Secrets in the Sand by Carolyn Brown

            Part of her hoped he wouldn’t be home and she’d be able to leave the basket outside his door. She had included a handwritten note on Bayside Barn stationery that she found in her aunt’s rolltop desk:

            To Quinn,

            Please accept my attempt at a more conventional welcome to the neighborhood than the one you received this morning.

            Abby Curtis

            P.S. Sorry about my ass biting yours.

            The nagging, familiar voice of social anxiety whispered, reminding her of his cryptic comment about the view that made her suspect he’d seen more of her skin than he should have.

            Instead of letting worry have its way, she went into the laundry room and tossed a scrap of twine into the crate for the new kitten to play with. This time, the kitten didn’t flee for cover. Maybe it was beginning to realize that Abby was trying to help. She had doctored the road rash with Betadine and a thin film of Neosporin, and already it was healing up nicely.

            In the kitchen, she gave Max the tabby a cat treat. “Please stay off the kitchen counter while I’m gone.”

            Sure thing, she imagined Max saying, though his slant-eyed smirk told her she shouldn’t believe him. So much for all the things Reva had tried to teach her about animal communication. If all males were liars, why bother?

            Abby glanced at her reflection in the sliding glass doors. Dressed in a leaf-print dress that brought out the green flecks in her hazel eyes, she looked well enough. But she hoped she hadn’t overdone it by curling her hair and wearing mascara and clear lip gloss.

            She wasn’t interested in Quinn—she knew better by now than to be lured in by a pretty face and a rock-hard body—but she didn’t want him to judge her unfavorably either. She didn’t want to look like a slob, but she also didn’t want to look as if she’d tried too hard. Abby wished she could absorb a little of her aunt’s complete disregard for what other people thought of her.

            Abby had been that way herself once, but after trusting completely and then losing everything that mattered, she couldn’t find her way back. Her recent tendency to worry about everything insisted that she doubt herself.

            Georgia barked.

            “Okay.” Abby picked up the basket and a tiny wisp of courage. “I’m coming.”

            The setting sun glowed orange over the bay when she and Georgia walked along the hedge and through the iron gates of Bayside Barn. Abby propped one side of the gate open, then she and Georgia crossed the easement to the neighbor’s property. The dilapidated house was dark, so they went around back, and Abby tapped on the sliding glass door of the pool house, where the glow of interior lighting indicated a human presence.

            Charcoal-gray curtains had been pushed aside. The ceiling fan’s globe light revealed brand-new furnishings. A gray couch and rug and overstuffed armchair, a distressed barn-wood coffee table and end tables, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall across from the couch. No throw pillows, no lamps, no pictures on the walls.

            Georgia whined and looked back toward the farm.

            “No. We’re doing this.”

            The new neighbor walked into the room shirtless, wearing jeans slung low on his hips and headphones in his ears. The headphones’ yellow cord trailed down his toned chest and washboard abs, then twined around his waist and disappeared into his back pocket.

            “Lord above, Georgia. Would you look at that?”

            Unimpressed, Georgia whined and pawed Abby’s leg.

            “No, I said. No.”

            Realizing that he must not have heard the knock, Abby waved. But he kept going to the small kitchen and opened the fridge. She tapped on the glass door again. He took out a beer and turned, then saw her. His eyes opened wide. He set the beer aside, pulled out his headphones, and opened the sliding glass door. “Hey. Is there a goat in my pool or something?”

            Georgia ran inside and leaped onto a chair.

            “Georgia, no.” Abby felt a blush spread up her neck and into her cheeks. “You weren’t invited.”

            “It’s fine.” He stepped away from the door. “Come on in.”