Free Return to the Beach House by Georgia Bockoven

much.”
    A lifelong conservative, Alison was a little disappointed to discover this flashy side to Kyle’s personality. “It is a pretty car . . .”
    “It’s so much more than that. It’s the future. Or at least it should be. Can you imagine the difference it would make if all our cars ran on batteries that were charged by solar panels?”
    “I never gave it much thought,” she admitted.
    “It’s pretty hard to ignore around here. We take this stuff seriously.”
    “So the only reason you drive a Tesla is the environment?”
    He smiled. “It’s not the only reason.”
    She sounded like she was about to tie him to a chair and shine a light in his eyes. “Can we start over? This is supposed to be a way for me to thank you for all you’ve done. I have no idea why I’m being so aggressive about your car.”
    “Could it be that I don’t fit in your comfort zone?”
    Oh great, he was a mind-reader too. “What makes you say that?”
    “Because you’re not the same person you were the other day, and I think that person is the real you.”
    Just like that she was crying. Was it possible for her to make a bigger fool of herself? She dug through her purse for a tissue. “You know—I think it might be better if we did this another day. Plainly I’m not fit company to be around today. Certainly not in a fancy restaurant.”
    He reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “And what makes you think it’s a fancy restaurant?”
    She looked at him, at the twinkle in his eyes, at the half-cocked grin, and couldn’t help but return his smile. “Jenny was a lucky woman.”
    “My kids insist I’m a nicer guy now than I was when she was alive, but Jenny and I had a good thing going for a lot of years. I just didn’t have the sense to realize how good until it was gone.”
    “How long has it been?”
    “Ten years.”
    “You’re a nice man. I’m surprised you’re still single.”
    He chuckled. “It’s not for lack of trying by my friends. I can’t imagine you haven’t been going through the same thing. How long has it been for you?”
    “How did you know?”
    “Lots of little clues, but mainly the fact that you never once mentioned bringing anyone else into the decision-making process about the truck. It’s obvious you’ve learned to do this kind of thing on your own.”
    “It’s been thirteen years. And I have a suspicion I’m still single for the same reason you are. Haven’t met anyone I wanted to be around more than a couple of hours at a time.”
    “Yeah, it’s not a great sign when you’re looking at the clock on the mantel instead of the door to the bedroom.”
    She glanced out the car window and realized they were passing the wharf. “I think you missed the turnoff.”
    “Change of plans.”
    They drove past signs directing them to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, then west for several blocks before turning right on Seventeenth Street. Kyle pulled into a parking lot next to a small park, got out, and walked around the car. “We’re here,” he said, reaching for her hand.
    The “here” was the top of a rocky outcropping with a panoramic view of the ocean and the bay. There was a small beach in a cove on one side and more rocks with barely enough sand to build a castle on the other. Waves hit the outlying rocks with a force that sent foamy salt water thirty feet into the air.
    “Wow,” Alison said appreciatively.
    A man wearing an apron with a picture of two crabs holding claws on it got up from one of a pair of lawn chairs on either side of a small picnic table. “Ciao, Signore Tanner. You pick a beautiful day for your picnic. No fog.” He looked toward the ocean. “At least not yet.”
    He shook hands with Kyle and turned to Alison. “And who is this lovely lady?”
    Kyle brought her forward by putting an arm around her shoulders. “Alison Kirkpatrick, this is Antonio Formisano, extraordinary chef and even better friend.”
    Antonio took Alison’s hand and brought it to his