Slowly Christi lowered the phone and tapped the end button. What on earth had come over her? She should have said no outright. There were too many unanswered questions connected with the odd offer.

No harm had been done, though. All she had to lose by staying one more day was the cost of a night at the Gull Motel—and she’d planned to find an inexpensive place to spend last night anyway. She could use those funds for tonight.

Besides, delaying her answer gave her an excuse to linger in Hope Harbor.

So she’d pay for her provisions, find the motel, take a long shower—and think. Perhaps call Tasha and get her take. Her friend would give her an honest opinion and sound counsel, as she had through the whole sordid mess of the past two years.

Christi glanced again at the display of Lucky Charms beside her cart. Ironic, since good fortune had long been absent from her life.

But maybe . . . just maybe . . . her luck was beginning to change.

6

The ring was in his pocket.

Tonight was the night.

Jack grinned as he clipped the top of the boxwood hedge that rimmed the large circular drive in front of the house Christi and her father called home.

“How can you look happy in ninety-five-degree weather?”

At the disgruntled question, Jack glanced at his coworker. “I’m not feeling the heat much today.”

“Yeah?” Bill wiped his brow on the sleeve of the uniform shirt provided by the landscaping company. “What’s your secret?”

“I’m thinking pleasant thoughts.”

Bill snickered and went back to work. “Would that pleasant thought be blond and blue-eyed?”

“Maybe.” No sense denying it, since Bill had caught him and Christi in a stolen clinch under the rose arbor not long ago. Besides, after tonight their couple status would be public knowledge.

“She’s by the pool—in case you want to say a quick hello. She came out while I was back there blowing the grass clippings. You’re due for a break anyway.”

Yeah, he was. And tonight’s date felt like an eternity away.

“I wouldn’t mind grabbing a water to cool me down.”

“It’ll take more than a bottle of water to do that.” Bill snorted and went back to trimming.

Ignoring the jibe, Jack set his clippers beside the hedge, ran his fingers through his hair, and jogged toward the back of the house.

As he rounded the corner of the imposing, southern-style mansion, he paused beside a fern-topped stand. Christi was reclining in a lounge chair, an open book in her lap—as if she’d set it aside to soak up a few rays or enjoy the view of the manicured lawn.

His view wasn’t too shabby either.