Sweet Lord, he was a scorcher if I’d ever seen one. Strong nose, carved chin, full, chiseled lips with a Captain America edge that made me want to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. It was like God himself had crammed everything I found attractive into one man and dropped him into the ocean by my house.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said with a slight smile, his breathing as even as his pace.

Ocean-blue eyes. Of course. Just a shade darker than the glass I held in my hand. They locked with mine, widening for a second before he passed and continued his run down the beach.

“No southern accent,” I said once I’d found my vocal cords. “Must be a tourist.”

“Seriously, I’m going to visit you every weekend if this is how the island treats you.” Mia walked toward the water and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Chris Hemsworth, please! Or I’ll settle for Liam!”

“Seriously, Mia. The ocean doesn’t take requests.” Sam rolled her eyes. “Not that we don’t have a habit of meeting boys at the beach in our little group. What was it Paisley called Jagger?”

“Mr. California,” I answered, remembering the day she’d met him on the coast of Florida almost four years ago. But their story has a happy ending.

My eyes followed the retreating form of our jogger.

“Ah, that’s right. That one doesn’t feel like a California, though,” she mused.

“More like Mr. Carolina,” I offered.

“Ahh, Carolina.” The girls sighed in tandem.

He continued down the shore, and relief replaced the butterflies that had assaulted my stomach. As long as men like that didn’t pop out of the ocean every day, I was in the clear.

Not like I was in the market for a relationship, anyway. It was impossible to offer someone a heart I didn’t have. Mine was buried over five hundred miles away at West Point.

Mia and Sam chatted while we climbed back to the house and then took the grand tour of what my heartache had bought me. Bedrooms, bathrooms—it all needed to be overhauled.

“Well?” I asked as the girls took stock of the kitchen.

“Honest opinion?” Mia leaned against one of the Formica counters.

“Of course.”

She and Sam shared a glance.

“What?”

“We need to call Joey,” Mia said.

“Joey, as in your sister?” I asked.

She nodded. “She manages Masters & Co.”

“The family boat-building business,” Sam clarified.

“That’s right. You guys build racing boats or something, right?” I hated that I wasn’t as familiar with Grayson’s family as I should have been, seeing as I’d met them a couple years ago.

“Or something,” Mia said with a smirk. “But Joey knows all the reputable contractors in the OBX. She’ll be able to give you a good list to start with…unless you were thinking you’d head to the hardware store and start ripping stuff out yourself?” Her eyes widened. “Please say that’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Kind of.” I shrugged at the horrified looks on both their faces.