Sunset on Moonlight Beach - Sheila Roberts Page 0,3

but I’m not interested. There will never be another man for me but your father.”

“Now, don’t go getting all sentimental and rule out possibilities,” Aunt Edie scolded. “You can love more than one man in a lifetime.”

“I doubt it,” Mel said. “Anyway, I’m too old for him. He’s still in his fifties.”

“Not for much longer,” Jenna said. “I think he’s fifty-eight.”

“Age doesn’t matter at this point in life,” Aunt Edie argued.

“I read somewhere that since men die younger than women, a woman should marry a man seven years younger than her,” Jenna said. “And what are you always saying to me? Don’t give up on love.”

“You girls,” Mel said, her face still red. “You obviously don’t have enough to do.”

“We’ve got plenty to do, trust us,” Celeste said. “But we’re never too busy for you, Mom.”

“That’s sweet,” Mel said, smiling at her. “You just work on helping your sister get her love life sorted out. Let’s see her find her happy-ever-after. That’s what I want.”

“Me, too,” said Celeste. “When are you going to figure out what you’re doing?” she asked Jenna. “I’m ready to start planning your wedding.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Jenna said.

“After me,” put in Mel.

“And me,” said Aunt Edie.

“And me,” said Jolly Roger. “Give me champagne.”

“A good idea,” said Jenna, and went in search of the last bottle. Her love life was enough to drive her to drink.

* * *

“Okay, I’ve got problems,” Courtney Moore said to Annie Albright the next morning as they sat at their kitchen table, fueling up for the day with coffee and some of Annie’s Portuguese doughnuts, fresh from the stove.

She and Annie had shared Courtney’s beach house and the rent ever since Annie left her alcoholic husband. It was only a matter of time now until Courtney moved out and took her relationship with fireman Jonas Greer to the next level, letting Annie have the place to herself.

It would be the end of an era. She and Annie had become like sisters, encouraging each other through a lot of ups and downs. Of course, that would continue no matter where they both lived. Hopefully, one day Annie would meet someone wonderful who could step in and be the husband and father her ex had never been. Meanwhile, though, they enjoyed their weekly chick flick nights with their pal and former roomie, Moira King, and encouraged each other in their business pursuits.

Annie’s food truck had been an instant success. It did a hot business during tourist season, and during the slow winter months, she was able to pay the bills by catering parties. She was already booked to cater a wedding in June in nearby Quinault, and had an upcoming anniversary party to cook for as well.

Courtney continued to sell her clothing designs at the upscale Oyster Inn, and supplemented that income with helping out on the reception desk at the not quite so upscale Driftwood Inn. Having clothes for sale at the Oyster Inn was great, but she dreamed of having her own clothing boutique. Somewhere, somehow she’d make it happen. But for the moment she was doing okay.

“What problems could you possibly have?” Annie asked her, not looking up from the grocery list for the Friends of the Sea fundraiser she was catering later in the week.

Courtney motioned to the Moonlight Harbor Firefighters calendar hanging on the wall. “Do you know how many women are thirsty for my Mr. March? They’ve been coming out like termites ever since we flipped the calendar. I actually overheard someone in Beachside Grocery telling a friend she’d start a fire at her house if it meant she could meet him. Sick.”

Annie snickered. “They’ll never be able to compete with the one you had.”

“Very funny,” Courtney said with a frown. So cooking wasn’t her forte. She had other skills that Jonas appreciated much more than making fried chicken. “We can’t all be chefs.”

“Don’t feel bad. You make a great tuna sandwich,” Annie teased.

“You’ve got to admit, my brownies are pretty good, too.”

“There you go. Brownies from a box and tuna sandwiches. Stir in all your other talents and no woman can compete with that.”

“I don’t know,” Courtney said.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am, a little. Look at him.”

“He is a fire starter.”

Yes, he was. Big, brown eyes, that perfect nose that Courtney always envied, a fine, strong chin, just enough wave in his hair to make a woman want to tiptoe her fingers through it. She looked to where she’d hung the calendar on their kitchen