Page 1 of Here & Now

One

Bree pulled into the driveway and sighed. The cottage looked the same as the last time she’d been there, only everything had changed. She looked at this place that she’d loved since childhood and felt only sadness. Anyone else would have thought, What’s not to love?

Palm trees swayed in the warm breeze blowing in off the ocean, and the sunshine lent a golden glow to the house and everything it touched. A gecko sunned itself on a rock beside the driveway. Just up the road (eight minutes by foot) stretched the sandy, shell-strewn beach that rimmed Sanibel Island, Florida. It was a truly magical place, or at least, it had been until now.

She popped open the trunk and climbed out of the rental car. Her damp T-shirt stuck to her back; she’d refused to turn on the air conditioning on the drive from the airport, preferring to breathe the salty ocean air instead.

Looking at all her luggage, she sighed again. Depending on how things went, she planned to be here for at least a month or more, so she’d packed accordingly. It would take a few trips to haul it all inside.

She took her bags out and set them on the driveway: computer bag, carry-on, and large rolling suitcase. She was reaching for the tote bag that had gotten shoved to the back when she heard a voice behind her.

“Whoa there!”

Startled, she popped her head up and banged it on the lid of the trunk. “OW!”

“Sorry, are you okay?”

She turned to face the intruder, more irritated than fearful. She did a quick scan and realized he was clutching the handle of her rolling case. Is he trying to steal my suitcase in broad daylight?

She scowled. “What the hell?”

“It was rolling down the driveway, and I caught it,” he explained.

“Oh.” Her irritation turned to embarrassment. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

She rubbed the sore spot on her head.

“Sure you’re okay?”

She wasn’t okay at all, but she wasn’t going to admit that to a stranger, whether he’d saved her suitcase or not.

“I’m fine.” She reached out to take the handle, but he didn’t let go.

“I can help carry your luggage inside if you want.”

Is he really this friendly, or is it a ruse to steal my luggage? “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Okay, then.” He relinquished the suitcase and turned to leave.

She noticed he was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt with Sanibel Outfitters printed on the back. His good looks hadn’t registered before, but now she took him in—wavy, dark hair, bronzed skin, toned body, and flip-flops—typical island guy.

She watched him stroll over to a black Jeep parked in the driveway next door. He turned and caught her looking, and his handsome face broke into a broad smile to match the broadness of his chest and back. He gave her a brief wave and then hopped into the Jeep and drove off, leaving her standing amidst her pile of luggage, cheeks aflame.

She glanced around, satisfied that she was alone, and fanned her face with her hand. “What the hell?” she repeated.

As far as she knew, the house next door was a rental, with visitors staying a week or two at a time. He must be a renter too.

A blue jay squawked in a nearby tree, jolting her out of her musing. She immediately picked up her computer bag, grabbed the handle of her rolling case, and went up the sidewalk to the front door. She didn’t have time to wonder about Island Guy, having much more important things to do.

Turning the key, she opened the door and stepped inside.

She noticed the smells first. It was a bit musty since nobody had been there for a while, but she also detected the lingering scent of her grandma’s soft, floral perfume.

Tears sprang into her eyes, and she blinked hard to stave them off. Being here was going to be so much harder than she’d thought, and she questioned her decision to come alone. Taking a deep breath, she moved further into the living room and glanced around.

Everything was pristine, just like her grandmother had left it, and her grandmother’s decorative touches were everywhere. A sign above the couch read: Life is better at the beach. Beach-themed throw pillows lined the couch, and a large glass jar of shells sat atop the white wicker end table.