“Fingers crossed she’s right,” Georgia said awkwardly. “Thank you. See you tomorrow.” She turned to go into the house, but then for some reason stopped and turned back, watching Cole as he pulled away toward the oyster farm. She could still feelthe imprint of his strong fingers wrapped around her upper arms. She hugged herself and gave a little shiver. And as much as she tried to stop herself, as she watched him disappear down the road, she couldn’t help but wonder what Cole would taste like if she kissed him.
19
COLE
Oh boy, hewas in trouble. Cole pulled his truck into the parking lot of the oyster farm and found his usual parking spot beneath a spreading oak tree. With a groan, he cut the engine, then leaned forward and rested his head on the steering wheel. He swore softly to himself. It was just his luck that Star’s daughter would turn out to be so wildly appealing. So confident, cultured, and ballsy at the same time. He was drawn to strong women with grit and gumption, and she had it in spades. And redheads. He’d always liked redheads. Georgia looked like Rosie the Riveter with Titian hair. Exactly his type of woman, which was making this far more difficult than he’d anticipated.
When Star had first brought up the idea of asking her long-lost Parisian chef daughter to come to San Juan Island, he’d told himself that it couldn’t possibly be the same woman. What were the odds? It had been more than seven years ago, after all, and an entirely different continent. There was no way it was her. But he’d taken one look at Georgia, standing there in the kitchen, fresh off the plane, that fiery hair and arch look, and he’d known instantly. It was the same woman. Dammit.
He’d vowed to keep his distance from her, but Star seemed determined to throw them together whenever possible. What was she playing at? He swore again, irritated at Star for putting him in this position, but more than anything, mad at himself.The problem was that he’d enjoyed his time with Georgia today... too much. She was funny and fiercely intelligent and kept him on his toes. She was... extraordinary. No two ways about it.
It had been so long since he’d felt this way about anyone. Not since he’d met Amy. That had been so long ago, and look how that had ended. Now he couldn’t seem to keep away from Georgia, but he had no choice. When she found out who he was, what he’d done, that would be the end of her interest. And besides, she had made it clear that her life and dreams were in Paris, far away from here. There could never be a future for them.
“Get ahold of yourself,” he murmured to himself. “Just avoid her as much as you can.” But he couldn’t seem to make his heart agree.
He sat back in the seat with a scowl and looked around. Today, the parking lot was packed with cars as tourists enjoyed oysters at the outside eating area. The grill was going. He could see Billy manning it down by the picnic tables, barbecuing oysters in a variety of sauces. The air was pungent with the meaty, smoky scent of the grill. Cole didn’t get out. He didn’t work on Saturdays and tried to avoid interacting with customers if at all possible. He liked tending to the oysters better.
Cole sighed heavily, feeling the ache of the past. It had been five years since he’d lost Amy. It was the little things he missed the most. Rolling over in bed and fitting himself against her back like a pair of nesting spoons. Sharing a big bowl of ramen at their favorite Japanese restaurant, dipping their chopsticks into the rich broth and play fighting over the last of the noodles. He always gave her the soft-boiled egg, and she picked out all the scallions for him.
The pain was no longer fresh, more like a dull ache in hisbelly when he thought of her. He missed her still, though. Even now, five years on, he was living like a monk devoted to her memory. Only in the last year had he even allowed himself to date casually, going to a pub in Friday Harbor a handful of times out of boredom and loneliness. Never the same woman, and never anything too serious. But with Georgia, it was different.
“Don’t do this,” he warned himself aloud. “There’s no way it will end well.”
A few more days, that’s all he needed to handle. Keep his head down and grit it out for a few more days. Then Georgia May Jackson would swan off to Paris and he’d do what he’d been doing for the past five years—work hard, keep out of trouble, and avoid any complications to his new life or his heart. Surely, he could manage that. How hard could it be?
20
“Star?” Still ona high from the amazing afternoon, Georgia wandered through the house looking for her mother.
“In the garden,” she heard Star call out faintly. Pollen met her at the back door with a happy woof and a wagging tail. She had dirt on her muzzle. “Hey, girl.” Georgia scratched her blocky head affectionately. “What have you been up to today?”
“How was the winery?” Star straightened up from a patch of vines, her hands filled with cucumbers. The air was filled with the rich, loamy scent of the soil and the sharp freshness of growing things.
“Short,” Georgia said frankly. “And unexpected. The wine still tasted bitter, but I think I made progress, and the rest of the day was incredible...”
She told Star the broad strokes of everything, only leaving out the part about her almost falling off a cliff and Cole saving her and then the awkward ride home. As she talked, Star harvested vegetables and Georgia took whatever Star handed her and piled it on the back steps. Remembering the odd interaction at the winery with the young couple who thought they knew Cole, Georgia glanced toward the cabin. There was no sign of life down there. She wondered where he was.
“Do you know what Cole did before he came to the island?” she asked casually.
“Yes.” Star stopped and arched her back with a slight groanand a popping sound. “I do, but that isn’t my story to tell. Cole is a very private person. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.” She surveyed Georgia. “If you want to help me pick the vegetables, I’d be happy for the extra hands. The lettuce is coming on strong right now.”
“Of course.” Disappointed, Georgia obliged. She was just going to have to find out about Cole some other way. The day was drawing toward evening, the light turning blue over the bay. It was growing chilly, and Georgia shivered. Through the pines, she could just catch a whiff of smoke and the smell of roasted food. The faintest sound of music and laughter drifted from the oyster farm. She hesitated at the edge of the vegetable beds. “I don’t really have the right footwear,” she confessed. Italian leather flats did not do well in mud.
Star glanced at her shoes and nodded toward the porch steps and a pair of green rubber clogs sitting by the door. “You can wear my gardening clogs,” she said. “Looks like we’re about the same size.”
Georgia slipped off her shoes and slid her bare feet into the clogs. There was something in the toes. She pulled one off and shook it. To her surprise, out fell a shower of four-leaf clovers.
“What’s that?” Star asked, wiping her brow with her sleeve.
Georgia picked one up off the cement steps, holding it out for Star to see. “Four-leaf clovers,” she said. “I’ve been finding them everywhere, in the oddest places.”
Star stepped out of the garden bed and gently plucked the clover from Georgia’s hand, pinching it between her fingers. “Well look at that,” she said softly. She glanced at Georgia. “My grandma Emma was Irish, raised near Galway—that’s where our red hair comes from—and she loved four-leaf clovers. Always felt they connected her with the country of her birth. Everytime I brought her a four-leaf clover when I was little, she’d give me a piece of candy and tell me the four leaves stood for faith, hope, love...”
“And luck,” Georgia chimed in. “I remember.” Her fingers went to the charm at her throat. Star saw the movement and stared incredulously at the little tarnished four-leaf clover in Georgia’s hand.
“Is that the necklace I gave you all those years ago?” she asked, bending forward to get a better look.
Georgia nodded. “You gave it to me the day you left,” she said softly. “I’ve worn it ever since. It’s my good luck charm.”
