Secrets Between Them. C.J. Carmichael

at her speculatively. “Actually, your aunt might have a point there.”

      “I don’t think so.” Molly, who had no responsibilities to anyone other than herself couldn’t understand. Jennifer barely had time for yoga two times a week, let alone adventure.

      “Frankly, I think we both could use a dash of excitement. Preferably of the romantic sort.”

      “Oh, really? Seen anyone who interested you lately?”

      “Well…to be honest…” Molly drummed her fingers on the table. “What about that friend of yours, Gabe Brooke. He’s single again. I know he’s rich and he’s certainly gorgeous.”

      “Yes, Gabe is all those things. You should go out with him, Moll. Want me to fix you up?”

      “What about you? You’ve known him longer.”

      “Yeah, but we’ve been friends forever. Dating would be weird.” And it would. Though once she hadn’t felt that way. “Besides, I’m good friends with his ex-wife.”

      “What happened there? Why did they split up? People say it was because of Simone but she’s been dead for three years now.”

      “It’s complicated.” Jennifer rubbed her forehead. She didn’t want to talk about it, but if Molly really was interested in Gabe, then she probably should know the basic facts.

      “Gabe was in love with Simone for years, but when she married Harrison, he turned to Nessa. Nessa had always been crazy about him and she thought she could make their marriage work. But Gabe never seemed to get over Simone. He was always at her beck and call.”

      “Did they have an affair?”

      “I don’t think so. But Nessa felt emotionally abandoned anyway. And who could blame her.”

      Molly leaned back, wrinkled her nose. “He doesn’t come out sounding like a very nice guy.”

      “Oh, but he is. You have to realize the power Simone had over people, men in particular. Once Gabe realized how much he’d hurt Nessa, he felt badly and tried to make amends. But it was too late.”

      Jennifer could sympathize with how Nessa must have felt. Once, Jennifer, too, had had a crush on Gabe. Years had gone by before she’d worked up the nerve to tell him. Only, just as she started talking, he’d blurted out how devastated he was that Simone was dating Harrison instead of him.

      She’d realized then that Gabe saw her as nothing more than a buddy, a pal, another one of the gang.

      She’d told herself that it was just as well.

      But now, briefly, she felt the burn of that old rejection. No sense blaming Simone, though. She couldn’t help that all the men loved her. That was simply the way it had always been.

      CHAPTER TWO

      AFTERNOON AT THE bed-and-breakfast was Jennifer’s favorite time of day. Her father usually took a nap on his reclining chair in the sitting room, with his sister Annie in the chair next to him, reading. This was when Jennifer was free to putter in her gardens and work on the lavender products she sold at a craft store on Saltspring Island.

      Jennifer took her shears and a large shallow wicker basket out to the gardens in the front yard. She was expecting a new guest and this way she wouldn’t miss her arrival. At any rate, the Lavandula multifida needed to be harvested again.

      Her mother had planted the original lavender, for which the B and B was named. As the years went by, she’d started experimenting with other cultivars. Now there were lavender beds on all sides of the house, sometimes three or four in a row, with neat gravel paths between them.

      The best time to snip the lavender stalks, if you wanted to dry them, was just when the flowers started to bloom. Jennifer stooped next to a perfect specimen. All around her bees were busy pollinating, but they didn’t bother her as she carefully snipped at the stalks, just above the bushy plant growth.

      Later, she’d tie them in tiny bundles with rattan and use them to decorate the jars of lavender jelly and vinegar she’d make during the colder winter months.

      A peaceful half hour passed. Just Jennifer, the lavender, a few dragonflies and the bumblebees. Her basket was almost full when she heard a vehicle approach. She straightened, put a hand to her lower back and stretched. That must be Nic Lancaster, from New York City.

      They didn’t often have guests from so far away. She was a little excited to meet this woman. Jennifer shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun so she could watch as a dusty old SUV came into view.

      The driver pulled up to the house, then stepped out from behind the wheel. She frowned. Squinted. No, she wasn’t seeing things. Her guest wasn’t a woman, but a man. And while his vehicle looked weathered and battered, he definitely did not.

      Late thirties, she guessed. Fit and naturally athletic judging by those shoulders and muscular legs. He wore typical summer outdoor gear—hiking shorts and boots, with a navy shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

      He’d been facing the house, perhaps reading the sign for the bed-and-breakfast, but then he turned and stared at her. Though about twenty feet of flower garden separated them, Jennifer felt a power in his eyes that made her mouth dry.

      Their guests here were usually families, retired couples, college kids on break. She couldn’t remember the last time a single man, an attractive single man, had checked in.

      Which he might not do if she didn’t stop gawking at him.

      In her defense, she didn’t think she was the only one having a moment here. The man in front of her seemed just as transfixed by her as she was by him.

      He watched her approach with such intensity that she should have felt self-conscious. But, she didn’t.

      “Hi, I’m Jennifer March. Welcome to Lavender Farm.” She put the basket on the ground, then held out her hand, amazed that she could sound so poised when she felt anything but.

      “Jennifer.” His hand was warm, his grip firm.

      She removed a strand of hair the wind had blown across her cheek. “You’re Nick Lancaster?”

      “Yes. Sorry, I should have identified myself right away.” His smile was a little crooked, a quirk that added a dash of self-deprecation to his confident air.

      “Your reservation was made by a woman. I didn’t know she was booking for someone else.”

      “That would have been my agent. She took care of the travel arrangements. I must say, I had no idea it was going to be so pretty here.”

      He looked right at her as he said that and her usual shyness suddenly kicked in. Was he flirting, or just being friendly? If he was flirting, what should she say in response?

      Though Simone had been gone three years, Jennifer knew exactly what she would be saying if she were here. Go for it, Jenn! Here’s your big chance.

      Let him know you’re interested and available.

      But now that it was happening, or might be happening, she felt awkward and tongue-tied.

      “Um…why do you have an agent?” He was certainly good looking enough to be an actor. But he was also in incredible shape, so maybe he was a professional athlete.

      His laugh was easy, natural. “I’m a writer. Michele Ashburn, the woman you spoke to on the phone, is my literary agent.”

      She never would have guessed that. He didn’t look like the scholarly sort. “What do you write?”

      For the first time since he’d arrived, he glanced away from her and hesitated with his answer.

      “I’m writing a book,” Nick said, finally.

      “Oh.” They’d had a couple of authors stay at the B and B over the years. One had been working on a travel guide for kayakers in the Gulf Islands, another