I covered her mouth with my hand and we both giggled. I put a finger to my lips, making the "shush" sign. When I let my hand off her mouth, she continued yelling down to her mother, "Twenty-one, Mom." Then she burst into a fit of giggles, falling over on her side onto the soft mattress, her cards spilling out of her small hands all over the bed.

I jumped off the bed and darted over to the top of the stairs and called down to Emma, "It's okay, Em. I'll watch her. Go on and do your shopping. We are just playing card games up here."

I heard the bang of the back screen door after Emma's reply that she wouldn't be long. I stuck my head into the bedroom, where Michelle was scooping up the scattered playing cards from the insidious floral bed top.

"Keep practicing shuffling the cards like I showed you. I'm gonna get something to drink. Do you want anything? Juice or soda?"

Michelle bobbed her head and I skipped down the stairs to the kitchen. I had my head stuck inside the fridge, debating between juice or soda. Which one would Emma want her daughter to have? Healthy juice or caffeine-spiked soda? The rattle of the front door pulled my attention from my decision-making process.

I let go of the refrigerator handle and poked my head out into the hallway. "Did you forget someth- ...What the fuck are you doing here?"

Strolling into the house through the heavy oak doorframe was a scruffy-looking guy in heavy cowboy boots and a worn and faded blue T-shirt that hardly looked blue anymore, with dark circles under his eyes like he'd spent the night doing laps in a swimming pool full of liquor. It was none other than the douchebag whom I accidentally had spilled my beer upon the first night I was in town. He was peacocking his way through the door like he owned the place. His eyes burned angrily and his expression was ugly.

"I'm Brian. I'm here to pick up my daughter, you bitch tease. And whatever the hell else I want to do. Where is Michelle?"

Damn, so this asshole was Brian, Emma's crazy ex. Aw damn, what were the chances? Of the two guys I'd met so far in Summerville, one of them was Emma's ex, and from what she had told me about him, he wasn't allowed here in her house due to a restraining order. I put my hand on my phone, touching the outline of it through my back jeans pocket, poised to whip it out if needed.

"Really? You want to pick up Michelle? I don't think so."

He pushed past me and checked the kitchen, searching for Michelle.

A devious smile slowly crossed his face. "I don't give a shit what you think. I'm here to take her for popcorn and a fucking movie."

"I don't believe you have the right to do that." I stepped in front of him, blocking his way to the stairs. He glared at me but I stood firm and pulled out my phone to call the police. I gasped as he snatched the phone from my hand before I had a chance to open the screen lock.

"What the fuck do you know? I am her dad. It's my right as a parent to spend time with my daughter. Keep your fucking nose out of my business," he hissed. "Where's Michelle? I'm here to pick her up for her 'daddy time'."

I couldn't help myself. My eyes glanced up to the top of the stairs when he spoke, and he knew right away where to find Michelle. He pushed past me and grabbed the stair railing, placing one foot on the bottom step. I lunged out and grabbed the cordless house phone from the small stand at the bottom of the stairs. He had taken only a few steps when I said, "I'm calling 911, you asshole. I know you're on fucking parole and you'll go right back to jail if you as much as touch that little girl. So get the fuck out!"

I pushed 911 so he could hear the beeps but hadn't pushed the call button yet when he halted his ascent. He turned slowly and paused for a moment, darts shooting out of his eyes at me. I stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, holding the phone up near my ear, ready to make the final push to connect the call. Hot adrenaline raced through my veins. Was this guy really going to create a scene and drag her out of the house against her will? I had seen the look of terror on Michelle's face when her dad's name was mentioned. And I'd be damned if I was going to allow him to terrorize this family.

He smiled a sardonic smile and slowly came down the stairs. "You think you're hot shit, but you ain't nothing." As he passed in front of me, he leaned in, close enough that I could see the excess water in his bloodshot eyes. "Stay the fuck out of other people's business. And by the way, you won't always have your boyfriend to back you up like last time. Just remember, I know where you live."

He turned and headed for the front door.

"Wait," I blurted out. He stopped. "You have my phone. Give it back, shit for brains."

"Oh, this?" He point to it, then released his grip, letting it drop out of his hand onto the hard surface of the entryway. "Oops," he said with a sick grin and then left, shutting the door behind him.

Motherfucker. I reached down and scooped up my cell phone from where it had fallen. The glass was cracked but I swiped my finger across the glass and punched in my screen code. I tested it out with a call to Emma and told her what had just happened. My phone still worked, but the text messages would require some serious squinting. I explained what Brian had said about taking Michelle to the movies. I didn't want to alarm her, but I thought she needed to know he was creeping around the property. Emma was furious and said she would come home as soon as possible.

I ended the call and stared at the spider-vein cracks in my screen. Fuck. Now I needed a new phone. I pushed my hair back behind my ear and sprinted up the stairs to check on Michelle. Even though Brian was gone, I was filled with a sense of uneasiness. The man was a psycho. Who knew if he had enough brains to heed my advice or the restraining order?

As I reached the top landing of the stairs, I heard a muffled noise coming from the bedroom where we had been playing cards. Was that crying? Damn it, had she heard our conversation at the bottom of the stairs?

I walked into the bedroom and there was Michelle, curled up among the floral prints of the bedspread and ruffled pillows, like a little lamb with her head buried among the flowers.

"Oh, Michelle, sweetie. What's wrong?"

I rushed over to the bed and pulled her into my arms, comforting her, with her head on my shoulder. "Everything will be okay. Don't cry, sweetheart."

"I hate him," she sobbed.

I stroked her hair with the palm of my hand. "He's your dad, Michelle, you shouldn't hate him." Though he was an asshole and deserved to be hated by his child. Who could blame the kid?

"I hate him, I do, and he's mean." Her breath caught in short gasps as she struggled to talk through her tears. What was that they always said, think of the child's welfare first? The child was what was important after a divorce and I shouldn't turn her against her father.

"I don't think he would hurt you, Michelle, he's your father."

"Yes, yes, he will. He hit my mom. I saw it."

"Oh my God, you did? You saw it?"

"Yes." Her voice was barely a squeak now. She had stopped hyperventilating and her breathing had slowed. "I saw him hit Mom and I was scared...scared that he was gonna hit me too."

I cradled her trembling body in my arms, rocking her as I put my head down. My nose touched her brown hair where it parted into pigtails and I closed my now watering eyes. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so sorry you were scared."

I was taken back in time to my own childhood. Back to when I lived with my mother, who was deep into her addiction to alcohol. My insides were torn to shreds as I remembered an incident that had left me as terrified as Michelle. Parents were supposed to protect their children, not be the source of fear.

I comforted her as if it were my own small self I was holding, and talked in a soothing crooning voice. "It's not right for grownups to make you feel scared."

The memory of that one terrible night, when a so-called "boyfriend" of my mother's wanted a mother-daughter three-way, came to mind. She was drunk off her ass as usual.

"I know exactly how you feel, honey. But don't be scared. Things will be great."

"Did you hate your daddy too?"

"I never knew my daddy, sweetie, but my mummy wasn't very nice. She had a lot of problems." She was the adult, she was supposed to protect me, not bring shit-faced motherfuckers into her house with a young daughter present. She wasn't totally heartless, though. She refused him, but then I had to watch as he beat her for it. That was the last night I lived with my mom. Next day, Grammy picked me up and later she got custody over me. My mom had enough sense left to call Grammy after the incident. I believe it saved my life.

"Everything's going to be okay, Michelle. I won't let anyone hurt you, and your mom won't either."

I released Michelle from my arms and laid her back on the bed as she sniffed. "Do you feel better now?" She nodded and I handed her a tissue from the box on the bedside stand. "Why don't you rest now, take a little nap here in my bed?" I stroked the loose wisps of hair back from her face and smiled at her.

"I'm going downstairs to wait for your mom to help her unload groceries from the car. Okay?"

"Hanna?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"I like you staying here."

"Me too, hon."

I stepped out of the room and pulled the door shut. I knew Emma would be home momentarily, and I didn't want Michelle to hear our voices.

I paced the floor, waiting to hear the sound of her car engine in the driveway. As soon as Emma burst through the door, I lunged forward and nearly crashed into her. The words spilled out of my mouth like water from a faucet.

"Emma, I'm so sorry. I should've reacted faster...it all happened so quickly. I should have stopped him from coming in the house, but he just barged right in."

"Why am I not surprised? He's nothing but a loser, he always has been." Emma came in balancing a paper sack of groceries on her hip, with her oversized heavy purse slung over one arm. Emma was one of those women who carried everything but the kitchen sink in her purse. Her car keys dangled from between her fingers and jingled as she moved briskly into the room. She panted. "He's not going to bother us again. He doesn't want to go back to jail. One call to his probation officer will settle him right down."

"He said he could do whatever he wants with Michelle. That it was his right as her dad." I touched my fingers to my lips. How crazy was this guy anyway?

"Bullshit," she spat the word and dropped her bag of groceries on the kitchen table with a thud. "Wait, on second thought, let me just call the police. That asshole is in violation of his restraining order-that'll show him what he can and can't do."

Probation officers lead to the police, and..."No, don't call." Oh, no. Did I say that out loud? He was also the same son of a bitch who hurt my arm the first night in town over at The Bar. But that's a story Emma didn't need to know right now. "It's okay, nothing really happened. He never even went upstairs."

Emma paused. "They are not going to take him anyway, unless there is evidence that he did something. The restraining order is just for me, not Michele or you. And I wasn't here."

"Well, Michelle is reading her favorite book right now." I wasn't going to tell Emma that Michelle was crying. No reason to make her more upset.

Emma laid down the phone. "Oh mygosh, you need to be my babysitter. I can never get her to read." She was halfway to the stairs when she turned and looked at me straight on. "I am so happy you are here, Hanna. Thank you so much."

I wasn't sure how to respond but the silent moment was thankfully interrupted by the deep tone of the grandfather clock, drifting in from the living room to where we stood in the hallway near the kitchen. "Is it already six o'clock? I need to be ready in an hour."

"A date?" She raised her eyebrows. "I guess you got lucky the other night at The Bar. Is he cute? Is he a local? Spill it, sister, I want details."

We both laughed and I politely bowed out of a heavy one-on-one girl talk marathon, pointing to my watch and making excuses about needing to wash my hair. I trusted Emma a lot, but I still needed to remain guarded. My lying low time was running out, and I would need to make a decision soon about going back to New York. So why was I trying to hook up with handsome fisherman slash writer guy?

Chapter Twelve.

My stomach fluttered in response to the knock on the front door.

"I got it," I yelled as I skipped down the stairs.

I peeked through the peephole. It was him. I swung the door wide and it opened with a whoosh.

"Hey," he said, flashing a big smile.

"Hey, right back at ya." Holy crapomoly, he was some hot eye candy. His black jeans sat low on his hips and clung tightly to his legs, with faded creases at the top of his thighs that accentuated the cut of his muscular legs. His white shirt peeked out of a black leather jacket, unzipped as if his chest muscles could hardly be contained within. He stood with one hand tucked in his jeans pocket. The other gripped the chin straps of a black motorcycle helmet that dangled as we talked.

I must have seemed like an idiot, my face melting off as I practically swooned in front of him on the porch. The smile in his eyes contained an intriguing flame. He seemed happy to see me, and I found myself thinking of him more and more each day. I shouldn't allow myself to like him. Because first of all, that was exactly what he wanted and that was probably exactly what he was used to, women falling at this feet. And second of all, I wasn't supposed to get attached to anything here in Summerville. That wasn't my plan.

"So are you ready to taste the second best seafood in Summerville?"

I could see the glint in his eyes and played along with his joke. "Why not Summerville's best?"

"That will have to wait until I catch something," he laughed.

I poked my finger at his shoulder. "This restaurant better be fantastic. I don't come cheap, you know." Crap, could I have said anything more retarded?

He gave me one of his mysterious looks. I couldn't tell if he was still joking or being serious. "Oh, I know that, Hanna."

I blinked at him in silence. This was awkward. I tucked my chin to my chest and walked on to where his motorcycle was parked. "So, are we going or what? 'Cause I'm starving."

As he stepped up to the bike, he handed me a helmet and smirked. "What about what I want? Do I get a say in this conversation?"

"Oh buddy, I know what you want. That has to be earned first."

He grinned and slapped the black leather seat on his Harley. "Jump on."

I shoved the helmet on my head, smashing the nice hairdo I had spent the last hour perfecting.

Moments later, we were riding along the Carolina coastline to the purr of his twin-engine bike. As the scenery whizzed past, the beauty of the seasonal evening warmed me with the golden sunset of summer. This was how it was supposed to be. A life filled with a hot guy, sunshine, beaches, and cool breezes at night. I loved it here. I didn't want to think about going back to New York, about being in the city in July when the heat would be oppressive, choking the life out of every living soul.

We stopped at a red light. I admired how his magnificent legs flexed as he put his boots down to the pavement.

"It's beautiful tonight. Was your trek across the States like this?" I asked.

"I wish. Mostly, it was either too hot or too cold. But that comes with riding a bike. It's not about comfort or having things like air-conditioning. It's about feeling the wind on your face...feeling free, going where you want, when you want. I can't live a compromised life." He tipped his head up to the sky. "I suspect birds feel the same way when they are flying there, above our heads. And they have the ability to crap on the ones they don't like." His laughter floated up from his helmet.

"Thanks for the visual, John." I chuckled. He was enjoying the gentle sparring as much as I was. The bike took off with a slight jerk as he shifted gears, and I could tell this was going to be a great night.

The small seafood restaurant was elegant, with white linen tablecloths and a beautiful view over the sea. I was starving, and excited to finally indulge in a delicious meal. "What's good here? Well, now that I look at the entrees on this menu, is there anything here that isn't freaking amazing?"

"I love your enthusiasm," John said with a chuckle. He tapped the menu. "Everything is great but if you haven't tried their specialty, we should get the Low Country Boil, or Frogmore Stew, as they call it here."

"Frog-more Stew? As in, it has more frog meat than any other meat in it?" I wrinkled my nose. "Green and slimy and all?"

His mouth twitched with amusement at my reaction. "What?are you too high-class to eat a frog?

"Shut up," I said as I slapped his shoulder.

His face wrenched in pain. "Damn, that hurt."

"What? You can't take a punch from a girl?" I chuckled, surprised.

"No, it's just...I'm still sore from my accident."

"What happened?"

"Last week, I had an accident on my bike. Broke a few ribs and hurt my shoulder."

"Wow, I'm so sorry. Are you going to be okay?"

"Absolutely. A couple of weeks and I am as good as new."

"You know, maybe you should have told me about your accident before offering me a ride. I mean, here I thought you were a safe rider." I couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. You are safe with me. Besides, I'll be back in top shape in no time.