Page 41 of Chasing Sunsets

I groan, letting my head fall back, trying to pull air into my lungs. This girl. This damn girl.

I could keep this going all night, but I know if I do, I’ll never get to sleep, and we have four charters tomorrow.

Me: You should get some rest.

Tabby: You should take your own advice.

I grin, shaking my head.

Me: Good night, Trouble.

Tabby: Good night, Anson.

I set my phone on the nightstand and exhale, running a hand over my face. That wasn’t the best idea. I’m more worked up now than I was before.

But I don’t think I mind.

Tabby

The scents of fresh produce and wildflowers mingle in the warm breeze as I adjust one of my wind chimes, making sure the twine knot is secure. The little pieces of seashells clink together in a soothing melody whenever the wind shifts, and I can’t help but smile at the sound. I spent yesterday experimenting with my latest batch, tying them at different lengths so the sound they made was soft and musical instead of sharp and clattering.

The farmers market is buzzing today, even more than usual. Tourists filter through the stalls, their arms full of flowers, homemade jams, and handwoven baskets. But it’s the locals that keep the place alive—the same people who’ve been coming here week after week, who know that the best tomatoes aren’t on the front table but in the crate behind it, and who come as much for the conversation as they do for the shopping.

And for the flirting.

“You must be puttin’ something extra in that fertilizer of yours, Tabby,” Old Man Lyle drawls, leaning heavily on his cane as he eyes the last of my heirloom tomatoes. “Your produce tastes better than anything my wife ever grew.”

I arch a brow. “Now, don’t you go telling that lie to the missus, Lyle.”

The men standing around his regular group let out deep chuckles, and Lyle just grins, showing off a row of teeth that are surprisingly intact for a man his age.

“Ah, a little lie never hurt nobody,” he says. “Neither does a little sweet talk. You know, if I was thirty years younger …”

I laugh, shaking my head as I pass him a basket. “If you were thirty years younger, you’d still be married and still be too old for me.”

That gets another round of laughter, and Lyle claps a hand over his chest, as if I wounded him.

“Damn, girl. You’re tough.”

“And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

He winks before dropping some crumpled bills into my cash tin and shuffling off, calling back over his shoulder, “Don’t break too many hearts today, Tabby.”

I shake my head, still smiling as I tuck the money away. This is how it is every Tuesday. The men of Sandcastle Cove come by, flirt outrageously, and leave with more produce than they probably need. And I let them because it keeps them coming back, and honestly? It’s fun.

I’m rearranging a few of my paintings when I hear my name called in unison.

“Tabby!”

I look up just as Avie and Amiya reach my stall. They’re so similar yet so different—Avie’s blonde hair is sleek and tucked into a high ponytail while Amiya’s slightly darker blonde hair is wild and windblown.

“You are entirely too talented,” Avie declares, running her fingers lightly over one of my canvases. “Seriously, this is incredible.”

The painting she’s admiring is one of my favorites—a dusk scene of the beach, the waves a deep blue black, the sky painted in streaks of pink and gold. It’s the kind of sunset you only get in Sandcastle Cove.

“She’s right,” Amiya adds. “You could be selling these for way more than you are.”

I shrug. “I like knowing people can afford them. Art shouldn’t be just for the rich.”

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