact that holding his hand had launched a b.u.t.terfly migration through my insides. I untangled my fingers from his after a few awkward beats, and Jack Eversea sat dutifully on the bar stool in front of his food.

He snapped open the ketchup bottle. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Another one?" I winked to let him know I was teasing.

"Can you please not mention to anyone ... I mean, anyone, including your blonde friend from earlier ... that you saw me?"

I stayed quiet a few moments weighing the pros and cons. If anyone found out he was here, he'd never get his s.p.a.ce to figure his s.h.i.t out. And from what little I had gleaned from that tabloid article, he needed to. But this was Jack Eversea and Jazz was a huge fan.

"Please?" he asked again, quietly. Pleadingly.

"Of course." I inclined my head. "Your secret's safe. Not sure anyone would believe me, anyway." I laughed lightly.

He seemed to relax infinitesimally.