Page 12 of Chasing Sunsets

“Wonderful. I need you to swing by The Sandspur Campground. Freda has a box of items for the church in the office. Can you pick it up and bring it to the house?”

“I’d be happy to,” I say.

Sebby walks his wife down the steps to the dock and kisses her before climbing back aboard. He then looks at me and winks.

The Sandspur Campground is a quiet, tucked-away place just off the coast road, the kind of spot you wouldn’t know was there unless you were looking for it. I pull my truck into the gravel lot in front of the office, killing the engine and stepping out into the humid evening air. The sun’s beating down, and the faint scent of burgers cooking hangs in the breeze.

I glance around and see that the campground is a flurry of activity. Men are gathered around charcoal grills, beers in hand. Children are running around, chasing one another, while some ladies are tossing beanbags at a set of cornhole boards. I head to the building with the hand-painted sign.

The office door creaks when I push it open, the little brass bell above it jingling. The inside is dim compared to the harsh brightness outside, and a fan hums from the corner, pushing around the thick, warm air.

Freda is behind the counter, tapping away at an ancient desktop computer. She looks up when I walk in, her face lighting up like she was expecting me.

“Well, well,” she says with a grin. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

I lean against the counter and reply, “Hi there, Miss Freda. How are you this fine evening?”

“Hot and bothered, as per usual this time of year. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your handsome face?”

“Sabel asked me to swing by and pick up a box for the church.”

“Oh, yes, the handmade seashell wind chimes,” she says. “Those are a fundraiser item.”

I nod. “That’s probably the one. I didn’t ask too many questions; I just agreed to pick them up for her.”

“Oh no, I forgot she’d mentioned someone was coming by. I completely failed to grab that box for you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Forgot?”

She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh. “I was supposed to get it from Tabby this morning, but … well, I might’ve gotten distracted.”

Tabby.

The name registers in my mind, bringing with it an image of a certain girl with sun-streaked hair and a gorgeous smile. I didn’t expect to run into her again so soon, but apparently, fate—or Freda—had other plans.

“I guess I’ll have to go to her place, then,” I say, pretending to be irritated. “Which one is she in?” I ask as I look out the window at the rows of campers.

“Fifth RV down on the left, the one next to the common area with the raised garden beds beside it.”

I narrow my eyes. “You sure you didn’t forget on purpose?”

Freda gasps, putting a hand to her chest. “Anson, how could you accuse me of such a thing?”

I shake my head, but she just grins wider. The way she’s looking at me tells me she and Sabel are up to something. But I don’t push it.

“Fine,” I say, turning toward the door. “I’ll go see Tabby.”

I make my way through the winding paths of the campground and past weathered RVs and campers, some looking like they’ve been parked here for years. The fifth one down is a teal-and-white Shasta with a flourishing garden beside it, just like Freda said.

I step up to the door and knock.

A rustling sound comes from inside, then a muffled curse before the door swings open.

Tabby stands there, barefoot, wearing cutoff denim shorts and a tank top that’s seen better days. Her hair is piled in a messy bun on top of her head, a streak of white paint smeared across her forearm.

She squints down at me. “Well, well. Look who it is.”

I smirk. “Twice in one week. You starting to think I’m following you?”

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