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  Gavin looked at his watch. “Yeah, with this rain, the light will be difficult if we don’t hurry. We need to get this segment shot so the plumbers can move in tonight and start work.”

  Cassidy grabbed his coat off the hook and practically threw it at him. Ginger busied herself rinsing off the sponge, hoping the cold water would cool her racing libido. She froze when Gavin placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thanks,” he said, his warm breath fanning her ear. “Things will be crazy over at the mansion today so we might not get a minute alone. I’m glad we’re going to be working together for the next few months, Ginger. Don’t ever doubt yourself. I’m sure you’re good at whatever you do.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. There was nothing flirtatious about his tone and his eyes were serious. Something stirred inside her stomach at the empathetic smile on his face. It felt good to have someone believe in her. To have a friend in this small town. Even if it was a man who’d obviously elevated charming to an art form and was a danger to women everywhere.

  Ginger couldn’t help herself. She smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

  FIVE

  “I thought people in small towns were supposed to be hospitable,” Ginger said later that week. She and Diesel were sitting on the landing of Dresden House’s grand staircase while workers scurried around them like bees in a hive.

  Diesel was scanning the screen of his cell phone as he spoke. “The folks in Chances Inlet are very hospitable¸ Ginger. I don’t see what your problem is.”

  She picked a raisin out of an oatmeal cookie and ate it, the rest of the cookie crumbling into pieces onto the napkin in her lap. “To you, maybe, but not to me.”

  “What do you care? We’ll be out of here in a couple of months and you’ll never see these people again,” Diesel said as he snatched up the remains of her cookie and shoved it in his mouth.

  Eighty more days. “I’m not like you, Diesel. I do care.”

  “That’s your first mistake, Pollyanna,” he said, tapping out a text message.

  Ginger let out a little huff as she watched the crotchety old plumber bluster at a trio of laborers. The men struggled with a bundle of pipes they were carrying toward the kitchen area of the home. “That guy, for instance,” she said to Diesel, slapping him on his thigh. “The mean old plumber. He honestly thinks I’m Destiny from Saints and Sinners. He actually wanted to check my breath the other day while I was doing his makeup. Presumably because he thinks I have a drinking problem like my character did. Then the not-so-sweet little old lady at the coffee shop told me I should think about cutting back on all the caffeine I drink so I wouldn’t be tempted to do such stupid things like crash Savannah’s car. This from a woman who sells fishing bait right next to the coffee! And don’t get me started about the innkeeper.”

  Patricia McAlister had been brusque with Ginger ever since she’d interrupted her and Gavin on the inn’s lawn four days earlier. Almost as if Ginger was going to lead him into an adulterous affair with a minor just as her character had done on Saints and Sinners—the flaw in the innkeeper’s logic being that Ginger was long past twenty-one and Gavin wasn’t married.

  But he had been almost married once.

  Cassidy had mentioned something about a runaway bride the other day when she was talking about Gavin’s Twitter account. Ginger’s curiosity had been eating at her ever since. She could hardly ask his mother, not without giving her more reason to suspect Ginger was infatuated with Gavin. A runaway bride explained Patricia’s overprotectiveness of her son’s heart, though. Ginger just wished the innkeeper wasn’t so antagonistic toward her; she didn’t have any designs on Patricia’s son. Not much, anyway.

  Ginger let out another frustrated huff and Diesel chuckled.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Actually, it kinda is,” he said, looking up from his cell phone. “You’ve spent your whole life radiating wholesome sweetness and charm with everyone adoring you: your mom’s ballet company, our classmates at Juilliard, even the cast and crew of Saints and Sinners. Admit it; it’s funny that an entire town thinks you are the antithesis of who you really are. Hell, I think you should run with it a little and be a rebel for a while. But no, what do you do? You promise to persuade Marissa into coming and riding alongside the grand marshal in this little town’s Founders’ Day parade this summer.”

  News that Savannah Rich would be coming for Founders’ Day had spread rapidly throughout Chances Inlet, almost as if Bernice had sent out an Amber Alert. “I only said I’d ask her if she’d come. I never said she’d actually do it.”

  Marissa Ryder, the actress who portrayed Savannah Rich, had been a classmate of Ginger and Diesel’s at Juilliard until she’d been cast as America’s sweetheart in Saints and Sinners. She left school at the end of their freshman year and never looked back, casting off the friendships she’d made in college except for Diesel’s. An actress—even a working one—couldn’t afford to lose touch with the son of a cable television network president.

  When Ginger had been cast for a monthlong role on the soap, Marissa greeted her with open arms, declaring them BFFs. But it was clear after Ginger’s role on the show was extended that Marissa wasn’t happy to share the spotlight—or the attention among the cast and crew. According to the associate director, Marissa began sabotaging Ginger’s role with carefully placed false gossip to the network brass and then later the press. Almost without warning, Ginger found her character in a coma and her career in television abruptly shut down just as it was beginning.

  “She’ll never stoop so low as to be in some small-town parade,” Diesel said.

  “I know. Too bad, though. I’d love for them to get a dose of the real Marissa.”

  “Sure. Because then you’ll look so much better in comparison.”

  Ginger shrugged. “As plans go, it’s not a bad one.”

  “But you’d have to get her here first, and that’ll never happen.”

  A loud bang resonated through the house and Ginger could hear yelling come from the direction of the industrial kitchen. It was Diesel’s turn to let out an exasperated sigh as his face took on a look of frustration.

  “They’re not going to move any faster with you sitting here glaring like that,” she said to Diesel. “Jeez-Louise, you’re even making me nervous.”

  “I just wish I could do something to help out. I feel so useless sitting here waiting for them to move on to the next step. It’s Thursday afternoon and we need to wrap up the replumb and the wiring repairs by the weekend or I’ll have to pay the production crew overtime.”

  She gave his arm a reassuring pat. “It’s probably better that you leave this kind of work to the professionals. I doubt these scrawny muscles could lift the business end of a hammer,” she teased. “Besides, you need to preserve these hands for the keys of a piano.”

  Diesel growled at her, but his well-muscled arm relaxed beneath her hand. She smiled as she laid her head on his shoulder. Ginger could empathize with her friend. Like Diesel, she hated to sit around and wait for anything. These past three days would be viewed through a time-lapsed segment on the show, so there was no one who required makeup. The not-so-warm welcome she’d received in Chances Inlet made her reluctant to wander about town. Instead, Ginger filled her time exploring the confines of Dresden House.

  The splendor of the mansion had captivated her from the moment she’d entered its ornate front doors four days ago. At nearly nine thousand square feet, the 1820 home had been built on a spectacular bluff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean by a wealthy lawyer as a wedding gift for his wife, who was leaving her home in England to live in the newly formed, “rustic” United States. Built in the Georgian style of the bride’s childhood home in Bristol, the mansion featured twelve bedrooms, a lavish ballroom, and a library paneled entirely in tiger oak, a wood that complemented the moldings throughout the rest of the house. Unique tile—all hand painted in France—surrounded the eighteen fireplaces. Sadly, the lawyer’s bride would n
ever live to see her new home, dying from influenza on the ship while traveling to the United States.

  The home’s history was a bit murky after 1825, the lawyer who’d commissioned it never living there himself. During the Civil War, Dresden House served as a hospital for Confederate soldiers. At the turn of the twentieth century, the mansion housed a private boarding school until a new, more modern facility was erected in Wilmington during the construction boom following World War II. The state rented the building to use as offices in the late 1900s until a hurricane caused massive flooding. While being under the watchful eye of the Chances Inlet Historical Preservation Committee, Dresden House sat empty for nearly twenty years until McAlister Construction & Engineering bought it the same year Gavin’s father had bought the building now housing the Tide Me Over Inn.

  In spite of the disrepair of the home, Ginger could sense the potential within the walls around her. They practically echoed with character and charm. As she pored through the detailed blueprints and floor plans Gavin had prepared, she got a sense that he wanted not only to restore the home to its original beauty, but to revive the soul of Dresden House as well. Gavin was obviously more than an architect; he was an artist. And his attention to detail and authenticity was painstaking in his drawings and plans. She was fascinated to be able to watch the mansion come back to life under his vision and guidance.

  Not that Gavin had been involved with much of the renovations this week. Ginger had caught glimpses of him in the early mornings, dressed like a Wall Street banker, when he’d come to inspect the progress of the contractors. But whatever business he had in Wilmington kept him tied up during the days. His mother had let it slip a time or two that her son might be doing more than work while in Wilmington, but whatever he was doing, he wasn’t spending his nights there, Ginger thought with smug satisfaction.

  Diesel’s phone beeped again. “Finally, something to do,” he said as he scanned the screen. “The stained glass windows are being set tonight. I want to get that on film. I’ll take Bucky and head over to Shallote now. If we need to, we can get Gavin to do a voice-over this weekend.” He was on his feet and grabbing his backpack as he spoke.

  “Sure, hurry off to watch stained glass set. That can’t be too boring,” Ginger teased. “Oh wait—the artist is a beautiful woman who sings like Adele. That should help pass the time.”

  Diesel didn’t bother arguing with her. Instead, a look of awe spread over his face, and his eyes shone. “She really does have an amazing voice,” Diesel said reverently. “It’s like nothing I’ve heard before. She could be bigger than Adele.”

  “Earth to Diesel,” Ginger said, snapping her fingers. “One thing at a time. Let’s get this show wrapped up before we start scouring the country for talent.”

  Diesel blinked before refocusing on Ginger. “You’re absolutely right,” he said as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Do you mind if Cassidy drives you back?”

  Ginger groaned. “Cassidy doesn’t like me, either.” Of course, in this case, Cassidy’s aversion might have something to do with her interrupting Gavin and Ginger’s heated flirtation the other day in the ballet studio’s dressing room, but she didn’t bother sharing that particular tidbit with Diesel.

  “Will you stop being so paranoid,” he said as he started down the steps. “She’s a snarky teenager. If your theory is correct and everyone in town thinks you’re Destiny Upchurch, Cassidy probably worships you.”

  Ginger held back from flipping him off; there were too many witnesses around and she didn’t want to lend credence to this town’s opinion of her. Instead she hefted herself off the steps and went looking for Cassidy in the big tent beside the house that doubled as a small commissary for both crews. While Gavin was busy with whatever it was that he was doing in Wilmington, the teenager worked at her other part-time job, driving the small food truck, known as the Patty Wagon. During the summer, the truck served ice cream, but throughout the restoration and filming it doubled as a Craft Services truck for the workers, loaded down with snacks and food from the inn. Cassidy was pulling the truck’s sliding windows closed when Ginger approached.

  It was only a twenty-minute walk back into town, but dusk was falling and Ginger was more reluctant about getting lost in the dark than riding a few minutes in a van with the Queen of Snark. Besides, she was determined to have one person in town like her, and if Diesel’s theory was correct, Cassidy was the most likely choice.

  “Can I get a ride back to the inn with you, Cassidy?”

  “I don’t care what you do,” Cassidy said with an insolent shrug.

  On the other hand, a walk in the dark is starting to look better and better. But Ginger wasn’t a quitter. Diesel had warned her from the get-go that the teenager was first in line among the legions of women who worshiped Gavin. Not that she blamed Cassidy, but Ginger was getting a little tired of the girl’s attitude.

  Ginger slid into the passenger seat. “Look, Cassidy, I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot somehow. I’m not here to take your place with Gavin or anything. I’m just doing my job and then I’ll be out of here on to my next project.”

  Cassidy let out an ungraceful snort as she started the truck’s engine. “Then maybe you should keep your hands to yourself there, Gidget. That’s exactly the kind of thing Destiny would say to Savannah before she slept with her fiancé.”

  Ginger rolled her eyes. “Destiny is a character on a soap opera, Cassidy. I’m not that woman.”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Gavin is all done with women who’ll ‘be out of here and on to their next project.’ He’s already been burned by that kind of girl once.”

  “You mean his runaway bride?”

  Cassidy scowled at her with one eye while keeping the other trained on the road.

  “You mentioned something about her the other day when you were talking about his Twitter account.” Finally, a chance to get the information Ginger sought. “Her name’s Amanda, right?”

  Cassidy’s jaw was locked so tight that Ginger didn’t think the girl would answer. “Yeah,” she finally said, begrudgingly. “They got engaged right before Mr. Mac died. When Gavin moved back to take over the family business, she came to town with him. She was a hoity-toity interior designer. Always trying to redecorate the inn with this crap that didn’t fit in. Drove Mrs. Mac crazy, but she’s wouldn’t say anything. The week before the big wedding, she just took off. I overheard Mrs. Mac tell her daughter that Amanda didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in a town that was so boring. Mrs. Mac even cried about it, which was dumb because she didn’t like Amanda.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “It was a year ago February. They were supposed to get married on Valentine’s Day. The whole town was looking forward to it.”

  I’ll just bet they were. Despite his attempts to diminish the hero worship among his fellow Chances Inlet residents, Gavin was clearly top dog among the McAlister boys. Sure, one played pro baseball, but from the snippets of conversation the locals had bothered to share with her these past few days, Ryan McAlister rarely made it back to town. The older one, Miles, was destined to represent them in Congress, but even he was an infrequent visitor. Gavin’s best friend, a professional football player, had a house in town, but he was the boy from the wrong side of the tracks, who, to hear the townspeople tell it, wouldn’t have made it big without Gavin’s influence.

  Gavin was the McAlister who returned home to Chances Inlet to make things right, and with that he became its unequivocal prodigal son. Sharing him with an entire town full of people had to be difficult for Amanda. Still, Gavin’s runaway bride sounded a bit shallow if she couldn’t tough it out in the name of love.

  Cassidy stopped at the red light and a car full of teenage boys pulled up on the driver’s side of the truck.

  “Yo’ there, Casserole! You taking out the Patty Wagon again? You know, you probably should get a job that doesn’t involve food. Maybe then you’d lose a few tons!”


  Cassidy stared ahead, her face expressionless, as she waited for the light to change. Seething, Ginger found herself wishing the light would hurry up, for Cassidy’s sake, as the boys shrieked with laughter in the car beside them. She opened her mouth to say something, but one of the boys beat her to it.

  “Leave her alone,” the car’s driver said.

  “Oh, what’s your problem, Preston? You got a thing for Tuna Casserole? Maybe you wanna take her to the prom or something,” another boy in the car teased.

  Mercifully, the light turned green and the car sped off, its occupants howling. Still stone-faced, Cassidy carefully drove the truck the remaining three blocks to the inn and pulled it around back.

  Killing the ignition with more force than was necessary, Cassidy quickly climbed out of the truck. Ginger could sense the girl’s anger and embarrassment and she wanted to say or do something to help. Growing up around ballerinas, she knew how damaging negative body image could be on a young woman’s psyche. Worse, she knew the drastic measures some girls took as a result of the type of nasty remarks the boys had just made.

  “Boys can be such jerks sometimes,” she said trying to keep her tone casual. “Don’t let their obnoxious words bother you. There’s nothing wrong with being different. Besides, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.” Satisfied that her platitudes would do the trick, Ginger offered up an encouraging grin. She was instantly glad the hood of the van separated the two of them when she was met with the force of Cassidy’s thunderous scowl.

  “Ya think, Gidget? Next you’re gonna say that they just pick on me because they like me, right?”

  Cassidy’s biting sarcasm shouldn’t have startled Ginger, but it did. Still, her Pollyanna Complex, as Diesel called it, didn’t want to let it go. “I was just trying to be nice.”