Second Chance Summer. Irene Hannon

them even without throwing his own issues into the mix.

      Yet he wanted to know more about her—out of curiosity, nothing more. And if he listened to whatever was on her mind about today, maybe she’d open up a little about the rest of her life.

      “I’m still willing.” He circled her car, and she sent him a surprised look when he pulled the driver’s door open. “Gram reprimanded me for my lack of manners on Sunday. I feel compelled to prove I remember a few of the etiquette lessons she drummed into me in my youth.”

      Without a word, Rachel slid into the car.

      “See you in a few minutes.” He shut the door, worked his way back to his car...and found himself looking forward to sharing dinner with the lovely blonde.

      Strange.

      Much as he’d been annoyed at Gram’s and Eleanor’s orchestration of Sunday’s beach encounter, he suddenly wished he’d met Rachel Shaw under different circumstances—and that she wasn’t so averse to considering a new relationship.

      * * *

      Why in the world had she agreed to have dinner with Louise’s grandson—especially after he’d hinted he’d like to know more about her background?

      Rachel guided her Focus along Shell Road, under the canopy of Spanish moss that clung to the towering live oaks, past the hotel’s golf course, alongside a family of bicyclists on a carefree holiday.

      That was the kind of holiday she’d expected to have.

      Instead, she was dealing with a well-meaning but misguided aunt who’d decided it was time for her to reenter the social scene, a forlorn little girl who was in desperate need of some TLC, and the tall, dark-haired man close on her tail whose sharp, insightful eyes told her he wouldn’t hesitate to introduce subjects she didn’t want to discuss and ask questions she didn’t want to answer.

      Maybe she could just order a soft drink and an appetizer and make a quick exit—even if leaving him in the lurch to finish his dinner alone wasn’t the most polite thing she’d ever done.

      But it would be safer. She knew that intuitively...and she trusted her instincts.

      Settled on that strategy, Rachel pulled into a parking place, locked up and waited at the back of her car as Fletch angled in beside her.

      As soon as he joined her, she started toward the restaurant. But at a touch on her arm, she stopped and turned.

      “You know, it occurred to me during the drive here that we’ve never been officially introduced. I think Gram assumed we’d exchanged names on the beach.” He extended his hand. “Jack Fletcher. Fletch to my friends.”

      She regarded his lean fingers. The mere thought of touching him set off a warning bell in her mind, but what choice did she have?

      “Rachel Shaw.”

      His fingers closed over hers—firm, strong and confident. It was the sort of handshake her father always referred to as a “John Wayne grip.” The kind that said I’m here, I’m wearing my white hat and everything’s going to be all right.

      So why did she sense danger?

      Taking a shaky breath, she tugged her hand free. “Nice to meet you.”

      “Likewise.” He gestured toward the restaurant. “Shall we?”

      Without waiting for her to respond, he took her elbow and guided her up the slanting concrete walkway that led to the patio. It was a polite gesture, nothing more; the kind of thing some men did without thinking about it.

      But it had been years since anyone had touched her that way.

      And despite what she’d told Aunt El about not being in the market for romance, it felt good.

      Her lips settled into a firm line. A reaction like that was all the more reason to end this evening as soon as possible. She carried enough guilt already about Mark. The least she could do was be loyal to him for another year or two. She owed him that.

      Because if she’d been more attentive, he might still be alive.

      Heart suddenly heavy, Rachel let Fletch lead her in silence as the hostess showed them to one of the umbrella-topped tables on the deck that offered a view of the beach beyond the dunes.

      Fletch held her chair as she sat, then took the one at a right angle to her. “My compliments on your choice of restaurant. If the food is half as good as the view, this might become a regular stop for me.”

      “I’ve never had a bad meal here.” She gave the menu a perfunctory scan and set it aside.

      “A woman who knows what she wants.” Fletch picked up his own menu and smiled at her.

      She found herself staring at the killer dimple that appeared in his cheek. How come she hadn’t noticed it before?

      Then again, they hadn’t done a lot of smiling at each other up until now.

      “Rachel?”

      She tore her gaze from the dimple. “What?”

      “I asked if you have any recommendations.”

      “Oh.” She settled her napkin on her lap and dug around in her purse for her sunglasses. “You can’t go wrong with the catch of the day.”

      “Sold.”

      Fletch closed his menu as she slipped the glasses over her nose and hid behind the dark lenses. She would not be caught staring at that dimple—or anything else—again.

      For a moment, she thought he was going to comment on her transparent strategy. But he let it pass as the waitress arrived to take their orders.

      Fletch deferred to her.

      “A Coke and shrimp cocktail.”

      “And for your entrée?” The woman waited, pencil poised.