Promise Cove (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 1) (25 page)

“
I
do
n
’
t
k
no
w
,
ther
e
’
s
a
n
a
wf
u
l
l
o
t
le
f
t
t
o
d
o
.
I
should
h
a
v
e
ha
d
th
e
p
l
ac
e
read
y
t
o
ope
n
b
y
no
w
,
bee
n
f
u
r
ther
alo
n
g
w
it
h
e
ve
r
y
thi
n
g
.
”

F
o
r
s
o
m
e
rea
s
o
n
,
h
e
d
e
spe
r
a
t
el
y
w
an
t
e
d
t
o
rea
s
s
ur
e
he
r
.
“
Y
o
u
should
n
’
t
b
e
tha
t
har
d
o
n
y
ou
r
s
elf
.
T
h
i
s
i
s
a
hug
e
under
t
a
k
in
g
fo
r
on
e
pe
r
s
o
n
t
o
han
d
l
e
.
T
o
gethe
r
,
w
e
’
ll
p
ic
k
u
p
the pac
e
.
”

A
r
oun
d
fiv
e-thirt
y
,
N
ic
k
s
t
eppe
d
in
to
th
e
apa
r
tmen
t
over
th
e
g
ar
a
g
e
J
or
d
a
n
ha
d
d
es
c
r
ibe
d
a
s
a
dum
p
.
H
o
t
an
d
s
wea
t
y
af
t
e
r
th
e
a
l
l
-
d
a
y
sandi
ng
an
d
s
t
aini
ng
jo
b
o
n
th
e
f
ron
t
porch,
ba
dl
y
i
n
nee
d
o
f
a
showe
r
,
h
e
looke
d
aroun
d
an
d
de
c
ided
sh
e
’
d
ex
a
gge
r
a
t
e
d
i
t
s
poo
r
condi
t
io
n
.
T
h
e
p
l
ac
e
w
a
s
a
c
t
u
a
l
l
y
spa
c
io
us
,
alm
o
s
t
loft-l
i
ke
,
an
d
s
m
e
l
le
d
l
i
k
e
lemo
n
w
a
x
f
ro
m
th
e
ol
d
oa
k
,
hardwoo
d
f
l
oo
r
s
sh
e
’
d
pol
i
s
he
d
to
a
glea
m
.
S
h
e
’
d
lef
t
th
e
w
i
ndo
w
s
ope
n
.
T
h
e
ocea
n
breez
e
on
h
i
s
s
wea
t
y
bod
y
fel
t
goo
d
to
th
e
s
k
i
n
.

The
p
l
ace
w
as
spa
r
s
ely
f
u
r
n
i
shed.
A
nd
what
w
as
here looked
l
i
ke
lef
t
ove
r
s
f
ro
m
th
e
’70s
.
A
n
an
c
ien
t
s
a
g
g
i
n
g
g
reen
s
ofa
di
v
ided
the
li
v
i
n
g
space,
c
rea
t
i
n
g
t
wo
rooms
out
of
on
e
. Be
y
ond
the
s
ofa
sat
the
double
bed,
an
old
u
r
n
t
op
maple that
looked
in
bet
t
er
shape
than
the
r
e
s
t
.
Gl
an
c
i
n
g
around the
room,
he
de
c
ided,
d
e
s
p
i
t
e
the
l
ack
of
f
u
r
n
i
shi
n
g
s,
he could
be
comfo
r
t
a
ble
her
e
.
W
hen
he
sp
o
tt
ed
the
ti
n
y
k
i
t
ch
enet
t
e
,
whic
h
con
si
s
t
e
d
o
f
a
s
ma
l
l
re
f
r
ige
r
a
t
o
r
an
d
a
t
w
o
-bu
r
ner
s
t
ove
t
op
t
ucked
in
t
o
the
co
r
ner
on
one
w
a
l
l,
he
went
w
ith
impu
ls
e
.
H
e
w
a
l
k
ed
over
and
threw
open
the
door
t
o the
refrigerator
.
S
ure
enough,
there
in
s
ide,
h
i
s
h
o
s
t
e
s
s
had
s
t
ashed
s
i
x
cold
bee
r
s.
G
ra
t
e
f
ul,
he
t
w
i
st
ed
the
t
op
of
f
,
g
u
z
zli
n
g
the cold
brew
do
w
n
l
i
ke
a
man
plucked
off
a
d
es
e
r
t
ed
i
s
l
and.
H
e
c
r
o
s
s
ed
over
t
o
the
back
w
indow
and
s
canned
the
v
iew
of
the ocea
n
.
A
s
he
drank
h
i
s
bee
r
,
he
thought
of
Sc
o
t
t
.
N
ick
could e
n
v
i
s
ion
him
w
a
l
k
i
n
g
on
the
beach,
su
r
f
i
n
g
,
li
v
i
n
g
here
w
ith h
i
s
w
ife
and
ch
i
ld.
H
e
l
l,
e
ven
in
broad
d
a
yligh
t
,
Sc
o
t
t
’
s
gh
o
st re
f
u
s
ed
t
o
let
g
o
.