Free Summer at Seaside Cove by Jacquie D'Alessandro

sinful-looking mouth could do. Her gaze flicked to his lips and her entire body tensed with awareness.
    He shifted the truck into reverse, stretched his arm along the top of the leather seat, and sizzled a few more of her brain cells with another grin. “Relax, princess. It was a joke. Jeez. And I thought I needed coffee.”
    Since that damn grin of his had again stolen her ability to speak, she didn’t reply. He backed down the driveway made of crushed shells, then headed toward the south end of the island. She cleared her throat and found her voice. “Isn’t the bridge that leads to Route 4 in the opposite direction?”
    â€œYes. We’re making a stop first.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œFor breakfast. I need coffee and something to eat. I’m figuring you need the same. I know for damn sure you need some coffee, Miss Cranky Pants.”
    She shot him a glare that would have curdled milk. “Cranky pants? What are you, in third grade?”
    â€œYou’re just proving my point. Not much of a morning person, are you?”
    â€œAnd you are?”
    â€œDepends.”
    â€œOn what?”
    â€œWho I’m with. And what happened the night before.”
    Before she could reply, he pulled the truck into a gravel parking lot and stopped in a space in front of a small building painted tropical green with bright yellow trim. A lighted sign in neon pink script that ran nearly the entire length of the building flashed the words—
    â€œOy Vey Mama Mia,” Jamie read, peering out the windshield. “What is this place?”
    â€œThe best restaurant on the island—and the fact that it’s the only one open for breakfast has nothing to do with it being the best. Believe me, you’ve never been anywhere like this.”
    They exited the truck and Jamie followed Nick up the short pathway leading to the entrance. To her surprise he actually held the door open for her, something she might have remarked upon, but every thought was driven from her head by the heavenly scent of coffee and bacon that instantly bombarded her.
    In spite of the fact that the parking lot was nearly empty, there were at least two dozen tables filled with diners, and every spot at the counter was taken. Clearly folks renting out homes on the island liked to walk to breakfast, and really, why not, as everywhere on Seaside Cove was within walking distance.
    The interior resembled a retro diner meets coastal beach town, combining a glossy, stainless steel counter with round, turquoise-vinyl stools. The walls were painted a soft Caribbean blue and decorated with hanging surf boards of every imaginable size, interspersed with seashells. A stone fireplace occupied the corner, its mantel decorated with sand dollars. Two tall glass revolving display cases showed off an array of delicious-looking desserts, and mini juke boxes that resembled 1950s automobiles sat at each booth and table. Jamie’s restaurant-trained eye skimmed over the open stainless steel kitchen where three cooks toiled, one working the cooking area, one working the small prep area chopping onions like a pro, and the other plating dishes. The aroma of good food being prepared in such a fun atmosphere had her exhaling a sigh of happiness.
    They were greeted by a pretty teenage girl with ebony hair that matched her soulful eyes. “ ’Morning, Nick,” she said with a smile that included Jamie. “Two for breakfast?”
    â€œYeah, thanks, Rachel. This is Jamie Newman. She’s renting Paradise Lost for the summer.”
    Rachel’s smile widened. “Welcome to the island. You’re going to love it here.” She snagged two menus. “Inside table or the patio?” Before Nick could answer, Rachel leaned forward and whispered, “Grandma’s working outside this morning.”
    Nick grinned. “Then definitely the patio.”
    Rachel laughed, then said, “Follow me.”
    They wove their