“This your dog?” she asked.

“Yep,” he said, patting the dog. “Meet Hobbs. My good buddy.”

Carson reached out and petted the massive block head of the Lab. He was a friendly dog, as most Labs were, but he was one of the biggest she’d ever seen. “Are you sure he doesn’t have some mastiff in him?” she asked, laughing as the dog’s long tongue licked her hand.

“Maybe somewhere back in his lineage. He’s a big boy, though. He doesn’t like to be cooped up, so I take him along with me whenever I can. Time was I could bring him inside the restaurant, but the rules have changed, so he sits out here and waits.”

“He won’t run away?”

“Him? Nah. He’s a people watcher. And he doesn’t stray far from the water.”

Carson spotted the steel dish filled with water in the shade. It was customary for many of the restaurants on the island.

Now that the pleasantries were finished, Carson wanted to get to the business at hand. “Do you want to talk here?”

“How about we get some coffee?”

“Hold on a minute. My shift is almost over. I just have to check with Ashley.”

A few minutes later she returned with her purse. “Ashley’s covering for me. The place is pretty quiet now. So, where do you want to go?”

They walked along Middle Street to a small coffee and ice cream shop. The beans were roasted on the premises. Hobbs lay down again in the shade and waited as they took a place in the long line of adults and children looking for a summer fix of sugar or caffeine. Carson could pick out the locals in shabby cutoffs, T-shirts, and sandals from the better-dressed visitors. Glancing at Blake as he stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels and studying the enormous chalkboard with all the offerings listed, it occurred to her that he fit right in. Blake was the kind of man who didn’t worry about such things as new styles or trends. He wouldn’t have known a famous brand if it hit him over the head. She smiled. Thank God, she thought.

“Hey,” Blake said, bending closer. His eyes were as dark as espresso. “You see anything you like?”

Carson regrouped and took a glance at the chalkboard. “I’ll have a chai with skim milk, please.”

They didn’t talk while in line. Carson felt uncharacteristically nervous around him. She pressed her hand against her stomach while she steadied her breath, regaining her composure. At last their turn came and Blake gave the order. Steaming cups in hand, they glanced around the small room. Two couples with their laptops looked like they were determined to roost for hours. The other tables were filled with families and chattering or whining children.

“Let’s sit outside with Hobbs,” Blake said.

Outside, the tables were filled as well.

“There’s the park down the block,” he suggested. “Hobbs loves it there.”

It was a lovely June afternoon, neither too hot nor too humid. As they walked past quaint restaurants, a few real estate firms, and a massage clinic, Carson noted that he slipped around to the street side of the sidewalk. Someone had taught him manners, she realized. Mamaw would approve. Hobbs was a gentleman, too. He didn’t jerk on the leash or sniff people as they walked by. He stayed by Blake’s side, content to be out and about. On the corner they stopped to gaze at the beautiful paintings in the window of the Sandpiper Gallery. She thought of Mamaw’s beach house and how she’d filled it with local art.

Nearing the firehouse, they crossed the street and entered the park. Flowers were blooming and the leaves in the trees were thick and lush, offering bountiful shade. Blake led her to a quiet bench situated under the protection of a magnificent live oak. He brushed away bits of leaves and dirt so she could sit. Hobbs lay at his feet with a grunt of contentment.

“It’s nice here,” Carson said, admiring the peaceful setting as she pried off the lid of her cup. The spicy scent of the chai was heady. “I don’t think I’ve been here for years. I used to play tennis in the courts over there.”

“I come here often,” Blake told her. He lifted his coffee to his mouth and took a sip. “I live just up the block. I have an apartment in the old officers’ quarters.”

“I love that building,” Carson replied, seeing in her mind’s eye the long, white wood building with full porches. They had once been used for the officers when the military had a base on Sullivan’s Island. They’d since been converted to residential apartments.

“I’ll have to show it to you sometime,” he offered.

Carson’s lips twitched at the thinly veiled invitation. She glanced at the man at her side. He was in profile as he drank from his coffee. If she’d snapped his picture at this moment and put it in a magazine, he wouldn’t have been considered model handsome. Her experienced eye could pick out his flaws: his nose was too strong, eyes too deep, there were early crow’s-feet on his sun-weathered face, and he was badly in need of a good haircut.

Then he turned his head and smiled. That crooked smile that meant something amused him, probably that he’d caught her staring at him. Again. Her heart flipped in her chest. This was what was so damn intriguing about Blake’s smile. It could be so charming. So disarming. And it was never caustic. That alone was refreshing.

“You know,” she said, “I had a nickname for you before I knew your real name. But I’m not sure it applies anymore.”

He raised his eyebrows, saying nothing.

“Aren’t you even curious what it was?” Carson said, flirtatiously tapping his arm. “If somebody said they had a nickname for me, I’d be shaking them by the shoulders to get it out of them.”

He shrugged. “It’s a name you’ve applied to me, so it’s yours, not mine. You can call me anything you want.”

“Fine. I’m not going to tell you,” she said mockingly.

“Don’t. Your call.”

“I don’t get you sometimes,” she said. “I may have been way off on your nickname. You’re surprising me all the time.”

“Okay, what is it?” he said, clearly more out of empathy than a need to know.

“Forget it,” she said. “That ship has sailed.” She was glad it had. Not only was it incorrect, she thought, but it might have hurt his feelings and she didn’t want to take the chance.