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didn’t want to tell him that. “That would be great.”
    “I’ll go get the bike.” He stopped the swing and hopped up. “Then I have to get back to work. By the time you’re back, I should be done for the day.”
    It took him awhile to find the bike in the garage, and then he had to wipe cobwebs and dust from it and pump air into the deflated tires. By the time he was done, I hoped he wasn’t thinking I was more trouble than I was worth. I also hoped the general store carried more than just basic provisions so I could make a really good meal.
    Leaving the bike in the driveway, he motioned for me to wait, then disappeared back inside the garage. A few seconds later, he came back out carrying a pink helmet. “Sorry,” he said when he saw my expression, “but it’s law on the island.”
    He settled the helmet on my head and adjusted the chinstraps, his fingers brushing lightly against my neck. It took everything in me to stay still—not only because I was extremely ticklish, but also because I was no longer used to having people, especially boys, this close to me. Between his proximity and the touch of his hands, I was trying really hard not to squirm.
    “There,” he announced, clicking the straps into place and surveying his handiwork with a smile that seemed much too amused for my liking.
    “Thanks,” I said dryly.
    “Don’t mention it.” This time his smile was definitely amused, and I gave him a playful shove. He chuckled, shoving me back lightly in the direction of the bike. “If you’re not back in an hour, I’m coming to look for you.”
    “Duly noted.” I released the kickstand and mounted the bike, giving him a little salute as I wheeled down the driveway and onto the road.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    Ezra was right; it only took about ten minutes to reach Carrington Drive. The beach road had been quiet, and I’d taken my time, enjoying the scenery. I parked my bike in front of the general store and stood there wondering what to do since Ezra hadn’t given me a lock. In Toronto if you left a bike unlocked you’d be lucky if it was still there when you returned.
    You’re a long way from Toronto , I reminded myself.
    “Just leave it,” a voice called. I turned to see a tall middle-aged man leaning in the doorway of the general store. “Nobody’ll bother it.”
    I nodded my thanks and leaned the bike against a tree. I took off the helmet and ran my hands through my hair, which was damp with sweat. Leaving the helmet dangling on the handlebars, I stepped inside the general store.
    The man who had been standing in the doorway was now behind the counter, leaning over an open newspaper. “You Charlotte or Gabriella?” he asked without glancing up.
    I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised he knew who I was. Or at least had a general idea. In a place this small, everybody probably knew each other and kept up with what was going on.
    “Charlotte.” When he still didn’t look up, I swept my gaze over the store. It was a lot more than I’d been expecting—there seemed to be a decent grocery section, along with a tiny pharmacy, post office, and a small area that had everything from books to clothes to hygiene products.
    The sound of the newspaper rustling drew my attention back to the counter. The man had folded up the paper and was watching me, his expression inscrutable. “I’m Hank Malone. My wife, Lilah, owns the house you’re staying in.”
    “Oh,” I said dumbly. “It’s nice to meet you.”
    He grunted, but his expression softened slightly. “I knew your ma. Used to run around with her group sometimes in the summer.” His expression softened further, and he muttered something that sounded like ‘the summer girls’. He must have been talking about Mom, Lilah, and Ezra’s mom, Izzy.
    He cleared his throat roughly and tossed his newspaper under the counter. “Was real sorry to hear of her passing,” he said.
    I started to thank him, but he spun around and disappeared into a back