Page 22 of No Judgements

“Deal.”

I air-kissed her good-bye, then hurried over to Mrs. Hartwell, whom I’d spied by the wine grotto, pouring herself a glass from the champagne bottle I’d brought.

“Oh, Bree,” she said, smiling when she saw me approaching. “Have some of this, will you? You’re the one who brought it—and also the one to whom we owe all our thanks.”

I felt myself blushing for what felt like the millionth time that evening.

“No, thanks,” I said. “And I didn’t actually do anything—”

“You saved our boy from going to jail tonight.” Mrs. Hartwell gazed toward Drew, who was still receiving pats on the back from her other party guests, while surreptitiously slipping bits of brisket to Socks, who appeared to be warming up to his new, much kinder master.

I glanced quickly away, mistrusting how the sight of him made my heart jump. When I got home, I was going to check online to see if dips in barometric pressure affected one’s sex drive. Some people said that full moons did. Maybe there was some kind of similar phenomenon with approaching hurricanes.

I could think of no other reason for finding myself suddenly so attracted to Drew Hartwell.

“Not that I’m celebrating,” Mrs. Hartwell went on, plunging the bottle back into the large silver wine chiller. “What happened just now was very sad. I feel terrible for Rick, and even worse for his poor wife and kids.”

“Sure,” I said. “I totally understand. But—”

“I know. I know what you’re going to say. But he’s had that coming to him for a while.”

That was so completely not what I’d been going to say. All I wanted to do was leave, not get into a conversation about Rick Chance.

“And at least this way both he and that sweet dog will be safe for the storm,” Mrs. Hartwell went on. “The sheriff will take good care of Rick, and Drew will take good care of that dog.”

“Yes.” This was the kookiest town I’d ever lived in in my life, and that was saying a lot, considering I’d lived in New York City. True, Little Bridge’s kookiness was one of the things that had drawn me to it. But things seemed to be getting slightly out of control. Maybe it was time to move on. Too bad I was only figuring this out now, during a gas shortage just before a massive hurricane. “Well, I just wanted to say good night, and thank you so much for inviting me—”

Mrs. Hartwell nearly choked on the mouthful of champagne she’d just taken. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

Nevaeh, who’d been sitting nearby with her friend Katie, taking sexy selfies together while eating strawberries, bounded over, echoing her great-aunt’s concern. “Bree, you can’t go!”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “I’m afraid I have to. I had a lovely time, but I have the breakfast shift at the café tomorrow morning, so you know that means I have to be there before six—”

Mrs. Hartwell cut me off. “Oh, of course. But how did you get here?”

I pointed in the direction of the street. “On my bike,” I said, wondering what that had to do with anything. “Thank you again for a great—”

“Alone?” Nevaeh exchanged horrified looks with her great-aunt. “She biked over herealone?”

“Well, of course,” I said.

None of this was going the way I’d planned, which had been to say a polite thank-you to my hostess, go home, and snuggle with Gary in the safety of my apartment, where there were no darkly handsome brooding men saving cute dogs from abuse, and causing my heart—and other parts of me—to tingle uncomfortably. I had purposefully come to this island to be alone and figure out my next move. None of that had included becoming attracted to darkly handsome brooding men who were kind to dogs.

“I live really close by,” I offered, “just over on Washington. I barely had anything to drink. It’s very safe—”

“Of course it is, honey,” Mrs. Hartwell said, patting me on my bare shoulder as she looked around distractedly. “Undernormalcircumstances. But these aren’t normal circumstances. We’re under a mandatory evacuation. There’s hardly anyone left in town, and the ones who are here—well, let’s just say that except for the ones at this party, most of them don’t have good reasons to be here.”

What was she talking about?

“Looters,” Nevaeh hissed at me, under her breath, apparently recognizing my confusion. “They come down from Miami, knowing there’s a mandatory evacuation, wait for everybody to leave, then rob all the empty houses. And molest any girls they can.”

I stared at her, belatedly remembering Mrs. Hartwell’s story back in the grocery store about how someone during Wilhelmina had stolen the cash register and meat slicer from the Mermaid.

“Oh,” I said. “Right. But I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m just going to hop on my bike and—”

“Let me get Drew to walk you home,” Mrs. Hartwell said.

“What?” My eyes widened. “No—”