Page 50 of Just Beachy

“No, no buts. I’m going to call him right now and ask him to come back.”

“But it has Phillip’s signature on it. What if he doesn’t believe that it’s mine? What if—”

“Grand, he’s known you since he was a child. I seriously doubt that he’d confiscate the painting or arrest either of us. Especially not for a theft that isn’t technically a theft. That took place in another state. Before Luke was even born. At least then you wouldn’t be the only one with a target on your back.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Grand says with what sounds like real regret. “But I need more time to—”

“No. No more time. No more lying.” I call Luke and ask him to come back. Less than ten minutes later he calls and tells me he’s at the front door.

• • •

It’s Saturday afternoon,and Sandcastle Books’ Book Club and Story Time are underway in the back room.

On the adult side of the wall divider, six women sip wine, laugh, and join in a discussion ofThe Second Life of Mirielle Westby Amanda Skenandore, led by Myra.

On the other side of the divider, their children, who range in age from four to six, sit on the floor in front of me while I hold up a board book of Maurice Sendak’sWhere the Wild Things Areso that they can see his illustrations as I read the story to them.

An eagle-eyed off-duty cop, sent by Luke and introduced to everyone as Myra’s nephew James, stands guard just inside the divider. I do my best to ignore his presence and focus on the children.

Where the Wild Things Arewas my very favorite book when I was their age, and I try to do the characters and their voices justice as I read.

At the end of the story, I pass out paper and crayons so that they can draw and color pictures of Max and their favorite wild things. Then I arrange them as best I can in front of the vignette on the kids’ wall and use my phone to get a picture of them.

When the adult conversation comes to an end a few minutes later, I open the divider all the way so that I canget a shot of the whole crew in front of Grand’s mural, which I tag and share on social media.

Despite our need for private security, the afternoon has been a win-win for both age groups and the bookstore, because each mom buys next month’s book club readanda copy ofWhere the Wild Things Arefor their child.

• • •

I’m still smilinghours later when Luke shows up just off duty and still in his uniform.

“Hey there. How’d story time go?” His tone is affectionate and relaxed, and a small shiver of happiness snakes up my spine when he puts an arm around me and drops a kiss on the top of my head.

“Good. It was comforting having James here. And it turns out kids are a pretty undemanding audience. I mean, there was some herding and gathering involved, but it was way less stressful than auditioning.” I smile up at him. “I think the kids and their mothers enjoyed themselves. We also got some great shots for social media, and Myra sold quite a few books.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah, it was. How did your shift go?”

“Fine,” he says. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Now, I’m hoping to have dinner with a beautiful bouncer before escorting her to work. It’s pretty much every man’s fantasy.”

I roll my eyes, but mostly to fight off my urge to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him senseless.

“James is going to drive Grand home and stay thereuntil the night shift arrives. Are you up for grabbing a bite over at Paradise Grille? You’ve got close to an hour before you need to be at Harley’s. We can catch the sunset and get some food in you in case you need to kick some butt tonight.”

“Perfect.”

I hug Grand and Myra goodbye. Luke and I stroll across the street hand in hand and place our orders at the counter. Then we nab an empty picnic table overlooking the Gulf.

The sound of the tide washing in and out is soothing. Luke toasts me with his beer and I raise my margarita to him in return, then we sip contentedly as the cool breeze skims over us.

When our burgers and fries are ready, Luke retrieves them from the counter, and we chow down.

“So,” I say between bites, “I do believe it’s your turn to plan a date.”

He finishes off a French fry then grins. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten. In fact, I’ve got the perfect thing in mind.”

“Which is?” I ask.

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