On the Rocks (A Turtle Island Novel) by Kim Law Page A

for things to happen.”
    Things to happen? He pictured the desolation that had surrounded her that morning. The BMW she’d gotten into last night. “Like a man?” He asked the question with uncertainty.
    “A man”—she lifted her palms—“kids. There are no prospects on the horizon, and now even Mom is getting married.” She glanced at the house. “And my house isn’t finished,” she mumbled. “It’s my own fault. It would have been done last month if I hadn’t dragged my feet.”
    She whirled around suddenly, apparently having said all she intended to on the matter, and marched up the waiting steps. Carter simply watched. When she reached the top, she unlocked the door, then looked back to where he remained.
    So many things warred in his mind—why had she stalled on the house? Was she upset that her mother was getting married? And why would she ever sit around waiting on a husband?
    He settled on asking about something else entirely. The subject that he found the most interesting at the moment. “Did you know your butt is wet?”
    She reached behind her and swiped at her rear. “The rock was damp. Yours probably is, too.”
    “Maybe. But I’m not looking at my butt.”
    She made a face at him. “Well, quit looking at mine.”
    She stepped to the side, blocking her backside with the column of the porch. But he’d already made up his mind. He would not quit looking at her behind. Mostly because it was as nice as her legs.
    He took the steps two at a time until they were eye level, and he zeroed in on her. “Nope,” he said. Then he entered her house.
    Ginger came in behind him. She shot him a quizzical look, but instead of responding to his comment, she fell into step beside him, and together they toured the structure. The studs were up, but no walls. He didn’t know what final touches she might choose—the colors and trim—but he could “see” the house as clearly as if he’d drawn the blueprint for it himself. It was almost like walking through his own.
    “The kitchen—”
    “Will be in the back corner,” he finished for her, moving in that direction without waiting. “With the eat-in area . . .” He saw it then, in the same spot as his. “Sitting in a bay window so you can have breakfast while watching the sun rise.”
    She had the view of the beach, while he had the city. But both houses faced east.
    She stepped into the area with him, and pointed out the side door. “And if the weather is nice, all I have to do is take the steps down to the beach.”
    “Perfect,” he murmured.
    They finished the first floor before moving to the second, and everywhere he turned, Carter either fell in love with a feature she planned, or he suggested one she had yet to think of. When they entered the master bedroom, the closet plans he’d drawn up that morning came to mind. Since he and Julie were redoing the kitchen—a gift his dad would most enjoy—he’d decided to add in something for his mom, as well. A walk-in closet. The work would have minimal effect on the overall time line.
    “Just so you know,” he began, “and so you don’t try to take me out with Mace again, I’ll be staying in town longer than I’d originally planned. At least until Mom and Dad get home. Julie’s kitchen remodel has to be completed, and I . . .” He paused as a bird swooped past the glass, grabbing his attention, and he ended up taking in the expanse of ocean out the wide back windows. There were shrimp boats on the horizon and a cruise ship even farther out. And the sun was so bright that the ocean glistened like rippled ice. He’d missed this, he realized.
    His pulse kicked up. He’d missed the ocean. He’d missed being home.
    He didn’t want to admit that he wanted to stay, too. It felt weak after being gone for so long. But he did. He wanted to be right where he was for the next few weeks. Maybe longer. His house would still be waiting on him— still empty —when he returned. But right now he