by Susan Hatler
“No, wait . . .” I gazed out at the ocean water, then turned back to Brody. “Let’s throw it back in the water. Is that okay?”
He shrugged and held my gaze for a few moments. “Whatever makes you happy, lovely lady.”
“Be free, fishy.” I leaned over the railing, watching the fish fall into the blue water, then it swam away. It was good to know I could catch a fish, but also that I could choose to let him go.
By the time we got back to the dock, the smile on Greta’s face could have powered the electricity in several counties. “Well done,” she said to me as we disembarked. “The ladies seemed engaged in their personal activity, while also resisting temptation. The perfect day.”
As we all parted ways, Brody thanked me for the boat excursion, and I thanked him for helping bait my fish and then letting my catch go without protest at losing a good meal. Then I let my gaze linger on his retreating form, still able to feel his hand against my lower back, his arms around my waist, and his body pressed against mine.
Was Brody dating Ms. Blonde Bikini? I told myself I didn’t care. That liking him would only lead to something disastrous . . . not only to my job, but to my heart as well.
Chapter Seven
The next day, I stood on the mansion’s front doorstep and clapped my hands. All eight women looked up at me expectantly. The stretch limo idled in the driveway behind them, waiting to take us to our next event. Despite the sheer blue-skied, sun-dappled perfection of the day, I broke out in a cold sweat at the shouts of excitement coming from our next-door neighbors. After the near disaster of the fishing trip, which thankfully had been averted, I was glad this morning’s activity would be solo. Now I had time to prepare myself before seeing Brody at the next group event.
I pegged each woman with my gaze and held up my finger. “As you know, phase one of Greta’s brilliant plan to become an independent woman is to ‘Love Yourself,’” I said, using my cheerleader voice. Greta stood next to me, wearing a gold silk top with beige leggings, as we addressed the group. “So, today we’re applying the principle from chapter five, ‘Pamper Yourself, You’re Worth It,’ by going to the Blue Moon Day Spa.”
Murmured approvals ensued, making me smile, and I earned a pat on the shoulder from Greta. Score!
“Please take a seat in the limo, and we’ll be on our way.” I exhaled after the last person climbed in, then I slid into the plush leather seat next to Greta, and my stomach growled. I’d been so busy all morning I hadn’t eaten breakfast. So, I opened my purse, grateful that I always carried an emergency granola bar with me. I’d also packed my hardback copy of Men: Who Needs Them? I was in sore need of a reread. Just this morning I’d woken up from a hot and heavy, delicious dream about Brody. Again.
“Are you feeling alright?” Greta asked. “You seem flushed, darling.”
“I’m fine.” I forced a grin. “Just excited about the pampering.” Duh. I sounded like I was going to receive a diaper change. What was wrong with me?
I never swooned over a guy like this. Not even Hunter. Truthfully, I’d been taking things slow with Hunter until he’d started talking about our future and a lovely little cottage with a view of the bay, and a white picket fence to boot. Then he’d pulled the rug out from under me, deleting that nice little scenario, just because I’d had to focus hard on work. Thank goodness I was single again, and didn’t need to worry about a male distraction. Only here I was stressing.
If only I could stop those hot dreams about Brody. . . .
“Look!” Amy exclaimed. “There’s the castle.”
Blue Moon Day Spa sat just on the edge of downtown, so the ride was relatively short. The spa was housed in a castle previously owned by a successful local vintner, who eventually moved to the bluffs, and passed the castle on to his daughter. She opened the spa.
Local stone was cut to adorn the front of the building, which had a gothic appearance. The turrets had small blue flags waving in the breeze emblazoned with the spa’s logo. I exhaled at the thought of finding something in my life so solid, like event planner of The Date Escape, all around the world—if Greta found me worthy.
The ladies gazed up at the front of the castle with a mixture of widened eyes and “ooh” sounds. Some even bounced on their leather seats. All seemed giddy at the sight, except for Charlie and Silvi, who were locals and had obviously seen the castle many times.
My heart tugged as I studied the look of boredom on Charlie’s face. Or maybe she was just sad. It was hard to tell. I missed my old friend, whom I could read like a book. This woman was nothing like the spirited girl I knew in high school, who had such a flare for life. But where had that flare gone? Had she lost her zest completely as a result of an ugly breakup? Or was that joy sitting under the surface waiting for someone to coax the happy girl I remembered to laugh and live once again?
“Here we are,” I sang, forcing all other thoughts from my head. Janine and I were participating in every event per Greta’s insistence. Being an event planner was about knowing what my client wanted and implementing that, but more and more I was finding the lines between my job as retreat coordinator and participant blurred.
The women chatted as we went inside to check in and from watching the subtle touches and laughter, most seemed like they were fast becoming friends. Before we’d left, each woman had selected her various activities for the day, and each of us had a bonding partner. I made sure they were all settled before I headed for my first activity of the day: a one hour foot massage and hot tea soak.
Settling back in the chair, I sighed with contentment and Charlie sat beside me. When I drew her name to be my partner for the day, I felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of spending time with my old friend. Maybe I wouldn’t even put my foot in my mouth this time. I still couldn’t believe I’d called her Ms. Rockwell. Oh, embarrassment.
Unfortunately, Charlie wore a grimace on her face that didn’t exactly scream, “Let’s chat!” I exhaled sharply, and tried to focus on relaxing. But every time the massage therapist touched a pressure point on my foot, I jumped instead of easing back into the cushy chair.
I glanced at Charlie, who had her eyes closed. Maybe I should just talk to her and break through my jitters. But, what if she didn’t want to be friends with me again? Did I really want to risk knowing the truth of how she felt about me? Then, I remembered a line from chapter two in Greta’s book: A confident woman isn’t afraid of rejection.
I took a cleansing breath. “So, Charlie,” I said, feeling grateful I’d addressed her by her first name like a normal person. “Where are you living these days?”
Charlie’s gaze darted to the two massage therapists working on our feet. “Just . . . around, you know,” she replied, giving me an unreadable look.
“Great! That’s just great,” I said, feeling stupid because she hadn’t even told me where she lived. What was so great? Lame, lame, lame. “Um, so, do you talk to anyone from high school anymore?” I asked, trying a different tactic.
She shook her head slowly. “Not really, you?”
“Just Megan,” I replied, automatically. “Wendy too, actually. She moved back to town when her grandma passed away and left her the inn, so we reconnected. She was supposed to sell the inn, but then she met this guy and found a way around the terms of the will . . .” I paused, closing my eyes. Was I babbling or what? “Anyway, she and her brother kept the inn, and the details all worked out. Plus, her boyfriend, Max, is pretty amazing. One of those too good to be true men.”
She flinched. “I’m . . . happy for her.”
Her face looked pained, and I could only wonder what had possessed me to wax on about an amazing man when Charlie had been cheated on and publicly dumped by a rock star. I dropped back into silence, knowing that keeping quiet had to be better than anything that could come out of my mouth. Besides, if I wanted to relax, and if I wanted Charlie to relax, the only way to accomplish that was to be quiet.
As if on cue, my cell phone buzzed in my purse. Sta
rtled, I sat up straight, grabbed my purse, and fumbled with the phone to turn off the ringer. Before I could, though, I saw my dad’s name flash across the screen. He’d been having such a hard time since my mom left him for her old high school boyfriend that I couldn’t let his call go to voicemail.
The massage therapist gave me a scowl, but what was I to do? Glancing over at Charlie, I mumbled, “Sorry, I have to take this. It’s my dad.”
She just nodded, and leaned back with her eyes closed. Even though she appeared to be relaxing, she could hear every word I said. But my dad needed me more than ever now.
“Hi, Daddy,” I whispered as quietly as I could. I turned my chin toward my shoulder, attempting to be as hushed as possible. “I’m kind of busy right now. Is everything okay?”
“Hi, Pumpkin,” my dad’s voice came through loud and clear. Again, my massage therapist glanced up, and I cringed.
“Hi,” I squeaked. “Can I call you back?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, I hate to bother you but I need your advice. Your mom said one of the reasons she left was because I never brought her flowers. So, I showed up at her new place this morning with an autumn bouquet.”
“You brought her flowers?” I asked, but I didn’t like where this was headed. Just the other day, my dad had told me he was beginning to accept the end of the marriage. Now he was bringing her gifts? “Why?”
“Well, you know,” he said, and I could picture him shrugging. “She’s kind of right about me neglecting her. I can’t remember the last time I brought her flowers. I just never thought about it, I guess.”
“So what happened?” I asked, wondering if she appreciated them.
He heaved a loud sigh. “That guy was there,” he spat the word out like it tasted bad. “She says they’re just friends, but what was he doing at her house this early in the morning? Pumpkin, what should I do?”
My heart ached and my throat tightened. “I don’t know, Daddy. Can’t you ask your counselor for advice?”
“I don’t go back to him until Friday,” he said, his voice soft, and defeated. “I just miss her. She always said I worked too much. Maybe I did . . .”
“You worked hard to pay the bills. That doesn’t mean she should walk out on you,” I offered, wishing this whole nightmare had never happened. “Go do something nice for yourself, something that will take your mind off her for a few hours. I love you, Daddy.”
We got off the phone, and there was nothing I could do to relax after that point. My stomach twisted into a hard knot, and tears clogged my throat. My distress must’ve been apparent on my face because when I glanced over at Charlie again, she gave me a sympathetic look.
“Are you okay? Is everything okay with your parents?” she asked.
Charlie had hung out at my house for years, and used to love my parents. “Not good,” I said, shaking my head, and swiping at my eyes. “My mom left my dad, and she’s been hanging out with her old high school boyfriend. My parents will probably get divorced. They always seemed so happy.”
“One always has to question perfection,” she said at last.
“I just can’t believe that my mom would do this to my dad,” I said.
She pumped her shoulders. “Sometimes, people surprise you,” she said. “And not in a good way.”
It seemed obvious she was also talking about her ex-husband, and how he had cheated on her. My heart clutched in my chest. I couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been for her, and I wanted to say something to comfort her, but what?
Just as I opened my mouth, I heard the soft chime of a bell signaling the end of our session. Charlie stood, cinching her robe around her waist. Before she left, I caught the look of despair on her face. Clearly I had upset her and ruined her relaxing day.
My heart sank into my stomach as I realized I was failing miserably at this job. I was in charge of making everyone happy, and yet Charlie looked more miserable than when she arrived. I was letting my real life intrude on the retreat experience, which was probably something I shouldn’t have been doing.
Glancing down at my purse lying open beside me, I caught sight of my unopened Men: Who Needs Them?, and sighed. Would I ever actually understand how to be a happy, confident woman like Greta? I was starting to have my doubts. Or maybe there was an element I was missing, something that could never come from a book.
Chapter Eight
Grateful for a moment to myself the next evening, I breathed in the cold air that blew off the bay, and tightened my jacket around me. Standing at the shore, I rocked back on my heels, gazing up at the bluff rising toward the amber sky. I loved the way the sheer rock face stretched up vertically to hold the expansive mansions across the top. Soon the women and their guests from next door would arrive for our next event, so I reveled in the solitude while I could.
Although I’d accidentally made Charlie miserable at the day spa yesterday when we were supposed to be bonding merrily, I tried to shake off the general heaviness in my shoulders from the failure of that event. My focus had to be on moving the retreat forward, letting go of what had happened in the past. That was one of the premises of Greta’s book that I desperately needed to embrace. I rubbed my eyes, finding the task of measuring up to Greta’s standards harder and harder.
Tonight’s event was what Greta termed an “Independence Challenge.” She wanted us to prove to ourselves we could do things typically left to “whiskers,” as she put it. I got her meaning. She wanted the women to see that just because something was often viewed as a “man’s thing,” that didn’t mean women couldn’t do it just as well or even better. Ironically, the fishing experience with Brody had been more satisfying with him sharing my moment.
Our assignment tonight was to make bonfires on the beach using only flint and steel fire starters. We needed to gather our own twigs, small bits of straw, and driftwood to start our fires. The guys were welcome to help us build the larger stack of wood for the bonfire as long as we stayed in charge of the task. Once we succeeded in lighting our timbers, we’d then take a lighted stick from our fire and light the group’s large stack of wood to create a massive bonfire and then we’d roast marshmallows. Go us!
Minutes later, I turned away from the ocean to see people trooping down the stairs of the two neighboring homes, heading down to the beach. I forced myself not to look for Brody, even though he told me he’d be here tonight. Would he come to the event with the blonde?
We all gathered at the bottom of the stairs, and there was an air of excitement in the mix. Greta stepped forward, stopping beside me, then facing the group.
She clasped her angora-gloved hands together. “Welcome, everyone. Tonight is going to be fun. Before we roast our delicious goodies with our guests, we’re going to participate in the most elemental of all creation. We are going to bring forth fire.”
“Good thing we have firefighters here to help us in case we mess up,” Erin joked, and several of the other women hooted and exchanged high fives.
My brows came together. What was she talking about? Were we inviting more guests that I didn’t know about? Thoroughly confused, I kept my eyes trained on Greta.
“Olivia?” Greta asked, enunciating all four syllables. She held a twinkle in her eyes, and she gave me a warm smile. “Would you explain the exercise, darling?”
I had to fight to keep my jaw from dropping. She’d originally wanted to stay in charge of this event, but now she was letting me take over? That had to be a sign of approval—that she thought I was a confident, independent woman. Or, at least on my way to becoming one.
Either way, my smile widened. I wanted to do a happy dance.
“Thank you, Greta.” I nodded to her, held up the small item in my hand, but couldn’t help wondering what Erin had meant about firefighters helping out. “Janine will give each lady a flint and steel fire starter. This side is the flint,” I said, pointing to the longer portion. “And this is the steel. When you hit them together, it should send a spark, so be careful.”
Charlie’s eyes were on me. Her face was blank, so hopefully she wasn’t still upset that I’d brought her down yesterday by reminding her of her husband’s betrayal. She came on this retreat to find something. Whatever that was, I wanted her to have it. I hoped she knew that.
“You’ll want to find a small amount of kindling you can shape into a loose ball,” I said, reciting what I’d learned in a book. I hadn’t had time to try this out yet, but how hard could making fire be? “Aim the flint at the ball, and hit the flint with the steel in a forward motion, away from your body. If you have any questions, be sure to ask for help. Good luck!”
The women fanned out across the beach, chatting with our male guests as they all searched for driftwood and fine bits of dried material. Brody’s gaze caught mine, and he started toward me. My heart thudded in my chest, but I nodded to him then dashed in the opposite direction to Janine. I needed to find out what was going on with the firefighters, before Greta figured out I’d been left out of the loop.
“Hey, Janine,” I said, once I’d caught up with her.
“Hi, Olivia,” Janine said, adjusting the red scarf around her neck. “This should be fun, huh? If only it were a little warmer out tonight. Brrr.”
“Yeah, it’s cold.” I laced my arm through hers, not giving a care about the weather. I checked over my shoulder to make sure Greta wasn’t close enough to hear. “Hey . . . Erin mentioned firefighters were coming tonight? Any idea what that’s all about?”
Her brows came together then she bent down to pick up a piece of wood, examined the small grey piece, then clutched it in her hand. “I think it was just a joke about the guys. She’s got the hots for Pete and has been beyond giddy since she found out he was a firefighter. The hero thing, you know.”
I tilted my head. “Pete’s not a bartender like the others?”
She placed the piece of wood under the crook of her arm, then frowned over at me. “Bartender? Huh?”
