Sweet Days by the Bay

by Kay Correll

  “Hey, Whitney. You look nice.” He stepped back. “Come on in.”

  She followed him inside, taking in the understated but elegant beach decor. Someone with a great eye for interior design had furnished the house. There were cool mint green chairs, a white sofa that begged to be sat on, and soft, flowing curtains on the side windows. A huge wall of windows and French doors covered the entire back wall of the house, with a stunning view of the bay. “This place is lovely.”

  “My grandmother likes it. She comes here often.” Rick continued on until they reached the kitchen.

  The great room in the back and the kitchen were all one flowing room, perfect for entertaining. She couldn’t imagine renting a place this grand, and it boggled her mind Rick’s family had rented two houses like this for two full weeks. He looked right at home in the place, though. He moved with a self-confident ease.

  She wondered if he’d like to share some of that ease with her…

  He walked to the enormous fridge and pulled open the door. “I have another bottle of white burgundy. You seemed to enjoy that last night. But I also have beer. Or there is red wine over on the bar.”

  Trying not to seem overwhelmed by the house, the fact she was once again having dinner with a famous actor, or the choices of beverages, she slowly walked farther into the kitchen. “I’ll just have a beer, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” He stood back a step. “Take your pick.”

  She looked in the refrigerator. It held a dizzying array of bottled beer, most of which she didn’t recognize. “I’ll have a Corona.” She at least recognized that bottle.

  He reached for the beer and then snagged one of the fancy named bottles for himself. He got out two glasses from the tall cabinets perched over the expansive granite countertop. She watched his hands as he expertly sliced a lime and poured her beer. He gave her a glass and raised his own. “Here’s to a non-eventful dinner.”

  She’d drink to that.

  Rick grabbed a tray with their steaks and led the way out onto the deck. “It’s a nice evening. I thought we’d sit outside while I barbecue.”

  Whitney followed him outside and settled into the glider near the grill. He put the steaks on and sat next to her, close enough to touch her and smell a hint of her perfume.

  She took a sip of her beer. “The view here is gorgeous. I bet you see some fabulous sunsets.”

  “I’ve caught a few since I’ve gotten here. They are nice.”

  “The bay is so wide here, you can barely see the shore across the way.”

  “My grandmother says she loves to sit right out here on this glider when she stays here. Of course, she brings a cook and her assistant with her when she comes.”

  “Really?”

  He grinned. “At least. Sometimes more.”

  “I can’t even imagine.”

  “My grandmother thinks I’m roughing it this week with no cook or other help.”

  “I guess you didn’t tell her about eating at Sweet Caroline’s every day.” She smiled at him. “But you did say that you’re a grilling whiz.”

  “Just you wait. The steaks will be great.”

  She looked at him doubtfully. “Somehow I don’t picture you as a chef.”

  “Well, I can grill. That’s about it.” He shrugged. “I’m also a whiz at heating up leftovers in the microwave.”

  “A man of many talents.”

  He felt his phone vibrate, and he took it out of his pocket. Shawna again.

  “You can get that if you need to.” She nodded at his phone.

  “Nah, it’s not important.” He slid the phone back into his pocket. No way was he having the conversation he needed to have with Shawna while Whitney was sitting here right next to him. He still was a bit surprised—and proud of himself—for convincing Whitney to come over.

  “So you said you grew up in Philadelphia.” She sipped her beer and looked at him with her endless blue eyes.

  Focus on words, not eyes. “Yes, mostly. I went to a private school, then I went away to camp each summer. My parents were really busy.” Really, really busy. Sometimes he wondered why they’d had kids. Well, except now they got to brag about his sister the surgeon and his brother the lawyer. “How about you? I bet you grew up in a house with a white picket fence and family dinners.”

  She looked out at the bay. “Not exactly.” Her voice was soft and low. “My mother died when I was a young girl.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just blurted out my imagined perfect life for you.” He was a clueless fool.

  She nodded, accepting his apology. “My father didn’t handle it well. He—my father—was gone a lot after that. He would just—disappear.”

  “That must have been tough.”

  He watched her take a slow sip of beer, then square her shoulders. “My brother basically raised me from then on. He took multiple jobs, dropped out of school at one point to work to keep food on our table. We kept it a secret that my father was gone so often.”

  “I can’t even imagine, I’m sorry.”

  “Well, we did okay, though I was always afraid that someone would come and take me away. I was afraid they’d come and throw me in an orphanage or foster home.”

  He was never again going to complain about his childhood. His was a bed of roses compared to hers. “So do you ever see your father now?”

  “I do. He came back a year or so ago. We made peace with our past. He’s a good man and regrets he wasn’t there for us back then. But Willie and I turned out okay.”

  “You’re close to your brother. He accepts you for the person you are. I envy you being that close to him.”

  “You’re close with your grandmother.”

  “I am. I adore her.”

  “And your nieces.”

  “But not my siblings.”

  “Families are strange things, aren’t they?” She trailed a finger through the moisture on her glass, lost in thought, then her delicate fingers wrapped around her drink.

  He couldn’t quit sneaking quick looks over at her. She’d found a lot of forgiveness in her heart. He admired her for that. Heck, he admired her for so many things. Like the fact they could sit here and talk like this and he wasn’t afraid she was just looking for a story she could later tell about on social media.

  Whitney insisted on helping clean up the dishes after dinner. It was the least she could do after he cooked this meal for her. Even if he did kind of burn the steaks, not that she let on she thought that. He seemed so proud of his grilling whiz title.

  They puttered in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and putting leftovers in the fridge.

  “I could drive you home.”

  “No, that’s not necessary.”

  “Then how about I walk you home? I don’t feel comfortable letting you walk back home alone.” He set a towel on the counter.

  “You realize I walk home alone every night.” She rolled her eyes.

  “But I asked you over. This is different.” He winked at her. “It was hard enough to say yes when you said not to come pick you up. But I’d just convinced you to come to dinner, so I didn’t want to push my luck.”

  “Well, if it will make you feel better, then you can walk me back home.” Might as well humor him.

  “It will.”

  “Well, we must always be about what makes you feel better,” she teased him.

  They walked outside and down the long stairway. The evening sky dazzled them with starlight. They headed toward her house, and he tucked her hand on his elbow. She left it there, enjoying his closeness as they fell into step. They chatted more about the weather forecast for the party and his growing to-do list.

  “I usually have someone who handles this kind of planning for me.” He shrugged. “But I wanted to do this myself, for my grandmother.”

  “I’m sure whatever you do, however the party turns out, she’ll love it.”

  He walked her up to her door. She debated asking him in. She needed to get up early in the
morning but wasn’t ready for the evening to end.

  “You going to invite me in?” He put on a proper pretty-please look.

  She laughed. “Yes, of course. You did walk me all the way across town.”

  “I did. It was… exhausting. I should probably sit with you for a while until I’m all rested up.”

  “Of course, you should.” Her heart did a tiny flip, which was ridiculous. He’d just been polite to walk her home. She was just being polite asking him in.

  She unlocked the door, led him through the house, and out on the back deck. They stood at the edge of the deck, enjoying the gentle sea breeze. She looked up at the starlit sky and suddenly a silly thought popped into her mind. “So… why do you think they call actors movie stars? I mean, I wonder how the term star got started. Who decided actors were stars?”

  “I never really thought about it. Though, there are other stars, right? Like baseball star, country music star?”

  “I guess you’re right. It’s all you glittery, shiny people.”

  “Not sure I’ve been called glittery before.”

  “You know what I mean.” She looked at him, leaning against the deck rail, all relaxed. Just like a regular person. Only he wasn’t a regular person. He was a movie star.

  He looked down at her then, with his make-her-knees-go-weak-like-a-fool smile. He stood for a moment, looking at her. “Have you ever been kissed by a glittery person before?”

  “I—”

  She felt him, more than saw him, lean toward her to kiss her. Time froze. The heat from his body spread through her. But he was a movie star. His eyes were filled with… With what? Her thoughts collided in her brain. Uncertainty twisted with longing. Fear—not of him, but of her feelings—washed through her. At the last second, she turned her head, and he brushed a kiss on her cheek.

  He stepped away and tossed her an impish grin. “Close enough.” He took her hand in his. “I had a really great time tonight.”

  She tried to concentrate on words, not the almost-kiss. “I did, too.” The warmth of his hand spread through her, connecting her with him. She didn’t think she ever wanted him to let go of her hand. Which was ridiculous. She barely knew the man, right? Oh, the confusion he caused.

  “I should go.” He looked down at her hand in his.

  She nodded. He let her hand slip out of his, walked down the stairs, and with one last smile, disappeared around the cottage.

  She stood on the deck, her now empty, lonely hand resting on the railing. She looked out to sea with the waves rolling to shore in a relentless march. She looked up at the endless, starlit sky, suddenly feeling all alone and small standing here beside the ocean.

  What kind of trouble had she gotten herself into now?

  Chapter 9

  The next morning, Rick grabbed his phone off the table when it rang insistently. Shawna again. He couldn’t keep ignoring her forever. Though… maybe he could. He set the phone down without answering. A tiny bit of guilt hovered over him for ignoring her. Again. He’d talk to her soon, but right now, he needed to work on the birthday party. That was his number one priority.

  Or, he could admit he was just flat out avoiding Shawna…

  And another thing. He needed to quit thinking about his near-kiss with Whitney. He’d been surprised when she’d ducked her head at the last minute, not that he blamed her. He’d caused her nothing but trouble with the photos and people in town talking about her.

  He looked at his to-to list, the kiss firmly out of his mind. Kinda. He decided to confirm everything with the musicians he’d hired. He tapped in their phone number. A squeaking recording came on. “I’m sorry, the number you called is no longer in service.”

  He looked at his notes again and confirmed he’d put in the correct number. He scowled, then took out his laptop, opened his browser window, and searched the internet for the website of the band. Before he could locate it, a notification for his social media account flashed across his screen. He clicked on it and sat back in his chair.

  Whitney’s name was plastered all over social media. Someone had obviously given her name to the press. He clicked over to a Hollywood gossip site and saw a video of a reporter interviewing Shawna. He clicked on the sound and sat back while Shawna, in the way only Shawna could make everything all about her, tell the reporter Whitney’s name.

  He was torn between calling Shawna and letting loose on her—she knew how much he valued his privacy—and rushing over to let Whitney know her secret was out. Of course, he had to admit, he’d ignored Shawna’s calls for days.

  He slammed the laptop shut. He’d better go talk to Whitney. She was not going to be pleased.

  He grabbed his keys and headed out the door. He glanced at the red sports car. It turned a lot of heads wherever it went, but at least he’d get to Coastal Creations more quickly. The faster he got there, the faster… she’d kill him. He sighed. He needed to get to the shop before Whitney found out from anyone else. He had to try to make this right.

  Whitney sat behind the counter at Coastal Creations working on the necklace for Viola Lemmons. It was turning out nicely, which pleased her. She didn’t know why she felt so much pressure to assure that this piece was special.

  She shook her head. Of course she knew why she was so attached to this piece. She wanted Rick to be proud of her work. She reached up and touched her face, a gesture that she’d done about a hundred times since he’d kissed her cheek last night.

  Oh, she knew he’d been going for her lips, but she’d been so taken by surprise that she’d turned her head at the last moment and he’d pressed a kiss to her cheek.

  The cheek she kept touching. A blush warmed her face from the memory of the look in the depths of his deep blue eyes.

  Luckily, she hadn’t fallen for the magnetic draw of those eyes of his.

  She hadn’t.

  She didn’t want to be a weekend fling. Not with Rick. Not with anyone. He had a life across the country. She had one here. Besides, Willie had said Rick was involved with Shawna Jacobson. Though, maybe he was used to dating several women at once. What did she know about the glamorous Hollywood life?

  She had to admit, she’d been just the tiniest bit sorry she hadn’t let him kiss her properly. Though, maybe he was just going to give her a friendly peck on the lips.

  She set the necklace down in frustration. Why, oh why, did she always have the tendency to overthink things? She looked up at the sound of the bell jangling over the door.

  “Miss Layton?” A man entered the shop.

  Great. A customer would take her mind off things. Specifically, Rick. “Yes, may I help you?”

  “I’m Steve Jones from the Charleston Review. I wanted to know if you have a statement about your relationship with Rick Nichols.”

  She grabbed the edge of the counter. “My what?”

  “Your relationship with Rick Nichols. What is it like to date a movie star? Did you ever think you’d meet someone like him in Indigo Bay?” The Steve guy hammered out questions.

  “I don’t have a relationship with Rick Nichols.”

  “But you had dinner with him at Bistro Fifty. You’ve been seen around town with him.”

  “I…” She looked up when the bell above the door rang again, then she grabbed the counter even tighter. This was not going to help. “Rick…”

  The reporter whirled around. “Mr. Nichols. Steve Jones here from the Charleston Review. Would you like to make a statement about your relationship with Miss Layton?”

  “What I’d like is for you to leave the shop.” Rick’s eyes flashed with fury. “There’s no reason to invade Miss Layton’s privacy or to bother her at her place of work.”

  “I just wanted to get—”

  “You were just leaving.” He held the door open.

  The reporter held his ground for a moment, then sighed and slipped past Rick and out the door. He stood outside on the sidewalk though, refusing to leave.

  Rick grabbed his cell phone. “Mitchell, I ne
ed a detail, pronto. Indigo Bay, South Carolina. Twenty-four-hour coverage. I expect you here by evening. Yes, thank you.”

  Rick walked over to her. “You okay?” His voice was low and soothing.

  It did nothing to subdue her nerves. She released her grip on the counter and sank onto the stool.

  “Whitney, you look… frazzled.”

  “Frazzled? This is frazzled? This is certifiably upset.”

  “I was on my way to tell you that your name got out. I was hoping to tell you—”

  “Before I found out by a reporter waylaying me in my shop?”

  “Um, yes, before that.” He walked behind the counter and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  “How can I run my shop if reporters and media people hang around outside my door? How do I know who’s coming in to order some of my jewelry and who’s just a looky-loo trying to see Rick Nichols’ new conquest?”

  “You’re not a conquest.”

  “What am I?” She looked him right in the eyes.

  “I…” A sheepish look covered his face. “I don’t know what we are. I like you. I enjoy your company. You’re fun to be with. You don’t ever treat me like—”

  “Like what?”

  “Like an actor. Someone you only want to be with because of what I am.” He dropped his hand from her shoulder.

  She sat in stunned silence. She hadn’t even thought about all of this from his angle. How he never knew if someone was interested in Rick the person or Rick the actor. She looked closely at him again and slowly took his hand in hers.“I never thought of it like that, from your perspective. I just keep thinking, why is someone like you going out with someone like me?”

  “Because you’re kind, and pretty, and have a quick smile. Because I enjoy being around you. Because you like to watch sunsets and you didn’t even mention that I burned the steaks last night.”

  She laughed then, and the laughter freed the tension coursing through her. “They were possibly a tad overcooked.”