I would reap the benefits of our little arrangement as long as it lasted. I would be thoughtful and courteous of Jack's time, and I definitely would not expect us to form any deep or emotional bond of friendship when our time was up. The fact that electric heat tended to zap through my veins at the sight or thought of him, something I liked to think of as the "swoon-effect', was just a hazard I would have to weather.

I needed a run. I threw on a sports bra and my running shorts, grabbed my iPod and earphones, and jogged out to the truck.

Normally, I would go straight down Palmetto to the public beach access and start my run by turning right. But, I didn't want to run past Jack's house, so I went further down to the Islanders' Beach and after parking and jogging down the boardwalk, I turned left. It would be a short run that would end at the inlet, but at least I was getting some exercise and clearing my head.

The sea was getting cooler even though our days were still warm. There was a haze over the water. One or two people were out with their dogs, but the beach was mainly empty.

I got into a great rhythm, my strides long and sure, my breathing even and deep. I made it about half a mile before an approaching figure in black shorts and a white t-shirt with familiar aviators came into view ahead. I slowed a tiny bit, wondering if it was Jack. s.h.i.t, I knew it was. Should I acknowledge him or stop and talk to him? d.a.m.n it. This was supposed to be a Jack-free run. I should have gone kayaking instead.

I could tell when he noticed me, as he did the same thing where he slowed slightly, and then picked his pace back up. When he was about fifteen yards away, I gave up my internal battle about what to do and smiled politely at him. He didn't slow like he was going to stop. So I didn't either. Seriously? Were we really just going to run right past each other without saying h.e.l.lo?

My spirits sank with disappointment when he pa.s.sed me, much as I hated myself for it. But then a few seconds later he appeared up alongside me. I snuck a sidelong glance at his profile trying to form a question with my eyebrows. His dimple quirked but he didn't say anything. Okay then. I affected a nonchalant shrug, turned my music up and picked up the pace.

He'd obviously already run to the inlet and was headed home, and he was going to have to double his run to keep me company. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I wasn't going to try and talk and break my running mojo. When he was around I didn't think I could walk and chew gum at the same time, let alone run, talk, breathe, and try not to trip over my own feet.

Jack kept pace with me, our footfalls finding a rhythm. We got to the inlet and I turned quickly and headed back. I was sure that had probably been a natural place to stop and rest and I don't know... say hi, like a normal person. But I didn't act normal around him. Following my lead, he smiled at me. As we headed back, I cursed the fact he had his sungla.s.ses and I didn't. And of course, because of his gla.s.ses, when I repeatedly glanced at him, my eyes were drawn straight to his mouth. Ugh. I squinted inelegantly back into the sun.

As we approached my exit, I was heaving with exertion, and probably looked my best again. I slowed and got ready to peel off with a wave, but Jack slowed too and before I could react he reached toward me. I paused, surprised, as he lifted my earbud out of my ear and held it up to his, listening to my music.

"The Cult? I seriously don't think I'll ever figure you out," he said, laughing and gently placing the bud back in my ear. Then he jogged backward for a few steps and gave me a two-fingered salute like he had from his motorcycle that first day, before he turned away and ran off.

All day Sat.u.r.day at the grill I was mentally at home and bodily at work. I guess I was technically 'mooning', despite giving myself a mental kick in the a.s.s earlier. Having never gone through 'mooning' over someone before, I wasn't quite sure if that's what I was doing. Whatever it was, it was embarra.s.sing.

I kept thinking of our run and how hardly a word had been exchanged and how it still felt like an important moment. I was totally reading into it, I knew.

Hector kept catching my eye and winking. I'd told him what the arrangement was between Jack and I, swearing if I heard even one rumor, I would know it was him and tell Paulie I saw him stealing silverware. He had clutched his chest in outrage. "Tienes mi palabra," he muttered, which I believe, from what I remembered of high school Spanish, meant something along the lines of I had his word. At least I hoped it did.

I had texted Jack right after I showered from my run, letting him know the back door was unlocked. He never responded. In the quiet moments between the lunch and dinner rush, I had almost given in to the temptation to pop home and see if he was there. It was like some kind of bizarre reality home-makeover show, or worse, I was being punked. I expected a camera crew to jump me at any moment.

On Sunday morning, the only evidence I had that Jack had been in my house was half missing wallpaper, and a grocery list on the counter along with a request for s.p.a.ckling and sandpaper. His handwriting looked like he'd missed his calling to be a doctor.

We hadn't talked about whether he'd continue working on the house Sunday and I hadn't had a chance to tell him about Jasper coming by.

I decided to run over to The Pig to get his groceries while most people were in church. Driving straight to his place afterward, I piled the bags outside his door. I rang the bell, and without waiting for a response, maturely hopped down the stairs and back into my truck. It was only when I pulled out of the driveway and noticed his bike wasn't there that I realized what an a.s.s I was being. I quickly grabbed my phone and texted him.

Me: Your groceries are outside your front door. Sorry I had to run, a friend coming over for lunch today.

My phone chirped back by the time I got to the end of the street.

Late Night Visitor: Thank you.

I hated the p.r.i.c.k of disappointment I experienced at his simple text.

When Jasper arrived at lunchtime armed with my favorite chicken salad and 'everything' on nine grain, I thought I might finally have reached a calm and stoic state of mind.

"Wow, you've gotten so much done," Jasper said as he walked around the house.

"Yep, been working hard," I said from the kitchen where I busied myself getting plates so I didn't have to meet his eye. "Grab some waters, would ya? Let's sit on the porch swing, it's a stunning day."

We headed outside and chatted comfortably on the swing as we ate, although he did look at me curiously while I picked out the onions on my sandwich. I loved onions. I noticed what I was doing and resolutely stuffed one of them back into what was left.

"So there's a guy?"

"What? No!" Jeez, I'd have expected that kind of pointed observation from Jazz. The fact that Jasper noticed meant I was definitely not fooling anyone, or maybe Jazz had told him about Hoodie Guy.

"Right. Do I know him?"

I sighed. "No, you don't. And it's not like that anyway."

"You mean for you or for him?"

"For either of us. He's the one who's helping with the inside of the house." At least I could come clean about that.

"Keri Ann, I know I'm not your best friend, but you know you can talk to me, right? I wish I could take back that kiss two years ago. I totally made it awkward between us, which I regret. You should know there's someone else I like, a lot, so if you need to talk to me about anything, you don't need to worry about hurting my feelings."

I looked at him, surprised. Liz?

"Don't ask me who it is Keri Ann, I'm not ready to even talk about it."

I grinned. "Well, I'm not ready to talk about this guy either."

"Ok, then, so we agree not to talk. Awesome. We're so healthy." He laughed.

"Is she the reason you decided to go to law school so nearby?" I asked.

He looked off into the front yard, and sighed. "Yeah, partly. But also, I need to keep an eye on Dad. I'm sure you've noticed he has a slight weakness of the alcohol variety."

I nodded. "What does your mom say?"

"Well, apparently it's not the first time. Now that I know that, I have vague recollections as a kid before he got some help. Let's just say, I'd like to stick around."

I'd had a feeling that was why.

Part of the reason I stopped going to church, aside from how angry I was at G.o.d for letting Mom and Dad die, was that Nana didn't go.

One summer when we were visiting, I may have only been eight or so, I overheard Nana and my mother arguing quietly. Nana said something that, at the time I didn't understand, about Mrs. McDaniel not doing a good enough job of hiding the marks if she expected Nana not to get involved. She had never elaborated, but it stuck in my mind, especially when I went to Church every Sunday with my parents after we moved to Butler Cove permanently.

I felt bad for Jasper and laid my hand on his arm just as I heard the rumble of a motorcycle in the street. Jack, with his helmet on, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt, slowed to a stop beyond the front picket fence. Before I could react or even let out the breath I'd sucked in, he kicked the bike into a roar and headed off. Hot blood rushed to my cheeks as I realized I'd s.n.a.t.c.hed my hand off Jasper's arm.

Jasper laughed. "It's not like that, my a.s.s."

Oh s.h.i.t. I had it bad. It would be obvious to anyone who knew me.

"Shut it, Jasper. Otherwise, I'll tell Liz how you feel." The look on his face was priceless. "Relax, I won't," I added. "But you should."

He swallowed. I had never seen him look so nervous and unsure of himself, yet so hopeful. It was kind of adorable.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You keep my secret, I'll keep yours. Deal? Now, let's get some work done."

It was the last thing I wanted to do. My pounding heart was telling me to jump in my truck and go after Jack. I couldn't believe he had come by. Surely he wasn't checking up on me? Why would he do that?

N I N E.

I got a text just after the lunch rush on Monday.

Late Night Visitor: Hi The flutter in my belly made me grit my teeth.

Me: Hi Late Night Visitor: Are you planning on getting a dumpster for the carrot I left outside?

Huh?

Late Night Visitor: Carpet! Autocorrect. Sorry.

I couldn't help it, but getting a text from Jack made me ridiculously and annoyingly giddy.

Me: Oh, thought you'd gone off your vegetables again. I've got roofers coming for the cottage this week, so I can use theirs.

Hector's nephew had called the night before and given me a price I could live with and would start the next day. The hurricane had weakened back to a tropical storm, but it was still on a projected path our direction by later in the week. At the very least it was sure to bring heavy rain. I was relieved to be getting the roof done.

Late Night Visitor: You're funny. Mrs. Weaton's place?

Me: How do you know?

Late Night Visitor: She came by. Nosey lady, but nice. Don't worry she didn't recognize me. She seems to care for you a lot.

Me: Sorry, should have warned you she'd probably come by. She and Nana were close. Who did you say you were?

Late Night Visitor: That I was a friend doing you My eyes widened.

Late Night Visitor: A favor! A friend doing you a favor! Sorry. d.a.m.n phone. Banging head on wall ...

I bit my lip, trying hard not to laugh out loud. A warm buzz ran through me. I bit my lip even harder to pull myself back in line while thumbing the keys, wondering how to respond. A few seconds later another text chimed on my phone.

Late Night Visitor: If only we had a wheelbarrow, that would be one thing ...

What on earth?

And then I got it and grinned. It was a quote from The Princess Bride. It just happened to be one of my favorite movies. I used to watch it with Nana all the time. I racked my brain to come up with an appropriate quote back.

Me: Go away, or I'll call the brute squad!

Late Night Visitor: I am the brute squad!

I giggled and put my phone away just in time to see Hector smiling at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Nada." He shrugged his shoulders.

It was almost midnight Monday by the time I jogged up my back steps. I was a little disappointed Jack hadn't offered to walk me home again since Friday night, and then mad at myself for being so.

The moon was full, so although I couldn't see stars clearly, it cast such a strong white glow I could make out every bush and tree and person sitting with his back against my door. I jumped and did a double take. Yep, there was definitely a person sitting there, head down, cradling a six-pack of beer. I'd know that glossy dark hair anywhere. Jack. My heart sped up in spite of myself.

"Jack?"

He started, sending the bottles clattering off his lap. "s.h.i.t!"

I stuck a foot out to stop the bottle nearest me and bent to help as he picked them up.

"Sorry," he said. He sounded tired. He looked tired too from what little I could see. Like he had fallen asleep.

"It's fine. What are you doing out here?"

"I, uh," he looked around. "I guess I just got bored and was going to see what you thought of the walls." He got to his feet, brushing off his dark jeans.

"The walls," I repeated. I had spent every second of the day thinking of him alone in my house supposedly working on stripping the wallpaper. However, it wouldn't hurt to at least pretend he wasn't the first thing on my mind. And having him right here when I got home did strange little jiggy things low in my belly.

"Right. Well, let me have a look." I stepped past him, breathing in his showered scent surrept.i.tiously. Something fresh and outdoorsy I couldn't quite put my finger on. My light-headed reaction to the scent was annoying.

I walked in the back door ahead of him, turned on the lights, and put my purse down on the counter.

"You want a beer?" he asked. "I found some at the beach house. They're cold."

I turned and looked at him. He was a little flushed from sleep, making his green eyes all the more startling. He must have been out there a while. "A beer?"

He nodded, putting the box on the counter.

"Are you ok?" I asked him, even though I was the one who kept repeating words back to him.

"Yeah, I'm good." He ran both hands through his hair leaving it standing up. How did he do that? "I just, I can't be with myself at the moment."

I turned to the counter and grabbed two bottles, unsure of what he meant. I handed him one and twisted my cap off.

We raised our bottles and clinked necks.

He smiled and took a sip.

I wondered if, in his Hollywood life, Jack Eversea had ever had to really just enjoy his own company. I didn't want to become his therapist, but if we were going to have this sort of strange trade-for-services friendship, I guessed I could be a shoulder to lean on. Of course, that would make me the sad lovelorn 'good friend' at the end of this, but I could hardly see it ending any differently at this point. I might as well discover a little more about Jack in the process.