Almost instantaneously, BJ looked as though she’d been thrown into a tank full of sharks. An expression like panic settled on her face. “Wha—what are you doing?”

“I’m crying, okay? Is that all right with you?”

“No, it’s not all right...stop it,” BJ said softly. “Please. Come on, stop,” she pleaded.

“Why the hell do you care if I cry?”

“Because I don’t like it when women cry.” BJ inched forward, leaning on the car for support, then reached out and barely touched Hobie’s shoulder. “I especially don’t like it when I’m the one that’s responsible. Look, I know I can be...difficult.”

That declaration seemed to make all the difference to Hobie. A few tender words and her tears instantly quieted. She thought twice about what she had heard, thinking that maybe her ears had been playing tricks on her. The BJ Warren Hobie knew was not the kind of woman to apologize—to anyone. Hobie wiped her cheek with the back of one hand and looked up. She had never seen a more contrite expression.

“Okay,” BJ said. “I can be more than difficult. I can be a bitch some of the time. I know that. I really didn’t mean to make you cry, though.”

For Hobie, in that instant, BJ Warren became human. She could be bitchy, annoying, and selfish, but she had displayed her own human frailty. There was also her awareness of her own actions. For the first time since she’d met BJ, Hobie wondered if BJ’s behavior wasn’t masking her own insecurities. “Thanks. That helps more than you know.”

“So you’re done now? I mean, you’re okay?” BJ asked, although she couldn’t make herself look at Hobie.

“Yeah.” Hobie wiped her eyes with a tissue from her pocket. “I’m done.” She picked up the tire iron once more and tightened the last nut. She stood and replaced the tools in the car’s trunk. “Don’t worry. It’s probably just PMS. I’m about two days from my period.”

“Okay, TMI, TMI.” “Huh?”

“Too much information. I mean, I’m sorry and all, but I don’t want to know any more than that.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know you had such a weak constitution.”

Hobie smiled weakly and BJ breathed a sigh of relief. “Are we ready then?”

Hobie nodded. She was a little more than embarrassed at her sudden and unexpected tears, but she was also stunned at BJ’s reaction. BJ had gone from arrogant to groveling in a matter of seconds. So tears are your kryptonite, eh? You are so lucky I’m not manipulative. She smiled to herself as she realized that someday, someone would come along and capitalize on BJ’s secret weakness.

“I wish you would have let me call the auto club to change that,” BJ said as they got into the car.

“Are you kidding? And have Bubba from the mainland go back and tell all his buddies that he had to change a tire for some helpless woman on Ana Lia? Come on, when you’re healthy, you do this kind of stuff, right?”

“What kind of stuff?”

“This—change a tire, the oil, an occasional headlight.” “Are you insane?”

“Thank you.”

“Sorry,” BJ mumbled. “I just meant that, well, I live in the city, born and raised. Most of the time, I don’t even drive my car. I take a cab or the train unless I’m leaving the city.”

“Seriously?” The admission surprised Hobie.

“Hey, I’m still pissed that they did away with full-service gas stations. I barely know how to unlock the cap to get gas in the thing. I do hope this will remain confidential, however.”

“The fact that you’re a total cherry when it comes to cars will go with me to the grave.”

Hobie’s wide grin was the only sign BJ needed to see that Hobie felt better. “Very funny. Just drive, Doc.”

They agreed that food should be their next priority. Three minutes later, Hobie pulled the Jag into the parking lot beside the diner.

“I didn’t realize it was so close,” BJ said as she carefully extracted her long limbs from the vehicle.

“Yeah, once you get your sea legs under you, so to speak, you could probably walk into town.”

“Gee, I’m counting the days.”

Hobie decided she would ignore BJ’s digs. Her philosophy was that perhaps, like a schoolyard bully, BJ Warren would eventually tire of tossing her underhanded comments if they no longer received the desired response.

BJ took in the sight of the wooden building with its white-trimmed balcony. She had expected cheap neon with a few sections of the light burned out. Instead, a brightly painted wooden sign on a pole by the street declared the structure to be “Rebecca’s Cove, the Golden Key of the Gulf.” She’d seen those types of slogans on restaurants in tourist areas around Florida but never thought twice about them since they usually only meant anything to the owners or the founders of the establishments. She wondered about this one. Perfectly manicured sago palms and yucca plants surrounded what looked to have once been a two-story home. Two massive palm trees shaded the sidewalk to the door.

Just as they were about to enter the restaurant, an older man stepped in front of BJ.

“Hey, can we say ‘personal space,’ bud?” she asked.

“Did you see the game last night?” he asked. He looked to be in his late seventies. His hair was white under his blue-and-gold baseball cap. He wore slacks and a windbreaker, which BJ thought odd considering the heat.

“What the hell—” she said in surprise. “Didn’t ya see the game?” he repeated.

“Yes, Coach Cassidy, we were there,” Hobie stepped in to say.

“Ah, good...good.” The old man looked BJ up and down. “Injured it during the game, eh?” He indicated her leg.

BJ looked to Hobie for help. “Yes, Coach,” Hobie said. “It was last night’s game.” She gave a pleading look to BJ, hoping her expression conveyed the idea that BJ should go along with their charade.

“What position?” he asked BJ. “Huh?”

“Position! Football! What are ya, deaf? What position do ya play?”

“Um...middle linebacker?” BJ said weakly.

“Ha! Ya certainly got the build for it.” The old man slapped BJ’s arm and BJ arched an indignant eyebrow. Hobie had to cover her mouth with one hand to hide her smile.

“Hobie Lynn, right?” The old man turned his attention to the redhead.

“Right, Coach.” “You a cheerleader?”

“No, sir, marching band.”

“Ah. Good, good. Well, carry on.” “Thank you, Coach.”

“What the hell was that all about?” BJ asked as they watched the man walk away.

“That was Walter Cassidy. He went a little off the deep end a number of years back after his wife died. He was the football coach when I was in high school. His family has always been a big deal on Ana Lia.”

“A big deal as in the places we passed on the way here, like Cassidy High, Cassidy Football Field, Cassidy Library?”

“Exactly.”

“The guy’s a nut. Why don’t they have him locked up somewhere?”

“Because when you’re rich, you’re not a nut, you’re eccentric. Actually, he’s harmless enough, just a little detached from reality is all.”

“Alittle detached? I can’t believe you people just let him walk the streets like he’s...normal.”

Hobie paused and looked at BJ with a guarded smile. “I don’t know. I’m beginning to believe that ‘normal’is a subjective term.”

Before BJ could respond, Hobie held the door open to allow BJ to enter first. “After you,” she said. “One of those tables in the back should be the easiest for you to sit at.”

BJ felt like a goldfish in a glass bowl. It was as if all action in the diner had come to a standstill when they entered. BJ couldn’t help herself. She stopped walking about halfway to their table and stared back at the patrons.

“What are you doing?” Hobie asked.

“Letting them get a good, long look,” BJ said loudly enough for those seated around them to hear.

Dozens of embarrassed faces snapped back to their own plates, and conversation once again filled the diner.

“You enjoy doing that, don’t you?” Hobie asked. “Doing what?”

“Calling attention to yourself,” Hobie said as they sat down. “It’s the only way to stay ahead of the crowd. Besides, I don’t like people looking at me like I’m some kind of freak.”

Hobie noticed that BJ spoke that last part with a hurt edge to her voice. “You sound like a woman who’s had that happen before.”

BJ looked at Hobie, not sure if she wanted to reveal anything of her personal life. She gave in a small bit. “Awoman who’s 6’1” gets used to being stared at, but just because I’m used to it doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Understandable. They don’t mean to treat you badly. They’re only curious. I think the whole town knows who you are by now. Word travels fast in Ana Lia, and it’s not because they think you’re a freak. They’re nice people, but it’s a small community. Everybody knows everybody’s business here. If you gave some of them a chance, you might find that you have a lot in common.”

“I find that highly unlikely,” BJ said with her typical haughty flair. “I bet you’re one of those who’d rather blend into the background, aren’t you? Just do what’s expected. Don’t make waves and never rock the boat.”

“For the most part...I suppose I am. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Not if you’re a lemming.”

A waitress set two glasses of ice water on the table, abruptly halting their conversation. “Mornin’. We wondered where you got to, Hobie Lynn.”

“Good morning, JoJo,” Hobie said. “This is Evelyn’s granddaughter, BJ Warren. Ms. Warren, this is Joanne Hart, the owner of the Cove.”

“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Ms. Warren. Your grandmother talks about you all the time.” “Thanks. You’ve got, um, a...nice place here.”

“Thanks right back. The restaurant’s been in my family for years.”

“Her grandmother is Rebecca Ashby, the woman the Cove was named for,” Hobie explained.

“I see.” BJ nodded. It always surprised her, but for a woman who made a living with words, she was never good at small talk, and she wondered what she should say next.

“Yep. She’ll be ninety-five this summer. She gets around a whole lot slower these days, but she’s still got it all up here.” JoJo tapped an index finger against her temple. “You get Hobie Lynn to bring you around to the house sometime.”

“Uh, sure. Thanks,” BJ said.

Neither BJ nor Hobie knew how to tell JoJo that this was the most civil they had been since their accidental, yet brutal meeting. The furthest thing from each woman’s mind was becoming friends and socializing.

“So then, what’ll it be for you ladies?” JoJo held a pen and a pad of receipts in one hand.

“How about a mocha java with double espresso and extra cinnamon?” BJ wished aloud as she looked at the menu.

“Sure thing. You want skim, two percent, or whole milk in that?”

Hobie laughed at the dazed expression on BJ’s face. “Um...two percent.”

“Orange juice, Hobie Lynn?” “Yes, please.”

“Let me get your drinks and I’ll be right back for your order.” JoJo headed for the kitchen. On her way, she scooped up dirty dishes and exchanged a few jibes with the customers.

“And you thought the island was backward.” Hobie smiled. “Are you a little happier now that you know the Cove is Ana Lia’s answer to Starbucks? May I say, as a medical professional, I think that you’ve been experiencing the beginnings of espresso withdrawal.”

“Very amusing.”

“Okay, folks.” JoJo returned to take their order. “What can I get for you?”

BJ ordered poached eggs, whole wheat toast, and fresh fruit. She then sat in stunned silence as she listened to Hobie give her order to the waitress.

“Three eggs over easy, ham, toast, hash browns. Wait, hold the toast. I’ll have a side of pancakes instead, and can I have another juice with my meal? Oh, and can you add another egg to that?”

“You got it.” JoJo left to place their order. BJ looked under the table at Hobie’s feet. “What?” Hobie asked.

“Nothing. Just looking to see if you had any starving orphans under there you were planning to feed.”

“Very funny. I have an extremely high metabolism. I burn everything off too quickly. I can be standing on a street corner and wham! My blood sugar bottoms out and I’m down for the count.” Hobie tried to stop herself. She felt as if she was giving BJ too much information, but she couldn’t seem to stop talking. Finally, she cleared her throat nervously and waited for the mocking tone she was sure would come.

“Marching band, eh?” BJ surprised Hobie by changing the subject. “Was that true, what you told the old guy?”

“Oh, that. Yeah.”