Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door. Jackie Braun

And a lot rebellious, because she wasn’t going to return for at least a week. Maybe longer. And even though her mother considered her engagement to Phillip a done deal, Holly was far from convinced.

      Nate turned off the shower and stepped back. She glanced away.

      “Everything okay?”

      She pushed away all thoughts of her mother, Phillip and the responsibilities waiting for her upon her return. She was free now.

      “I didn’t see the lever,” she said quietly.

      “No one does. It’s old-fashioned, which is why I had them all replaced in the cottages when I took over. Saved me or whoever else was manning the front desk at the marina office a lot of phone calls.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I haven’t gotten around to this one yet.”

      “I’m sure it hasn’t been a priority.”

      “Not exactly,” he agreed. “I’ve put most of my time and resources into the cottages.”

      “Walking up from the beach, it looked like there were more of those than there used to be.”

      He nodded. “I was always after Dad to expand, but he said he and Mom had enough to keep them busy with what they had.”

      “I liked your parents.” She smiled, enveloped in simple and homey memories so unlike the majority of those from her childhood. That, too, she realized now, was part of the reason she’d come here. Simplicity. Her complicated, overrun life yearned for it. “They always made feel at home when I stopped over from my grandmother’s cottage, even when they had work to do and guests to attend to.”

      “They liked you, too. They were always after me to be as polite as you were.”

      They both laughed. Then sobered. Silence stretched. For a moment, given the way he was watching her, she thought he might stroke her cheek. He’d raised his hand. But it fell away and he blurted out, “Fresh towels.”

      Holly blinked.

      “Um, for your shower. They’re in the cabinet next to the sink. Washcloths, too.”

      “Right.”

      “One more thing, Holly.”

      She nodded, feeling ridiculously expectant as she waited for him to continue.

      “Don’t flush the toilet right before you get in the shower or you’ll wind up scalded.” He cleared his throat. His cheeks grew pink. “Another of those things I haven’t gotten around to updating.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE storm was in full swing by the time Holly came downstairs an hour later. Rain pelted the windows and lightning illuminated the inky sky, followed by loud crashes of thunder that shook the home’s foundation. It was a spectacle to behold, by turns frightening and thrilling. Even so, Hank was sprawled out on the couch, his snores competing with the storm. She envied the man’s ability to fall asleep so easily. Even on perfectly quiet nights, Holly seldom slept soundly. She usually had too much going through her mind to relax and simply drift off. She’d tried the old remedies, such as counting sheep and listening to soothing music. Neither had much effect. Meditation sometimes worked. As did reading really, really boring accounts of her country’s gross domestic product.

      The royal physician blamed her insomnia on anxiety and had prescribed pills that she rarely took. They made her too groggy the next day, as if she were walking through a fog. She preferred to have her wits about her, even if it meant slumbering off sometimes during a dinner party. A picture of her with her eyes closed and her chin resting on her chest had graced the front page of a newspaper not long ago.

      “This is exactly the kind of publicity you need to avoid,” her mother had warned. “Royal or not, the press can turn public sentiment against you in a heartbeat.”

      Even so, Holly had been reluctant to take the pills. Still, she wondered if she would come to regret not bringing them with her for this trip.

      Nate stood at the glass door that opened to the deck, one hand in the front pocket of a pair of wrinkled cargo shorts, the other holding a beer. He’d taken a shower. She’d heard the water in his bathroom running not long after she’d shut off the water in the guest bath. His hair was still wet. He wore it on the long side, though not as long as he had as a boy. Back then, it had nearly brushed his shoulders. Now, it just grazed his collar. The color had gotten darker over the years. It bordered on brown, but the sun had left its mark with the kind of highlights that women—and some men—spent vast sums of money at salons hoping to achieve. She couldn’t imagine him sitting still long enough to let a stylist work her magic.