Return to Eagle Cove

by M. L. Buchman

  Her father beckoned her forward and soon the three of them were holding onto each other. Jessica didn’t cry for a second time, something she hadn’t done in years before her episode in Greg’s arms, but she came very close.

  But this wasn’t why her parents’ embrace had looked familiar.

  Being in Greg Slater’s embrace was exactly like what her parents had been doing…and that was the most disconcerting thought of the entire week. If she felt that way in Greg’s arms, and Greg truly belonged in Eagle Cove, wherever did she belong?

  That question haunted her for the rest of the morning.

  The midday sun was warm as Greg began unloading his last load of trays into the B&B’s kitchen. It felt as if his entire future was riding on this meal, even more than the halibut dinner that had won him his father’s financing. He needed the money if he was going to make a splash in a big city, though he wished there was some way to avoid taking it.

  But this wedding dinner, a far simpler menu though far more complex in the execution due to the number of diners, was for Jessica’s mother. But it wasn’t Monica Baxter he was thinking of.

  He hadn’t even had time to cook one last dinner for Jessica. This evening’s post-wedding feast would be tonight’s meal and tomorrow morning Natalya would be driving her to the airport.

  Dawn pulled him aside on the porch. Vincent had the girls so that Dawn could help him with the prep. Peggy and the Judge would be at the wedding and had both agreed to pitch in with the cooking and service.

  “Talk to me, Greg.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” he turned back toward the kitchen, but Dawn shifted to stay between him and his goal. He tried to head for the van to unload another big tray of stuffed mushrooms, but she headed him off there as well. What was it with women when he was in a hurry? First Peggy and now…

  Realizing that the only way out of this was through it, he dropped onto one of the benches and Dawn sat beside him. She took his hand and held it tightly.

  “Crap,” was all he could think to say and he couldn’t even conjure up much heat behind it.

  “There’s got to be a way that the two of you can—”

  “There isn’t! Okay?” He dug his free hand through his hair and barely resisted the urge to start tearing it out. “She’s more than I ever dreamed.”

  “We’re not talking pedestal action here, are we? Took me forever to kick out the one Vincent had me on.”

  “No. It was. But it isn’t. Not anymore. I remember, Dawn. I remember when you gave me my first-ever kiss as my fifteenth birthday present and you told me that you were going to marry Vincent so I shouldn’t read anything into it. I know that about Jessica Baxter. I know it just as deep as you knew it about Vincent back then.”

  “Then it’s going to happen.”

  “I don’t see how tha—”

  “No!” Dawn cut him off sternly. “You listen to me, Greg Slater. If you feel that deeply about her, it’s going to happen. Probably in some way that neither of you expect, but it will.”

  Greg latched onto what hope he could, “You really think so?”

  “I know so. And remember, I was always the smart one of our group, so you’re going to have to trust me on this.”

  Greg closed his eyes for a long moment, became aware of the warm midday sea breeze brushing over the porch. Yes. There had to be some way that it was going to happen, so it was time to just believe that.

  He opened his eyes and looked at one of his very closest friends.

  “You’re the best, Dawn.”

  “Remind Vincent of that on occasion and we’ve got a deal.”

  “Oh, he knows it, but I’ll keep reminding him anyway. Besides, I happen to know that you’re an amazing kisser and even he isn’t dumb enough to walk away from that.” He kept it light as that was only one of a thousand reasons his friends belonged together.

  “Want to know a secret?” They leaned back on the bench together, holding hands and looking out to sea. For this moment, his need to hurry had sprinted off without him.

  “Sure.”

  “I was scared to death. You were my first-ever kiss too, but I wanted someone to practice on before my first one with Vincent.”

  “Well, it was great. I still remember it well.”

  “Want to know another secret?” Dawn’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  “You’re on a roll,” he prompted her.

  “I’ve gotten better. Lots better.”

  Greg could only groan. “The guy doesn’t deserve you.”

  “Greg?” She asked after such a long pause that his urgent need to hurry had found its way back to him.

  “Yeah?”

  “I know another great kisser who has probably gotten loads better since his fifteenth birthday. And it is going to be a very lucky girl who gets such a man.”

  He squeezed her hand hard in thanks. “You might try reminding her of that.”

  “Nope,” Dawn stood, yanked him back to his feet by their linked hands, and led him back toward the kitchen. “You’re the one who needs to remind her until she finally realizes how lucky she is.”

  Greg would have to work on that. But at the moment he had a wedding to prepare and cook for.

  Jessica walked down the lawn-green aisle between the admiring crowd as she headed toward her father. It was her, then Aunt Gina, then Monica Baxter, the bride. “Her Mom the Bride.” She’d be truly grateful to never have to hear that phrase again as long as she lived.

  But for the moment it was just Jessica and her father beneath the sun-dappled coast pines. For a man in his late fifties, he cut a dashing figure. Strong from the fishing and the projects he was always doing. He’d stayed fit. His best man, Danny McCall looked small and rumpled by comparison.

  What would it be like to go walking toward the man waiting for her? Walking on her dad’s arm up this same pathway to trade vows with—

  Erase! Eradicate! Extirpate!

  But her commands to herself didn’t work and she glanced aside from the moment she’d been sharing with her father and saw Greg Slater. He hadn’t worn a jacket, but he looked just fine in a dress shirt and tie. His collar-length hair, that was such fun to play with, lay tucked back behind his ears. His beard, soft and ticklish, was freshly trimmed short and neat.

  He was watching her just as closely with those dark, dark eyes of his. There was no smile, but neither was there a frown. If she had to label his expression, she might be forced to go with “awe.” Her bridesmaid dress was a cheerfully frivolous thing that she’d stolen from her mother’s closet. Enough of a cleavage for her necklace to lie on bare skin, short sleeves, and a flirty skirt just above the knees.

  She passed him by, doing her best to track her eyes forward, but it was hard; far harder than it should be.

  The ceremony passed in a blur, as did the meal.

  The former a blur of pageantry in true small-town style. There was an equal mix of summer dresses, slacks, and tattered jeans. T-shirts outnumbered blouses or dress shirts and only the wedding party itself was done up to the nines.

  The meal was a blur of stunning flavors, succulent dishes, and the mayhem of a hundred people all eating buffet style. The Judge was flipping burgers on a massive grill and Peggy was toasting buns and grilling stuffed mushroom caps close beside him.

  In the midst of it all Tiffany slipped up and handed Jessica a small clear food storage bag. Inside was the partially completed gold sock back on its three needles. The dropped stitches had been fixed and the fourth needle lay in the bottom of the bag.

  She hugged Tiffany who squawked in surprise, but then hugged Jessica back fiercely before melting away into the crowd. Jessica took it upstairs and tucked it carefully in her carry-on luggage.

  Luggage.

  She was leaving in the morning.

  Jessica sat on the bed a moment and wondered how she could leave. But her life wasn’t here no matter how much Greg’s was. She’d figured out how to help him, how to help the town a
little too.

  Or at least she thought she had.

  She pulled out the pad with her sketches. She’d develop the idea more this morning, but it wasn’t going to pay any bills. It was just an act of—

  There was a sentence she wasn’t going to be finishing any time soon no matter how true it might be.

  The soft knock on the open door behind her had her yelping in surprise.

  “Sorry. I should not have bothered you.”

  Jessica rushed around the foot of the bed and threw her arms around Marjorie Winslow. Marjorie patted her on the back like she was calming an upset child.

  “You looked like you were thinking so hard that I almost turned around, but I did not want to climb those stairs again. Getting hard on this old woman.”

  Jessica held her tighter.

  “I suppose that I am glad that I did not.”

  Jessica was torn between laughter and tears, but managed to go for the former. “You always talk exactly the way you teach second grade, no confusing contractions. I remember you explaining that to me when I asked.”

  “Third day of class. And you are still the only student I ever had who noticed that I do that.”

  “It’s also probably why you still scare Greg and Vincent. I asked, they’re both terrified of you.”

  “Good!” Marjorie turned her and they sat on the bed together. “Keeping those boys on their toes has made them better men. Though Vincent is awfully sweet with his wife and those twins, makes it difficult at times.”

  Jessica still clutched her yellow pad.

  “Those are good, Jessica,” Marjorie tapped the pad without looking down. “You have a good eye. You need to give the copy another polish, remember that it is—” she hesitated then enunciated carefully, “it’s marketing copy not an article.”

  Jessica nodded. That’s exactly what was wrong with it. She flipped through and could see exactly what she needed to do now.

  Marjorie made her slow down and they went through the new sketches together.

  There were ads for the Judge’s breakfasts at The Puffin Diner and Greg’s “Evenings at The Puffin.” Another spread for her father’s fishing trips and her mother’s real estate business. Becky Billing’s BlueBird Brewery, the Blackbird Bakery… Once she’d started them, she hadn’t been able to stop—the pad was half full of advertising ideas featuring the businesses of Eagle Cove. Those had then started turning into ads promoting the coastal town as a destination spot.

  “I had a few ideas of my own,” Marjorie held out a sealed manila envelope. “Do not—don’t open it until you’re on the plane.”

  “Okay,” Jessica tucked the envelope into the back of the pad and slipped it into her carry-on.

  “Now is the time to celebrate a joyous wedding,” Marjorie pushed to her feet, brushing off Jessica’s attempt to help. “Not that old yet, girl, so do not pamper me or I may start to feel that way.”

  Jessica stayed close beside Marjorie for a long time, their arms linked together in friendship if not support.

  The only way that Greg convinced himself to approach them was already knowing his other option. It was either face Jessica and Dragon Winslow or have Dawn kick his behind for being such a wimp.

  Food service was long over except for the two dozen pies he’d made. Cal hadn’t had enough warning to make a bigger cake, so Greg had added pies and everyone received a piece of each. He’d made them in all different flavors. He should have made more blueberry, as they were peaking right now on the coast; he’d remember that for next time. Seasonal. Just like his restaurant would be. Yes! He liked that. Whatever was absolutely the freshest.

  Dancing had begun. A local band had come together. Vincent’s dad Manny sang sweet vocals and Peggy played a mean guitar. Becky had a drum kit and the Judge plucked a stand-up bass. And that odd girl Tiffany was cradling a small Celtic harp. He hadn’t even realized she was here.

  Greg gave himself one more stern talking to, ignored the inexplicable smile that Tiffany sent his way, and headed for Jessica and the Dragon. There were two very different expressions watching him approach.

  Jessica’s was everything he hoped for.

  The Dragon looked ready to slice, dice, and sear him on the highest heat.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you ladies, but I was hoping for a dance.”

  “Took you five numbers to talk yourself into that, young man,” Mrs. Winslow’s tone was accusatory.

  “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Winslow.” He hadn’t thought he was being that obvious.

  “Good!” She shared an enigmatic smile with Jessica, untucked Jessica’s hand from around her elbow, and held it out to him as if Jessica was a mannequin.

  He reached out and took Jessica’s hand. The shock of contact rippled up his arm and had his heart skipping.

  Without further comment, Dragon Winslow retired from the field of battle and, by some miracle, he still lived.

  Jessica slid into his arms, half-time slow dancing despite the band tackling a Doobie Brothers song with some success. She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “She likes you, you know.”

  “That’ll be the day. I can’t stand that you’re leaving tomorrow.”

  Jessica tensed in his arms, definitely the wrong thing to say.

  “How about,” he tried again, “we just dance and let tomorrow take care of itself?” It must have been the right thing to say, because she slowly relaxed once more until there was nothing but her in his arms and somewhere, seemingly far away, the sound of music and laughter.

  Late in the night, as they lay together in his bed not wanting to sleep and miss a moment before the dawn light, she whispered to him.

  “You can’t follow me, Greg. Please. It’s the one thing I ask of you, don’t follow me.”

  “Will you come back?”

  The silence stretched forever.

  “I’ll try.”

  For now that would have to be good enough. What he wasn’t going to tell her was that if she didn’t return soon, he was going to follow despite her order. And he had the sneaking suspicion that almost everyone would be on his side with that decision, perhaps even Dragon Winslow.

  He spent the rest of the time before dawn doing his best to make this a night she couldn’t forget even if she wanted to. And he knew for a fact that she didn’t want to, she just didn’t know it yet.

  Chapter 11

  (a week Sunday)

  The ads had started appearing on that first Wednesday after she was gone. They slipped out into social media channels. By Thursday the town had a promotional website. It was slickly functional but friendly and welcoming. By Friday it was the talk of the morning breakfast crowd, the only talk.

  Greg was as stumped as everyone else, almost everyone else. The Judge was in on whatever was happening, Greg was sure of it, but he refused to be pinned down.

  The reviews hit on Friday, a week after Jessica’s departure. Write-ups appeared in The Oregonian, the Newport News Times, and even the Seattle Times. The bakery in one, Ralph Baxter’s fishing trips in another, and reviews of both of the meals that he’d cooked while Jessica was visiting.

  He knew she had to be behind it. The initial ads had sounded like her, but with a very different flair. It wasn’t until the reviews came out that he knew for certain. Those were definitely in her prose style; that powerful writing voice he’d so appreciated in her early days.

  The big splash hit on Sunday.

  “Puffin Days at Eagle Cove!”

  There was a roster of events.

  Puffin boat tours!

  A special weekend opening of the Puffin Diner, along with the Judge’s menu.

  Brewery tours.

  And right in the middle of every ad, a massive announcement of the opening of “Evenings at The Puffin.” Gourmet food Friday and Saturday nights only.

  He’d finally confronted the Judge with it over Sunday dinner in the big house.

  “Well, that is interestin
g,” his father had inspected the ad at leisure. “I suppose you had better start planning a menu. You have a restaurant to open.”

  “No! I have a woman to go see. I was going to fly to Chicago next weekend and track Jessica Baxter down whether she wants me to or not.”

  The Judge just nodded sagely. “Guess that you know more about opening a restaurant than I do, but it looks to me as if you’re setting up to disappoint a potentially large clientele.”

  The Judge slid across a reservation sheet. Across the top it said “Evenings at The Puffin.” Beneath that were columns of names. Two seatings on both nights. It was already a packed house.

  This couldn’t be happening! Jessica was just trying to make sure he didn’t leave Eagle Cove. It would help if it wasn’t the perfect solution to almost everything. He already had the restaurant and a local group of patrons. They couldn’t sustain him for a full restaurant opening, but they could certainly provide a solid base for his launch. With everything that would be in place, including his living expenses, he wouldn’t need a cent of his father’s money. His savings would cover it all. Actually, with four sold-out seatings he might be adding to his bankroll rather than depleting it.

  It was perfect except for the lack of Jessica Baxter in his life. But she’d trapped him and she knew it; he couldn’t leave.

  “You thought much about a ring when you do finally see her?”

  Greg startled. If his father thought he needed a ring, then maybe, just maybe there was a way this could work.

  “I was hoping that getting on my knees and begging would be sufficient. I figure Jessica is the sort of woman who would want to choose the ring herself.”

  “Still got a lot to learn about women, Son.” His father reached into a pocket and pulled out a small box. His expression was tight and unreadable as he slid it across the table with just his fingertips.

  Greg opened the box carefully…and knew right away there was no better ring to be found.

  The two stones were the emerald green of the forests and the blue sapphire of the sea. The forest and the sea met here in Eagle Cove as they met nowhere else.