Lately life at the beach hadn’t been quite so good for Jenna Jones, manager and future owner of the Driftwood Inn in the beach town of Moonlight Harbor, Washington. After Labor Day, when summer fun ended and families got busy with school and football season, reservations became scarce. Now, in October, well, if you were looking for a cute vintage hotel to stay in, the Driftwood Inn had plenty of vacancies.

This was a problem because Jenna had mouths to feed, people depending on her, including her ex-husband, struggling artist Damien Petit (who wasn’t struggling nearly as much as he deserved to be, thanks to the transitional spousal support Jenna paid him every month). More important, she was responsible for her daughter, Sabrina, and her great-aunt, Edie Patterson, current owner of the inn.

When she wasn’t in the office with her friend and right-hand woman Courtney Moore or helping their lone maid, Coral, clean rooms, Jenna was working the kinks out of sore muscles. She’d been a massage therapist B.M. (Before Motel), and it was a good thing she had something to fall back on because money was tight. The next summer’s tourist season seemed a long way off.

But today was Monday, the beginning of a new week, and this week looked promising. She had clients booked for massages Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, and the Driftwood Inn had guests arriving on Friday afternoon.

Which meant they had one reservation for a room in a motel with twenty. Okay, two were permanently taken, but that left eighteen to fill. And of the two that were taken, they were only getting money for one room.

Pete Long, the useless handyman Jenna had inherited, paid nothing and did as little as possible to earn his keep. The other room was occupied by Seth Waters.

Unlike cranky old Pete, who had to be in his seventies, Seth pulled his weight, and Jenna was glad to have him around. Gorgeous, with muscles growing muscles. Smart and a hard worker, he was also a good listener.

And a good kisser.

But not so good at commitment.

Which was just as well, Jenna kept telling herself. After her disastrous marriage to the artist who’d made an art out of cheating she didn’t need to rush into love. Although if ever there was a man who made a woman think about rushing, it was Seth.

Or Brody Green, successful realtor, the other man in her life.

As a friend. Just as a friend. A friend who’d like to be friends with benefits. And she could easily imagine the benefits Brody could offer. Yes, she’d kissed him, too. Too much to drink at dinner, followed by a sunset on the beach with that suave hottie.

She needed to focus on managing the motel. Which was a heck of a lot easier to manage than her love life.

Except it currently had eighteen rooms vacant.

At least Seth was now paying for his room. His mold-removal business had done well, and he’d insisted on becoming a paying resident. Knowing Seth, that insistence had something to do with his observation that they weren’t exactly bulging at the seams with guests.