“I enjoy the variety.” She pulled open the door and held out his bowl. “Thank you again.”
“My pleasure.” He took it, and as his fingers brushed hers, a sizzle of electricity surged through him.
She jerked her hand back, as if she’d felt the same high-voltage charge.
“You know . . . you never did tell me your full name.” He lightened his tone and tried humor again. “I’m beginning to think you’re a fugitive on the lam—or in the Witness Security Program.”
His tease earned him a brief lip flex.
“Nothing that exotic. I just prefer to maintain a low-key presence. I’m here on vacation, and only a few people know where I am. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Why?”
“A story for another day. For those who are curious, I rented this house under the name Kat Morgan.”
Meaning that wasn’t her real name.
But it was all he was going to get today.
“Well . . . enjoy the rest of your day, Kat Morgan. And if you’re ever in the mood to visit, there’s a path through the trees that leads to my house.” He motioned toward it. “My place is much smaller than yours, but the door’s always open to friends.”
“We’re new acquaintances.”
“That’s how friendships begin. See you around.” He lifted a hand in farewell and retraced his steps across the small patch of manicured grass that dead-ended at more natural flora, which in turn led to the needle-carpeted ground in the copse of trees dividing the properties.
There, he stopped to look back.
The deck was deserted. Kat must have retreated inside—taking with her all of her secrets.
Slowing his pace, he continued toward his house, for once ignoring the majesty of the trees towering above him.
So what exactly had he gleaned from the impromptu tête-à-tête with his neighbor?
He ticked off the crumbs she’d thrown him.
She had no siblings. Nebraska had been her childhood home, though it didn’t sound as if she had any family left there. There’d been a dearth of milk in her young life. She was using the name Kat Morgan—but he’d be willing to bet that wasn’t the one on her birth certificate.
Her questions and tone hinted that Charley had had her pegged from the get-go.
But instead of clearing up any of the mystery surrounding her, those random pieces of data led to more questions.
Pausing on his own much smaller deck, he gave his unpretentious, contemporary one-story house a once-over. Nothing as glamorous as the Clark place, with all its high-end finishes, but it was simple and comfortable and met all his needs.
Or most of them.
The truth was, much as he loved the home he’d created in Hope Harbor, it was beginning to feel a tad empty.
He rested his forearms on the damp railing and leaned forward, watching the few dawdling clouds pick up their pace and scoot toward the horizon.
If he wanted to fill the emptiness in his house—and his life—he should be proactive. Pick up the pace socially. The lack of eligible women in his adopted town didn’t have to be a detriment. Online dating was an acceptable method of meeting people these days, if you stuck with reputable sites—and surely there would be a few appealing women within a manageable driving radius.
Not as close as the woman next door—but perhaps far more willing to explore a friendship.
It was worth thinking about—after Aunt Stephanie’s visit. That had to be his priority for the immediate future. And during her stay, he wouldn’t have to worry about loneliness. If she was the firecracker he recalled from their infrequent visits and phone conversations, a fair number of lively exchanges were on the horizon.
And maybe, if he introduced her to his reclusive neighbor, the two women would hit it off. Kat’s walls would erode. He and his neighbor would discover they had much in common. Love would blossom. Happily-ever-after would follow.
Yeah, right.
Zach straightened up and entered his house, shutting the door behind him with a firm click.
He’d been listening to too many romantic stories from his baristas—one who continued to believe Mr. Right would come along despite a series of Mr. Wrongs, the other a veteran of a thirty-seven-year marriage to a woman now gone but who lived on in his heart.
Unlike their rose-tinted view of the world, real life tended to be fraught with difficulties—and relationships came with all sorts of complexities that could lead to choppy seas.
Lissa would attest to that.
As would his dad.
And getting involved with a temporary resident who came preloaded with problems would be like setting sail straight into a storm.
He didn’t need that headache.
Detouring to the kitchen, he caught sight of a blackberry stain on his finger. After replacing the bowl in the cabinet, he flipped on the faucet and scrubbed at the spot. The stubborn pigment from the juice faded—but refused to vanish.
Kind of like how thoughts of Kat kept flitting through his mind, no matter how hard he tried to eradicate them.
Because a beautiful woman with an aura of intriguing secrecy and poignant aloneness was impossible to ignore—even if further attempts to circumvent her no-trespassing signs could be a recipe for disaster.
5
What on earth had Simon been thinking?
Katherine exhaled, closed the script he’d overnighted, and set it on the table beside the chaise lounge on the deck.
Had he even read this?
And if he had, why—
Her cell began to vibrate, and she picked it up from the table.
Speak of the devil.
He’d said he would text, not call—but while a conversation with him wasn’t high on her Saturday priority list, the two of them did need to have a heart-to-heart.
She pressed talk and greeted him.
“You answered.” He sounded surprised.
“The script came late yesterday. I finished it this morning.”
“And?”
“Did you read it?”
“I skimmed through.”
“Did you happen to notice there’s a nude scene?”
“It’s short—and it’s not a nude scene.”
“Close enough. You know I don’t do that stuff.”
“Katherine—the script is Academy Award material. A first-rate director will be in charge. We can trust him to handle the scene with taste and discretion.”
She swung her legs to the deck and began to pace. “The point of that scene is to portray emotional vulnerability. I can do that with my clothes on. It’s called acting.”
“I’m not going to debate that. I’d rather hear what you thought about the rest of the script.”
“It has language I’m not crazy about.”
“I’m talking big picture here, Katherine, not nitpicks. What was your overall impression?”
She massaged the bridge of her nose. “It’s a great screenplay . . . or it would be, with a few modifications. The language and nudity are unnecessary.”
“In your opinion.”
“Fine—but I’m not comfortable with those elements.”
He started to tap his pen. “We’re not in a position to make many demands. You’re not a proven commodity yet on the big screen. Once you are, we’ll have more clout.”