A Novel Proposal

by Denise Hunter

Genres: Christian Romance; Religious & Inspirational; Clean & Wholesome Romance

Synopsis

When western novelist Sadie Goodwin must pen a romance novel to rescue her lackluster sales, there’s only one tiny problem: she’s never been in love.

Desperate to salvage her career, Sadie accepts an invitation to hole up at her friend’s beach duplex for the summer and devote herself to this confounding genre. After all, where better to witness love than on the beautiful South Carolina shore?

But Sadie soon finds many ways to procrastinate the dreaded task—like getting to know the beach regulars and installing a Little Free Library on the property. She even attempts conversation with Sam Ford, the frustratingly stubborn neighbor on the other side of the duplex. But things take an unexpected turn when Sadie finds inside her library an abandoned novel with a secret compartment—and a beautiful engage­ment ring tucked inside.

Suddenly, locating the ring’s owner becomes the perfect way to put off writing that romance. Sadie draws a reluctant Sam into her mission. And as the two close in on an answer to the mysterious proposal, she discovers a tender side to him. She begins to wonder if he just might make the perfect hero for her romance novel—or maybe even her heart.

From the bestselling author of The Convenient Groom (now a beloved Hallmark Original movie) comes a sweet and sizzling story of a romance writer surprised by her own happily ever after.

• Sweet and thoughtful contemporary read
• Stand-alone novel
• Book length: 80,000 words

Release date: March 21, 2023

Publisher: Thomas Nelson

Print pages: 352

Sample

One

Open your romance novel with a character who is in medias res—in the midst of things.

—Romance Writing 101

Sadie Goodwin’s literary dreams came to a shuddering halt in the middle of her favorite SoHo coffee shop. She blocked out the honking traffic and the May sun streaming through the plate-glass window. Blocked out the lively chatter and cheerful tinkling of a spoon inside a coffee mug and leaned toward her agent. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

The corners of Gillian’s eyes tightened in a wince. “Rosewood House is canceling your contract.”

“But . . .” Sadie’s tongue froze for a long second, all the ramifications kicking in.

No more books. And she’d already turned in book three. Was halfway finished writing book four.

No more Lonesome Ridge stories.

To say nothing of more practical matters like rent and utilities and chocolate chip cookies. Then there was that hefty book advance she’d already spent. She pushed away thoughts of money. “But I’m getting such great reviews, and Sundown at Lonesome Ridge was a finalist in the—”

“Those things don’t matter. It’s all about sales—and yours are dismal.”

Gillian had never been one to soften a blow, but yikes. That was brutal.

“But it’s a four-book series . . .”

“I know how much you love these characters. It’s a terrific series—it really is. I knew it was special the moment I read book one. But your novels aren’t selling and the publisher wants to cut their losses.”

Sadie’s lungs emptied. She couldn’t go back to writing obituaries. She just couldn’t. It would be the death of her. (Yes, she’d heard all the puns.) Sure, she had her job teaching art at the elementary school, but that hardly kept her in the black. She had to share a tiny Queens apartment with a roommate just to make ends meet.

And what of her family’s legacy?

“I know you’re disappointed.”

Understatement of the century. Her friends and family were so proud of her, especially her dad’s family. To them she was a star, rising from the ashes of her grandfather’s literary career. Maybe she didn’t see herself in quite that light, but she’d thought she was headed toward a promising career, a steady income . . . basically her dream. Now the aforementioned star seemed to fizzle across the sky as it plummeted to planet earth.

She had to regroup. There had to be something she could do. “Can you sell the rest of the series to another publisher?”

“You know it’s already been rejected by everyone else. Westerns are a tough sell in this market. Rosewood thought the granddaughter of Rex Goodwin might stand a chance. And they liked your writing so much they were willing to take a risk—but it didn’t pay off.”

Sadie suspected the publisher, especially the marketing team, liked her connection to Rex Goodwin the most. She took an unsteady sip of coffee, gathering the courage to ask the money question. She’d read her contract, after all. Albeit three years ago and with stars in her eyes, every sentence of legalese a pure thrill. But maybe they’d have a heart. After all, she’d done nothing wrong.

She swallowed hard. “What about the advance?”

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to pay it back.”

Sadie squeezed her eyes shut. Talk about adding insult to injury. Her series was

discontinued and her readers (all twelve, apparently) would never know the end of the Lonesome Ridge story. And she was now up to her eyeballs in debt. Harsh. Her advance had amounted to ten thousand per book.

“But not on the last book, right, since I turned in a perfectly good—?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Twenty thousand dollars. A veritable fortune.

Sadie rubbed the back of her neck where sweat had broken out. She visualized her bank statement and the $311 balance. “I don’t have that kind of money, Gillian.”

Her agent patted her hand. “I know you must be overwhelmed. But the good news is they offered what I feel is a fair solution and a wonderful opportunity as well.”

“Okay . . .” She’d take anything at this point. What did she have to lose?

“You know Erin and the entire team love your writing. You bring such emotional depth to your stories. Your characters are nuanced and authentic, and your plot twists are compelling. You truly do have a special gift.”

Why did she feel like a hog being led to slaughter? “Um, thank you . . .”

“While the team wasn’t enthusiastic about your sales, they are open to the idea of seeing something else from you.”

Her stomach shot upward like a helium-filled party balloon. “Oh! That’s great news. It’s funny you mention that because I’ve had this other series idea brewing for months. It features a desperado-type character who arrives in a gold-mining town along the banks of the—”

Gillian shook her head. “No, kiddo. They absolutely will not entertain the idea of another western. They were wondering if you’d be willing to . . . make a slight genre shift.”

She couldn’t imagine what they’d want. But the thought of paying back that advance tightened around her neck like a noose. “Oh. Well, sure, I guess so. Maybe something like a mystery? I could alter the plot a bit, advance the story a hundred years—there was already sort of a suspense thread in there, so I could just—”

“No, Sadie. I guess what they’re asking for is less a shift and more of an . . . about-face. But I know you’re up for the challenge. I believe in you—that hasn’t changed.”

Well, that was nice to hear. Sadie searched for her familiar sunny side and smiled. “Thank you. Okay, I’m all ears. What is it they’d like me to write?”

“They’d like to see”—Gillian waved a hand, voilà style—“a romance novel!”

Sadie blinked. Opened her mouth. Closed it again. “A romance novel.”

“Boy meets girl, boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back . . . You know the kind of thing.”

Yes, yes, she knew what a romance novel was. She was just . . .

“We believe you could bring something special to the genre with your emotional depth and creativity. And, Sadie, this is a genre that sells. They’re offering a one-book contract, due date of September first. I know that’s fast, but it’s a chance to earn back that advance. You’d earn out and the royalties would eventually pay off, I’m sure of it. And I have every confidence you can write a romance novel that readers would clamor for.”

Sadie had no such confidence. She’d never even read one, for crying out loud, unless you counted El Paso. None of her Lonesome Ridge books held even the slightest whiff of romance—despite a complaint or two about that in readers’ reviews.

Romance. Her mind conjured up a dreamlike image of a couple running toward each other in a field of wildflowers, arms extended, hair flagging behind them. She envisioned the book’s cover—a shirtless man and a scantily clad woman tangled in a steamy pre-kiss moment.

Her face heated. She wasn’t the person to write this kind of novel. Or even read them. She’d had a poor example in the romantic love department. Her parents, though still together, were often at odds. She’d had a front-row seat to their roller-coaster relationship. Not exactly inspiring.

These were all valid reasons Sadie had no business writing a romance novel. But no reason was as compelling as this: at the ripe old age of twenty-six and a half, Sadie Goodwin had never been in love.

 

Sadie spotted her best friend, four dogs in tow, on the other side of the park. Caroline’s brown hair fluttered in the wind, and as Sadie approached she realized it had been her friend’s image she’d superimposed on that hazy romantic scene she’d envisioned earlier. No wonder. Caroline was the epitome of a romantic heroine: beautiful, smart, and personable. Basically a man-magnet.

Sadie had met Caroline their freshman year at Pace University and they immediately bonded. Caroline had been born and raised in the Big Apple, where Sadie had always dreamed of living.

Upon graduation they rented an apartment in Queens. Sadie got a job at the local elementary school and Caroline managed the corner coffee shop. It was there she met the love of her life, Carlos, whom she’d married last year about the same time she started her dog-walking business.

“Milo, stop that.” Caroline tugged at the leash. “You can’t eat Honey’s collar. It’s not nice and it doesn’t taste good. Go potty, Finn. Yes, I know you haven’t—” Her eyes lit up as she spotted Sadie. “Oh, hey, you made it. How’d it go with your agent? Your text was maddeningly lacking in detail.”

She’d had the entire train ride from Manhattan to reflect, and there was no point beating around the bush. “They’re canceling my contract

and I have to pay back my advance.”

“No!” Caroline enveloped her in a hug, their jackets and scarves—and four leashes with dogs attached—squished between them. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I don’t understand. Your stories are so good, and you have super reviews online, and you won that contest and everything. They’re crazy if they don’t want to publish you.”

Sadie waited for the commercial airliner to pass overhead before she tried to speak. “Apparently none of that matters.”

Caroline drew back, her green eyes widening. “You know what? You should self-publish the rest of the series. You could use the profits to pay back your advance.”

“If Rosewood’s marketing plan couldn’t sell my books to the masses, I doubt sticking them up on Amazon will do the trick. They did offer me another contract though—one book in a genre completely outside my wheelhouse. I can’t even entertain the idea. It’s ridiculous—they want me to write a romance novel.”

The dachshund had wound itself around Sadie’s leg, and the large black poodle was getting up close and personal with Sadie.

“Honey, no!”

“Yep. ’Fraid so.”

“No, Honey’s the dog.” Caroline tugged the leash, forcing the poodle away from Sadie. “Can we walk? They’re getting restless and I need to stimulate Finn’s digestive system because—well, long story.”

They started off at a stroll.

“You could totally write a romance novel, Sadie. I have every faith in you.”

Sadie snorted. “Right. Like I have so much experience in that department.”

“Well, have you ever been in a gunfight? Drifted down a raging river on a whiskey barrel? Have you taken down a bad guy with nothing but an empty gun and a broken leg? No? Well, you wrote about all the above in a way that was so real it had me on the edge of my seat. You are seriously gifted, girl.”

Sadie waved her off. “That’s different. It’s . . . guy stuff. It’s like the old westerns I watched with my grandpa. I could see it all in my head. You can’t see romance in your head. It happens on the inside.”

Two twentysomething guys passed them, practically breaking their necks for a better view of Caroline.

“Of course you can see it in your head. It’s a guy giving a girl a single rose. A devastating breakup scene at a ritzy restaurant. Some grand gesture to win her back.”

Sadie stabbed a finger at her friend. “See? You know all that because that’s your life. Your life, not mine.”

Caroline slid a pointed look at her. “Well, maybe it would be yours if you gave a guy half a chance.”

“Can I help it if I end up with all the duds? If there’s absolutely no connection? I know zip about love and romance, Caro."

“You watched You’ve Got Mail with me that one time.”

“I fell asleep.”

“You had a long day. Listen, westerns have a formula, right? Stop it, Milo.” She petted the corgi. “Romance novels do too. You just have to follow the formula. You can totally do this. What choice do you have anyway? You have to pay back the advance, right?”

“Did I mention the September first deadline?”

“Well, you’ll have the whole summer to write it. Three months is long enough, isn’t it? You wrote Lonesome Ridge in ninety days.”

“That was different. I know how to structure a western. I’ve read a million of them.”

“Just start with an alpha male, throw in a meet-cute, and end with an HEA. You’ll nail it.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“Start reading romance novels—I know all the best ones. Good boy, Milo! Watch some rom-coms. By the time school’s out you’ll be ready to go.”

Apparently Gillian and Caroline both believed she could do this. Maybe she could. All she had to do was study the genre and follow the formula, right? She didn’t have to love it. She just had to do it.

A jet went streaking over their heads, reminding her of her noisy apartment, just a stone’s throw from LaGuardia, with thin walls and thinner windows. Not to mention the construction project that had been going on next door since the Revolutionary War.

“I’d really have to be homed in on this. You know how distracted I can get.”

Caroline glanced up at yet another jet taking off for parts unknown. Then her gaze darted back to Sadie, her eyes widening. “I just had the best idea. What if you had a place to write—someplace quiet where there were no distractions? No people. No planes or construction. Just you and your laptop and a warm, sunny beach.”

“Do you own a time-share I don’t know about?”

“No, but my mom does. Well, not a time-share, but remember that beach cottage she bought last summer in South Carolina?”

“Isn’t she using it?”

“Just a few weeks in the winter—she’s dreaming of retirement. It’s a duplex, so she’s renting out one side, which basically pays the mortgage so she doesn’t have to rent out her own living space. Smart, right?”

“I won’t be able to afford that, Caro. I’m barely making ends meet as it is.”

“Please, as if Mom would take your money. She was just saying the other day how she hated the idea of her unit sitting empty. This would be perfect. You could write on the deck! Just think—nothing but sea breezes and sunshine. That’s right, Finn, buddy, go potty.”

The dog led her to a nearby copse of trees, where he sniffed around

Sadie considered her friend’s suggestion. Maybe she could write this novel if she really focused and applied herself over the summer. Plus the beach was romantic, wasn’t it? Inspiration at her fingertips.

She could use these last few weeks of school to bone up on romance novels. Then once school ended, she could drive to sunny South Carolina and start writing that novel.

Another jetliner screeched by, and she sent it a withering look. Her roommate had promised she wouldn’t hear them after a while. She was a liar. Plus she’d failed to disclose the aforementioned construction. A least Julie was quiet—when she was even home. She toiled toward her master’s degree by day and worked nights at a fancy steak house that kept her out late.

“Good dog, Finn! Mommy will be so happy.” Caroline led the tangle of dogs back toward Sadie, then they headed toward the street. “So what do you think?”

“I think if by some crazy chance your mom would let me crash at her beach house for free all summer, I’d be nuts to turn it down.”

Caroline beamed. “Great then! You’re going.”

“Um, you might want to run this plan by your mom first.”

Caroline held up her phone in a fistful of leashes. “Already done. She’s sending you the information now.”

Sadie’s phone buzzed and she checked the screen, skimming the note from Mrs. Miller as realization settled in. “She really said yes.”

Caroline transferred all the leashes to one hand and gave Sadie a sideways hug. “You, my friend, are headed to Tucker Island, where you’re going to write a fabulous romance novel—and I can’t wait to read it.”

Two

A meet-cute is a charming encounter between two characters that leads to the development of a romantic relationship.

—Romance Writing 101

Every ounce of Sadie’s travel fatigue fled at first sight of her summer digs. She pulled into the driveway on the right side of the blue beach cottage. The two-story home perched cheerfully on a mound of sandy soil, its white shutters and trim a lovely contrast to the periwinkle siding. There were two small stoops, two front doors, both crisp white and devoid of windows.

“We’re here, Rio. Oh boy, are we here.”

She shut off the ignition and stepped out, drawing in a lungful of salt-laden air. A sultry breeze lifted the few wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail on the twelve-hour drive. Two seagulls soared overhead, crying out their welcome.

“Thank you, birdies.” She glanced back at the house, unable to keep her smile from spreading. “Yes, I think this will do.”

She leashed her Maltipoo and set her on the ground. The caramel-colored dog tugged on the leash, nose down, eager to explore her new playground. After she pottied, Sadie said, “Let’s go see the house. Wanna go see the house? Yes, we do.”

Leaving her things for later, Sadie unlocked the front door using the keypad. Once inside she shut the door and let Rio off the leash. The hot air that washed over her didn’t even put a dent in her mood. The pictures of the place hadn’t done it justice. The open floor plan led to a wall of windows at the back side of the house where a sliding door welcomed visitors onto the deck. Evening light flooded the immaculate space. Splashes of pastel blue complemented the muted tones of gray and white. The décor was simple, the furnishings lush.

“Wow, are we lucky or what?” After sharing a miniscule apartment for an outrageous sum, this place felt as big as a palace.

Rio was busy scampering around, sliding across the floor in her excitement to see it all, experience it all right now.

“Do you like it? Isn’t it so beautiful?”

Sadie walked across the wooden plank floor, running her fingers across the butter-soft sofa as she went, then kicked on the air-conditioning. The unit clicked on, then began to hum quietly. The cottage still smelled of new construction—Mrs. Miller had had it completely renovated when she’d bought it last year.

Rio yapped at a floor sculpture of a pelican.

“Be nice to our new friend. She won’t hurt you.”

Leaving the dog to her explorations, Sadie continued her tour upstairs where the lavish master bedroom exceeded all her expectations. She threw herself onto the king-size bed and stared up at the ceiling fan. “God, You are so, so good.” While the fan whirled in slow circles, she made a snow angel on the puffy duvet, then hopped up to investigate the master bath.

The focal point of the room was a floor-to-ceiling-tiled shower featuring multiple showerheads, including a giant rain showerhead. In the corner a clawfoot tub stood, a fluffy white towel draped over its side.

She flashed the tub a wink. “See you later, big guy.”

She exited the master and peeked into the tastefully appointed guest room, then headed back downstairs. It was so quiet here—no jets soaring overhead, no cars honking outside her window, no t

oddlers screaming through the wall, no jackhammers clanging. Just the quiet sounds of the surf. In other words, perfect for writing. Thoughts of starting the dreaded project tightened her neck muscles.

Rio approached, tiny tongue lolling, brown eyes sparkling. “We just won’t think about that right now, will we?” She dug her phone from her pocket and called Caroline, who answered with, “Have you started writing yet?”

“I just got here. This place is beautiful.” Sadie spun in a circle, arm flung out, head flung back.

“Glad you like it.”

Sadie got dizzy and fell into the welcoming arms of a plush leather armchair.

A dog yipped in the background. “I’m at the Fraziers’. Their Chihuahua doesn’t want to go out. Oh well, I’ll just carry her. Did you get unpacked? Meet your new neighbor?”

Her friend knew her all too well. Mrs. Miller said the duplex neighbor would probably keep to himself. He was renting for the summer. “Not yet. Maybe I’ll bake him cookies or something.”

“Don’t get sidetracked. You have a book to write.”

“It’s the weekend. I’m not writing till Monday.”

“Fair enough. Trixie, no! Don’t piddle on my favorite . . . Ugh. Gotta go. Have fun.”

“See ya.” Sadie ended the call. Time to bring in her things.

“Know what this place needs, Rio? Some happy music.” She retrieved her smart speaker from her purse and started the Spotify Summer Romance playlist she’d set up during a free hour her last week of school. She’d been overdosing on romance material of all kinds. Couldn’t hurt.

The happy riffs of “Summer Nights” from Grease began. She cranked it up, beaming broadly. “That’s better. Let’s go get our things. Will you help carry the bags? No? Oh, you’re so useless. Why do I keep you around?”

Back at the car, Sadie loaded down: rolling suitcase, snack bag, Kate Spade laptop bag, and one heaping box of romance novels. She hadn’t read them all—certainly not the more, shall we say, smutty ones with the clinch covers. She waggled her head, proud of herself for knowing the correct term. She’d come a long way in the past month. But no way was she writing that kind of romance. She still had no idea what the plot would be, but it would definitely qualify as a slow-burn romance that culminated in a simple kiss. She was already pushing her boundaries far enough.

It was a handful with a wriggling Rio on the end of the leash, but she made it back to the porch in one trip. She let go of the rolling bag and turned the knob . . .

It was locked.

***

Sam Ford glared at the wall separating his unit from the one next door. The upbeat music had started just a few minutes ago, but it was already on his last nerve. And that was before the dog started up. Some ankle-biting menace, no doubt.

So much for the nice, quiet neighbor the owner had told him was moving in for the summer. The whole summer. He put the throw pillow over his head. A little peace and quiet, God. Someplace to lick my wounds. Is that too much to ask?

The room went blessedly quiet.

Before he could draw a breath, another bebopping tune started up.

Growling, he got up and went out to his deck where the sounds of surf covered the music. He glanced across the house-length deck, which he would now have to share.

Well, he could do a little rearranging, couldn’t he? Give himself some privacy. And he should do it before the woman came out here and noticed he’d moved things around. Wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. He glanced at the three planted palms. Those would suffice. He lined them up across the middle as a sort of barrier and stood back to survey the change. Better than nothing. It certainly got the point across: this side is mine; that side is yours.

That done, he took the three deck steps into the backyard and walked around his side of the house to where he’d done a little landscaping for Mrs. Miller. He’d dug up the scrubby old bushes, put down a weed barrier, and added some nice crepe myrtle. The bushes would grow well here in the sunlight, and the blooms added a splash of bright pink. He ambled toward the front of the house, his feet sinking in the sandy soil as he went.

The cottage itself was in immaculate condition—the front of it holding plenty of curb appeal. Though he couldn’t have cared less about the appearance of the house when he’d rented it. Anything that got him out of Bluffton suited him just fine.

A knocking sound came from the direction of his stoop.

He stepped closer and saw a woman jabbing the doorbell, not once but three times.

“Can I help you?”

She jumped and whirled around. Stepped back. Tripped over a little dog who let out a squeak.

Sam foresaw the inevitable and darted forward. But he was too far away.

“Oh!” The woman stumbled down the steps, landing on the sandy soil on one knee as a box spilled from her arms and rained down a cache of books.

She looked behind her. “Rio!”

The dog, tail wagging furiously, jumped up on the woman and licked her chin.

“My poor baby, are you okay? I’m so sorry.” The woman checked over the mutt.

“You okay?” Sam asked because that seemed the appropriate

 thing to say.

“Sure, sure, I’m fine.” She blew a strand of short blonde hair from her face and shot a smile his way. “You scared me there. You must be my new neighbor. I expected you to show up on the other side of the door.” She let out a nervous laugh. “Well, hi. Hello.” She waved, too, in case the verbal greetings weren’t clear enough. “I’m Sadie.”

“Sam.”

“Right. Nice to meet you, Sam.”

He knelt to help with the books, and his gaze dropped to the cover in his hands. Wow. Those were some impressive pecs. He lifted a brow as he dropped the book into the box.

Sadie’s cheeks bloomed with color. Long lashes swept down over brown eyes. “Oh, thank you, but I’ve got it. These are just a little bit of, uh, research. I’m a writer. Not a romance writer but . . . Well, I am now sorta, I guess. But that’s a long story. We’ll just put these away.” She shoveled the books into the box and stood.

She came up no higher than his shoulders. Speaking of small, her dog jumped up on his leg, making it only as far as his knee.

“I locked myself out—can you believe it? Been here all of two seconds, and I left my phone in the house when I went out to unload my car and . . . Well, I don’t have the code memorized yet, of course—and it’s on my phone, which is in the house. This is Rio, by the way. I named her after the vivacious character of Rio McDonald from The Outlaw. She was played by Jane Russell.”

She took a breath. “Sorry, I’m talking too much. I do that sometimes.” She shifted the box to one arm and stuck out her hand. “Nice to formally meet you. We’ll be neighbors all summer after all.”

He had a feeling this woman sent peace and quiet running for the hills. He sighed as he took her hand. “Pleasure.” Her hand was small and dainty in his. Smooth skin. And she had some kind of clean, sweet scent that teased his nose. Maybe her hair.

“Down, Rio. Get off the nice man.” Sadie grabbed the dog’s leash and gave a little tug. “She’s harmless, I promise. And I’ll keep her out of your side of the yard. I’m sorry to bother you, but can I use your phone? I need to call Mrs. Miller to get the code.”

“I know it.”

Her brows pulled together. “You know it?”

“The code. Had to go over and check on the hot water heater last week.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh! That’s great then. I was already going to bake you a cake—you know, just to be neighborly, but now I’ll make you cookies too.”

His head was spinning a little. He hadn’t heard this many words in the two weeks he’d been here. “That’s not necessary.”

She waved him off. “Oh, I don’t mind. I love to bake. But I’ll get out of your hair if you tell me the code?”

“It’s 124060. 

Can I carry the . . . ?”

But she was already skirting the dog and carting her box and belongings off toward her own stoop. “Thank you. Sorry to have bothered you. I’ll memorize the code this time. Go on, Rio, that’s a good girl.” She leaned close to the keypad, pressed some buttons, straightened, and twisted the knob.

She threw him a smile over her shoulder. “Worked like a charm. 124060. See? I already have it memorized.” She juggled the box, leash, and suitcase as she navigated the screen door. “Thank you again!” She gave another wave. “I’ll bring those goodies over in the next day or two.”

“You don’t have”—he began, but she was already gone—“to do that.”

 

Three

Weave the threads of your characters’ pasts into their present-day lives in a way that deepens the story.

—Romance Writing 101

Sadie woke to the bright morning sunlight puddling on the white duvet. In the distance the surf whooshed against the shoreline in rhythmic waves. Aah. She could get used to that sound. When she stirred, Rio hopped up and licked her face. “Good morning, baby. Did you sleep well? Yes, you did. Do you have to go potty?”

Rio froze, all but her fluffy tail, her brown eyes lighting.

“Let’s go! Let’s go potty.” Sadie grabbed the dog and stopped by the restroom on her way downstairs. Wearing a pair of leggings and a tee, she deemed herself presentable enough to make an appearance outside.

She detoured to the kitchen. “Just a minute. Gotta get the coffee going . . . Mommy needs her caffeine. There we go. See, that didn’t take long. Now we’re ready to go outside.”

She slid open the patio door, and Rio dashed past her onto the deck and down the steps to the fenced-in yard. Sadie followed. She’d be sharing the long wooden deck, which was divided by three potted trees. She peeked around the palm branches and spied her neighbor reading the newspaper with his morning coffee. “Well, hello! Good morning.”

He turned her way and muttered what she assumed was a greeting before returning to his paper.

Someone needed more coffee. Then again, he hadn’t been all that friendly last night either. As she walked down the deck steps, she remembered that Mrs. Miller said he kept to himself.

Maybe she should ask the woman about changing the key code since Sam knew it. She’d thought of that about midnight when a sound awakened her. But it was only Rio, gnawing on Sadie’s favorite sandals.

While the dog sniffed around in circles, Sadie took in her surroundings. The deck itself took up most of the yard. The beach began only twenty feet or so beyond the property line. There were already joggers and shell seekers at the waterline. She couldn’t wait to put on her tennis shoes and hit the shore. Mrs. Miller had said it was a busy public beach—the access pathway cut through on Sadie’s side of the house.

She glanced back at her neighbor, still locked in on his newspaper. His thick black hair was sleep tousled, and his facial hair hovered between five-o’clock shadow and beard. He was a handsome man, if a little on the Neanderthal side, with thick prominent brows set over amber eyes—lion eyes. And even though they were barely into June, his olive skin was already bronzed.

Well. She should probably stop staring.

Rio found an agreeable spot by some sort of palm bush. “Good job, Rio.”

After a cup of coffee she’d go for a nice jog, then she’d head to the store and stock up on food—including the ingredients to make Sam’s goodies. Nothing softened up a neighbor like baked goods. She’d make those today so she could focus on plotting her book tomorrow. Her publisher wanted the proposal ASAP.

The thought of that task overwhelmed her. Not to mention the large sum of money she owed. Her stomach twisted hard.

She mentally took a brush and painted a swath of black across those worries. She didn’t have to think about any of that today. Today, she’d jog on the beach. She’d enjoy every last one of those shower

jets. (She’d had a delightful soak in that clawfoot tub last night.) And then she’d bake a yummy cake for her neighbor.

*  *  *

Sam flipped the burgers, the savory aroma of grilled beef making his stomach growl. He’d been inside most of the day—hiding, let’s face it. Because little Miss Chatterbox and her tiny yappy dog had taken over the deck this morning.

First she’d appeared straight out of bed to let the dog out, then she’d returned, minus the dog, in a pink leotard thing that left little to the imagination. She’d come back from her jog glowy somehow and with more energy than she’d had before.

She had left the house for a while—groceries, she’d said—but by then it was lunchtime and he decided to go to Vinnie’s Diner. By the time he’d returned, so had she.

So he stayed inside for the afternoon and watched the Braves lose to the Reds. Then he fell asleep on the sofa because he’d lain awake half the night reliving that ridiculous meeting with his neighbor and wondering how he was going to avoid her the whole summer when she so clearly wanted to talk, talk, talk. He wasn’t necessarily opposed to conversation in general, mind you. He chatted with clients and . . . well, family.

Okay, he wasn’t the talkative sort. But he’d come here to think and take a break, for crying out loud. If today was any indication, he’d be tiptoeing around his neighbor all summer.

The yapping dog had woken him from his nap just after five, and he remembered the beef patties he’d bought at the Piggly Wiggly. Weighing the odds of having another encounter with Chatterbox, he grabbed the beef and slipped outside.

Now said burgers were done and—bonus—he’d managed to avoid the woman next door. Congratulating himself, he set the burgers on the loaded buns and shut off the grill.

“Hi, neighbor.” Sadie slipped out onto the deck, wearing her third outfit of the day—white shorts and a blue top that bared her shoulders.

Nice shoulders, he had to admit. As far as shoulders went. Since when did he care about shoulders? “Hi.”

“Wow, that smells great. Do you grill out a lot?”

He grunted and glanced back at the grill. “Came with the house. You can use it if you want.”

“I didn’t even think about that when I went to the grocery. But to be totally honest, I’ve never used a grill. My apartment doesn’t have a balcony, and I wouldn’t even know how to turn it on.”

He grabbed his seasonings and turned for the door. “It’s not difficult.”

“Well, maybe you can show me sometime. I love a good grilled steak. Are they hard to cook? How do you know when they’re done the way you like? I prefer medium myself, and I use a thermometer when I’m broiling, but I don’t know if the house has one of those.”

Mercifully his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. “Gotta take this.”

“Oh, sure. Enjoy your dinner.”

He slipped back inside and checked the screen. Sighing, he set his plate on the coffee table and took the call. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. What are you doing? Is this a good time to chat?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Well, I was just checking to see how things are going on the island. I hope you’re not working too hard.” Before slinking away from Bluffton, he’d committed to maintaining the yards of their island customers. Far be it from him to let down his dad and cousin.

“It’s okay. I prefer to stay busy.”

“I know you do. But I worry about you, honey.”

“I’m fine, Mom. I just needed to . . . get away for a while. I haven’t had a vacation in four years.”

“This is hardly a vacation. And you can’t tell me the invitation didn’t have something to do with your sudden departure.”

His eyes cut over to the drawer where he’d shoved the unopened envelope. “They sent it through the mail.” Even though he saw Tag every darn day at work.

“I’m sorry, honey. I know this is hard. I’m not excusing what he and Amanda did, but what’s done is done, and we have to figure out a way to make this work. He’s family.”

Sam wished his cousin had remembered that last year when he was busy moving in on Sam’s girlfriend—practically his fiancée at the time. But Tag was his mom’s sister’s son, practically his parents’ surrogate child. Tag, a year younger than Sam, had attended the same school, played on the same baseball team. Both had started working for Sam’s dad at Ford Landscaping in the summers. Both had become full-time employees upon graduation.

“I hate what happened, honey. I hate that you’re hurting. But he feels just terrible, and so does Amanda.”

Not bad enough to stop their wedding though.

“Are you planning to go?”

There was the question of the hour. He didn’t even know the wedding date as he hadn’t opened the invitation—and his family hadn’t exactly included him in the planning. “I don’t know, Mom. I don’t really want to think about that right now.”

A brief pause followed. “I understand. Is there anything I can do? You know I love you and I just hate this for you.” Sadness tinged her voice. This debacle had splintered the family—but that wasn’t his fault.

“I love you too, Mom. I’m fine. I just needed a breather.” From that remorseful

look Tag wore like a naughty puppy. From the sudden halt of conversation every time Sam walked into a room.

“All right, honey. But maybe we can meet up for lunch next week, just you and me. I could come to the island . . .”

He’d gone out of his way to refrain from mentioning exactly where he was staying. But he could meet her at a restaurant. “Sure. I’ll text you.”

He wrapped up the call, but the conversation was still heavy on his mind. He’d managed to go most of the day without thinking about this mess, but the call brought everything back.

He grabbed his plate where the two burgers sat cooling. His appetite was long gone, but he grabbed one of the sandwiches anyway and opened his mouth to take a big bite.

The doorbell rang. Glancing that direction, he glimpsed Sadie through the sidelight. She saw him, too, darn it. Grimacing, he set aside his cold burger and went to the door.

“Hi, sorry to bother you,” she said when he opened the door. “This is for you.” She shoved a huge domed container at him. “It’s a Bundt cake. I couldn’t believe the kitchen was equipped with a Bundt pan, but there it was. I have a thermometer too—I just checked, so I guess a grilled steak is in my future. I hope you like chocolate.”

She sure did have a wide smile. And eyes that matched the cake. “Thank you.”

The dog yapped through the wall.

“I should get back to Rio, but just send the container back when you’re done. And thank you again for your help last night. Do you have a favorite kind of cookie? I should’ve asked before I went to the store, but I think I have plenty of ingredients no matter what your preference.”

“I don’t—you don’t have to do that.”

She waved him off. “Oh, I don’t mind. I’ll give you a few days though—the cake’s kind of big for one person.”

Was she hinting at an invitation? He was not inviting her in.

“Well . . .” She shrugged her bare shoulders.

His eyes caught on a faint smattering of freckles there.

“I’ll let you get to it. See you around—’cause we do share a deck and all.”

“Yes, we do.” He tried for a smile but she was already bounding off his stoop.

“See ya.”

“Bye.” He shut the door and glanced down at the cake. Was there anything to that cliché about drowning your feelings in chocolate? He was about to find out.