by Barbara Lohr
“Speaking of which, Emily are you working on the new salads?” Victoria asked.
“You should have them within a week.”
The antique bell over the door jangled. Three older ladies came in, led by Miss Charlotte, who lived next to Emily’s parents. “Isn’t this the prettiest little place ever?” Charlotte Whipple swept the shop with one veined hand while her two gray-haired friends nodded.
Emily waved. “Miss Charlotte, are you following me around town?”
When Miss Charlotte walked over to give Emily a hug, her lilac perfume fell over the table. “Never. And I won't tell your mama you were here in your walking clothes.” She gave the three of them a look of southern lady disdain. But Bryn knew she was kidding.
The three ladies moved over to the counter where Maisy took their order. Then they settled at another table with a pitcher of sweet tea.
“So what did you girls do this weekend?” Josie turned her attention back to Emily and Bryn. Why did she do this?
“Jackson and I spent time talking about the wedding. You know, making plans,” Emily said in a dreamy voice. Over the past couple of months, Emily had gone on a manhunt through Lowcountry Singles. But Jackson had probably had Emily’s heart her entire life.
“Will we be picking out bridesmaid dresses soon?” Bryn couldn’t help asking.
Eyes sparkling, Emily nodded. “Coralee is setting aside anything that looks right for a wedding party. And of course, white gowns for me. Not very fancy. This will be very informal.”
“Good.” Josie took another sip of her tea before turning her attention to Bryn. “Did you go out with Malcolm this weekend?”
Bryn squirmed in response. “I’m meeting him for ice cream this week. He's getting ready for that camping trip.” She made a face, but she’d been relieved when he didn’t suggest going out this past weekend.
Her body visibly tensing, Josie shook her head. “I can’t understand why you don’t go on that trip. It would be such good bonding time.”
Bryn attempted a light-hearted laugh. “Right. Mosquitoes. Sunburn. Worrying about bears attacking me when I have to go to the bathroom. Who could have more fun? That just is not my kind of thing, Josie, and you know it.”
Heck, no doubt Josie could fish during the day, cook the catch over a fire and know what to do if she heard a bear rustling in the woods. Bryn wasn't made that way.
Josie got that head librarian look––the expression she wore when she told teenagers to lower their voices. “You know, Bryn, there are probably some good-looking women going on that trip.”
“How do you know that?” Even though Bryn was tired of hearing about this trip, uncertainty rippled through her stomach.
“In case you haven't noticed, Malcolm is one good-looking guy. Some of the women who come into the library insist on having him check out their books.” Josie tapped a finger on the table for emphasis.
Leaning over so Miss Charlotte wouldn’t hear her, Bryn murmured, “And they're probably all over seventy.”
“Not true.” Josie was getting more riled by the minute, crumpling her paper napkin and tossing it on the table. “Females are attracted to Malcolm like flies to nectar.”
“I think you mean bees to nectar,” Bryn said sweetly. “If you're so excited about that camping trip, why don't you take it?”
Josie’s face turned pink. “If I was lucky enough to be dating a man who loved the outdoors, I’d study up on camping.”
Their voices had risen. Miss Charlotte and her two lady friends glanced over. But Maisy brought their croissants and they quickly returned to their conversation. Emily’s deep, rolling chuckle dispelled the tension. “Josie, I think you have to go on Lowcountry Singles the way I did. You need a man, girlfriend.”
One hand around her glass of sweet tea, Josie stared out at the square. A muscle twitched in her cheek. Bryn hated to get her upset.
“If my situation were different, I might consider taking that camping trip, Josie,” Bryn said softly, her fingers crossed in her lap. “But I could never leave my turtles...or my shop.”
Josie wasn’t giving up. “Do your turtles mean more to you than Malcolm?”
“I'm not even going to answer that.” Uncertainty turned Bryn’s sweet tea sour in her tummy. When she glanced over at her friend Emily, she knew her feelings for Malcolm didn’t come close to the love Emily shared with Jackson. “How do you measure love?”
The question hung suspended in the quiet room. Victoria was sliding a tray of salads into the display case. Slamming it shut with a bang, she marched over. “I have to hear the answer to this one.”
“Is there one answer?” Emily’s eyes circled the room. The conversation among the older women had stopped. Silence fell over Victoria's Pantry. “Or is it different for every woman?”
“You have a very good point, Emily.” Miss Charlotte leaned toward them. Looking shocked, one of her friends grabbed her hand. The two other women were clearly appalled. Eavesdropping was practiced discreetly by southern ladies.
“Am I confusing all of you, talking about my wedding?” Emily seemed concerned.
“Of course love is in the air. It should be, right?” While Josie climbed onto her soapbox, Bryn slid lower in her chair. “Emily, I don't think you met all those men on Lowcountry Singles for nothing. You were searching for the right man.”
The thought of meeting strangers made Bryn feel faint. Never in a million years could she ever do that. Besides, she had Malcolm. Steady, trustworthy Malcolm. Still, questions peppered her mind. “How important are common interests?”
Emily jumped right in on that one. “You have to like some of the same stuff, right? I mean, you have to enjoy doing things together or else what's the use of getting married?” Obviously, Emily had given this a lot of thought.
Once again, Miss Charlotte had turned. “Excellent point, Emily. You don’t want to be sitting there all alone while your dearest is at a baseball game. Not that my sweet, departed Raleigh ever did that.”
Nodding their graying heads vigorously, her friends appeared to be considering the same question. They’d given up on shushing Miss Charlotte.
“And that is after you have done all the cooking,” one of the women piped up. Clearly this was a sensitive issue for that lady.
“That would be awful.” Some days, Bryn felt fortunate that she hadn't gotten married right out of high school, like some of the girls. Why, Peggy Sue Merrill ended up divorcing that realtor after only three years. She’d only known him for two months and see where that got her.
Without a marriage prospect in sight when she graduated from high school, Bryn had taken a job at the Piggly Wiggly. Working at the register and chatting with the people of Sweetwater Creek had made her happy. By the time she left, she was the produce manager, known for her pretty gift baskets. Then her folks died and she opened the flower shop. When Malcolm came to town, Josie introduced them.
The conversation swirled around her while Bryn struggled with her private demons, as her mama used to say. Maybe having Malcolm out of town would be a good thing. She had some serious thinking to do, especially after the afternoon with Trevor.
“I think you should look at how a man treats you.” One of Miss Charlotte’s friends spoke up. “If he throws his socks on the floor, he might do the same to you one day.”
“Oh dear. What about a shirt?” the other woman asked. The three drew closer, questions flying through the air without many answers.
Miss Charlotte and her friends were still debating the qualities of true love when Bryn, Emily and Josie paid the bill, said goodbye to Victoria and took off for home. Bryn wanted to check the yard quickly before going into the shop.
When she reached her cottage, she didn’t even bother going inside. Instead, she circled around to the back, dashed up the steps and grabbed a bucket, spoon and gardening gloves from the deck. Then she ran out into the yard.
Although she’d looked the area over closely before going on her walk, a mama
turtle could lumber out of the marsh at any time, intent on leaving her eggs. Although it was unusual to find a nest hidden in the grass, it had happened twice.
Walking back under the tall pines and the liveoaks, she carefully checked the sandy bases of the trees. Oyster shells were often intertwined with the roots, swept up during high tide. The closer she drew to the marsh, the more sand offered opportunities for nests. Overhead, the birds were cawing. Those darn crows had no respect at all. The noise made her cautious. What were they yammering about? Her heart picked up.
Sure enough, when she reached the patch of sand right under a verbena bush, she discovered delicate egg shells scattered all over. Bryn sank to her knees. Lifting her head, she shouted at the birds. “Why don't you go back to your own nests!”
Sifting through the sand with a shaky hand, she picked up bits of shell and dropped them into the bucket. The brilliant morning dimmed. Although she continued to search the usual spots, she found no more tracks.
Turning, she dragged herself back toward to the house, sunlight warm on her shoulders but not in her heart. Nanny Gillum had come out onto her porch. “Bad news out there?” she called out.
Setting down her bucket, Bryn walked over. “Those crows have no respect. I'd like to shoot them all.”
“Just say when.” With that defiant tilt to her chin, Nanny looked totally capable of erasing the crow population.
“You know I was just kidding, don't you?” She didn’t want Nanny grabbing her husband’s old shotgun. That would cause a real ruckus. The neighborhood on Moonglade became more civilized with each new resident, more's the pity. Thank goodness she had that empty lot next to her. With a wave, they said good-bye. Bryn had to get to work.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, she skipped out to her picking garden and cut off some zinnias, marigolds and cosmos. After wrapping wet paper around them, she jumped in her car and headed toward Rookery Road. Parking in back, she unlocked the door and went inside. As she stood in the shady coolness of the back room, the scent of flowers enticed her. This had to be the best job ever. Dropping her purse on the work table, she entered the main room and flicked on the lights. Opening one of the refrigerated cases, she set her picking bouquet in the water and slid the door closed.
Going into her email, she saw that an FTD order had come in and clicked. One dozen peach colored roses. Easy peasy. Who was the lucky lady? When she scrolled down to her own name and the address of her shop, her legs felt weak.
Bryn stared at the message on the screen. Thank you for a wonderful Sunday. Annabelle and Daisy are still talking about it. You are the best friend ever. Trevor. Was he the sweetest man ever or what? Her heart did a somersault. She’d had a wonderful afternoon with those darling little girls.
And with him. She sat down to read the message again.
Peach roses were Bryn’s very favorite. Some had come in two days ago and were in the cooler so they wouldn't bloom. Within fifteen minutes she had them arranged in a green glass vase near the register. As the day passed, she could hardly keep her eyes off their soft, lush petals. The bouquet eased the loss of her nest.
So the boy who once gave her dandelions had grown up and now chose roses. Things had changed. Had she?
***
The door to Sweet Creamery opened, a gust of humid summer air succumbing to the air conditioning. Standing in the door, Malcolm tipped his square chin up and smiled. She waved.
The man was an eyeful all right. No wonder the old little old ladies lined up to check their books out with him. Josie complained about it. From behind the ice cream counter, Myrna looked up. “Hey, Malcolm. Close that door. You’re letting in the heat.” She was always complaining about her electric bill in the summer.
Coming inside, Malcolm ticked one hand against his forehead in a small salute. “Sorry, Myrna.”
Moving with athletic grace, he maneuvered his hips around tables and chairs as if walking through water. With his wind-blown hair and a day’s beard, he looked like a guy who spent time outdoors. The dark green T-shirt and khaki shorts revealed a well-toned body. You’d never guess he worked in a library.
Bryn waited for an uptick in her heart. Nothing. “Did you have trouble getting away?”
Giving a hitch of those muscular shoulders, he slid into the seat across from her. But he didn’t give her the usual kiss. Not even a peck on the cheek. “Not really. I’ve got a great boss.” And he grinned.
Malcolm and Josie got along really well. She’d even let him take over the library’s website, which said something. Josie was very territorial. He’d told Bryn once that the system fascinated him. Malcolm also said that he’d invested in a side venture. He was a guy with a lot of interests.
“So what’ll it be?” He looked back at the list of ice cream delights posted on the wall. “Sundae or cone?”
“Sea Turtle Sundae, please.”
“Why did I even ask?” Bouncing up, he walked back to the counter. The man radiated restless energy. The slow rhythm of the glider annoyed him.
Back in two minutes, Malcolm slid a sundae topped with whipped cream toward her. “Dig in.”
Bryn lifted a spoonful. Her taste buds took notice of the caramel, chocolate and the roasted pecans. “So, all packed for your trip?”
Nodding, Malcolm carved out an enormous scoop of vanilla ice cream. That’s all he ever ate. Vanilla. “Three shirts and two pairs of shorts plus other stuff. I rinse as I go.”
“Such a guy. Sunblock and bug spray?”
He waved it off. “Got all that stuff. This isn’t my first camping trip.”
“Oh, I know. I remember that trip you took to Alaska.” He couldn’t stop talking about it when he got back. Polar bears weren’t her thing and neither was cold weather, although he’d tried to convince her that Alaska did have a warmer season.
Malcolm’s green eyes grabbed her with their intensity. “You’d like it up there. The air is cool and clear. You could get away from this stinking hot summer.”
She shrank back. “Leaving for a vacation takes advance planning.”
Malcolm bit into another mouthful. Her teeth ached just watching him. “I mentioned this back in February. You said you’d think about it.”
“I did?” Throat tightening, Bryn thought back. Maybe he had talked about some summer plans.
“The trip has been on the table for months. I got the information on it in March.”
Stunned, she put down her spoon. “Really?”
His sigh could have sent a sailboat scudding across the open water. “Really.”
Bryn stirred her pecans deeper into her sundae. I’ll think about it. That was what her parents had said when they had no intention of doing it.
“I'll be gone for two weeks,” Malcolm said.
“Wow, that’s a long trip.” Her voice lifted in amazement. “I could never be gone that long. Not in the middle of the summer.”
The light in his eyes dimmed. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
Bryn hated to disappoint people.
With a shake of his head, he glanced at his watch and stood up. He looked totally disgusted and she didn’t blame him. “Look, I should get back to the library. I’ve got a lot to wrap up before I leave and plan on working late tonight.”
“Okay. Sure.” Not hungry anymore, she followed him outside. Shoving her fingers through hair that would be puffy in two minutes, she turned. “Okay then. Have a safe trip.”
Exasperation poured off Malcolm in waves. Or maybe that was just the darn heat. Would he hug her and tell her how much he’d miss her?
No. Guess it was too warm for hugs. Lips pressed so tight, a dime couldn’t pass through them, he dropped his eyes to the cobblestone walk.
“What is it?” she asked.
Throwing back his head, Malcolm said, “Take a chance.” The words exploded in the summer air like firecrackers. She rocked back. But he wasn’t finished. “Maybe you don’t like camping, or cooking over a fire...or whatever. How do you k
now unless you try? Take a chance on something, Bryn.”
Speechless, she watched him walk away.
Chapter 8
Sunday morning, and Bryn didn't know what to do. The hands of the turtle clock on her kitchen wall hardly moved. Malcolm had left yesterday. She’d checked the property twice this morning, scanning every grain of sand for a ripple, a swish–– anything that indicated that turtle eggs might be buried there.
“Take a chance on something.” Malcolm’s words still rang in her head. Right now Bryn wanted to hear a friendly voice. Emily probably had plans with Jackson and Josie was the last person Bryn wanted to talk to today. Taking her phone from her jean pocket, she clicked on Trevor's name.
“Hey, hi. What’s up?” Trevor asked when he answered. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course it is. Everything's...fine.” The weeds were pulled, and the lawn was mowed. No mama turtles had wandered up from the marsh. “I wondered if you and the girls wanted to drive over to Butter Bean Beach.”
“That sounds good,” he said slowly.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “I guess my girls have bathing suits.”
She sputtered out a breath. “Of course they do.” Mrs. Daniels had been the type of woman who’d buy Christmas dresses in September. “Every little girl has a bathing suit.”
He chuckled. “Probably so.”
“Maybe I'll pack peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I make mine with orange marmalade. Will that be all right?”
“Sounds great. Around noon?”
“Terrific. I'll see you then.” Smiling, she hung up. Her day felt full again. She’d be with those wonderful little girls and their dad.
By the time Trevor came to get her, Bryn had a hamper packed with peanut butter and orange marmalade sandwiches, along with potato chips, brownies and lemonade.
