Duet in September (The Calendar Girls)

by Gina Ardito

  As I cruised down Main Street, I sought out a quick spot for a caffeine infusion. My mistake. This was the Saturday of Labor Day weekend, one of the peak times for tourists in Snug Harbor. I passed the block where Mama’s Hen House served breakfast and confirmed my worst fears. Crowds of tourists loitered outside the restaurant on the three park benches, window shopping at the realtor’s next door, or chatting with the others waiting for one of the two dozen tables inside. Their children zipped up and down the sidewalk or slouched beside their parents. Strollers, which were not allowed inside due to the cramped interior, sat parked in rows near the entrance. Strike one.

  Two blocks later, the line at the local bakery snaked the length of a football field. Really? These people were willing to wait over an hour for a few Danish? Sorry, I didn’t have the kind of patience needed to infiltrate that mob scene. Strike two.

  One last place to check. And I couldn’t even squeeze into the parking lot at our local convenience store, thanks to the multitude of beachgoers buying ice for their coolers, twelve packs of canned soda, a quick breakfast, or all of the above. So much for my getting coffee to go. I’d have to wait until I got home for my morning jolt. Which, when I took my sweatpants and giant t-shirt into account, was probably a very good idea.

  I made a beeline for home and soon enough, sat at my kitchen table with a toasted English muffin and my longed-for coffee. Once I finished breakfast and washed my few dishes, I stared at the clock above my sink. Now what? It wasn’t ten o’clock yet, and I had an entire day stretched out in front of me with nothing to do. I couldn’t hit the beach for the same reason I had to come home for breakfast: the plethora of tourists. Ditto for the shops, which would be jam-packed with those seeking that last-minute souvenir of the summer they’d spent in Snug Harbor. I should probably throw some laundry into the washer, but I cringed at the idea of spending my day off doing housework. Besides, it was far too beautiful a day to stay cooped up indoors.

  A bike ride might be nice. And…I sneaked a peek at my thighs in my shortie pajama bottoms…beneficial. Yes. A little fresh air and some cardiovascular exercise. This excursion would also serve as my “something different” today. Win/win/win.

  I quickly dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, before my lazy side could convince me if God wanted us to exercise, He wouldn’t have invented the Lifetime Channel. In the garage, I found my bike penned in by my artificial Christmas tree, the snow blower, and my ski equipment. Okay, so it’d been a while since I’d opted for two-wheel transport rather than four. When I first came home from Albany, Daddy’s deteriorating health had kept Nia and me running back and forth to the hospital. After his death and the funeral, I’d invested all my time into becoming the new Wainwright at the helm of Wainwright Financial. Such a dismal time…

  Enough. I shook off the memories and wrestled the poor bike free. Once I rolled it out, I checked the tires and noticed the front one was flat. I ventured back into the garage for my manual pump and filled the tire with air. Fifteen minutes later, I sailed down my driveway, aimed for the circular road that ran around the marina. A salty breeze kissed my cheeks as I rode leisurely through my neighborhood.

  I waved to Mrs. Seifert as I pedaled by where she knelt, weeding the garden of red and white impatiens around her mailbox. “Good morning.”

  “Morning, Paige,” she called after me. “Enjoy your ride.”

  I would.

  Snug Harbor earned its name because the town bordered large water on two sides. On the southern coast, the Atlantic Ocean offered miles of pristine beach with soft white sand, ideal for the tourist trade. The rocky northern coast sat at the edge of the Long Island Sound, creating a perfect waterway for fishermen. Whereas the south end of town prospered due to multi-million dollar properties, five star restaurants, and upscale boutiques, this side—the north crescent—catered to a very different clientele. No-frills motels, bars, delicatessens that opened at four in the morning to serve breakfast for early rising mariners, bait shops, and takeout restaurants ruled here.

  The north side also had a wilder beauty than the south, thanks to less development and a more rural flavor. At least, that was my opinion. Buildings were erected farther apart, with lots of open space between. Bulrushes caught the breeze and rustled. Seagulls hovered, squawking as they sought leftover food to scavenge. Across the rocky inlet, the Coast Guard station stood sentry with its lighthouse and flapping flags.

  The one exception to this pristine homage to Mother Nature was Coffield’s Wharf, a miniature version of San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf. Our replica boasted a popular clam bar where tourists and locals could grab fresh-caught seafood and pitchers of frosty beer while dining outdoors at picnic tables. For higher end clientele, there was also one five-star restaurant with spectacular water views. The various outbuildings housed a few souvenir shops, an old-fashioned ice cream parlor, an expensive toy store, and of course, a Coffield’s Bluff wine store that offered free tastings on weekends. When Nia and I were kids, our parents often took us to the wharf in the evenings for ice cream or fried clams, or just to walk over to the docks next door to see the party boats sailing back with the day’s catch. At ten on a Saturday morning, I figured most of the crowds would be elsewhere: the beach, breakfast (obviously), aboard party boats, or wherever else tourists went on beautiful sunny days.

  The simple joys of childhood echoed around me as I cycled toward the wharf. I passed the old elementary school Nia and I had attended. Behind the school sat the playground where I’d had my first kiss from a boy. Darren Simmons had been eight and I was seven. His family moved to Texas a few weeks later and for a while, I thought my scandalous behavior was the cause of their abrupt departure from Snug Harbor. When I’d finally confessed my deep dark sin to my mother, she’d laughed and explained Darren’s father had been offered a transfer from his company. The peck on the lips I’d shared with Darren was probably his way of saying goodbye. Of course, only a year later, my mother became the poster child for “scandalous behavior,” but at the time, her comments made perfect sense.

  On the next block, I rode past the public library, a frequent hangout in my school years—before the existence of the Internet.

  Everywhere I looked along my route sparked a memory to make me smile.

  Why hadn’t I done this before now? My legs pumped for an uphill climb, then relaxed my feet on the pedals as I coasted down the other side. I felt exhilarated, powerful, and a little bit sexy. No wonder people raved about the endorphin rush that came from exercising. This was amazing!

  A higher hill came into view, and I shifted gears to prepare. I had to pedal a bit harder than I’d anticipated, but I pushed myself, knowing I could coast down the other side. Once I reached the other side. Funny how I never noticed how steep this road was when I drove it every day in my SUV. My thigh muscles ached, and I actually rose off the seat to get more power into my pedaling. Sweat broke out on my forehead. Still, the bike and I climbed. My pace slowed with my exertion, making every motion harder to complete. At last, I crested the hill, but only found a plateau. No downhill break to catch my breath. I had to push on.

  A few yards ahead of me, a man walked a large, lean dog near the curb that ran along the shoreline. The man had a great build with broad shoulders packed into a tight t-shirt and long, muscular legs in khaki shorts. Nice buns, I contemplated as I drew closer. A good handful, but no excess.

  Beeeeeeep! A car horn blared from behind me, and I swerved to keep the front tire straight. The bike veered onto the road’s shoulder and slid on a patch of sand, nearly upending me.

  The expensive convertible roared past me at a speed I surmised was double the town’s limit. The blond driver, her long hair whipping with the wind, flipped me the bird as she sped on down the road.

  “Nice,” I shouted after her. “I hope you get arrested!” Where was a cop when I needed one?

  “Paige, is that you?”

  Oh, good God. Mr. Yummybuns looked at me over his tasty shoulder, and
I groaned. Why had I wished for a cop right now?

  “Hey, Sam.” I tried to play nonchalant as I braked my bike next to him. “Did you see that moron?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m off-duty right now. If it makes you feel any better, though, Tonya’s at the top of the next ridge with a radar gun.”

  Imagining the blonde’s upcoming surprise, I laughed. “No lie?”

  “Nope.” Sam’s grin sparked fireworks in my belly.

  In the dim hallway last night, I’d found his smile dazzling, but in the light of day, I could easily understand Nia’s attraction to the rest of him. He looked like a sun-bronzed god, all sinew and golden skin with eyes the color of honey and the lushest lashes I’d ever seen on a man.

  If only he were mute…

  As if to introduce itself, the fawn-colored dog suddenly lurched forward to sniff at my sneakers.

  “Daisy, get down.” Sam yanked on the leash.

  “Hi there, sweetheart. Aren’t you a love?” I bent to rub the pooch between its folded ears, then looked up at Sam again. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

  “Daisy won’t hurt you. She’s big but loveable.”

  “Daisy?” I quirked my eyebrows. “You named this huge beast Daisy?”

  “Not my choice. She’s a rescue from the Greyhound Liberation. Her full name is Daisy Chain of Love.”

  “Wow.” I slipped my hand under Daisy’s angular jaw, and she snuffled. “I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be,” he replied. “All the racers get goofy names.”

  Actually, I was referring to the fact that he had a softness for any living thing. But I wisely bit back the insult. “How long have you had her?” I asked instead.

  “Two years.” Daisy licked his hand, and he patted her fondly. “If you’re thinking about a pet, I could probably hook you up with the rescue group. They’re always looking to place retired greyhounds.”

  Me with a dog? I shook my head. I couldn’t even keep a houseplant thriving. “I don’t think I’d have the energy for a former racing star.”

  “The keyword there is ‘former.’ They’re retired so they actually don’t do much running. And you’ve got a decent-sized yard for a dog to get out his ya-yas. Besides, you look like you could handle anything.” He glanced at my bike, then the road ahead, as if he didn’t want me to see the smirk on his face from his attempt to compliment me.

  Yeah, sure. Suddenly he’s worried about hurting my feelings. Get a grip, Paige.

  “Where you headed?” he asked, gaze still fixed on the horizon.

  “The wharf, then home again.”

  He whistled through his teeth. “Oh, right. But you don’t have the energy to keep up with a greyhound. That’s like…what? Eight miles round trip?”

  Eight miles?! I swallowed a gasp and forced a casual smile. No way did I want him to know I had no idea how long a trek I’d planned for myself. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “You training for some kind of marathon?”

  “Sort of,” I lied. “The 10K Twin Fork Ride is next month. I figured I might as well start getting ready.” Wow. Could I get any more ridiculous? No way I had the slightest intention of participating in that torturefest.

  “Where’s your water?” He gestured to my bike frame, then looked up at the sun and shielded his eyes with the flat of his hand.

  Water? My gaze followed his to the empty wire rack where a water bottle should rest beneath my seat. Oops. I forgot about bringing something to drink on my morning trek. I wasn’t about to let him get the better of me, though. “I’ll pick up a bottle when I get to the wharf,” I replied with a dismissive air.

  His brows rose in twin arcs. “The wharf is still two miles from here. You’ll dehydrate long before you get there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the side street. “Come back to the house with Daisy and me, and I’ll grab you a coupla cold ones to go.”

  If this were a movie, the creepy music would start building right now. What should the naïve heroine do? Go home with the monster so as not to hurt his feelings?

  Lucky for me, this wasn’t a movie. I had no qualms about turning him down. “No, that’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

  “Do I scare you, Paige?”

  I snorted to hide my surprise. “Puh-leez.” He thought I was afraid of him? Or was he actually daring me to come to his house?

  “Good. Then you’ve got no good reason to decline. And the break will give you time to reapply your sunscreen, too, since it looks like your face is starting to burn.”

  “My…” Sunscreen. Of course. Something else I forgot. Jeez, I was a moron. But I’d committed to this stupidity and wouldn’t give Sam Dillon the satisfaction of catching me in my lies.

  “Forgot that as well, huh?”

  “I didn’t forget,” I retorted. “I just ran out and decided to pick up more when I got my water.”

  “Uh-huh.” His knowing grin raised hackles on my nape. Note to self: don’t try to lie to a cop. “Come on. Let’s get you properly outfitted for your ‘training.’”

  “It’s really not necessary,” I said lamely.

  “Yeah, it is. Your sister would never forgive me if you wound up in the hospital and I could have prevented it.”

  Nia. Again. I sighed my defeat and pushed my bike forward. “Then I guess I’ll take you up on your hospitality. Thanks, Sam.”

  As I followed him and his dog, I had the uneasy feeling I’d just agreed to visit the devil in his private circle of hell.

  Chapter 10

  Nia

  Now that I’d agreed to meet Aidan Coffield for dinner, I decided to do some reconnaissance. Sure, I should’ve researched him before giving in, but he’d taken me by surprise. This time. He wouldn’t ever take me by surprise again. While I was still alone in the shop, I pulled my tablet from my purse, logged on, and looked up his information online.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t find as much fodder as I would have liked. In contrast to his father’s addiction to fame, Aidan seemed to keep a low profile. There were a few mentions of him in connection with a property located a few miles outside of Snug Harbor, a newly established vineyard called Piping Plover. That explained his obsession with my grape lamps. Apparently, he planned to follow his father into the winemaking business.

  Ogden Coffield had been the heir to a vast Manhattan real estate fortune when he’d caught the wine fever that ran rampant through Long Island’s east end in the 1980s. Nowadays, millions of gallons of wine were produced every year from the thirty or so local vineyards. And Coffield’s Bluff was one of the most successful in the country.

  Do you know who my fiancé is?

  I shoved the memory of the obnoxious Camille’s snide remark into a dark corner of my mental attic. I didn’t care about Ogden Coffield. And I cared even less about his bride-to-be.

  Digging deeper online, I found several articles in the local newspaper’s archive. The oldest was from more than twenty years ago when Coffield’s Bluff Vineyards presented their first varietals to the public. The article included photos of Ogden Coffield, his first wife Luisa, and their then pre-teen son, Aidan, who looked a lot like his mother, now that I scrutinized the images. Thank God. Ogden Coffield had one of the most misshapen faces I’d ever seen on a man—like a rotten potato with jowls.

  “Wow. Where’d the flowers come from?”

  I looked up to see Briana rubbing the pale purple petals of my roses. “Don’t touch,” I scolded. “The oil in your fingertips will kill them.” I had no idea if that were true or an old wives’ tale, but I didn’t want anyone touching my roses.

  Briana moved her hands away from the bouquet, head tilted at me like a curious owl. “Have you got a boyfriend, Nia?”

  Embarrassment dried my mouth to the moisture level of a jar full of cotton balls. “They’re from a customer,” I managed to croak out.

  “Really?” Briana’s expression turned dubious. “For what?”

  “For a project I’m working on for him.” Every word
I spoke rasped. I needed water. Desperately.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It was just a thank you gesture.” I realized the more I denied the boyfriend angle, the more ridiculous I sounded. I kept up the charade anyway. My social life wasn’t Briana’s business, or anyone else’s for that matter.

  “Roses,” the teen remarked. “That’s a weird choice, don’t you think? I mean, these look really romantic. I wish some guy would give me an arrangement like this.” She bent closer to the blooms and inhaled. “God, I love the smell of roses. And the eucalyptus is a nice touch, instead of the usual baby’s breath. Gives them an edge. Roses with an attitude.” She looked up at me, eyes narrowed in open speculation. “I bet these cost a fortune. I hope you’re doing something amazing for him.”

  Did agreeing to dinner count as something amazing? It certainly did in my opinion, considering the idea went against all my principles. But that wasn’t an avenue I intended to pursue at the moment. “Briana, did you come in to talk or to work today?”

  “Sor-ree,” she retorted with a sly grin. “Gee, somebody didn’t get enough sleep last night. Must be a new boyfriend.”

  No matter how much she needled me, I would not discuss Aidan Coffield with her. Glancing down at my tablet, I zeroed in on a photo taken at some award ceremony in his father’s honor. The man sure knew how to wear a tux. In contrast to his father’s severe black on black ensemble, Aidan wore midnight blue with a pale pink shirt and dark blue tie—a touch of whimsy that made me smile. I still couldn’t believe I’d agreed to a dinner date with him. Had I lost my mind?

  “Hey, Nia, think I can leave early tonight?” she asked.

  My head shot up from the image of Aidan Coffield. “Didn’t you leave early yesterday?”

  “Yeah, but that was an emergency. Although, technically, tonight’s an emergency too. Drew Pruchik asked me out, and I need time to redo my face and hair before he picks me up. I mean, this is Drew Pruchik. I gotta look absolutely perfect for him.”