Her thumb smooths along the inside of his wrist.

"It's fantastic, sweetheart."

And he went to so much trouble to arrange this extended weekend —

"I really ... you know, I thought she was joking."

(Until this morning, anyway.)

Goosebumps ripple along Kate's forearms as she considers that because alien slugs invaded Wheelsy, paranormal activity isn't so far out of the realm of possibility.

Pushing aside the thought, she threads her fingers with his.

"At least we've got the carriage house all to ourselves."

Mrs. Palmer made the generous offer after breakfast, in hopes that Kate and Bill would continue to enjoy their time in Charleston.

She steps close, smiling up at him.

Wet sand shifting under and between her toes, she rises to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you," she says, soft and sincere.

She laughs, shaking her head.

"I'm thanking you for staying, sheriff."

Her expression softens.

(She does have to thank him, because he's staying for her — because she asked, and because he couldn't say no; she knows he's more unsettled than he'll admit.

Truth be told, Kate's more than a little uneasy. Every time she thinks about the night before, she can feel those phantom fingertips at the back of her knee.)

She places one palm flat against his chest, unconsciously anchoring herself with his real, solid warmth.

"Oh, I know — I want to hit King Street. And find this coffee place I might like."

She threads her fingers with his, the simple act sparking an unexpected tickle in the back of her throat.

"Ready when you are."

Kate trades her sea-sprayed khaki capris for a pair of jeans, and exchanges her sandals for flats.

A few minutes later, as they wander the historic district, she soaks in the convenience; she loves being back in an area where walking distance is measured in blocks and minutes instead of country miles.

She pauses outside an upscale boutique, surveying the window display behind her Gucci sunglasses.

Catching Bill's reflection in the glass, she can't help a small, private smile; he looks relaxed, even happy.

Before she refocuses on the delicate, gauzy tank that caught her attention, Kate also catches the second and third looks he earns from two college-aged brunettes as they walk by, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling. As much as she teases Bill about his ego — and as much as he pretends to have one — she doesn't think he's truly aware of just how good-looking he is.

She shakes her head.

"Just looking for now. I might stop in later."

When she turns to move on, the brunette's eyes linger on Bill for a few seconds longer than necessary, but Kate's more bemused than anything.

She glances over.

"I didn't know you were a mannequin-phobe."

Kate can't help a soft chuckle when he falters.

Her knuckles brush the back of his hand as they continue down the sidewalk.

"Relax, sheriff," she says, and with her playful tone, it's clear she isn't talking about mannequins.

She pauses to admire a pair of Christian Louboutin slingbacks, and squeezes Bill's fingers in return.

"You don't have to hold my hand," she murmurs, teasing. "You're breaking her heart."

Warmth rushes to her cheeks, and her smile edges toward silly.

"Wait, what? Where's that ego you're so famous for?"

"Oh, I see," she says, swallowing another laugh as she threads her fingers with his.

"You're just protecting your best interests, huh?"