Love On Anchor Island: An Anchor Island Novel by Terri Osburn (web based ebook reader txt) 📗

There were mitigating circumstances to something like that. Tiny island. Possibly a bit conservative, though Roxie hadn’t encountered anyone who gave that impression. Living your life as one person but being seen as another was something she understood all too well.

“No one knows?”

“Other than me and her brother Nick, no.”

“Have I met Nick?”

Alex added a piece of asparagus to the steak on his fork. “Maybe. He’s the head cook at Dempsey’s restaurant.”

Ah, yes. “Dark hair and a sexy amount of scruff?”

Her dinner partner did not look happy about this description. “Nick has a bit of a beard, yeah.” Rubbing his own clean-shaven jawline, he mumbled, “I don’t know about the sexy part.”

Doc was cute when he was jealous.

Nick was the type Roxie had gone for in the past. Unabashedly flirtatious. Confidence bordering on cocky. Cut like a Michelangelo statue. All reasons she’d ignored his offer to cook for her sometime. She was going to learn from her mistakes or die trying.

Roxie dragged her mind back to Mia and thought of Henri, who lived her truth whether people liked it or not. “Is there a reason she doesn’t tell anyone?”

“One word,” Alex replied. “Nota.”

“What is Nota?”

“Who is Nota,” he corrected. “She’s Mia’s eighty-year-old grandmother and the reason Mia and Nick are on the island. Nota has very specific ideas about how the world should work.”

“Ideas that don’t include homosexuality?”

Alex filled his fork again. “To be honest, I have no idea. Sometimes I think she’d be fine with it, but then she isn’t my grandmother.”

Speaking of. “You said your grandmother’s a doctor. Is that her in the picture behind you?”

His shelves and walls were covered with snapshots. The one to which she referred featured a young Alex with an older woman. They were both smiling while sitting on a porch swing.

He twisted to see the photo and nodded. “That’s Grandma, also known as Dr. Blythe Hommel. She’s seventy-six and finally retired last year, though she still sees patients if they call her. I don’t think she’ll ever give it up entirely.”

“Where was the picture taken?”

Alex reached for the picture and passed it her way. “On their front porch in Tunkhannock. It’s a small town in the Pocono mountains. I spent my summers there when I was a kid.”

Roxie’s maternal grandparents had passed before she’d turned five. Her paternal grandparents had lived longer, but they hadn’t been very affectionate with their grandchildren. There were no summers spent at their house.

“You look happy.”

“I was,” he said, reaching for his wine. “She’s the reason I found my way here. Her patients were her friends and neighbors, and I wanted the same thing. When a friend who’d vacationed here told me about the practice being for sale, I booked a trip down the next day.”

Roxie slid a finger over the image. “How did you know the locals would accept you?”

Alex chuckled. “I didn’t, but I also had not reason to think they wouldn’t. You’ve been here long enough to see how welcoming everyone is.”

The islanders had been more than welcoming to Roxie, but she couldn’t shake the voice in the back of her mind always warning that her day would come. She’d say the wrong thing or make some social gaffe and the atmosphere would change. Yet, she’d gotten comfortable enough to have made a surprising decision, even to herself.

“Do you know of any temporary rentals on the island that aren’t for tourists?”

Dark brows arched. “You’re considering sticking around?”

She didn’t have a choice at the moment since Mom had made her feelings quite clear. “Not permanently, but for a while, yeah. Though I need to find a job first.”

“What would make you stay long term?” he asked, food all but forgotten.

The question made her uncomfortable, mostly because of the hopeful look in his eyes. Best to make things clear now.

“I’m not cut out for a small town. Not enough anonymity.”

Alex leaned back in his chair. “You prefer to be invisible?”

“Exactly,” she confirmed. “I told you once that I have a knack for finding trouble. When that happens in a big city, few people notice. When it happens in a small town, everyone knows, and then the judging begins.”

“You’re starting to sound like a closet criminal,” he said with a grin. “What kind of trouble are we talking about?”

Some confessions could wait. “I have a history of fraternizing with the wrong people.”

“Ah. Guilt by association. Staying on Anchor Island could be the cure for that. You’d have a hard time finding a rough crowd around here.”

“I’d find another way to screw up, trust me. Then the locals would get out their pitchforks, and I’d have to hop the next ferry out.”

Green eyes narrowed. “We aren’t like that here, Roxie. Pitchforks are in short supply, for one thing, and no one has been chased off of this island since Blackbeard. That was three hundred years ago. Unless you’ve been pillaging and plundering around the high seas, I think you’re safe.”

She wasn’t safe, but she also didn’t want to argue.

“That explains the museum. I thought you all just had a weird fascination with pirates.”

“Wait until summer when we have a full-on pirate festival. Eye patches. Peg legs. Off-color sea shanties.” Alex stood and gathered his plate before reaching for hers. “You won’t want to miss it.”

Knowing full well she wouldn’t be here come summer, Roxie changed the subject. “I believe I was promised cheesecake.”

The plates landed in the sink before he spun around to open the fridge. “Yes, you were. Whip or no whip?” he asked with wiggling brows.

God, he was cute. “The answer is always yes to whip,” she replied, unable to resist the innuendo.

Alex ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Right. Yes.” He closed the appliance, hands still empty, and Roxie held her laughter in check.

When he looked around as if lost, she said, “Cheesecake?”

“Cheesecake,” he repeated. “Time for cheesecake.”

“This is the best cheesecake ever,” Roxie mumbled around her last bite of dessert. The moaning sounds she’d made while