Summer Beach

his calls, but only corresponded through email with him.
She slid on her sunglasses to study Bennett, surprised at his metamorphosis from long-haired surfer to successful citizen. He was dressed in resort wear as if he were planning a yacht excursion later today. His cropped hair had sun streaks, and his face bore light tan lines on his cheeks from his sunglasses. With deck shoes, light blue cotton pants, and an expensive-looking, casual windbreaker jacket over a white cotton shirt, he looked like he had just stepped out of an ad for sailing craft.
She wondered if he still sang.
Ivy turned away to focus on the house. She wasn’t there to look at Bennett Dylan.
The scene before her was a drab wash of dingy white and pale, straw-like grass relieved only by pink and purple bougainvillea blossoms that tumbled across the barren lawn like haphazard flower fairies. Just beyond where a grassy lawn should have ended, waves bubbled on the beach, and shore birds skittered along the water’s foamy white edge.
Yet as run down as the landscape was, Bennett gazed at the house with obvious pride. “The original owners, Amelia Erickson and her husband Gustav, christened the home Las Brisas del Mar, which means ocean breezes in Spanish.”
“Lovely name,” Ivy said. At least that was appealing.
“That was the original name of Summer Beach when this part of California was under Mexican rule,” Bennett said. “It was important to Mrs. Erickson that the name preserve the heritage of the past for the community’s sake. Most people around town call it Las Brisas, or the old Erickson estate.”
While the history was interesting, Ivy didn’t want to spend any more time with Bennett than necessary. She dropped her bag on the ground with a thud. She and Shelly had taken a ride-share here directly from the airport, though Bennett had offered to pick them up.
Shelly glanced at Bennett’s SUV, a large hulking vehicle with dark-tinted windows. “Can we put our bags in your car for safekeeping?”
“Sure, though the neighborhood’s fairly safe,” Bennett said in a confident, real estate agent tone.
“I live in New York,” Shelly said. “Can’t leave a penny out in my neighborhood.” Her laugh rang out against the continuous, low vibration of ocean waves.
Ivy watched two women in colorful sundresses stroll by wearing twinkling diamonds on their wrists and at their throats. They were brilliant pools of color against a vivid blue ocean backdrop and looked as if they belonged in a LeRoy Neiman painting. “Those two are unlikely to covet our well-traveled luggage. Still, I’d feel better if it were safe.”
Accommodating them, Bennett opened the SUV’s rear hatch. His eyes flicked toward Ivy and focused on her. “You seem awfully familiar. Did you grow up in Boston?”
Ivy shot Shelly a look to squelch the comment she feared. “No, we grew up half an hour south of here near the beach, but I left a long time ago.” As she spoke to him, a rush of emotion seized her chest, surged up her neck, and exploded in her brain, sending a thousand sparks prickling through her nervous system. She didn’t want to relive her last summer after high school—or her crush on Bennett. Of all people for Claire to stick her with.
“So how do you know Flint Bay?” he asked Ivy. “I noticed you’re connected on social media.”
While Shelly looked amused, Ivy dismissed his question with a wave of her hand, which was all she could muster for a moment. “He’s a relative. I don’t see him often.”
That was true. Ivy hadn’t spoken to her brother much in the past few years and had been surprised that he and his family had flown to Boston to attend Jeremy’s funeral. It wasn’t that they weren’t close. They’d just drifted apart, each of them busy with their own families. Aside from tapping a benign like on social media posts, they’d lost touch.
Ivy watched Bennett swing their suitcases into the rear cargo area with ease. He had the kind of solid, muscular build that men half his age aspired to. No muffin-top on that physique. He’d bulked up since she’d seen him last, but then, that had been more than twenty-five years ago.
Yet, more than his build, it was his small movements that took her breath away. The way he angled his head to listen as if hearing the rhythm in a person’s voice. Or the way he tapped a finger on his thigh to some silent tune. These revealed the soul of a fellow artist she’d once fallen in love with.
Not that she should care, of course. She drew a deep, cleansing breath.
She hadn’t felt this way since Jeremy. No. If she were honest with herself, she’d never felt such intense physical attraction to Jeremy. Her husband had been more of a curiosity—an intriguing, mercurial puzzle to piece together. Yet over the years, she’d loved the life they’d built together and how he’d always cared for her. That was the true mark of love, wasn’t it?
She had no idea what this feeling was, but right now, it definitely wasn’t welcome.
Bennett shut the rear hatch. “I’ve been keeping up the grounds—what’s left to keep up, that is. The landscaping and the house need work to properly show your property.”
“I asked you not to spend any money on it,” Ivy snapped. She wondered how large of a bill he’d racked up on that. “How much is the yard service?”
“No charge for my labor,” he said. His flashy, white-toothed smile was a little too quick for her. “You mentioned that you were on a budget, so I did what I could to help the house show better. I didn’t do much except clear the weeds and debris outside and dust a few cobwebs inside. I turned on the electricity and water, but I’m afraid it’s like watering hay.”
“Oh,” Ivy said, now a little embarrassed. “Well, thank you.” That was kind of him. With looming property taxes, she had to keep costs down. If the house didn’t sell soon,