No Tan Lines by Kate Angell Page B

Kai said as they dodged a juggler, then a unicyclist.
    She gave him the abridged version, ending with, “I took advantage of Trace, and he got back at me.”
    Kai slowed. “He used Nicole against you?”
    “I owed him,” she said wearily. “I don’t know their history. Trace did, however, appear relieved to find her a store.”
    “On our boardwalk.” Kai was ticked.
    “All the boutiques at Saunders Shores are filled.”
    “So he says.”
    They soon reached the corner, and Molly Malone met them at the door to her diner. Her round face was red and damp with perspiration. The front of her apron was grease-streaked. “I tried to fix the dishwasher,” she huffed. “I wasn’t successful.”
    Kai headed for the kitchen. Molly directed Shaye to a table. “Lemonade? Iced tea? Coconut cream pie?” her aunt offered.
    Shaye agreed to a glass of raspberry iced tea but passed on the pie. Coconut cream would now forever remind her of Trace. He’d eaten the filling off her hip, as if he were tasting her. The image made her stomach twist.
    Molly went for her drink, and Shaye located an empty table. She pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. She set her bag of wet clothes on the floor by her feet. It had already been a long day. And it wasn’t over yet.
    Molly returned and stood over her. “What’s with the T-shirt?” she asked.
    “I got caught in the rain and stopped at Three Shirts to change.” Shaye kept it short.
    “You chose the Beaver?”
    “I grabbed the shirt without paying attention.” And Trace hadn’t let her switch designs. “It wasn’t what I wanted.”
    You should’ve seen Trace, she wanted to say. Oh, well. Eventually word would trickle back to her aunt. More than one Cates had seen Trace barefoot and wearing neon-pink board shorts. He’d been hard to miss. Everyone would have a good laugh.
    “I have a question,” Molly said, keeping one eye on her customers. “People have been asking all day where you’re setting up shop for the tournament. We know you work at the beach, but you’ll need an office for the event, a central contact point.”
    There was so much to do. And so little time. She needed to get organized fast. That meant working closely with Trace. The very thought of having the man in her life twenty-four/seven nearly stopped her heart. He made her nervous.
    Shaye ran through her options for an office. Her niece Eden was already setting up Old Tyme Portraits. Eden would open for business at the end of the month. Kai would be starting renovations for Nicole Archer tomorrow. There were no more empty spaces.
    Trace had office space; she was sure of it. But she refused to set up the headquarters in Saunders Shores. It was too damn ritzy. She’d be forced to wear shoes.
    “I’ll let you know as soon as I’m situated,” she promised Molly. “Give me a day or two.”
    Molly glanced at her watch. “I need to batter the grouper for the fish fry tonight. Can I fix you a take-out?”
    Shaye shook her head. Food was the last thing on her mind. She’d grab a bag of popcorn at the ballpark.
    Her aunt took off for the kitchen, and Kai joined Shaye moments later. Sweat dampened his brow, and his shirt was wet. “Dishwasher sprayed like a fire hose,” he said. “It’s fixed for the moment.”
    She pushed off her chair. “I need to change clothes. I’ll meet you at the park.”
    He snagged a napkin from a nearby table and wiped off his forehead. His jaw shifted, locked. “I could’ve worked the concession stand alone tonight,” he said. “Nicole will only get in my way. If she accidentally gets squirted with ketchup ...” He left the sentence hanging.
    “You’re thirty, not ten. No condiment fights.” She didn’t need a blowup. Not with Trace behind home plate. She could only handle one situation at a time.
     
    A dozen people made demands on Trace Saunders all at once. He’d yet to change clothes and now sat at his desk in his volleyball T-shirt and neon-pink board shorts.