A Small-Town Reunion by Terry McLaughlin

countless ocean swells.
    “Damn,” he whispered.

CHAPTER FIVE

    A DDIE FOUND IT INCREASINGLY difficult to stay focused on her task Saturday afternoon. She hunched at her desk, staring at a depressing spreadsheet and gloomy financial projections on her monitor. Manipulating the figures led her to the same conclusions, even with the outrageously high fee she’d charged Geneva as a down payment for her repair work, her business was still listing in a sea of red ink.
    She saved and closed her files and refocused on a much more pleasant scene beyond her shop windows. Bathed in soft sunshine and balmy weather, tourists strolled along Cove Street, stopping for a treat at Giulietta’s Gelateria or pausing to admire the merchants’ displays. It looked as though Cal Penfold’s wine shop was enjoying a brisk business today, and Becca Spaulding seemed to be selling quite a lot of her handmade jewelry.
    Addie silently willed the browsers to do more than briefly admire her art before moving on. She’d increase her chances of a sale by at least one hundred percent if only someone would open her door and enter.
    One young couple stopped and studied a circular piece in a fruitwood frame—a fanciful rainbow trout foiled in copper with a verdigris finish. The manseemed intrigued, pointing out the brilliant colors and the contrasting textures of the seedy-glass fish and the rough-rolled blues Addie had chosen to represent rippling, shimmering water. The woman shook her head, and the couple moved on.
    With a silent sigh, Addie stood and stretched some of her tension away. Rather than stare at columns of numbers or dig into repair work or watch potential customers pass her by, she decided to take a break and enjoy the view on the opposite end of her work space.
    Mick O’Shaughnessy bent at the waist to measure and mark a length of shelving. His biceps flexed beneath tan skin as the blade buzzed through the wood, and his blond-tipped locks swung over his forehead. He straightened with the short board in hand, winked at her and sidled through the gap in her counter to nail the new piece in place on the sidewall storage bins.
    A woman had to appreciate having her very own handyman, especially when he looked and moved like a big, tawny lion, all golden tones and rippling power. She wasn’t fooled by his slow and easy manner—she’d seen him in explosive action on the ball field, twisting to make a dramatic catch, bulleting the ball to the infield or smashing a home run into the stands. And she was no longer taken in by his slouchy Texas twang—she’d heard too many examples of his biting wit and keen intellect.
    She’d met Mick nearly four weeks earlier, when Jack and Quinn had arranged an outing to the local minor league park. Tess had played matchmaker, and Addie had gone along with her plans. Since then, she and the ballplayer had shared a handful of casual dates and several sweet, lingering kisses. There might havebeen more between them, but his team had been on the road a great deal, and they both worked long hours.
    Which was a thin and shabby excuse.
    Mick offered everything a woman should want: kindness, generosity, a sense of humor, a solid work ethic. So why didn’t Addie want him as much as she should?
    She’d told herself, at first, that she didn’t want to become seriously involved with a man who might be leaving Carnelian Cove at the end of the ball season. Now that her two best friends were getting married and settling down, she’d renewed those same goals for herself—with an emphasis on that settling down part. And settling down meant staying here, in the Cove.
    But the fact was that she and Mick didn’t generate the right kind of heat, that white-hot passion that fused a couple together and promised to keep their bond toasty for the long haul. Still, she liked him well enough to hope he might make the Cove his home. And she cared for him enough to dream their relationship might deepen, that their friendship could