Shooting the Moon. Brenda Novak

      Chapter Two

      Pippa led the way around the back of Granny’s house, skirting the pool and the outdoor kitchen to enter the service area that led to the garage. Kicking off her heels, she slipped into the sandals she kept there. While she used them for wearing out on the sandy beach or in the outdoor shower, they should also work for poking around an old building. At the very least they should keep her from falling on her face, a distinct possibility in the uncomfortable but pretty yellow shoes she’d donned for the party.

      She turned to be sure Logan was still following. He’d already removed his jacket and slung it over his arm and was in the process of loosening his surfboard tie. When their gazes met, he gave her a dazzling smile.

      “Kind of like skipping class,” Pippa said, though she’d never dared make that sort of attempt back in high school.

      “Kind of,” he replied as he reached up to run a hand through his sand-colored hair. His left hand.

      Instantly Pippa checked for a ring and found none, then stifled a cringe. What is wrong with me?

      “You never skipped class, did you?” he asked.

      “Never,” she admitted.

      “Then I suppose it’s time. Lead on,” said the object of her thoughts as he loosened the top two buttons on his dress shirt.

      “This way.” Pippa glanced around and spied her Mini Cooper wedged between Granny’s sedan and several other cars. Apparently the valets for tonight’s event weren’t concerned with whether the family might need to escape.

      She stopped short and looked around. “The blue one’s mine, but it’s not going anywhere. Do you mind driving?”

      “Long as you don’t mind the wind in your hair,” Logan said. “I didn’t expect company, so I left the top to the Jeep back home in my garage.”

      “I’ll manage.”

      A moment later Logan waved away a valet to gesture toward a black Jeep Wrangler parked up the road between two vehicles of a more expensive type. As promised, the top was off, exposing the seats to the elements.

      “Your chariot awaits,” he said as he trotted around to help her climb into the passenger seat.

      Thankful she’d worn her hair up today, Pippa slid the seat belt into position and sat back to enjoy the ride. Only as the gates of Granny’s neighborhood were closing behind them did she truly consider the fact that she’d just left a party with a man she hardly knew.

      In Vine Beach.

      In broad daylight—or rather what remained of it as the sun teased the edge of the watery horizon.

      Then again, it was Vine Beach. And it was Logan Burkett, a man she’d be working closely with at least until the end of the restoration project.

      Pippa let out a long breath, grasping the edges of the seat as Logan made an abrupt turn and headed up the highway toward the downtown area. A strand of hair dislodged, and she quickly tucked it back into place.

      Landmarks whizzed by. First came the historic Berryhill Farm, the Civil War–era mansion that Leah and Ryan owned. The main house on the property had been reduced to rubble after a devastating fire several years ago, so the couple now lived in a renovated caretaker’s house and raised palomino horses on the lush grassland location.

      Just past that on the beach side of the road was Pop’s Seafood Shack and the collection of pastel-colored rental homes where she currently resided. Pippa thought to point out hers, then caught herself. No sense in giving Logan more information about her than he already knew.

      So she held her comments until the cottage where Eric and Amy Wilson lived appeared in view. What was once a tiny home had been recently remodeled to include an addition that purportedly doubled the size of the home.

      “Such a pretty house,” she said as she watched the rose-covered trellis that marked the front walkway slip past.

      “Thanks,” Logan said as he spared her a glance. At her questioning look, he continued. “Amy didn’t want to move, but with the new baby there wasn’t enough room for the two of them and four kids.”

      “Yes, I know,” Pippa said, having been part of the group of ladies who had given Amy her baby shower. “I didn’t realize you were an architect, as well.”

      “I’m not.” His attention remained focused on the road even as a muscle tightened in his jaw. “I just like to play around with that kind of stuff. You could say I’m self-taught.”

      “I see.” Pippa tried to make light of what had suddenly become a touchy topic. “Well, you’re very good at it. Have you ever considered going back to school and—”

      “Thanks, but no, I don’t think so.” Logan pulled the Jeep to a stop to await the green light before turning onto Main Street. “Look, I appreciate the compliment, but I’m doing just fine hammering nails and sawing boards.”

      Though his look was likely supposed to convince her otherwise, his expression told Pippa there was more to it. Had she known him any better, she might have asked. Instead she kept her silence and her curiosity.

      They circled past the courthouse and then a line of buildings that stretched the distance between the Vine Beach Community Center to the north and Grace Church to the south. In between was a collection of hundred-year-old brick structures punctuated with the occasional upstart 60’s-era glass front office. Smack in the middle of the entire grouping was the former Branson’s Bakery, the place where Pippa would finally put down roots.

      It was a good thing, she reminded herself as the familiar dread threatened. Women her age were having babies and lamenting the careers they’d given up. Thus it was high time she let go of her dream of a full-time skate park ministry and do something productive.

      She would still be involved in the ministry even though her main responsibility would be to Granny and the ground-floor