Chris Whitlock walked along the beach combing the dunes for scattered driftwood. The girl with cinnamon brown hair, who should have starred in an Aveda shampoo commercial, abruptly turned and retraced her path up the beach. Disappointed, he watched her lithe figure dwindle in the hazy rays. With those toned thighs, she must run five miles a day. A familiar longing stirred belie his mid riff. His soul ached for a woman he could love.

He'd seen her striding up the beach a couple of mornings, but hadn't seen a ring. He'd wanted to strike up a conversation and see if she was single, but apparently time wasn't on her side. She always rushed off like a bat out of hell. Listening to the waves, his generous mouth curved down as he dismissed the idea. Six months was too soon after the fiasco with, Alex. A buxom lifeguard, she'd left him high and dry, like discarded  flotsam and jetsam.

He turned and walked towards the cove's Snack Shack. Even from a distance he could see she'd had  beautiful, piercing eyes. She was certainly pretty and athletic, with an aura of sadness.

He trekked back to the spot where tonight's community bonfire was scheduled. Dropping the wood, he rubbed the back of his neck with dextrous, calloused fingertips. A few sea gulls swooped down and landed next to him. The boldest one waddled forward and turned a beady eye on him.

"You bringing anyone to the fire tonight?" His father, Ed, walked over and handed him a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Disgusted there were no morning scraps, the more opportunistic birds flew off.

Chris took a sip and grunted, appreciating the caffeine. "Thanks, dad." He shook his head in the negative.

"Why don't you invite Sandy. That girl makes a mean apple pie and and spahghetti to die for." Sophie Carlson cooked in the Snack Shack for her father. With her blonde hair and sunny smile, sans makeup she was a stunner, but Chris found her military background grating. She had her life rigidly mapped out like a general. When they were younger, she'd had a wild imagination telling ghost stories over the fire, roasting marshmallows. Now she master-minded a regimented step-by-step disruption of the west coast restaurant industry.

When Alex cheated on him, it was Sophie who'd consoled him and told him the woman was a narcissist. He'd had a ring in his pocket and was going to propose. Sophie told him Pamela's departure was an unanswered prayer.

"I don't think I'm in any position to date anyone. Things are still a bit tight, financially."

"You need cash?" Ed reached into his cargo shorts.

"No, I'm good, dad. I meant I don't have funds to take a woman out and treat her properly."

"You're using that as an excuse, boss. No one's ready for another relationship."Alex was a spoiled New York City bitch. You two had nothing in common except rutting in the shower." A hard as nails retired New York City cop, Ed Grainger congenially called everyone boss and never filtered his opinions, blaming his ex-fiancé.

"Dad, it's seven am." Sipping his coffee, Chris pushed thick, wavy hair off his forehead.

"Here's some advice." Coffee sloshed out of Ed's cup as he made his point. The persistent seagull circled him, expectantly, hoping for a donut. "Never trust a woman who can't cook and doesn't like children. They're unnatural."

"This isn't medieval times. Women have careers and they own businesses."

"Give thanks that she-devil's out of your life. She's probably writhing under a new buck right now. In my day, a woman could bring home the bacon and sizzle it too."

"This isn't helping." Chris grabbed his surf board.

He had a vague memory of his mother, a real estate agent who'd abandoned them when he was two once her Gold Coast real estate business took off. He'd been born and raised by his aunt, Mercy, while Ed worked. A retired, talented California surfer, Aunt Mercy, had passed away two years ago leaving a large, unfilled void in their lives.

"I want you to meet Gina. Things are getting serious between us."

"The divorcée ? What happened to her last husband?

"Died of a heart attack." Ed sipped his coffee and stared at the ocean.

Chris's inner alarm went off. He rubbed his stubbled, strong jaw. The woman made his father happy, but something about her didn't sit right with him. How the larger than life Texan had swooped in on Ed like he was fresh road-kill alarmed him, but he held his peace. His father was a grown man. They'd always butted heads when he was a teenager, but when he'd needed help, Ed had stepped right in and lent him a hand. His dad had helped him get back on his feet right after his business failed and never judged him. He owed his father the same courtesy.

He planned to get in an hour in the waves before work. He loved repairing small engines, but new laws switching to electric had bankrupted his repair business. Now he made custom surfboards and was building up a fledgling clientele. He focused on quality over volume.

Muscles flexing, he agilely steeped into his wet suit, smiling. No one was awake yet. The wealthy beach community never stirred before ten, meaning he had the cove to himself. A little piece of heaven. Board under his arm, shaggy hair flying behind him, he jogged down to the beach.