Divine Connection

by Amy Lyon

  With something that sounded like a smothered sob, she nodded and tried for a smile. “You did all of this for me?”

  Jackson pushed his hands into his pockets. “Well, yeah. I guess. I mean, I didn’t do it all myself. Andi and Matt were here almost every—”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you—” she looked out the bedroom window where a sliver of the ocean was visible through two palm trees. “You even have a bed ready for me.”

  He held up his hands. “That was Andi’s idea. We thought you could use a little goodness in your life.”

  She drew back into the doorway to the compact kitchen and leaned against the frame. “You have no idea how much I don’t deserve this,” she whispered and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Jackson took two steps toward her, feeling an overwhelming urge to hold her in his arms. He stopped, though, when she added softly, “But even in death there is life, right?”

  He let out a sigh. “Hey, I’m sorry I said that.” He crouched slightly to look into her eyes. “I know you’ve been through a lot and I just wanted to do what I could to make this transition easier for you.”

  She shook her head and tears flowed more freely, glistening on the cheeks of her heart-shaped face. “It’s not what you said.” She shoved her hand into her pocket. “Well, it is what you said, actually.”

  “Dang it,” he muttered.

  Sara pulled her hand out of her pocket and unfurled her fingers to reveal a large silver coin.

  He took the medallion and ran his thumb over the familiar butterfly emblem. He flipped the coin over and read the inscription: Even in death there is life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The room spun as a sense of vertigo engulfed Jackson.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked, feeling an unwarranted invasion of privacy.

  “Funeral home,” Sara said, her voice low. “They gave it to me with a laminated copy of my dad’s obituary.”

  Jackson exhaled hard and handed the coin back to her. “Wow.”

  “Wow is right,” she said, looking just as disoriented as he felt. “I’ve carried this coin with me for nearly two years. What made you say that to me?”

  Jackson cocked his head. “Why? Copyright infringement?”

  Sara smiled sadly. “Don’t get defensive. It’s just not a common phrase like, ‘Everything happens for a reason’ or ‘Time heals all wounds.’”

  Jackson rubbed his chin. “Hospice. My dad.”

  “Oh. What happened to your dad?”

  And there was his cue to go. “A story for another time, maybe,” he said and made his way back through the kitchen to the living room. He handed her the keys. “Lock the door behind me.”

  She touched his arm. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  The softness of her fingertips felt good. “I’m not done yet,” he said and winked.

  Sara cocked her head.

  “Come by the shop in the morning. I’ll have fresh coffee.”

  “Not much of a coffee drinker and—” she fanned her face “—it’s too hot for coffee.”

  “Iced tea, then?”

  She nodded. “I love iced tea.”

  * * *

  Sara’s flip-flops slapped cheerfully along the sidewalk that ran between Sweet Serenity and Beachside Rentals, giving her a new sound to focus on rather than the overzealous thumping of her heart.

  The thought of seeing Jackson had her wound up like a yo-yo, but she balanced her enthusiasm with the reminder of a hard-learned truth: Getting too close to anyone ultimately caused heartbreak.

  In front of Jackson’s shop, she paused by a large chalkboard sign that read: Tuesday, Aug. 15. Water temp: 84. Air temp: High of 91.

  She drank in the salt air and moved past a row of pastel-colored beach bikes. Soft reggae music played from speakers overhead as she took the stairs two at a time.

  Even after just one night, the island ambiance put some pep in her step, stirring a positive energy she hadn’t felt in years.

  Or maybe that stirring was inspired by the sight of the shop’s owner coming toward her with a—

  “Whoops!” Sara yelped as she tripped up the top step and landed on the front porch in a modified downward dog yoga pose, her rear end hiked straight up in the air.

  “You falling for me?” Jackson quipped, extending a hand to help her up.

  But Sara waved him off. “Just getting my sea legs. I know I’m on land, but my attention keeps getting drawn to the ocean—” she gestured her hand across the street “—which is right there. Steps away.” She straightened and put her hands on her hips. “I still can’t believe I live here.”

  “Pure paradise,” Jackson said, taking in the same view. He handed her the promised iced tea. “Sorry, it’s already dripping with sweat.”

  Sara shrugged. No biggie. She was dripping with sweat, too, partly from the humidity and partly from the embarrassment of falling for him.

  “Hope it’s not too sweet.”

  You’re too sweet. She sipped. “Mmm. Perfect.” She sighed and traced the writing on the outside of the glass. “Casa Blanca Resort and Spa?”

  He shrugged. “Won it in a raffle.”

  She followed him inside his shop. “How about a Beachside Rentals glass? Do you have one of those?”

  He shook his head. “Should I?”

  “Be better marketing to advertise yourself versus someone else.”

  Jackson rolled his eyes at the idea of self-promotion and adjusted a shelf of snorkel gear. “Why, are you my first customer of the day?” He held a hot pink snorkel mask in front of her. “Hey, I figured you for an early riser. What’s it gotta be? At least ten?”

  Sara checked the clock on her phone. “9:58. And I am an early riser. I unloaded the truck this morning—”

  “By yourself?”

  “Of course. It’s only a fifteen-footer and I don’t have any large furniture.” She sipped the tea. “Then I went for a walk on the beach.”

  “Busy gal.”

  “And,” she added, holding up her finger. “I also took some time to admire that cute little cottage you worked so hard on.”

  Jackson grinned. “Home sweet home. I’m glad you like it.”

  “I love it.” Just as she started to drift away into the cool blue-gray of his eyes, a golden retriever rounded the corner and eased up to her.

  “Oh, you have a dog.” She reached her hand in front of the pup’s nose, offering him a sniff.

  “This is Jax,” he said, ruffling the dog’s fur.

  “Jax, huh? Let me guess—you named him?”

  “Actually—” Jackson bent down to let the dog give him a lick on his cheek “—he already had his name when I met him. Took it as a sign that we were meant to work together.”

  “Work together?”

  “I was his handler. In the Army. Medal-winning military working dog right here.” He rubbed the spot between Jax’s eyes and the dog seemed lulled into a trance.

  A thousand questions ping-ponged in Sara’s mind. Maybe it was too soon to invade Jackson’s privacy with the twenty questions on the tip of her tongue, but she had an overwhelming thirst to learn more about this man and his furry friend.

  “So, you got out of the military?”

  “Honorably discharged.”

  “And you live on Mimosa Key and run this shop?”

  “Just another day in paradise,” he said and stood. “Told you, I’m the official greeter of Mimosa Key, especially when it comes to pretty girls moving into the neighborhood.” He gave Sara a playful nudge with his elbow. “And Jax is the official greeter of Beachside Rentals. Doesn’t get much better than this.”

  Sara blushed and watched as Jax ambled away.

  “He’s limping.”

  “He was shot,” Jackson said on a sharp exhale. “We both were.”

  She touched her fingertips to her lips. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Ancient history.”
<
br />   “How ancient?”

  Jackson looked up, as if considering. “Eighteen months, two weeks and … four days.”

  “Uh-huh. How many hours?”

  He smiled. “Okay. Maybe I’m not keeping track that well. Been about a year and a half.”

  The questions multiplied, but Sara willed herself to remain silent as she sipped her tea. She scanned the room and spotted a red box on the back wall. “Is that a rotary telephone?”

  “Yep,” Jackson said proudly. “Never drops a call.”

  Her gaze shifted to the right and landed on a cluster of distressed wood signs featuring quaint little sayings.

  “Do you make those?”

  “I do. Out of old pallets, driftwood, and whatever else washes up on the beach.” He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “I like to reuse things and, more than that, I have to keep busy so I don’t lose my mind.”

  “Me, too,” Sara said. “Looks like you’re pretty successful at keeping yourself busy.”

  He sighed. “Had bigger plans for my life than running a little shack shop on Mimosa Key.”

  Sara clucked her tongue and looked at her sandals.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that,” he said, reaching out his hand apologetically. “I just, well, I did have bigger plans for my life than running my dad’s old business. You’ll love having a shop here.”

  Sara sloughed off the comment and stepped closer to the wall. “These signs are really cool. I love this one: ‘I’d rather shovel sand than snow.’”

  Jackson reached up and plucked the wood off the wall. “It’s yours. Perfect housewarming gift for a Minnesota girl.”

  Sara accepted the gift. “Really? Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome. The signs are really popular with folks who come down from the North, either to play or live. Believe it or not, I’ve brought some signs to the Naples Farmers’ Market and almost made more money in the past couple months than I have on the rental side of business here.” He drew in a deep breath. “Been a little slow as far as customers go.”

  “Where else do you sell the signs?”

  He scanned the room. “Besides here and the farmers’ market?”

  “Do you sell them online?”

  “Uh, no. The Internet’s not really my thing.”

  Sara’s eyebrows shot up. “If you own a business, the Internet has to be your thing.”

  He grunted. “Not mine. I never intended to be a business owner.”

  She looked around the room at the well-organized displays. “But you are, and you’ve got a pretty awesome shop here.”

  Unfortunately, business was probably slow because this ex-military man had no clue as to how to market a business. She didn’t want to offend him by criticizing his business skills, so she focused instead on the signs. That seemed to be a safe subject for now.

  “You do all the painting?” She traced the script font with her finger.

  “Actually, your cousin made me vinyl stencils on some crafty cricket machine, so painting them is a breeze.”

  Sara smiled. “Yes, Andi does love her Cricut.”

  “What about Andi?”

  At the sound of the familiar feminine voice, Sara whirled around to see the beautiful blonde approaching. She grinned and embraced her cousin. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year, since Andi had met the handsome pastor of a local church, moved to Mimosa Key and launched her own graphic design business to raging success. The whole story had the makings of a Hallmark movie, so much so Sara worried she might be a third wheel between the loving couple.

  But their wedding was fast approaching and Jackson was the best man. Thankfully, with him in the picture, the balance would be just right.

  “Hey, partner,” Jackson said, stepping forward to give Andi a hug. “You here to do some remodeling and painting?”

  “No can do,” Andi said and rolled her shoulders dramatically. “My cottage renovation days are behind me.”

  “Time to focus on the wedding,” Sara said, and linked her arm with her cousin’s. “Just a little over two weeks away.”

  Andi sighed. “Don’t remind me. So much to do. But today is about you and picking out some furniture for that cute little cottage.”

  “It is adorable, isn’t it?” Sara said. “Thank you both for all your hard work.”

  “You deserve it,” Andi and Jackson said in unison.

  Sara straightened, uncomfortable with their sympathy. Yes, she’d lost her husband and consequently her house, but if either of them knew the real situation with Mack and his death, they might not be so quick to offer their compassion.

  Jackson walked them to the door. “You ladies have a good time and let me know if you need any help unloading when you get back.” He waved around the room. “Obviously I’m not overrun with customers.”

  “Internet,” Sara said over her shoulder. “You’ve got to join us in the twenty-first century.”

  On the sidewalk, Andi nudged Sara with her shoulder. “I see you and Jackson have become acquainted.”

  Sara pushed her sunglasses over her eyes. “Seems like a good neighbor,” she said and smiled to herself.

  Now, if she could just lose the visual of his charming smile and cool, assessing eyes, she might be able to focus on the day in front of her.

  Without falling for him.

  * * *

  Sara climbed into the cab of Andi’s pickup after they returned the rental truck to the drop-off center.

  “Nice truck. Is it yours?”

  “Matt’s,” Andi said. “I dropped him off at the church. We’ll pick up my car on the way back. You can use it for as long as you need.”

  Sara admired the golden tan on her cousin’s arms and the sun-kissed highlights in her blond hair. Their moms, who were sisters, were pregnant at the same time and Sara and Andi were born only eight days apart. Andi never let Sara forget she was the older, wiser one. Most of her childhood memories included Andi and Aunt Millie. But they’d drifted apart after Sara married Mack and Andi became obsessed with her job as a graphic designer for some fancy lifestyle magazine.

  Sara sensed a peace about her cousin she hadn’t seen in some time. This wasn’t the same workaholic from a year ago who swore she’d never have time to settle down. Rather, in reconnecting with her cousin over the last months, Sara knew Andi’s outlook on life had done a complete one-eighty and she was happy. Truly happy.

  Which made Sara a little jealous.

  Perhaps there was something magical about Mimosa Key. Andi certainly seemed to think so. And Sara sure could use an infusion of positive energy in her life.

  “Thanks again for letting me use your car until I find something,” Sara said.

  “Glad to help.” Andi reached over and squeezed Sara’s arm. “After everything you’ve been through—”

  Sara snorted. “I deserve it, I know.” Her lips puckered with frustration. “You guys have to stop saying that and, for heaven’s sake, stop being so nice to me. You’ve already done so much by helping me find that amazing deal on the shop and the cottage.” She looked out the window and shook her head. “I have a hard time accepting handouts, you know that, and I really don’t deserve it.”

  It was Andi’s turn to snort. “I don’t know many women who would still be standing after what you’ve been through in the last two years. Your husband died and left you with a pile of debt you didn’t know about. You moved in with your mother, who has always been controlling, but who then went completely crazy on you. Your church turned against you—” she swallowed hard “—and Uncle Mark died.”

  Sara flinched at her father’s name. “Thanks for the refresher. I’d forgotten how miserable I should be.”

  Andi rolled her hands over the steering wheel. “Obviously I don’t know the whole story with your mom and the church.” She glanced at Sara, probably hoping Sara would finally share the details surrounding the series of blow-ups that sent her running for cover to Mimosa Key. “But when you’re ready to
talk, I’m ready to listen.”

  Sara was silent for several minutes and that was the beauty of being with her cousin. They didn’t have to talk. She didn’t know if there would ever be a good time to share the whole story of what happened up North. Rather, she hoped some time and distance would dim the intensity of her past.

  Andi made a quick left and bounced over the low curb.

  “Here we are,” she said, pulling into the parking lot of a one-story building.

  Sara read the sign out loud: “Heaven’s Helper.”

  “Best thrift store on the island.” Andi put the truck into park. “Actually, it’s the only thrift store on the island, but you can find everything you need here. Clean and organized. And since you won’t let me take you to the furniture outlets—”

  “There’s enough over-consumption in this country to choke a horse,” Sara muttered.

  “I forgot what a tree hugger you are,” Andi said as she exited the truck. “You and Jackson have a lot in common.”

  Inside, it didn’t take long to realize Andi was right. Heaven’s Helper did have everything, including a kitchen sink, and after a loop around the shop, Sara spotted a living room set that looked brand new.

  She ran her hand along the beige fabric. As if she’d summoned a genie by stroking a golden lamp, an older woman materialized by her side. She wore gigantic, round black glasses that reminded Sara of a fly’s eyes.

  The woman beamed, the orange of her lipstick mimicking two stacked orange slices. “This set was in a model home. Never sat upon.”

  “I’m very interested,” Sara said, noting the two end tables and coffee table. “But I can’t afford three-hundred dollars.”

  The woman looked her up and down, then flipped her badge so Sara could read the name.

  “Gloria, nice to meet you,” Sara said, extending her hand. “I’m Sara. Can you do anything about the price?”

  “I’m just a volunteer,” Gloria said, “but I do possess the power of the pen.” She pulled a red marker out of her pocket, slashed a line through the price and wrote $200.

  “How does that grab you?” Gloria asked with a wink. “Like an octopus with eight legs?”