He had to start figuring out how to make himself proud, and the sad truth he’d realized somewhere between his last releaseand this last tryout was that he didn’t particularly know who he was outside of baseball. Certainly not who he wanted to be.
Luckily, the Townsend cottage seemed just the kind of place to find out.
Not a handout. Not relying on anyone else.
Friendship.
Chapter Two
Lara had never been much of a morning person. She was happy to let Grandma handle opening the museum, and then Lara would shuffle in a few hours later and work until closing, Grandma leaving in the mid-afternoon to be off doing whatever her busy schedule demanded—walking club, gardening club, fundraising, marketing.
And so on.
Mary Lou Townsend was tireless. Lara, on the other hand, liked to live her life at a slightly slower pace. It felt…safer.
The Wild Rose Point History Center was a multitude of things these days—including interactive exhibits, a library of primary sources for the area, the starting point for the historical trail that would lead people out to the lighthouse—but as it had been when it was little more than a few artifacts on a table a hundred years ago, it was a family tradition.
Lara hadn’t planned to follow Grandma’s footsteps. It was something in her life that had just…happened. Not wanting to go away for college, she’d taken online courses and worked at the museum. When grandma had broken her leg eight years ago, Lara had taken over the day-to-day management of the centerand enjoyed herself. She didn’t do things quite like Grandma did, and she thought that would be bad.
Instead, it had been a positive. It had allowed them to expand some things and become more… Well, Lara didn’t like the wordmodern, because it didn’t seem fair to all the history in the museum and how important it was, but she’d incorporated social media and a children’s section, and their daily visitors had grown.
It turned out, she made a damn fine museum owner and operator.
As long as she didn’t have to wake up before eight.
She blinked her eyes open lazily, glanced at the clock. Five past eight.Ugh. On a yawn, she pushed out of bed and padded over to her window that overlooked the ocean. She pushed back the curtains and let the warm light of the sun hit her face. Then she watched the waves for a little while, counted morning walkers.
She thought vaguely of what it would take to be the kind of person who got up and walked before their workday started. Who had morning routines and never wavered from them.
She was old enough now to accept that she wouldneverbe that kind of person, so why try? She had her own little schedule, and it suited her and her life.
She went to her closet and picked out an outfit suitable for a day at the museum and the fall weather. Humming to herself, she walked into the hall thinking she’d do her hair and makeup and then maybe take her time making a labor-intensive breakfast.
The groan of pipes reminded her that Ty was here, which made her smile. She didn’t know if she believed he’d really stay put for good, if he was reallydone—though he’d never claimed to be before—but she hoped for his own sake he was ready to make some changes and plant some roots.
It’d probably be better for them both if he planted those roots somewhere else, but she was going to be supportive no matter what.
And then he stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway.
Shirtless.
She let out a littleeep. He turned at the noise, then smiled in greeting.
“Morning. Sorry if I woke you up. Never did wash the plane off me last night, and I left my bag in my car at the museum.” He was currently rubbing a towel over his wet hair. “Your grandma washed my clothes for me, so I thought I’d run through.”
Lara nodded along, not really listening. She was too busy telling herself to lookanywherebut at his abs. His abs that still had some droplets of water on them because he hadn’t dried off well enough.
But she registered the apology, somewhere beyond the mush of her current brain situation. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said, then had to clear her throat because her voice sounded oddly high. “You’re a guest.” A shirtless guest. With wet hair, stubble from a day of not shaving, and she could smell her own soap on him.
A man that attractive should not be allowed to smell like something delicious.
It wasn’t like she didn’t have ample experience pretending he wasn’t an attractive man. It was just…it had been a while.
Time to get yourself together and remember how.
“Did you eat with grandma?” she asked, waiting for him to walk down the hallway because she sure as hell wasn’t squeezing past him.
“Stuffed me full of pancakes. She left you some.” He turned and began walking down the hall. He went to toss his wet towel into the hamper in the laundry room.
