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“My hero,” she says and I turn back to face her.
She is still as gorgeous as the first day we met. Probably even more beautiful. Her blonde hair is in disarray, as much from the ocean as from her shower door adventure. Her blue eyes are full of life, and her smile still makes my heart race. Her body is different from when we were 18, naturally, but she is all womanly curves and those legs—I have a flash memory of them wrapped around me and I’m going to embarrass myself if I don’t stop thinking about it.
Her eyebrows are scrunching and her smile fades as she realizes who I am.
“Owen,” she says with a sigh. Not sure how to take that but at least it wasn’t a murderous tone.
“Hatchet?” I lean in, squinting. She will be mortified if she knows I’ve seen her bottomless and recognized her tattoo. I lean back and smile. “It’s good to see you.”
CHAPTER 3
SAVED BY THE LIGHTNING
OWEN THEN
I tripped again and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve done that.
Running on the sand is usually easy for me, but this sand is different from Long Island sand, it’s softer. Fortunately, I haven’t actually fallen yet but it is a timed run. It doesn’t help that there’s a beautiful blonde running with me, watching me trip every time.
My aunt got me this lifeguarding job and I don’t want to embarrass her, or get fired on my first day. This summer is a gift of time away from my father, the great Patrick Hart, and his law firm. When I called Aunt Lucy in a panic after I told my dad I already had a job lined up for the summer, she immediately agreed to help me.
I was willing to do anything, but since I spent last summer guarding beaches in Montauk, she was able to get me a job here in Beach Haven. I would have bagged groceries if it meant I could have a break.
“Team three, head to the water for sprints,” one of the head lifeguards shouts. We are three so the group of ten of us turn and jog down to the water. I’m drenched in sweat so a swim seems welcome, except it’s the middle of June and the water is freezing. The only thing to do is to dive right in and it feels good for a second then the freezing water numbs my limbs as I swim as fast as I can to the buoy and then swim back to shore.
My muscles are aching in a pleasant way as I sit on my towel after our morning training. The pretty girl in my group plops down next to me and smiles.
I turn to say hello but am interrupted by an older guard addressing us as we dry off and get water.
“Assignments are posted on the bench behind you. You are to report tomorrow morning so get to know your partner today. Make sure you have your schedule and once you are at your post you can decide breaks between you and your partner.”
People jump up to check their assignments, but I wait until the crowd dies down.
When I check, I can’t believe it but I actually got 4th St, my aunt’s street. My partner is Mollie James. When I turn around, I see the girl still sitting on the towel next to mine. She must be Mollie, because there are only two other women and they are chatting with two other guys, presumably their partners.
I walk over and sit down next to her. Holding out my hand I introduce myself. “I’m Owen Hart, I think we are partners.”
She takes my hand and a feeling of calm mixed with heat zips up my spine. “Mollie James, I’m sure we will have a great summer.”
She smiles and then rests her head in her hand. “Oh my god, did I just recite something you’d write in a yearbook to my new coworker?”
I laugh. “Yes, but if I agree to a great summer, then you need to stay cool,” I say shooting a finger gun at her.
“Wow, you doubled down with the finger gun,” she says and her smile makes me feel like it really is going to be a great summer. “What street did we get?”
“We got 4th which is nice since I live there.”
“What? I live on 4th too.” She narrows her eyes at me. “I know everyone on that street—who are you, Owen Hart?”
“I am the nephew of Lucille McCardle, number 14,” I declare, hands on hips.
Her face lights up with a smile. “No shit? Lucy’s your aunt?”
“Yes shit, she is,” I say with a chuckle. “She’s graciously letting me stay for the summer.”
“Well, butter my biscuits, we are next-door neighbors,” she says in an exaggerated southern accent that is clearly fake. “Look at us with the short commute and if you sleep late, I can throw a rock at your window.”
“We definitely were fortunate with our assignment but I imagine they do try to get you close to where you’re living. I’m pretty good with an alarm clock, so no rocks needed.”
