by Irene Hannon
Fingers trembling, she picked up her latte. Took another sip as she gave the view a slow sweep.
Nothing much had changed in the past six years.
Overflowing flower boxes rimmed the sidewalk along crescent-shaped Dockside Drive, benches interspersed for the pleasure of passersby who could spare a few minutes to sit and enjoy the view. Beyond the harbor-hugging sidewalk, a sloping pile of boulders led down to the water, where bobbing boats were protected by a long breakwater on the left and two rocky islands on the right. On the other side of the street, shops with colorful awnings and window boxes faced the distant horizon.
She shifted sideways. At the far end of the crescent, where the frontage road dead-ended at the river that emptied into the sea, a gazebo graced a tiny pocket park containing a picnic table and what appeared to be a historic cannon. The latter hadn’t been there on her last visit.
And perched on the edge of that park? Charley’s taco stand. The white truck with his name emblazoned in colorful letters over the serving window hadn’t budged an inch—nor changed one iota.
Neither had the owner—or those perceptive eyes of his.
She set the latte down again, the quiver in her fingers more pronounced.
Despite the passage of years and a disguise that would fool most people, that tiny flare of recognition in Charley’s dark cocoa irises at the coffee shop suggested he’d seen through her disguise. That he’d realized they’d met.
Whether he’d put a name to her face wasn’t clear. If he had, he’d kept her secret. If he hadn’t—who knew what he’d do once he did? Worst case, he’d mention it to someone . . . who’d mention it to someone else . . . and her attempt to remain under the radar would be a bust.
Sighing, she watched a boat on the horizon disappear into the mist—as she’d hoped to disappear in Hope Harbor.
Why, oh why, had she run into the one person she’d befriended during her previous stay? The one person most likely to recognize her?
Her plan to lay low and avoid his stand, despite the fabulous fish tacos he concocted, should have protected her—but how could she have known he’d frequent the new coffee shop in town she’d popped into twice for a handful of minutes?
A shop that had managed to suck her in with its low-key, welcoming atmosphere.
She picked up her latte again and took another sip of the cooling brew, spirits dipping.
Too bad the coffee shop was now off-limits. On her first visit, it had appeared to be a relatively safe haven. The customers, most of whom were no doubt transient summer tourists, had shown more interest in the twentysomething female barista with the triple-pierced ears and spiky, rainbow-hued hair than in her.
No surprise there. While the woman wouldn’t have drawn a second glance in Katherine’s world, she had to be a bit of a novelty here in quiet, sedate Hope Harbor.
But Charley had ruined the shop for her.
Not fair, Katherine. Charley isn’t the only reason you can’t go back.
In the distance, the light from the buoy at the end of the breakwater pierced the gloom, and the sonorous blare of a foghorn dispatched a warning across the expanse of water.
A warning she’d do well to heed.
The truth was, the tall, midthirties guy behind the counter also posed a risk—perhaps a bigger one than another unexpected meeting with Charley.
She took the lid off the remains of her latte, visualizing the fanciful K the man had created on top of her drink.
He’d been there on Monday too, but other customers had kept him occupied.
Today, however, he’d given her his full—and unwanted—attention.
Katherine’s fingers tightened on the disposable cup as the rain beat a staccato rhythm on the roof of her car.
In any other circumstances, the spark of interest in his deep brown eyes would have been flattering. With his dark hair, confident air, and lean, toned physique, he had the looks to rival any Hollywood heartthrob.
But romance wasn’t in her plans for this trip.
The taste of the latte grew bitter on her tongue, and she set the cup back into the holder. No more coffee shop visits for her. She couldn’t risk another run-in with Charley—or another attempt by the guy behind the counter to chat her up.
And unless her instincts were failing her, that’s what would happen if she showed up again at The Perfect Blend. All the signs of male attraction were there.
She twisted the key in the ignition, released the brake, and backed out of the spot she’d claimed on the south end of the wharf.
As she drove north on Dockside Drive, she surveyed Charley’s truck. Despite the dismal weather, a line had formed—and the savory aroma of grilling fish infiltrated her car.
A rumble from her stomach reminded her she’d skipped breakfast.
She ignored the message—and the temptation to stop. Her kitchen was fully stocked, and preparing a meal would keep her occupied on this rainy afternoon.
Her hands, anyway.
Her mind was a different story. It would be free to wander—and that wasn’t smart. Not yet. It was too soon to sort through the tangle in her brain. She needed a few days . . . or weeks . . . of long hours on a secluded beach to decompress first.
That’s why she’d rented a cottage perched above an isolated stretch of sand.
Now if only the weather would cooperate.
She hung a right, toward Highway 101 and the short trip north to her secluded hideaway, giving the taco stand one last glance.
Charley’s gaze connected with hers, and as he smiled, warmth radiated toward her.
Not the kind of sizzle she’d felt from the coffee shop guy. That had been more . . . adrenaline stirring.
No, this felt . . . peaceful. As if the taco maker was trying to comfort her. Tell her everything would be okay. Encourage her not to worry.
As she rounded the corner and the stand disappeared from view, Katherine frowned.
That had been . . . weird.
How in the world could she have read so much into a connection that had lasted . . . what? Three seconds? Four?
Huffing out a breath, she tightened her grip on the wheel. She was losing it. Grasping at straws. Conjuring up far-fetched sources of the consolation and encouragement she craved.
Good grief, the man may not even have been looking at her. It was impossible to be certain from that distance.
Picking up speed, she left the town center behind.
Yet the soothing, uplifting feelings engendered by that fleeting connection with Charley—real or imagined—lingered.
So why not enjoy the brief boost to her spirits, whatever the source?
For as she’d discovered over the past few years, most moments of happiness were short-lived—and few of them offered the lasting gratification she’d assumed success would beget.
2
“You about finished, Frank?” Zach called out the question to his Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday barista as he moved the thought-for-the-day sign from the sidewalk in front of The Perfect Blend into the shop.
“Almost.” The silver-haired man surveyed the crumbs littering the floor. “The toddler in the family group that claimed this table was apparently more interested in shredding his cake than eating it.”
“You want me to take over?” Zach folded up the A-frame sign and leaned it against the counter. Frank was spry and fit—but he was sixty-three. Not ancient by any means . . . but from the perspective of his own thirty-four years, it seemed old—even if the man had the energy of someone half his age.
“No thanks. I can handle it. This type of mess is much easier to deal with than some of the ones I ran into during my career as a mail carrier.” He motioned to the sign. “What’s tomorrow’s saying?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” Zach pulled out the eraser for the dry-erase board and wiped off the quote he’d featured on this August Tuesday. “Which do you prefer—‘Keep your face to the sun and you’ll never see shadows’ or ‘A diamond is merely a lump of coal th
at did well under pressure.’”
“I like them both—and they’re in keeping with the encouragement theme that’s been running through the sayings for the past few days.” Frank gave the mop one last swirl and rested his hand on top of the handle.
Zach furrowed his brow. Had there been a theme to his recent adages?
He scrolled through the last few in his mind.
Yeah, there had—and he knew who to blame for his rare thematic tangent.
The mystery woman.
She hadn’t come back to the coffee shop again, but since her visit six days ago she’d been on his mind. As had Charley’s comments about her mental state.
Apparently his subconscious had been selecting sayings that would boost her spirits if she happened to drop in—or pass by.
He plucked a marker from the box behind the counter. “I didn’t realize I’d fallen into a rut.”
“I wouldn’t call it a rut. Feels more like you’re trying to cheer yourself—or someone else—up. Everything okay?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“Glad to hear it.” Frank picked up the mop. “Personally, I think funny sayings catch people’s eye too. Like the one you used last week about coffee helping you stay grounded. Clever.”
“Message received. I’ll go with humor tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan. It’s never a bad idea to mix things up—but there’s nothing wrong with the sayings you’ve been using either. Maybe they lifted someone’s spirits.”
Frank disappeared into the back room, and Zach considered the blank board, tapping the marker against his palm.
Seconds later, inspiration struck and he penned tomorrow’s message.
If pro is the opposite of con, what’s the opposite of progress?
As he finished, Frank rejoined him and inspected his handiwork. Chuckled. “Clever. Political sarcasm always gets a laugh.”
“I’m half serious.” Zach set the board on the floor.
“I hear you.”
“Sometimes I wonder if those folks in Washington live in the same—” His cell began to vibrate, and he pulled it out. Skimmed the name on the screen.
Uh-oh.
There was only one reason he could think of for Aunt Stephanie to contact him—and it wasn’t good.
“I have to take this, Frank.”
“Go ahead. I want to get an order of Charley’s tacos for lunch—unless his muse called and he went off to paint. See you Thursday.”
As Frank let himself out, Zach braced for bad news and answered the call.
“Take a deep breath, Zach. No one died and there’s no medical emergency.”
At his aunt’s wry greeting, he exhaled. “You about gave me a heart attack, you know.”
“That’s why I ditched the social niceties and got straight to the point. I knew you’d panic when my name popped up—and I take full blame for that. If I called more often, as any proper aunt would do, you’d be less inclined to jump to wrong conclusions when you hear from me.”
“How long has it been?” Pulse moderating, he dropped into a chair at the closest table. Near as he could remember, other than birthday and Christmas cards, he hadn’t heard from his paternal aunt in three or four years.
“Too long. I called you a few years back during a brief stopover in Chicago, but you were away on a business trip.”
“I was always away on business trips in those days.”
“I can relate.”
“I bet.” Thanks to her executive-level position with one of the world’s largest accounting firms—and a client roster that spanned the globe—her greeting cards often came with exotic postmarks. Why she kept the small but pricey New York apartment she rarely occupied was a puzzle. “So how are you?”
“Fine—and I have news. My firm is offering an early retirement package to anyone sixty or older with more than twenty years’ service. I qualify on both counts—barely on the first one, since I turned the big six-o a mere two months ago, but I hit the tenure minimum long ago. The deal was too lucrative to pass up.”
“You’re retiring?” He stared at the empty pastry case, trying to process her bombshell. Like his father, Aunt Stephanie had devoted her life to her job. She had no husband, no children, and no hobbies he was aware of. What would she do without work to fill her days?
“Wrong tense. It’s a done deal. And that brings me to the other purpose of my call. You and your father are all the family I have, and I’ve neglected you both shamefully. Not that your father minded, of course. He’s more of a workaholic than I was.”
No kidding. The fast track was the only track as far as Richard Garrett was concerned—which was no doubt why he’d been the youngest man ever to reach partner status in the law firm he now headed.
“That description fits Dad.” A sardonic note slipped into his voice.
If his aunt noticed it, she didn’t comment. “I know he’s busy, but I’d like to launch my new life by reconnecting with you both. I spoke with him earlier. He’s in the middle of a big case, but he invited me to visit for a long weekend. I’m flying down to Atlanta Friday.”
“I’m sure Dad will be happy to see you.”
“I’m sure he will be too—once he gets over the shock about my news and reassures himself I haven’t lost my mind. I think he assumed I’d work till I dropped.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me. I imagine that’s what he plans to do.” Zach smashed a stray crumb against the tabletop with his finger.
“I do too—and I intend to have a heart-to-heart with him about that very subject.”
“Don’t expect him to be receptive.” Unless pigs had started to fly.
“You never know. Coming from me, it may have more impact. We’ve always been like-minded on the subject of work.”
“There’s more to life than work.”
“I agree. I always have. But after a while, you get caught up in the climb-the-ladder game, and everything but work falls by the wayside.”
“I thought you loved your job.”
“I did—and I don’t have a single regret. However . . . given the opportunity to bail without putting my future security at risk, I grabbed it. It’s time for the next chapter in my life to begin. I want to see what I’ve been missing and put more energy into bolstering family connections.”
He stood, crossed to the fireplace, and extinguished the logs. “I assume that means Hope Harbor is on your travel agenda in the near future.”
“It is. I want to hear all about the new direction your life has taken. Unless a visit from me would be too much of an inconvenience.”
“You’re welcome anytime.”
“Wonderful. Can you recommend a local inn or B&B?”
“I have a spare room at my place that’s yours if you want it. I can’t offer the luxurious five-star accommodations you’re accustomed to from your business travels, but my modest digs do have a world-class view.”
“Trust me, after working fourteen-hour days during those trips, a high-end hotel room was nothing more than a place to fall into bed at night. The luxury was lost on me.”
“I hear you.”
“I do recall a beautiful hotel in Paris, though, where I stayed on my last birthday. I spent the whole day in a windowless meeting room and ordered a late room service dinner. The view of the Eiffel Tower from my window while I ate was my sole chance to enjoy the City of Lights.” A beat passed. “Eating alone had never bothered me, but that night . . . I felt lonely. So staying with you, sharing a few meals, will be a treat.”
He flicked off the lights in the shop. “Believe it or not, I’ve become a decent chef. Don’t expect Le Cordon Bleu fare, but you won’t go hungry.”
“I’ll look forward to whatever you concoct—but I’d also be satisfied with sandwiches or takeout. Don’t go to any trouble on my behalf. And I promise not to overstay my welcome. If I decide to extend my visit, I’ll find other accommodations. You know what Ben Franklin said—after three days, guests, like fish, begin to
smell.”
Zach’s lips twitched. Typical Aunt Stephanie. On the rare occasions they’d connected through the years, she’d been a hoot. Blunt, funny, and adventurous, radiating an almost palpable joie de vivre and spouting a live-and-let-live philosophy.
Too bad his dad hadn’t inherited a few of those qualities. While he shared her bluntness, he was too opinionated for his own good . . . or the good of parent-child relationships.
“I doubt that will be a problem. Text me the details of your arrival once your plans are set.”
“Will do.”
He hesitated, propping a shoulder against the wall in the shadowed shop. Did she know about the situation between him and his dad?
Unlikely.
While brother and sister had always talked by phone on a regular basis, his father tended to keep difficult topics close to his vest.
In person, however, it was possible he’d be tempted to vent.
Without a heads-up, she could stumble into a hornet’s nest with an innocent comment or question—putting both her and his father into an uncomfortable position.
“Aunt Stephanie . . . there’s something you ought to know before you visit Dad.”
“You mean about the rift?”
So she did know.
But how much?
“Um . . . yeah. I wasn’t certain he’d clued you in.”
“Clued me in would be stretching it. After he stopped mentioning you during our phone conversations three years ago, I realized there must have been a falling-out. He never offered any details, but I assumed he was disappointed about your career switch.”
Disappointed?
Far too mild a term.
More like shocked. Angry. Bitter. Confused. Distraught.
And his attitude hadn’t softened in the intervening years.
“At the very least.” Zach let his gaze linger on the poster-sized photo on the wall across from him. The shot of a tiny seedling growing in the crack of a boulder, pushing toward the sky as it struggled for a foothold on the inhospitable surface, never failed to encourage and uplift him.
