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My eyes flicker down to her romper.I’m seeing more of her than I ever have.Even at the beach, Hazel dresses conservatively. Her pale skin is prone to burning, so she wears a long-sleeve t-shirt to protect against harmful UV-rays.
“I’ve been working,” she explains. “Want to see?”
I follow her inside. Honey must hear the door because her dog paws skid along the wood floor as she zooms into the room. She rolls around on the ground, and I pause to pat her belly before following Hazel upstairs.
She’s converted the bedroom overlooking the marsh into a sewing room. I pause in the doorway, taking in the explosion of colorful fabric that fills the room. There’s a variety of rompers, dresses, and separates. And none of them arebeigeorapricot.
“You’ve been busy,” I remark.
Hazel beams at me. “They’re my own designs, Bishop. I’m calling it the Diva Collection.”
“That’s amazing, Hazel,” I say truthfully, walking through the room and taking it all in. “You’re so talented.”
She chuckles. “You know nothing about fashion.”
“True enough,” I admit, “but I do walk past Sticks & Stones Boutique every day. Your stuff looks like it belongs front and center in the display window.”
“I haven’t told Margo,” Hazel says, “but I think she’ll be super supportive. She’ll probably even sell my clothes.”
“I’m sure she will.”
“Are you hungry?”
The change of subject throws me for a second. “It was my plan to ask if you wanted to pop by Pete’s for fish tacos.”
“Excellent. I’m ravenous. Let’s get our tacos to go and eat them on the walk to the beach. I’m in the mood for a quick dip in the ocean.”
My eyes swivel to a swimsuit draped over the back of a chair. It’s a one-piece but my mouth practically waters when I imagine Hazel wearing it. I swallow around a lump in my throat. “Sounds good. I’ll go throw on my swim trunks.”
Chapter 10
Bishop
Bishop
When I return to Hazel’s wearing swim trunks and a t-shirt, she’s still wearing the pink romper. But now, the straps of her swimsuit peek out from the top. She’s pulled her hair back, but it’s in a loose ponytail instead of a bun, allowing her hair to still tumble down her back from beneath her sunhat.
Since we’ll be swimming, we agree that it’s best to leave Honey at home. The dog makes her displeasure known. As we walk down the street, we can still hear her howls.
Hazel frowns in the direction of her house. “Poor Honey.”
“We’ll make it up to her with extra belly rubs when we get back,” I promise.
On the way to Pete’s, I swear I can feel the good people of Friendly staring out their windows at Hazel. She’s a goddess in pink, and they must be as mesmerized as I am.
Sure enough, when we walk into Pete’s, every head swivels to look at her. Jake and Sara Jean are seated near the door, and I nearly laugh at the look on Sara Jean’s face. Her mouth drops open as she eyes Hazel from head to toe.
When Jake does the same thing, I’m not nearly as amused. He has a predatory look in his eyes that makes me want to shove his beer bottle down his throat.
If Hazel notices the attention, she does an excellent job of ignoring it. We say hello to Pete as we get our order to go.
Chewing our tacos in silence, we follow the pathway over the dune. When we reach the soft sand, we kick off our shoes.
“Hot!” Hazel says, laughing as she bounces from toe-to-toe in the hot sand. The memory of her singing and dancing in her living room pops into my head.
I feel a blush creeping up my neck, so I quickly look away. “Race you to the water?”
She giggles. “Okay. Count to three.”
