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in."
    Buddy smiled at his guests. "It's probably Kirsty, who always likes to dive after a few drinks. Make yourself at home. I'll be right back."
    As Buddy walked away, Megan grinned at Stella. "Race horses and a yacht?" she whispered. "This could be your future."
    "Or yours. He's not my type."
    "How would you know? You don't let anyone close enough."
    "I've done my share of dating. It's just not a good time for me now. I'm really busy."
    "Is this great or what?" Joey cried, his nose pressed against the window. "We're practically higher than the trees. Hey, I can see tons of sandwiches on the table below!"
    "And there's chocolate cake, too," Ruthie noted with a touch of longing in her voice. "Really
good
chocolate cake." She turned in the captain's chair. "And tiny little hot dogs. Can I have some more of those, too, Mom?
Please
?"
    "Go on—get the kids some," Stella offered. "I'll enjoy the view out there on the back of the boat."
    "The stern," Joey corrected with six-year-old expertise, thanks to his age-appropriate
Titanic
ship-in-a-bottle kit he got for his birthday.
    "Right. The stern of the boat. There's a good breeze, and I'm still sweating."
    "If you don't mind, I
am
starved," Megan murmured. "I didn't want to look like a pig and take one of everything when we walked by the buffet."
    "No one's looking now. Go for it. Take your time. I'll try out one of those lounge chairs."
    "Deck chairs," Joey said.
    "Right again. Thanks, Joey."
    The kids raced away, Megan following in their wake, and a few moments later Stella was stretched out on a cushioned chaise, her sandals kicked off, a breeze ruffling her hair, her last "everything" cookie in hand. Perfect. Peace and quiet. Life was good.
    With luck, Buddy would be occupied for some time with the "woman overboard" and she could enjoy the river and the superfine day without having to brace herself against Buddy making a move. Her no-dating-the-customers rule had always been a matter of real diplomacy with him. The fact that he was one of her best customers made it even more dicey to say no without hurting his feelings.
    "It was an awesome day for a parade, wasn't it?"
    She didn't have to turn around to know the possible rule-breaker of all time was standing behind her. And if he was wearing a swimsuit like everyone else on this boat, she was going to hyperventilate big time. Count to ten, no, there's no time, turn, don't turn, could she pretend she didn't hear him? Probably not with her face turning red. Say something.
For God's sake, say something before you look like a complete idiot
! Turning, she tried not to look at you-know-what that was at eye level as he stood there in surfer swim trunks and
nothing else
! "It's perfect—I mean… the day—and parade—was perfect—couldn't be better." Now if she could just melt into the cushion and disappear so she didn't have to see that knowing smile, or maybe it was a seductive smile, or maybe everything about him was seductive, considering the whole package was pretty much on
full frontal display—
tropical print swim trunks notwithstanding.
    "That looks good." He dipped his head and flashed his smile again as he sat down on the end of an adjacent chaise.
    What looked good? What did he mean? How should she respond? A smile, a nod, something bland and all purpose?
    "I saw those cookies in your store."
    She felt the heat of that perfect white smile again and also felt a tiny ripple in a place she hadn't felt a ripple for a very long time. Or maybe it was the way he'd said "in your store," in a deep, silken tone that suggested something possibly
in
somewhere else. Or more likely she was hallucinating with that lean, taut body close enough to touch. "It's a family recipe," she said, her voice breathy when there wasn't a reason in the world why it should be breathy, when her grandma's "everything" cookies had never generated anything but a sigh of contentment in the past.
    "Care to share?"
    "Share?" Could he speak more definitively