Blackberry Beach

by Irene Hannon

  The answer, for her, had been simple. She couldn’t. So she’d closed the door to a family—and motherhood. It had been the hardest decision she’d ever faced.

  And it was too late to rethink it now.

  Besides, she was used to living alone, being independent. The idea of doing as she pleased, when she pleased, in her postcareer life was appealing. Adding another person to the mix would complicate the carefree existence she’d envisioned.

  But won’t it be lonely, Stephanie?

  She sat back up and flung the pillow against the headboard.

  No!

  It wouldn’t be.

  She wouldn’t let it be.

  Without a grueling travel schedule and long hours at the office, she’d be able to join clubs. Make friends. Volunteer. There was an abundance of opportunities like that back in New York.

  Her life would be full and rich.

  And it wasn’t as if there was any reason to change her plans. Despite the gleam of interest in Frank’s eyes during their first encounter yesterday—and the conversation he’d initiated tonight—he hadn’t tried to extend their evening.

  Perhaps he’d decided it wasn’t worth getting to know a woman who would soon be gone.

  Or he may have concluded that the memories of his cherished wife were sufficient to sustain him.

  Whatever had caused him to back off, it was for the best. A relationship wasn’t in her plans. Especially one here, across the country from the apartment she called home.

  Suddenly weary, she rose to draw the curtains—pausing to take in the romantic crescent moon that hung in the sky outside her window.

  And to tamp down the wistful, unbidden surge of longing that had no place in the future she’d plotted out.

  10

  Frank had been acting weird all day.

  Adding a drizzle of caramel to a whipped caramel macchiato, Zach gave his barista a surreptitious scan.

  While it was impossible to fault the man’s diligent work or his cheery demeanor with customers, he’d been avoiding their usual small talk since he’d arrived at six thirty on this Thursday morning.

  Even today’s humorous saying on the board out front hadn’t drawn more than a quick comment.

  Zach handed over the drink, followed the customer to the door, and locked up for the day.

  Now that they were alone and in cleanup mode, maybe he could get to the bottom of the man’s unusual reticence.

  “Busy day.” He strolled back to the counter and began wrapping up the remaining pastry items.

  “Yep.” Frank vanished into the back room.

  Zach continued the rote shutdown routine as the older man returned with a mop and began swabbing the floor.

  In silence.

  Oh, brother.

  If Frank’s mood had anything to do with Stephanie—as was likely the case—it would be wise to clear the air. In hindsight, he may have been a tad obvious in his attempt to set the two of them up the night of the Hope House meeting . . . as his aunt had indicated in no uncertain terms later.

  But hey—his intentions had been good.

  He circled the counter and began straightening chairs. “Any news on the Hope House project?” Best to break the ice with a neutral subject.

  “The board’s meeting again tonight. Steven says the number of people who signed up to help is impressive, and several viable fundraising ideas were suggested. I’m assuming we’ll vote to proceed. Closing on the house should be simple, so we can dive into the work fast. In fact, the owner said as soon as we reach a verbal agreement, he’ll give us authority to start.” He paused. “I saw your name on the painting crew volunteer sheet.”

  “It was the task that required the least training or skill—not to offend professional painters. But messing up edging is less dangerous than putting two incompatible electrical wires together.”

  “I hear you—and painting is fine. We can use all the hands we can get on every job.”

  Zach returned to the counter to retrieve a damp rag—and eased into the subject that was on his mind. “Aunt Stephanie wants to volunteer too if we get underway while she’s here.”

  That earned him an interested glance. “For real? I got the feeling she wasn’t the type who’d want to get her hands dirty.”

  He stared at Frank. “Why would you think that?”

  The man shrugged and went back to mopping. “She reeks of polish and sophistication. Dresses stylish too. I expect a woman who had such a high-level job would rather pay someone to do messy chores while she gets a manicure. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  But it wasn’t the type of lifestyle Frank was used to.

  Based on everything he’d shared about his marriage, he and his wife had always saved their pennies, were big into DIY, and preferred simple pleasures.

  Stephanie probably ate in more five-star restaurants every year than Frank and his wife had dined at in their entire life—a conclusion the former postal worker had no doubt reached too.

  That didn’t mean his aunt necessarily lived the high life off the job, however. From what his dad had said about her through the years, along with comments she’d made during their infrequent contact, she was down-to-earth and low-key.

  A piece of information Frank ought to be privy to before jumping to too many conclusions.

  “From what I know about her, manicures aren’t her top priority.”

  Frank kept mopping. “Still, she’s a classy lady.”

  In other words, he didn’t think a career postman from Coos Bay and a jet-setting senior executive had enough in common to have any potential as a couple.

  That was baloney—and unless his instincts were failing him, Aunt Stephanie would be the first to agree.

  Zach scrubbed at a glob of chocolate icing that had hardened on the tabletop. “So? You’re a classy guy.”

  After a moment, Frank stopped mopping. “Thanks for saying that—but between the two of us, I think your aunt is out of my league. Can you imagine someone like her being content in a place like this?”

  “Yeah. I can.” He responded without hesitation. “I have a similar background—and I chose to live here.” While he hadn’t shared with Frank all the circumstances that had led to his new life, the fact that he’d taken up residence in Hope Harbor ought to be sufficient to give the man food for thought.

  “You’re an exception. Most people who’ve become accustomed to first-class treatment end up liking the high life.” He went back to swabbing. “Besides, she won’t be here long. What’s the point of getting too friendly?”

  Hard to argue with the man’s logic. It was similar to the boat he was in with Kat.

  “She hasn’t said how long she’s going to stay.”

  “Not long enough for anything serious to develop—if that was even in the cards.” Frank put more muscle into his mopping.

  He could press the issue—but this wasn’t his battle to fight. Other than sharing the highlights of this conversation with his aunt, he was bowing out. Matchmaking obviously wasn’t his forte . . . for Frank or himself.

  Which brought him back to Kat.

  He hadn’t seen her since she’d delivered the truffles Monday night—but returning the plate would give him an excuse to renew their acquaintance . . . if he wanted to.

  Yet Frank was right.

  Like his aunt, Kat hadn’t come here with any intention of staying. At least he knew Stephanie’s background—and given sufficient encouragement, it was possible she’d trade her New York apartment for small-town digs.

  Kat, on the other hand, remained a mystery.

  He went to work on another spot on the table.

  Whatever life his mysterious neighbor had left behind was waiting for her—and whatever challenges she faced were formidable. That was clear not from anything she’d said, but from her facial expressions, body language, and tone of voice.

  While there was nothing tying his aunt to New York, it was obvious Kat’s links to her old life were strong
—and would be difficult to break.

  He sighed and wandered back to the counter.

  The truth was, Frank had a much better chance of wooing Stephanie than he had of winning Kat’s trust, let alone her heart.

  In light of that reality, it might be best to leave the truffle plate at her door with a note of thanks.

  He’d have to noodle on that option.

  In the meantime, there was only one antidote for the depressing cloud that had suddenly darkened his day.

  As soon as they finished cleaning up and he locked the door behind them, he’d head straight for Charley’s—and an order of fish tacos with a side of the man’s boundless good cheer.

  Man, those tacos smelled delicious.

  Katherine sniffed as the aroma from Charley’s stand wafted toward the parking spot she’d claimed five minutes ago and infiltrated her car.

  She may not have had the courage to tackle The Perfect Blend on this foray to town, but Charley’s felt safe—especially after the taco-making artist had assured her that her disguise would hold.

  Fortunately, few people were about—and the empty bench on the wharf would be the perfect spot to enjoy the view . . . and her late lunch.

  She slid from behind the wheel but lingered by the car as Charley handed over an order to a family group.

  The instant the coast was clear, she hurried toward the stand.

  His face lit up as she approached. “Well, look who decided to pay me a visit.”

  “Until you brought me lunch earlier this week, I’d forgotten how much I used to crave your tacos after I went back to LA.”

  “And here I thought my winning personality had lured you back.” He grinned, opened a cooler behind him, and removed a few fish fillets.

  “That too. What fish are you cooking today?”

  “Grouper.” He set the fillets on the grill and began chopping cilantro. “I’m still thinking about those blackberry truffles you gave me on Tuesday. They were magnifíco.” He gathered the fingers of his free hand and kissed them. “Your talent extends beyond the screen.”

  “Thank you. Making chocolate is fun.”

  “And acting isn’t?”

  “Um . . . yeah. Of course it’s fun.”

  Or it had been, once upon a time. Before all the craziness began to suck the joy out of performing. Before everyone wanted a piece of her. Before fame became a carrot that enticed her to do things she later lamented.

  Before someone died.

  Her stomach clenched.

  The truth was, acting had been the most fun back in college, on a small stage with a live audience, before money and power trips and publicity stunts were involved. When she did it out of love.

  But perhaps that was true of any passion.

  Charley pulled out three corn tortillas and set them on the grill. Flipped the fish. “You seem sad, my friend.”

  His comment was more invitation than statement. If she wanted to talk, he’d listen.

  Yet what was there to say—except admit the terrifying possibility that the dream she’d fought so hard to achieve may have been the wrong one?

  And she wasn’t anywhere near ready to do that.

  “More like confused.” She forced up the corners of her lips and tapped the “Cash Only” sign taped on the window. “I see you haven’t yet entered the electronic age. No one pays with actual money anymore, you know.”

  “More’s the pity.” He cut up a lime and diced a wedge of red onion, throwing the latter onto a griddle as he spoke. “People have much greater appreciation for what they buy if they shell out hard cash—and it also helps them stay out of debt. Not that an order of tacos would break the bank.”

  She pulled out her wallet. “Your tacos would be a bargain at any price.”

  “Thank you. Are you going to eat here on the wharf?”

  “That’s my plan.” She handed over a bill and motioned toward the empty bench. “That has my name on it.”

  “Best seat in the house—and Floyd and Gladys will keep you company.” He began assembling the tacos as two gulls landed with a flutter of wings a few yards away.

  Katherine peered at them. Did one have a nick on its beak? Impossible to tell from this distance. Charley either had much keener vision than she did or he was guessing.

  Didn’t matter. They’d probably fly off in a minute anyway.

  “Thanks for the tacos.” She took the brown bag he held out.

  “Enjoy.”

  “Goes without saying.” She pocketed the change he gave her.

  “Don’t be a stranger.”

  “I won’t. These are addictive—in a healthy way.”

  She strode toward the bench, past the gulls.

  Huh.

  Her step slowed.

  One of them did have a dark spot on top of its head—and was that a chip on its beak?

  She leaned closer to examine it.

  Yeah, it was.

  But . . . how could Charley have spotted those distinguishing characteristics from yards away?

  Gauging the distance over her shoulder, she furrowed her brow. No one had vision that keen—did they?

  Charley, however, was a man of many talents—so who knew?

  She continued toward the bench . . . and the two gulls traipsed after her. Apparently she’d been adopted by the taco chef’s avian friends.

  As she settled onto the seat and opened the bag, the two birds cuddled up on the ground a few feet away. One of them cackled.

  It sounded almost like a laugh.

  How silly was that? Seagulls didn’t laugh.

  But they were cute . . . and they were company.

  Not as much company as her neighbor would have been—but they didn’t ask any questions either.

  Meaning this little threesome was a whole lot safer than a twosome with a certain coffee shop owner.

  Was that Kat sitting on one of the benches by the harbor?

  Zach pulled up short a few yards from Charley’s stand, his attention riveted on the woman with two seagulls at her feet.

  She was angled away, and the hair falling over her cheek hid her features . . . but it looked like her.

  “Afternoon, Zach.”

  At Charley’s greeting, he continued toward the stand. “Hi, Charley.”

  “This must be the day for my Blackberry Beach neighbors to want tacos for lunch.”

  He stopped at the counter and gave the man his full attention. “Is that Kat?”

  “None other.”

  So the mystery lady had emerged from her cave.

  “How long has she been there?”

  “Oh, five minutes, I’d say. I saw you coming and got your order rolling.” He pivoted to remove the fish fillets from the grill and began assembling and wrapping the tacos. “You could join her. There’s room on the bench.”

  “I don’t know.” He studied her again. “She likes her privacy.”

  “Privacy has its pluses—but too much solitude can get lonely.”

  She leaned down to share a bite of her taco with one of the two birds.

  “She doesn’t have to be lonely. Hope Harbor is a welcoming place.”

  “Maybe that’s why she came into town today. For company.” Charley finished bagging the order and set it on the counter, along with a bottle of water.

  Zach dug out his wallet and handed over a few bills. “She won’t meet anyone sitting by herself on the wharf.”

  “Unless someone takes the initiative and approaches her.”

  “If you’re implying that someone could be me—we’re already acquainted.” He picked up the bag. “And she hasn’t been any too eager to get better acquainted.”

  “No?” Charley swiped the immaculate counter with a rag. “When I dropped off an order of tacos at her house earlier this week, I got the impression she’d stopped in at your place.”

  “You went to her house?” Zach squinted at the man.

  “Why not? After you told me we were neighbors, I thought it would be a sociable ges
ture.”

  “And she mentioned me?”

  “Not directly. But she offered me a couple of blackberry truffles and said they were left over from a batch she made as a thank-you gift. If she hasn’t ventured out much, who else could they be for but her neighbor?”

  That felt like a stretch of logic—but what did it matter? The truth was, the temptation to join her was strong, with or without Charley’s prodding.

  And what could it hurt to mosey over there and say hello? She’d either brush him off or invite him to join her.

  If she happened to choose the second option, how risky could it be to have lunch together on a park bench in a public place?

  Plus, it beat eating alone. With Stephanie up in Coos Bay exploring today, the house would feel empty without his aunt’s vivacious presence.

  “I suppose I could give it a shot.”

  Charley dipped his chin in approval. “Wise decision. He who hesitates and all that.”

  Squeezing his fingers around the top of the bag, Zach left the stand behind and approached the bench, Charley’s last comment looping through his mind.

  That old adage could work the opposite way too.

  You could also lose if you moved too fast. People could get hurt.

  Who knew which was best for him and Kat?

  He could only hope he didn’t live to regret invading his reclusive neighbor’s space yet again.

  11

  “May I join you?”

  At the familiar baritone voice, Katherine sucked in a breath, dropped the piece of fish she’d leaned down to give the gulls, and jerked upright.

  Zach stood six feet away, holding a brown bag similar to hers.

  Despite Charley’s assurance that no one in town would see through her disguise, her heart stuttered—although that reaction could have more to do with unruly hormones than the fear of being unmasked.

  Short of being rude, however, how could she refuse his request? She didn’t own the bench, and there was ample room for two.

  In response, she adjusted her sunglasses and scooted to the far end, pulling her bag along with her.

  As if to accommodate the new addition to their trio, the two seagulls stood, waddled a few feet away, and snuggled up together on the sidewalk, keeping the human couple under surveillance.