He threw up his hands in mock-surrender and told her about the plans that he’d made with Timothy Eckels.

  “I hope that’s okay. I really want him to take the position, and I was hoping that we might be able to sway his thinking a bit with some of your homemade biscuits,” Chas took Missy in his arms and kissed the top of her head.

  “Who knew that I was marrying such a clever, manipulative man who would shamelessly use me for my cooking skills?” she teased, enjoying his embrace.

  “Oh good, so you’re on board,” the detective grinned wickedly. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Oh honey, after all this…you’re taking me out to dinner.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Izzy Gillmore reclined in her beach lounger, loving the gentle caress of the ocean breeze, but upset with herself because she’d forgotten to bring a bottle of water with her to the beach. Maggie had insisted that if she needed anything, she just had to text, so, hating to bother the staff, but feeling parched, she picked up her phone and requested a bottle of water. Maggie replied immediately letting her know that she’d send one out.

  Not five minutes later, one of the most gorgeous men she’d seen in a very long time came trundling down the beach toward her, carrying a cooler and a duffel bag.

  “Miss Gillmore?” the tanned, tattooed and muscle-bound young man asked,

  “Um, yes?” was the confused reply.

  “Hi, I’m Spencer Bengal. Maggie sent me out here with some supplies for you,” he grinned, setting down the cooler and duffel bag as though they were weightless.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the auburn-haired beauty frowned, looking adorable. “There must be some mistake, I only asked for a bottle of water,” she looked at the cooler and duffel with dismay.

  The Marine chuckled and she nearly fainted, seeing those dimples. “Oh, it’s never just a bottle of water with Maggie. She never had any kids, so she adopts every one of our guests and spoils them,” he explained.

  “I told her that I didn’t want to be a bother,” Izzy worried.

  “Everyone tells her that, and this is how she responds,” Spencer lifted the lid on the cooler, revealing three different types of water, fruit juices, soda, both diet and regular, a fruit tray, a cold cuts and cheese platter, and a small plastic box of chocolate strawberries.

  “Wow, good thing I didn’t ask for coffee,” the famous horror author joked.

  “It’s in the duffel, along with sunscreen in two tropical scents, a new tube of lip balm, a set of coasters for your lounger table, a freshly laundered towel, and a sun hat,” was the straight-faced reply.

  “How am I going to get all of this back to the Inn?” Izzy was dismayed.

  “You’re not. Whenever you’re done for the day, I’ll come collect everything, so you don’t have a thing to worry about. Is there anything else that I can get for you?” Spencer asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  “I can think of anything else that I could possibly want, but thanks anyway,” she shook her head, taking it all in.

  “Okay, but if you remember something, just shoot us a text,” he dazzled her with another warm smile and headed back to the Inn.

  “Spencer?” she called out after him.

  He turned around, not the least bit annoyed. “Yep?”

  “Are you thirsty or anything? Clearly I have plenty to share,” the reclusive young woman smiled, biting her lip in a way that the Marine found…interesting.

  “Oh. No, thanks, I’m good. Gotta get back to work,” he shrugged, noting that she looked somewhat crestfallen at his reply. “But…I’ll probably make a fire down here tonight. You’re more than welcome to join me, if you’re into toasted marshmallows.”

  “I adore toasted marshmallows,” she breathed. “What time?”

  “Sometime after the sun goes down. You’ll be able to see the flames from the Inn. I’ll have Maggie pack up some s’mores supplies and you can just join me whenever you feel like it,” Spencer suggested, his heart beating a bit faster at the idea.

  “I’d like that,” Izzy nodded. “Thank you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he grinned and turned once more to leave.

  “Oh, I doubt that,” she said, under her breath, watching him jog back up the beach.

  The insistent ringing of her phone jarred the author from her preoccupation with the sweet and devastatingly handsome young man who had just delivered her water, and she picked it up with annoyance.

  “Hi Miranda,” she answered, working hard to keep the annoyance from her voice.

  “No, I haven’t finished the manuscript yet. I needed some time to myself, so I’m doing a little traveling and I’ll get it turned in by the end of the week. That’s still way ahead of my deadline,” she reminded the persistent and often persnickety publisher on the other end of the line.

  “I realize that it has to go through editing, and it’ll have plenty of time, I promise,” Izzy closed her eyes, thinking that she should perhaps count to ten.

  “No, I haven’t developed the plot for the next one yet, that isn’t due until a week after I send this one. Don’t worry, I’ll get it to you on time, I always do. Have you scheduled the book tour yet?” she asked.

  She hated having to remind Miranda Banks, publisher extraordinaire to do her job, but sometimes the woman needed some pretty strong prompting.

  “Well, that has to be done, or it could hugely negatively impact sales numbers. What about the ad placements that we talked about, are those complete?”

  Izzy clenched her jaw and took in a deep breath before replying. Her publisher’s time would be much better spent promoting the books rather than trying to micromanage the author, but somehow, she didn’t think that it would be prudent to point that out.

  “Look, Miranda, I’ve gotta go…something has come up,” she said, quickly pushing the End button on her phone. Something had come up indeed…a precious fluffy white maltipoo and a shining golden retriever.

  “Well, aren’t you two just beautiful,” Izzy cooed, holding out her hands for the sweet-natured canines to sniff.

  Melissa Gladstone-Beckett, owner of The Beach House, came trotting up to corral her “girls.”

  “I’m so sorry, they don’t normally just walk up and bother people,” Missy apologized, slightly out of breath. “This is Toffee, and this little diva is Bitsy, she said, rubbing their ears with great affection.

  “They’re so sweet,” the author exclaimed, clearly enjoying the doggie love that was being lavished upon her. “Clearly they know a sucker when they see one,” she giggled.

  “They are love bugs,” Missy chuckled. “And they’re not minding their manners at the moment. I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”

  “Not at all. My inner introvert shies away from people, not furry babies,” she laughed as Toffee swiped the side of her face with a wet, pink tongue.

  “So, I should go and leave them here?” Missy joked.

  “Nope, you’re a dog person, so you’re okay,” Izzy grinned. “Maggie sent out a boat load of refreshments if you or the girls are thirsty or hungry,” she gestured to the cooler.

  Her hostess nodded with approval. “Maggie loves to spoil our guests. If there’s any request that you have, no matter what it is, Maggie can make it happen.”

  “So I’ve heard,” the author shook her head. “I haven’t been here very long, but I must say, your Inn has been just the breath of fresh air that I needed…literally and figuratively,” she confessed.

  “I’ve come up with tons of ideas for the ending of my novel, as well as the beginning of the next one. But don’t tell my publisher that, she’ll make me come home early,” Izzy made a face.

  “A little demanding, eh?” Missy asked ruefully.

  “Oh goodness, yes. You have no idea. If I don’t produce a certain word count per week, she starts acting like the sky is falling, but I’ve never missed a deadline yet,” she finished firmly.

  “Well, good for you,” Missy encouraged, giggling as Bitsy leaped up onto Izzy’s lap and curled up in a tiny, white ball.

  “If it helps at all, I love your books. After I finish one, it’s like agony until the next one comes out,” she admitted.

  “You read my books? That’s great – thank you,” Izzy said, looking a bit embarrassed.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no, not at all, it’s just…” the best-selling author searched, ironically, for the right words. “It’s just that, this all happened so fast. It still seems so surreal that people actually like what I write,” she shrugged. “I love what I do, and honestly, I’d do it even if only three people on earth read what I wrote, but it can be a little overwhelming at times. I’ve had to teach myself how to take a compliment without blushing like a school girl,” she laughed softly.

  “Oh, honey, I know the feeling,” Missy nodded. “I hadn’t really dated much at all when I met Chas, and the first time he told me that he thought that I was beautiful, I couldn’t form a coherent sentence to save my life. I stammered and kind of gasped, and turned bright red before I could even squeak out a thank you,” she chuckled, remembering. “I loved his compliment, but it threw me totally off guard, and since I was shy, it sent all of the blood in my body straight to my face.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly it,” Izzy agreed. “The first time that someone asked me to sign one of my books, my hand shook so hard that it looked like a kindergartener had written my name, and it took me forever to process enough words in my mind to put something halfway coherent down on the page.”

  “Well, don’t fret, darlin, I’ve found that it gets much easier with practice,” Missy gave the author a smile.

  “Good to know,” Izzy replied with a sigh. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here…I’m going to guess…Texas?”

  “Close. I was born and raised in LaChance, Louisiana.”

  “Well, you have a lovely southern accent. Seriously, I could listen all day.”

  “Careful what you ask for, hoeny,” Missy warned, teasing.

  “I love Cajun food, I haven’t had any in forever,” the author mused.

  “Well, I happen to know the breakfast chef, and I’m fairly confident that I can probably talk her into preparing a Cajun breakfast tomorrow, if you’d like.”

  “Oh my, that would be fantastic,” Izzy breathed.

  “No problem, sugar. Ask and you’ll receive,” Missy replied, snapping the leashes onto the dog’s collars to let them know that it was time to go.

  “Yeah, I’m picking up on that,” the young author remarked. “Thanks for letting me get some gratuitous doggie snuggles,” she grinned, patting her new canine friends on the head before they had to leave.

  “Anytime. Enjoy your day.”

  “You too.”

  Missy had only been gone for a matter of moments when Izzy’s phone buzzed yet again. Picking it up and seeing Miranda’s number, she clicked the button on top to send the call to voicemail, laid back in her lounger, and closed her eyes. The phone rang again, click. And again, click. Once again, and Izzy finally turned the infernal thing off, tired of dealing with it. She took a deep breath of fragrant, salty air, opened a shiny cardboard container of coconut water and drank gratefully, determined to rest and relax, no matter how hard her publisher tried to thwart her effort.

  CHAPTER 5

  Spencer Bengal heard Izzy approaching long before she got near the tidy little fire pit that he had built on the beach. He was sitting on a blanket next to the pit, and patted a spot next to him, inviting her to sit.

  “Hi,” she said, looking uncomfortable. She sat about three feet away from him, on the far edge of the blanket.

  “Hi. Beautiful night,” he observed, enjoying the cool night air.

  “I’m not good at this,” she blurted, wrapping her arms around her midsection, as though she were cold.

  “Toasting marshmallows? No worries, I have this age-old technique that I can teach you. Works every time,” Spencer replied easily, poking at the fire with a stick.

  “No, I don’t mean the marshmallows. I mean I’m not good at being…human. Like, interacting with other people and not seeming like this huge awkward dork,” she confessed miserably, hugging her knees to her chest and staring into the flames.

  “That’s part of the reason that I wanted to be on this vacation alone. I’m always afraid that I’m going to do or say the wrong thing.”

  “Well, you seem pretty normal to me, and I’ve seen some freaky stuff, so….” he smiled at her encouragingly.

  “I just…I live my life in my own head a lot, you know? Some people understand that, some people don’t. I hate it when people think I’m weird, or crazy,” Izzy sighed.

  “I think everybody is a little weird and crazy, why should you be the exception?” Spencer teased, and was rewarded with a faint smile.

  “Don’t worry about what people think. You’re talented, you’re successful, and it’s up to you to decide whether you’re happy or not, so just decide that you are, and anybody who doesn’t like it can just deal with it,” the Marine shrugged.

  “Wow, there is seriously more to you than rock-hard abs and a pretty face,” Izzy said, then clapped a hand over her mouth as Spencer burst into laughter.

  “See? That’s what I mean. I just say what I’m thinking, and sometimes forget my filters and make a fool of myself,” she shook her head, her face glowing from more than firelight.

  “I don’t know what you’re upset about, I took it as a compliment,” he said kindly, still chuckling.

  “Who are you anyway?” Izzy asked, catching his eyes, dancing with flames, and holding his gaze.

  “I’m just the handyman, bartender, chauffeur, go-fer,” he gave her a lopsided grin.

  “Uh-huh, and I’m the ghost of Christmas past,” she rolled her eyes, feeling more comfortable by the minute with this intriguing young man.

  “Pleasure to meet you. Can ghosts eat marshmallows?”

  “I’m quite sure that they can,” Izzy grinned at last.

  Spencer taught her his marshmallow toasting technique and she executed the maneuver expertly, again and again, until they were stuffed.

  “There’s a story behind those big blue eyes,” she mused, looking at him with speculation after they’d flopped back on the blanket to gaze at the stars.

  “One or two maybe,” was the careful reply.

  “Have you ever written about them?” Izzy probed gently.

  “I used to write poetry. Haven’t for a while.”

  “Were you any good?”

  “I have no idea. I wasn’t trying to be good at it, there were just some thoughts and feelings that needed to come out and that seemed like a harmless outlet for that.”

  “So, why don’t you write anymore?”

  “Haven’t needed to. Life is good.”

  “Hmm…there must be something to that. I do some of my best writing when life is difficult too.”

  “Well, you have an advantage,” Spencer mused.

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “If you have an issue with someone, you can just make them die a fictional death,” he grinned. “The rest of us just have to put up with stuff.”

  “There is that,” she agreed with a soft laugh.

  CHAPTER 6

  Spencer and Izzy stayed lying on the blanket, looking at the stars and chatting like old friends for quite some time, until at last the diminutive author shivered.

  “Cold?” the Marine asked.

  “A little,” she replied ruefully.

  She insisted upon helping pack up the marshmallows and other supplies, and after much cajoling, Spencer allowed her to carry the blanket back to the Inn, while he shouldered everything else. The had just stepped into the back yard from the beach when they heard a sharp, splintering sound and saw a flash of bright light from the front yard. There was a screech of tires, and Spencer dropped the load that he was carrying, and sprinted to the front of the Inn, cautioning Izzy to stay put.

  There was no way in the world that she wasn’t going to go see what had happened, so she put the blanket on top of the pile that Spencer had left, and chased after him, her flip-flops snip-snapping as she ran. When she reached the front of the Inn, she was puzzled. There was a fire burning in the driveway, and Spencer ran toward it with a flowing garden hose, spraying at the blaze before he even stopped running. In no time at all, he had it out, and Izzy was right behind him as he went to examine the cause of it.

  “Stay back,” he cautioned, holding his arm out to the side. “There’s broken glass, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Broken glass?” Izzy’s eyes grew wide.

  “Yeah, it looks like someone lit up a liquor bottle and threw it,” Spencer replied, sweeping the beam of a flashlight that he’d pulled out of his pocket over the shards of glass.

  “Let me guess…it was a “Dixie Gentleman” whiskey bottle, wasn’t it?” she asked dully.

  The Marine whirled around, looking at her closely. “How did you know that?”

  “There have been a bunch of weird things happening everywhere I go, and they’re all scenes from my books. I thought I’d be safe here,” she sighed, her shoulders slumped.

  “You need to talk to the police about this,” Spencer said quietly. “Let’s go up to the house.”

  “I don’t want to bother Missy’s husband with any of my issues,” Izzy protested.

  “Well, he needs to know about a situation that may affect the well-being of a guest, and he also needs to know that someone just committed an act of vandalism on his property,” he directed gently.

  “So, I have to?” she sighed.

  “Fraid so,” the Marine nodded. “But don’t worry, if he’s not at home, we’ll just have a regular patrol unit come over and take your statement,” he assured her. “And besides, when we go inside, we can get some hot tea to wash down all of those marshmallows.”

  They needn’t have worried about going inside to find Chas, the detective was out on a case. The moment they turned to walk to the front of the Inn, Missy came sprinting down the steps.

  “Spencer, what happened?” she demanded, assessing the Marine and his guest to make certain that no one had been hurt.