He looked to his side and saw Monroe standing there, holding a six-pack. “What are you doing here?”
Monroe held up the pack of beer, tilted her head, and smiled. “I thought you could use someone to talk to.”
Bowie hung his head. Monroe never came out and asked if he had feelings for Brooklyn, but he never hid them either. When they were teens, he had done everything he could to be near her, even if it had meant being a third wheel with her and Austin. Bowie held the door for Monroe and followed her into the house. He took the bottles of beer from her and motioned for her to go out onto his deck.
“I can’t believe she’s back. Part of me is elated because I’ve missed her. The other part is pissed off.”
He nodded and took a long pull off the bottle. “Yep.”
“She’s the talk of the town.”
“Small-town gossip is all.”
“People seem to think the world of her. They’re not even mad at her or anything.” He took another drink while Monroe continued to talk. “I heard she has a kid.”
“Daughter, named Brystol.”
“I’m trying not to be mad, but it hurts. She just left us. I get taking a vacation, but to just outright abandon us like we hadn’t lost someone important too is just rude.”
“You seemed chummy at the Spout the other night.”
“I try not to hold a grudge. Plus, she apologized for our earlier encounter.”
“At least she’s speaking to you. She doesn’t talk to me, although I don’t really give her a chance.”
“Why not?”
That was an open-ended question that Bowie wasn’t willing to answer. There wasn’t a need to rehash an old crush, especially when it couldn’t go anywhere.
“Don’t have anything to discuss, I guess.”
“What’s it like working with her?”
Against his will, his lips turned up into a smile. He could tell Monroe that watching Brooklyn work was easily becoming his favorite hobby and that he thought about purposely skipping parts of his job so he could watch her take care of it. If it were Graham sitting next to him and not Monroe, he’d probably come clean about his lurking. As it was, Monroe only had suspicions about his crush and not actual facts.
“She’s good at what she does, that’s for sure. Hard worker.”
“You sound like you’re recommending her for a job.”
He shook his head and brought the brown bottle to his lips. “Thanks for the beer.”
“Uh-huh. How long is she here for?”
Bowie cleared his throat. “Until the job’s done, I imagine. Carly hired her to redesign the inn. I do know Carly asked her to stay. Wants Brooklyn to put down roots for Brystol.”
“Have you met her?”
He nodded. “She’s a spitting image of Brooklyn. Walks like her, talks like her, even flips her hair like her. When I first saw her, this sense of déjà vu washed over me, and I thought I was back in school, seeing her for the first time.”
“I can’t believe she kept her a secret all this time.”
Bowie glanced at his friend. “She didn’t. According to Brystol, she visits every summer. Carly kept her hidden from everyone.”
“Why?”
Absentmindedly, he started to pick the label off the beer bottle, only to remember he was drinking one of those fancy IPAs everyone loved these days. “I don’t know, Roe. I’m tempted to ask her, but I’m not sure I’d like the answer.”
He finished his beer and took another one out of the cardboard case. He wanted to blame his increased drinking on Brooklyn’s return. It was only part of it. He was trying to numb his past from creeping up on him. Sadly, his attempts failed.
SEVENTEEN
As luck would have it, the coast was experiencing a heat wave with temperatures threatening to reach the high nineties. It was rare for this area to get above seventy-five. The days were mostly beautiful, even when it rained, and the nights cool. Except for this week. By the time Brooklyn woke up, she was in a full sweat. It was going to be a long day of labor under the scorching heat, which meant some unpleasant people.
She was the first one to arrive at the inn. Not uncommon, but as of late she and Bowie had an unspoken competition going on. She had no idea where he lived or how far he had to drive to get there, but there were mornings when he was already working by the time she got out of bed. Since her return to Cape Harbor, her sleep pattern had been off. There were nights when she stared out the window, looking out over the dark water and listening to the distant sound of the waves, waiting for her mind to shut. Other times, she was up before the sun and ready to start the day.
On this particular morning, she was the victor in beating Bowie to work, and she almost wished she wasn’t. Over the years, Brooklyn had mastered a lot of crafts. She could use a power saw with no problem. She could replace a light and even a light socket. Sledgehammer, nail gun, and paint machine were no match for her. What she couldn’t figure out was the old heating and cooling system. She pressed the button and waited for cool air to start flowing.
Nothing happened.
She pressed it again and waited. The inn was quiet, so she should’ve been able to hear the machine come to life, yet it sounded like the system wasn’t even on. She pushed the small button harder.
Nothing.
Sweat dripped down her face, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She looked around the utility room—for what, she wasn’t sure. The only thing she was sure about was that the unit wasn’t working. She would have to talk to Bowie or his assistant to figure out why, or she could just order a new one. Nope, she couldn’t. She had promised Carly that she would confer with Bowie on everything, even though that was never her style.
She gave up and went back into the main part of the inn. She’d act like an adult, and when Bowie arrived, she’d ask him to look at it, which she hoped would be soon because it was hot outside and inside, and she was starting to get cranky.
Brooklyn wasn’t watching where she was going when she came around the corner. “Oof,” her body exhaled, and she started tumbling backward. Strong hands caught her and pulled her safely into their arms, cocooning her. Her nose hit the man’s chest, and as she caught her breath, she inhaled deeply. Her savior smelled of Irish Spring and clean linen. There was only one person she knew who used that brand of soap. She stepped back and slowly lifted her head to see if she was right.
“Are you okay?” Bowie asked, his voice husky; his hands remained where they were, touching her arms. Their eyes locked, blue upon blue, staring into each other’s souls.
She felt the back of his fingers brush against her cheek. Her head tilted, pushing into his touch. Bowie smiled. She started to grin as well until she remembered where they were and what they meant to each other. It took her a moment to regain her composure. They were close, too close for her liking, and she needed space. She stepped back, far enough away that he couldn’t touch her.
“B?” He used her nickname, one that only her parents usually called her.
“The air conditioner isn’t working.” She changed the subject as fast as she could. She was good at avoidance. Ignoring the elephant in the room was her specialty.
“Let’s go take a look.” Bowie motioned for her to lead the way. She felt self-conscious with him following behind her even though he had done it a million times before.
She led him through the utility door. “Don’t let it shut; it tends to stick,” she said from over her shoulder.
“I remember.”
She should’ve remembered that Bowie knew. For years, she had blocked everything about Cape Harbor out, and now that she was back, she wanted to remember everything. All the good, while leaving the bad locked away. Bowie was part of it all.
She pressed the button and waited for the unit to come to life; this time it did. A look of irritation spread across her face until the machine started shaking, as if it were coming alive. Bowie stepped in front of her, shielding her from whatever that contraption
was doing. The unit popped, and she shrieked.
“What the hell?”
“My guess, it’s old and hasn’t been on in fifteen years.”
Brooklyn sidestepped Bowie, waving her hand in front of her face to push the smoke away. “Perfect. Definitely an item we didn’t budget for.”
“I think the newer systems are more energy efficient. I’ll make some calls and see what we can get.”
She sighed. “Thanks.”
An awkward silence fell upon them. They would look at each other and then away, only to turn back. They were playing a cat-and-mouse game, and she had no idea which part she was supposed to be. She closed her eyes, and as she did, she felt him behind her. It had taken her years to forget him, to get over the way he had always been by her side, to not yearn for the way he had always known just what she needed. And now he was standing behind her, and she was desperate for him to hold her like he used to. Yet, she wanted to keep him at arm’s length because she didn’t want to hurt him.
Her pulse quickened, and in the silent, smoke-filled room, she was sure he could hear her heart beating rapidly. His hand touched her hip, and his other one rested on her shoulder. He moved closer. She could feel his chest against her back. What she wouldn’t give to fall into his arms, to feel him hold her, kiss her, love her.
She stepped away from him and went to the door, tugging on the knob, only the door didn’t budge. She could have sworn she had told Bowie to make sure it didn’t close. She twisted the knob, only for it to spin in her hands. “Are you freaking kidding me?” she said through gritted teeth.
“What’s wrong?”
His voice made her blood boil. Was he seriously asking her what was wrong? Could he not see that he had caused this?
She turned to him. “You! Shut! The! Door!” There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that her cheeks where red. She was sweating, hot, and now angry . . . at him.
Bowie went to the door and tried to open it. She wanted to laugh when it wouldn’t open but held back. Instead she kicked a box that was in front of her, except it wouldn’t move, either, which only increased the frustration she felt.
“I’ll just take the door off the hinges.”
“Yep, whatever.”
“What is your problem?” Bowie fired back.
Brooklyn huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “You.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything,” he pointed out as he came toward her.
“Ha, you’ve done everything.”
“Name one thing, Brooklyn.”
She couldn’t. He was too close, invading her personal bubble.
“Why Florida?” he asked, thankfully changing the subject. Not that she wanted to talk about any part of her life with him. The less he knew, the easier it would be to leave.
“Excuse me?”
“What’s in Florida?”
“A PO box.”
He looked confused, and part of her was satisfied that she had made him this way. The other part of her felt stupid for being snobby. She sighed. “Self-employment laws are very favorable in Florida, so I keep a ‘residence’ there.”
“Do you have a boyfriend? Partner?” he asked, moving closer. “Is there someone there or any other place you’ve been?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Do you want to know what I’m at fault for?”
She couldn’t look at him, nod, or even find the strength to say yes because her senses were going haywire. He was in her personal bubble again, and this time she wanted to grip his T-shirt and pull him toward her. Her hands shook and her heart pounded as he lifted her chin gently and studied her. “My only fault in all of this is that I loved you and never got a chance to show you how much.” Bowie leaned forward. Their lips parted. She heard him inhale as they grew closer.
Suddenly the door opened, startling them. They stepped away from each other and looked to see who had come to save them. Simone stood there, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not,” Brooklyn said as she walked toward her. “Just the opposite, really. The handle was stuck, and Bowie and I were just talking about replacing the door.”
Simone rested the broom she held in her hand in the corner, never once taking her eyes off Brooklyn or Bowie. Brooklyn grinned, although she was certain it came out like a grimace. “Guess I better get to work,” she said, leaving Simone and Bowie in the room.
Brooklyn hurried down the hall, desperate to get away from Bowie, and thankful that Simone had caught them before anything could happen. She still hadn’t made a final decision on whether she and Brystol would stay in Cape Harbor, and kissing Bowie would only complicate matters. As it was, whenever he was around, her knees weakened, at times she felt dizzy, and her heart thumped so fast she thought she was going to faint. The last time she’d felt like this, she had just met Austin. The only difference now, aside from a lifetime of growing up, was that she was certain that if she acted on her feelings, Bowie would reciprocate.
The doors to the inn burst open, and men carrying every box size known to man came through and headed right for the stairs. The palpitations she had increased, but for a different reason. Bedroom furniture had arrived, and it was time to start putting the complete rooms together. She clapped her hands and followed. Putting beds together, decorating, and styling a room were passions of hers.
“Let’s stack everything in one room,” she told the crew. “This way we can work easily in the others without the boxes getting in the way.”
“Sounds good, boss lady.”
She opened the first box, examined its contents, and started taking the pieces across the hall. She pushed the window up, even though it was blazing hot outside, needing to hear the ocean and the laughter that wafted its way upstairs. She stood there, admiring the room. The shiplap wall was exactly what Carly had asked for. The new black light fixtures followed a nautical theme. The furniture for this room would be black, in a matte finish.
Simone and a couple of men appeared in the room, ready to help.
“I think I want to get this room done and show Carly.”
“Oh, Brooklyn, I think that will be a wonderful idea. Tell me what to do.”
And she did. She instructed the team on what had to be done and what items were going where. She assisted when needed, but she and Simone focused mostly on the bedding, table lamps, and artwork. Every time she unpackaged a new linen, Simone declared that it was the most beautiful or softest piece of fabric she had seen or felt.
When the bed, armoire, nightstands, and the small table and chairs were finally in place, it was Brooklyn’s turn. Together, she and Simone made the bed, hung the artwork in the appropriate places, plugged the lamps in, and watched the curtains sway in the breeze.
“This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
Simone finished straightening out the pillow on the bed. “For years, I’ve been asking her to do this. She needs it. She missed it. People have missed her.”
“But she shut herself off from them.”
Simone nodded. “And over time, they stopped asking about her. I think if they hadn’t or if people had come to the door, she might have changed her mind. As it was, Brystol coming each summer was the only thing she looked forward to.”
“You should’ve told me, Simone.”
“And you would’ve what? Visited? Stayed? Nothing says she would have changed her mind then either.”
As much as Brooklyn didn’t want to agree, Simone had a point. Simone excused herself and said she was going to tell Carly she had something to show her, leaving Brooklyn to put the final touches on the room. After one more brush of her hand on the comforter, Brooklyn stood in the doorway and admired the work she, Simone, Bowie, and the crew had done. The slightest of breezes blew through the window. Brooklyn closed her eyes to clear her thoughts, and when she reopened them, she took the room in, as if this were the first time she saw it. What once used to be old, drab, and mundane now had a sense of calmness. She
could easily see herself sitting on the chair in the corner by the window, curled up with a book. The view from here showed enough of the ocean that whoever rented this room could watch the sunset easily. For the first time since the project had started, Brooklyn thought about the inn reopening and how she wanted to be here for it.
Downstairs, more and more boxes were coming through, and there was a computer tech setting up the new reservation equipment. Brystol stood by, watching the man work and peppering him with questions. The fact that her daughter wanted to work here brought a smile to Brooklyn’s face and an ache to her heart. Their lifestyle would have to change, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, only different. They’d both have a home, something neither had had in quite some time.
The sound of high-heeled shoes caught Brooklyn’s attention. She looked for the source of the sound, and when she saw Carly enter, she gasped. Since Brooklyn and Brystol’s arrival, Carly had worn polyester pants and long sweaters around the house, a far cry from the classically dressed woman Brooklyn remembered, and the few times she had come to check on the progress of the inn, she had worn a sweat suit, one that surely smelled of mothballs.
Before her eyes stood the woman Carly once was. Her hair was curled and pinned away from her face, her lips were painted a soft pink, and her makeup was flawless. She had dressed in a white-and-navy pantsuit and was rocking a pair of red three-inch heels. Brooklyn wasn’t sure if she should catcall the woman or offer her a chair before she fell over.
Carly waved her off. “Stop with the looks. It feels good to dress up for once.”
Both Simone and Brooklyn looked at what they were wearing. Brooklyn was in her normal getup: shorts, T-shirt, and work boots. Simone matched her, minus the work boots.
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