"Roger is employed by your family and Shaye values your time together," he said. "People like doing things for you. You're sweet and appreciative."

"Nevertheless, it's time," she stated. "I've thought about buying a car. I like the TV commercial for Nash's New and Used Cars. The man looks honest."

Dune could debate Hal Nash's honesty with her, but he kept his comments to himself. He'd steer Sophie to the right car when the time came. "We can check out the dealership once you get your license," he agreed, "maybe other car lots, too."

They stepped from the Tahoe and crossed the street. The windows of the shop were dirty, making it difficult to see inside. Sophie put the key in the door and they entered. The scent of leather, paper, and a hint of amber incense hung on the air. Dust bunnies clung to the corners. A few yellowed paperbacks were left on the floor. Clinton Cates was not a tidy man. The two connecting rooms and small office needed a good scrubbing, followed by a coat of fresh paint.

Sophie took it all in. "It's fabulous," she said with a sigh.

"The store requires cleaning," said Dune. "You can hire-"

She stopped him. "No," she said. "I want to do everything myself."

"Have you ever scoured walls and scrubbed floors?" he gently asked. "This place needs elbow grease."

"I'll manage." She sounded positive. "The prospect of opening a museum so near the boardwalk will draw people. I'll have lots of volunteers."

He hoped so. He tucked her close to him. "I'm leaving town right after your birthday," he said. He went on to explain the medical procedure he would undergo prior to his participation in the Huntington Beach Classic.

"These injections could cure your tendonitis?" She was hopeful.

"Maybe, maybe not," he said honestly. "It's a procedure I have to try."

"I know it will work."

He wished he was half as optimistic as Sophie. He tightened his hold on her. "I don't want you to feel alone while I'm gone."

She looked up at him. Her gaze was as soft as her smile. "Never alone, never again. I have a lot of friends."

They stood in the middle of the room and kissed for a very long time, until the front door opened and closed with a loud bang.

Mac James made his presence known. "Get a room," he grunted.

"Get lost," Dune growled.

Sophie was kinder. She slipped from Dune's arms and went over to hug his partner. She swung her arms wide and spun around in a slow circle. "You've caught the 'before. ' " She used air quotes. "The 'after' will astonish you."

"I'm sure it will," said Mac. "You've got powers, Sophie Saunders."

"I use my powers only for good."

"Damn, you're cute." Mac chucked her on the chin. "Run away with me."

"I'm not a good runner," she said.

"She's running nowhere with you," Dune said. He nodded toward the door. "You were headed where?"

Mac took the hint. "To Crabby Abby's, Dairy Godmother, and Three Shirts to the Wind." He held up the small rectangular box he was carrying. "I'm giving Jen the painting of the antique rocking chair."

"She'll love it," said Sophie.

"Go for it, dude," Dune encouraged.

"There are no guarantees this will work," Mac said.

"Play it from all angles," Dune said. "It's overtime and you're going for match point."

Thirteen.

"Play it from all angles." Mac repeated Dune's advice as he entered the T-shirt shop. Match point. His heart gave a significant kick. He felt like he was going into overtime.

He hated overtime.

There were no customers in the store. Everyone was on the boardwalk and beach. The sandcastle and kite flying contests would end at five. Judging followed, and then trophies would be awarded. Mac hoped the twenty-foot sea serpent took first place. It was a legendary beast and a scary sight to kids. Children took their parents' hands when they skirted the monster's humped body and tall, arched neck.

He glanced at his watch. Where the hell was Jen?

"Jenna's in the back," Randy told him after Mac had stood at the front counter for five whole minutes.

Randy was sweeping up the shop. He had a smirk on his face, as if he'd planned to make Mac suffer. Sneaky little shit.

Mac wondered if he looked as foolish as he felt.

The boy and his broom were headed Mac's way. Mac was certain Jen had told her employees that he wasn't welcome. Randy didn't look the least bit happy to see him. The last thing he wanted was to argue with the kid.

Mac rounded a rack of shirts and walked toward the back. He kept one eye on Randy. The kid's reflection was visible in the two big mirrors on the wall.

"Workers only in the storeroom," Randy called after him.

Screw that rule.

Mac jerked open the door and walked in. He found Jenna leaning over and shoulder-deep in a cardboard box. Her butt was up in the air. Her sexy bottom was small, tight, and encased in a pair of skinny jeans. Mac recognized the denim by its texture. He wasn't certain what color her top was.

He'd always favored statuesque women with slim hips and model-long legs. His attraction to Jen was a fluke. He had no sane reason to pursue her, yet whenever they were together he found himself distracted by her no matter who else was in the room.

He tried not to look at her, but he was aware of her every move out of the corner of his eye. He continually thought about what it would be like with her when they eventually made love.

Sex with Jen was a given.

The only question was the time and place.

She was driving him nuts now. Leaning over the edge of the big box, she wiggled her ass in the air as she stretched downward. Her full concentration was on the contents. She'd yet to come up for air or notice him.

Her butt cheeks became a prime target.

Mac slapped her on the ass.

The pop sounded loud in the room.

She rose with such force that she stumbled backward and right into him. He caught her shoulders and steadied her. She turned on him, her lips parted, her eyes wide. She held a sharp box cutter in her left hand.

He didn't trust her.

He stepped back.

Her face was red, flushed and hot as much from hanging upside down as from her embarrassment. Her All Stressed Out and No One to Choke T-shirt was untucked and wrinkled. She looked ready to kill him.

"What part of 'stay away from my shop' didn't you understand?" she hissed.

He held up his hands. "I'm a guy who lives dangerously."

Randy took that moment to poke his head in the door. "Everything okay, Jen?" he asked.

Mac expected her to tell the boy to call the police. She surprised him by saying, "I'm fine. Thanks for checking."

"I'll leave the door cracked," Randy offered, then wandered off.

Mac figured the boy would stay within earshot. He appeared protective of Jen. Mac clutched her gift behind his back. "I stopped to see if you were still mad at me," he said. "You left me stranded at the bazaar. When you took off on your broom, I had to hitchhike home."

"Hitchhike?" She raised a brow. "Michele Chambers offered you a ride in the parking lot, which you accepted."

So, she knew about Michele. Word spread fast in Barefoot William. The Cateses had a hotline. Michele had come on to him the moment he'd left the Civic Center. He hadn't known her before that night. She'd introduced herself with a want-you, got-to-have-you smile. She had a dimple in her chin and deep cleavage. A man could get lost between her breasts. He'd resisted, even after she took the long way home.

"Nothing happened," he told Jen.

"That's not what she said."

He said, she said. Mac hated verbal volleyball. "What did she say?" He was curious.

"That you checked into a motel."

He scratched his jaw. "Was the register signed Dune Cates? I take his name wherever I go."

"I'd forgotten that fact." She released a breath. Mac swore she looked relieved.

"Your friend Bree Bennett once stretched the truth about me," he reminded her. "You later apologized. Same will happen with Michele. You can say you're sorry now or later."

"You're so full of yourself."

"I can't help the fact women want me. In Michele's case, I didn't want her back."

"My mistake," she said so softly he barely heard her.

She eased around him, then snuck a glance over her shoulder.

A glance that he caught. "Were you checking me out?" he asked. He was certain she had been.

"I was looking for the box cutter."

"It's in your hand."

Flustered, she set the cutter down on the cafe table. Her color was high, her expression anxious. She slapped her thighs. "You make me crazy."

"Good crazy?" He could only hope.

"Bat-shit crazy," she said in frustration. "I like order and peace in my life. You breathe chaos."

"It's who I am, Jen."

Her shoulders slumped. "I know."

He was who he was. Women had asked him to change over the years. Change into what? A fireman, airline pilot, professor, or superman? Priest was not an option. He was a big kid who made a lot of money playing beach volleyball. Many wished they were him. He lived in a cool glass house, had a bad-ass Corvette, and enough money to retire today if he chose to hang up his board shorts.

Then there was Jen with her cottage, cats, and snarky attitude. Attraction was a fickle bitch, he decided. He'd have to talk himself out of liking her, if he could figure out what drew him to her in the first place. It was complicated.

He'd yet to learn why she was mad at him. That troubled him the most. "Why are you still angry?" he asked.

"You honestly don't know?" Disbelief darkened her eyes.

He shook his head. He hadn't a clue.

"We'll discuss it when you figure it out."

Shit, she was going to make him work for it.

Reconciliation was beyond his reach, but maybe his gift would smooth things over a little. He passed her the box. "I brought you a present."

Her stunned expression was priceless. She recovered quickly. "You can't buy your way out of our argument."

"I wouldn't think of it."

"You're used to manipulating women."

She knew him too well. "Decompress, Jen. Open the box."

She did so, very slowly and cautiously, as if she expected a spring-loaded surprise. Her face softened when she saw the painting. "I love rocking chairs." She traced the intricately curved lines with her finger. "This looks just like the one in my living room. Very thoughtful, Mac. Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it."

She propped the painting on her desk next to a color photo of her cats. "Rockers are so soothing," she said. "I relax in mine whenever I've had a bad day."