by T. I. Lowe
Lincoln suppressed the urge to tuck his shoulder-length hair behind his ear, knowing his friend would call him out on it. And he could razz Carter right back. With shaggy brown hair that the sun had faded quite a bit and wearing his own pair of tattered jeans with a surf logo T-shirt, Carter was a cross between country boy USA and SoCal surfer dude.
He let it go and muttered, “I’m not looking for complication, and that woman screams it.”
Carter huffed a laugh. “It’s just delivering furniture and helping Opal move stuff around. How’s that complicated?”
The way she looked at me was complicated. Lincoln held that comment back and focused on enjoying every bite of breakfast just in case it was the last time he was allowed in. It was a mighty fine meal, so he hoped he wouldn’t be banned from the premises.
“Your loss then.” Carter shook his head, but after another bite of food, he changed the subject and filled Lincoln in on the fine arts camp he was going to open next summer. The conversation remained on that topic until their plates were clean. After settling the bill, and Lincoln placing a twenty in the tip jar while making sure Josie saw him do it, the guys headed outside.
It was quite a nice, sunny day on the beach with a subtle breeze, but the stunning ocean view wasn’t the cause of Lincoln coming to a halt. No, it had everything to do with the redhead sitting on the hood of his Jeep. He eyed her with as much annoyance as possible before sliding his focus to the bench wedged in the back of his vehicle. He knew he should have put the top on.
Crossing his arms, he glared at her. “How’d you manage that?” His head ticked in the direction of the bench. “And just how did you know this was my Jeep?”
Opal didn’t make a move to get down as he’d expected. Instead, she lifted her legs from the bumper and crisscrossed them. “Honey, this Southern drawl may come out a little slow, but I ain’t. I also move faster than you and saw you climb into this beast before peeling out of my parking lot. How rude.” Her dainty brows rose on that last word.
Lincoln ignored her reprimand and Carter’s snort of laughter. “How’d your tiny self get that bench loaded up?”
She sent him a bored look. “I know how to work a dolly.”
In his periphery, Lincoln caught Carter trying to slink away. His hand darted out and fisted in the back of his buddy’s T-shirt. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Carter yanked free. “Taking the high road. You got your ornery butt into this mess. Now figure out how to get out of it.” He tipped his head at the young woman. “Opal.”
“See ya later, Carter,” she said in that breezy voice that was already raking Lincoln’s nerves.
Lincoln watched in disbelief as Carter left him high and dry. He turned back to the peculiar woman, knowing he had no other choice unless he was going to physically remove her, and that wasn’t an option. Clenching his fists, he waited for her next move.
2
The giant of a man looked close to having a temper tantrum, but Opal made no move to get out of the line of it. She sat a little taller and readied herself as she watched the snare of his lips coil back even further to spit something out. She didn’t have to wait long.
“For not being slow, you sure didn’t grasp my not wanting the bench when I left it at your store,” Lincoln said in a sharp tone. A gust of air sent his long hair into his eyes, and he ran a hand through it to brush it back.
“Oh, I grasped that all right, but it’s still meant for you.” She offered a smile in response to his frown. “Also, I’d have thought you would be enough of a Southern gentleman not to storm out of a job interview.”
His eyes widened, indicating Lincoln knew he’d been caught, but they narrowed just as quickly. He crossed his arms over his broad chest again, reminding Opal of a puffer fish. Prickly, yet still cute somehow. “I’m not working with you.”
She barely contained the scoff tickling her throat. Clearing it on a small cough, she decided to tease him a little bit to see if that would soften his attitude. “Why? Does little ole me scare you?”
Lincoln’s brown eyes flared, giving away the truth, before they squinted again. She’d only been in his company for less than thirty minutes total and had already discovered that his eyes gave away his secrets whether he wanted them to or not. And for some odd reason, he was afraid of her.
“No. Little ole you is annoying. I don’t put up with annoying.” He pushed the words out there, apparently wanting them to act as a repellent.
Opal considered letting him get away with it, but the challenge of Lincoln Cole won out in the end. She dropped the flirty act and leveled her gaze at him with some seriousness. “Look, I know your big, grouchy self won’t be a day at the beach, but I have furniture that needs to be delivered. I sure could use your help.”
“I thought you knew how to work a dolly?” He gave her a condescending smirk.
Someone needs a time-out. Opal gave him a blank stare in return, deciding not to play along with the schoolyard word slinging. She’d run away from enough of that in her youth and certainly wouldn’t be taking part in it as an adult. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.” Her temper was close to boiling over, so she eased off the hood and headed inside the diner for a much-needed glass of iced tea to help cool off.
“I won’t,” Lincoln fired back before the screen door banged shut behind her.
Opal took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Most people didn’t get under her skin, but that crabby man had come close to getting a slap to his hateful mouth just then.
There were more important things to attend to at the moment, though, so Opal grabbed a to-go cup of iced tea and hurried home. After changing into one of her favorite floral dresses, she headed to Higgins Funeral Home.
It was said that the Knitting Club came over on the Mayflower and somehow found the fountain of youth upon landing. For as far back as she could remember, Opal had never heard of one of them passing away until now. Even though they each wore a well-defined road map of wrinkles and age spots on their faces, they were a spunky bunch who seemed to outlive every resident of Sunset Cove. Opal and her two closest friends, Josie and Sophia, admired many aspects of the Knitting Club, such as their loyalty to each other and their dedication to spending quality time together, but the younger women shied away from the older women’s fondness for gossip and being busybodies.
The day had finally arrived to reveal that at least one of the old ladies had an expiration date. Too bad it belonged to Miss Liza Pierson, who had been Opal’s beloved Sunday school teacher from preschool all the way up until high school graduation. Miss Liza had said she’d grown so attached to those in Opal’s generation that she simply had to move up each year with them. She must have been truthful about it too, because after graduation Miss Liza went back to solely teaching preschoolers.
Opal found herself standing in line behind the clan of knitting survivors for the viewing. In the small coastal town a viewing might as well be deemed a public event, complete with refreshments set up in the front waiting area. Everyone turned out, allegedly to pay their respects, but Opal suspected it was more on the lines of nosiness or maybe just the obligation to pay homage to the tradition.
“They ruined the arrangement we ordered,” Ethel Matthews, Sunset Cove’s postmaster and the orneriest member of the Knitting Club, complained. The ever-present scent of Pond’s cold cream emanated from Ethel and was the only pleasant thing about her. She clucked her tongue and pointed her walking cane at one of the gaudiest funeral wreaths Opal had ever seen. White-and-pink silk flowers formed an artificial pillow with a satin ribbon crossing it as a sash. It read, Jesus called, and had a cell phone attached to it.
“Oh, so you didn’t actually order such a thing?” Opal asked, relieved that the old ladies had better taste than that. The line inched closer to the casket.
Ethel’s sister Bertie tsked on the other side of Opal. “We most certainly did not order that! We told them to use a real phone. One with a cord and a r
otary dial. Poor Liza never even owned a cellular telephone.”
“Ain’t that right! Liza wouldn’t have known how to answer that contraption if Jesus did call,” added Madge, the most wrinkled member of the Knitting Club. She reminded Opal of a pug dog.
Opal motioned toward the pale-gray casket with a beautiful spray of wildflowers draped on top. “Well, Jesus obviously left Miss Liza a voice mail.” That comment earned her several harsh scoffs and a firm pinch on the back of the arm from Ethel Matthews. Flinching away from Ethel’s claws, she rubbed her stinging skin and huffed. “I’m just saying.”
“Maybe it’s best you don’t say anything at all, smarty-pants,” Bertie said in a tizzy as each member of the Knitting Club pushed past Opal. She even got a walker stomped on top of her foot. Luckily, she’d traded her flip-flops for a pair of Keds.
The tiniest, oldest, and certainly the most eccentric member of the group, Dalma Jean Burgess, eased by Opal while munching on a cookie. While all the other members were dressed in their Sunday best dress suits, Dalma wore a pair of high-waisted wool trousers and a plain white T-shirt. Her outfit was completed with suspenders and a newsboy cap. Mischief lit her cloudy-blue eyes as she leaned toward Opal and whispered, “I thought that was funny. Think I’m going to delete my voice mail so he can’t leave me a message for a little while longer.” She winked and cut in front of Opal with the rest of the old ladies.
Trying to suppress a grin, Opal focused on paying respects to Miss Liza. On her way out, she caught a glimpse of an Italian beauty sashaying through the door in a tailored black pantsuit and oversize sunglasses. Locks of shiny brown hair were perfectly styled in long, loose curls. Even if Sophia Grace Prescott hadn’t been in the spotlight of the celebrity world due to her NFL star husband, the woman would have drawn attention with her presence alone.
“You know how to make an entrance, Mrs. Priss.” Opal wrapped her arms around Sophia, catching a whiff of expensive perfume, and hugged tightly.
“Hi, chick. Where’s Josie?” Sophia leaned back and pulled her sunglasses off, flashing teal-blue eyes fringed with thick eyelashes.
“She had to work but should be swinging by here soon. We’re still meeting at my house tonight, right?”
“Yes. Momma is going to watch Collin.”
“Good. Josie and I are so glad you were able to get away and come home for this.”
“Ty wasn’t too happy about me missing his game, but he’ll just have to get over it.” Sophia spoke with conviction. From the tension slipping in her tone when saying her husband’s name, Opal knew there was trouble brewing in their young marriage.
“I’ll see you soon then.” Opal didn’t want any of the Knitting Club members to overhear anything they could cluck about, and Sophia’s husky voice tended to carry, so she kept any further comments on Ty to herself and pulled Sophia in for another hug.
As the day gave way to night, Opal swept the back deck and switched on the string of Edison-style lights over the table she set up for refreshments. Car doors closed from out front, announcing her friends’ arrival. Tonight’s agenda was to privately celebrate Miss Liza’s life and to catch up with each other. Even though Sophia lived several hours away, she was devoted to making it back home almost every month to spend time with Opal and Josie. The three of them had been dubbed the Sand Queens years ago, an identity they embraced as wholeheartedly as they embraced their lifelong friendship with each other.
Moments later, a puffy-eyed Josie walked up the steps with Sophia following behind her.
“Aw, honey, are you okay?” Opal rushed over to Josie.
Josie batted away a tear and shrugged. “It hit me on the way over here that Miss Liza won’t be teaching her Sunday school class anymore.”
“You really enjoyed assisting her, didn’t you?” Opal asked and Josie only nodded. “Are you going to take over teaching?”
Josie wiped her cheek. “Yes. I’ve been doing most of it anyway this year since her ministroke.”
Opal led Josie over to a chair while Sophia grabbed several napkins from inside. Once they had her settled, they scooted chairs close and held her hands. Josie was considered shy by most standards, but her quietness hid a tender heart that only knew how to love—big. It took a while with no one rushing, and once Josie pulled herself together, the women decided the best medicine for a grieving heart had to be something sweet and fattening.
“Well, I can definitely help us out with that.” Sophia reached inside a canvas bag and pulled out a plastic container. “Momma made sfogliatelle. They were Miss Liza’s favorite Italian treat.”
“Bless your sweet momma’s heart.” Opal hopped up and crossed over to the patio door. “I have summer punch and goodies too. Be right back.”
“Did you make them?” Josie asked, sounding a little apprehensive, before Opal slid the door shut.
“No, honey. Sorry, but today has been a little hectic.” Opal hurried inside and mixed the ginger ale with the frozen pink punch base that consisted of pink lemonade concentrate and pineapple juice. A Sunset Cove get-together wasn’t complete without the sweet and tangy beverage, no matter the season. She took the plastic container of cucumber and pimento cheese tea sandwiches out of the fridge. Once she had everything arranged on a tray, she took it outside and presented it to her friends. “Momma made tea sandwiches for us.”
Each woman made herself a plate and poured a cup of punch and munched quietly for a spell as the ocean waves set up a melody just beyond the deck railing.
Opal ate a tea sandwich first, saving the sfogliatelle for last. She picked up the delicate pastry and studied its golden-brown exterior. “Luciana is such an angel to make these for us.” The first bite elicited a moan as the flaky crust gave way to the rich ricotta filling inside. “So, so good.”
“Hmm . . .” Josie took another bite of hers and washed it down with punch. “What made your day so hectic, Opal? Everything all right?”
The handsome stranger with his lips pouted out flashed before her eyes. “Oh, nothing really. Everything is just dandy.” Opal cringed. Her words sounded fake even to her own ears.
“I served Lincoln Cole breakfast today.” Josie refilled each of their cups and gave Opal a measured look. “Was he supposed to start working for you?”
“Supposed to, yes, but no.” Opal went for another bite, savoring the subtle hints of orange peel in the filling.
“Tell it straight, Opal,” Sophia piped in while checking her phone.
“He basically stormed into the store. Huffed and puffed and acted like he wanted to blow my house down.”
Sophia rolled her eyes and snickered. “You just couldn’t do it, could you? Always adding flair.”
“Lincoln Cole was rude. He refused to work with me. Is that clear enough?” Opal knew it was clear and certainly didn’t like the message it conveyed.
Josie frowned. “I’m sorry, Opal.”
Opal flicked her wrist to shoo the unpleasant subject away, even though she planned on having a phone conversation with her old friend August about even suggesting it in the first place. “No worries, honey. That’s life. I’ll figure out something.” She directed the conversation to Collin, asking Sophia how the sweet baby boy was doing. As Opal looked through the photos Sophia was showing off on her phone, that ornery man kept weaseling his way into her thoughts. She wondered if she’d see that handsome yet grim face ever again.
Only a few days slid by before she found out.
Short on help, Opal overdid it in her attempts to deliver the furniture orders on her own. Her brother had helped until going off to college that fall, and she sure was missing him. Sitting stiffly in front of the office computer, her finger had just moved over to hit the Send button for the online help-wanted ad when the door chimed. Leaving it for the time being, she slowly got up from her desk, stretched out her aching back, and began moving toward the front of the shop. Halfway there, she met up with a sulking giant.
He wore a baseball cap low to conceal his eye
s. She bit her lip to stop the smile from forming, knowing he was trying to keep his secrets to himself this round and knowing he was going to fail. Bring it on, big boy.
Lincoln thrust out his hand, revealing the familiar satchel of seashells. “These were left inside the bench. Thought you’d want them back.”
Opal made no move to take them. “You’re using the guise of returning the seashells, but we both know you couldn’t stay away.” She batted her eyelashes, causing his brows to knit together. “It’s okay if you wanted to come see me. I don’t mind.”
“What? No! These were inside the bench . . .” He tried to hand them over again, and again she refused to accept them.
She sighed. Teasing him wasn’t any fun if he wasn’t going to play along. “They go with the bench.”
Lincoln dropped his hand to his side, clutching the tiny bag a bit too aggressively for Opal’s liking. “Why?” He spat the word out as if it tasted unpleasant.
“After I complete each piece, I place a shell inside or tuck it away somewhere and make a wish for the next owner.”
He blinked slowly and readjusted his hat, but she still had a good view of his face. “What are you, a genie?”
Opal knew he was being insulting, but she chose to giggle anyway. Laughing insults and taunts away had become the armor she used to put up with people who took it upon themselves to express how much her quirkiness bothered them. No matter how many times she was presented with judgmental sneers, the persona suited her and she had no aspiration to change. People like this man before her would just have to deal with it.
Opal leaned a hip against the leopard-print wingback chair beside her, trying to take some tension off her sore back. “No one has ever accused me of that one. My wishes are actually prayers.”
