As if she’d tuned in to his thoughts, she glanced toward him while Noah scarfed down a third cookie.

And then she slid her hand across the table.

Throat tightening, he wrapped her fingers in his. Gave them a squeeze.

She squeezed back, only breaking eye contact after Noah reclaimed her attention. But she left her hand in his.

Where it belonged.

The two gulls took flight while Noah and Beth continued to chat, winging toward the open sea. And as they soared toward the sun, against the deep blue backdrop of the heavens, Steve gave thanks.

For here in this little town with the perfect name, his prayers had at last been answered.

He and Beth were going to be okay.

28

The masterclass festival had been a smashing success.

And she was exhausted. Elated, but exhausted.

Christi picked up the bulging file that had kept her organized over the past five weeks, shoved it into the tote bag that did double duty as her purse, and waved to the volunteer cleanup crew putting the parish center at St. Francis back in order after the final Sunday session.

Next stop? The deck at Sea Glass Cottage, where she intended to put her feet up, enjoy a glass of lemonade, and—

Her phone began to vibrate in her pocket.

Heaving a sigh, she set the tote on a folding chair and pulled out the cell. Thank goodness the chamber of commerce was reimbursing her for festival-related calls on her pay-by-the-minute phone. The bill she’d racked up over the past month would have put a hefty dent in her budget.

But all those calls had paid off with a sold-out event.

She glanced at the screen—and her weariness evaporated.

Jack.

Smiling, she put the cell to her ear. “How did your second class go?”

As if she had to ask. Every seat had been snatched up in both of his sessions, and from what she’d observed after popping in for part of his presentation yesterday, his concerns about satisfying customers had been groundless. He was a natural, engaging speaker, and the audience had eaten up all his tips and stories.

“It was fine. But can I admit I’m glad it’s over?”

“You can—and that makes two of us. I think I’ll sleep for a week . . . at least while I’m not working.”

“Where are you?”

“St. Francis—but I’m getting ready to head home and crash.”

“Could I interest you in a celebration later? You deserve it after the work you put into this.”

A spurt of reserve energy zipped through her. “What did you have in mind?”

“How about a picnic on the beach?”

Her pulse picked up. All these weeks, he’d kept his distance—despite the occasional, if brief, glimpses of banked fire she’d caught in his eyes when his guard slipped—but this sounded kind of like a date.