Haven Creek

by Rochelle Alers

  If she hadn’t been on the rebound from what had proved to be a relationship in which her heart had overruled whatever common sense she had at the time, Morgan never would’ve become involved with the much older and more worldly professor. It’d taken years before she felt comfortable dating again, and none of those relationships progressed beyond the platonic stage.

  “Now that we’ve settled that, what do you want to order from Jack’s?” she asked.

  “I’d like neck bones and gravy with a side order of perlow rice.”

  “Smoked or fresh bones?”

  “Fresh,” he said, smiling.

  “Those are my favorites, too,” Morgan said as she scrolled through her cell’s directory for the number for Jack’s Fish House. “Every order comes with a container of sweet tea and biscuits. Do you want dessert?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Even though she cooked for herself, Morgan ordered from Jack’s at least twice a week. She didn’t know what it was that made their dishes so exceptional. Whenever someone asked Otis or Luvina Jackson their secret for concocting some of the best dishes in the region, their answer was their pots. The rice pots, cast iron skillets, and Dutch ovens were seasoned from years of preparing recipes that had been passed down through countless generations of Lowcountry Gullahs.

  She added Nate’s order to her own shrimp cakes and crab cakes with a side of potato salad. “Make sure to deliver it to M. Dane Architecture.”

  “Is that off Moss Alley in the Cove, ma’am?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Someone will be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  Morgan hung up. “Twenty minutes.” She waved away the two large bills Nate had taken out of his pocket. “Jack’s sends me a statement at the end of each month.”

  Folding his arms over his chest, Nate gave her an incredulous look. “You order that much food from them?”

  “I order whenever I have a meeting, and I provide lunch for my receptionist, Samara Lambert.”

  “Last week she and her husband, Nelson, rented the vacant house across the road from my dad’s.”

  “Jeff hired Nelson as a deputy sheriff, and as a condition of his employment he had to move from the Cove to the Creek. Now we have resident law enforcement in all three towns. Nelson got back from being deployed last year, and even though Samara is a teacher she was having a hard time making ends meet with him gone. Samara offered to work for me as a part-time receptionist now that her kids are on summer break.”

  “What are you going to do when school starts again?” Nate asked.

  Morgan paused. It was a question she’d asked herself many times. “I’m hoping to find someone with some interior design experience. They don’t have to be full-time, because I spend most of my time in the office.”

  “What if you have to leave?”

  “I try and schedule appointments to go to furniture warehouses or textile shops on weekends. Do you know anyone willing to work at least twenty to twenty-five hours a week?”

  Nate shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anyone.”

  “It would be easy if I’d opened an office in Savannah because I could always get a student from SCAD.”

  “So you have a degree in architecture from Howard and a graduate degree in interior design from Savannah College of Art and Design?”

  “I also have a postgraduate degree from SCAD in historic preservation.”

  “No wonder you’re not married,” Nate remarked glibly. “You’ve been a professional student most of your adult life.”

  His words had the same effect on Morgan as they would have if she had taken hold of a rosebush with her bare hand. The thorns stabbed and drew blood. “I wouldn’t be able to balance marriage, motherhood, and a career at this time in my life.”

  “Women do it every day. Look at my sister and yours.”

  “My sisters stayed home for two years after their children were born, and that’s something I wouldn’t be able to do even if I were married right now. If I did marry, then I would have to delay becoming a mother until Angels Landing is completed. And you’re a fine one to talk, Nate. You’re pushing forty and I don’t see you with little Shaws running around.” If looks could kill, there was no doubt that Morgan would’ve dropped dead the instant Nate glared at her.

  “I wanted children, but my ex-wife didn’t, because her career was more important than our marriage.”

  “I’m…I’m sorry—”

  Nate put up his hand. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Morgan. The topic is moot.”

  Her temper flared. “You were the one who brought it up.”

  “I know and am I’m sorry I did. Can we call a truce?”

  Crossing her arms under her breasts, Morgan turned her back. “I’ll think about it.”

  Taking two steps, Nate pressed his chest to her back. “How long are you going to think about it?” he whispered in her ear.

  Morgan couldn’t think, not with his body touching hers so intimately. “Don’t!” she screamed, laughing uncontrollably when he tickled her ribs. “Stop!”

  “Have you thought about it?”

  “Yes!”

  “What say you?” he asked, his hands moving up her rib cage.

  “I give up! Truce.” Tears were streaming down her face from uncontrollable laughter. She managed to put some distance between them when he finally dropped his arms. Wiping the moisture with her fingertips, Morgan glared at Nate. “One of these days when you least expect it I’m going to pay you back.”

  A wide grin parted his lips. “Is that any way to talk to a friend?”

  The doorbell rang, preempting what she wanted to tell him about friendship. Friends didn’t tease friends. Brushing past him, she walked in the direction of the front door. Nate’s fingers tightened around her upper arm and stopped her retreat.

  “Stay here, Mo. I’ll get it.”

  Morgan was still in the same position when Nate returned, carrying two bags with Jack’s logo on them. “This one is yours.”

  “Please put it on the table in the lounge. I’ll eat it later.”

  “You’re not going home?”

  “Not yet. I still have some research to finish and print out before I leave.”

  “How late do you work?” he asked.

  “I usually try to leave before it gets dark.” She had never gotten used to driving at night because none of the roads was lit. The alternative was to take the ferry at the Sanctuary Cove landing back to Charleston, then pick up the causeway.

  “I’ll wait with you,” Nate volunteered.

  She shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Mo, please don’t fight me on this. I know you leave before nightfall because you probably don’t like driving in the dark. And that means I’ll wait.”

  Resting her hands at her waist, she angled her head. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you?”

  “Not tonight.”

  If he’d been any other man, Morgan would’ve thought he was trying to dictate what she should and should not do. That was what the last man she fell in love with attempted to do.

  “Okay, Nate. Let’s eat first.”

  Chapter Six

  Morgan washed her hands before covering the table with a white linen cloth, then set it with round placemats made of bulrush sewn with strips of saw palmetto. Then she set out napkins, plates, silver, glasses, serving dishes, and spoons. She emptied the large containers of sweet tea into a pitcher.

  Nate, having washed his hands in the bathroom, stood watching her. “Do you do this every time you sit down to eat?”

  She glanced up at him. “Of course.”

  “Aren’t you making a lot of work for yourself when you could just eat from the carton?”

  “Don’t you ever eat at the table?”

  He moved behind one of the chairs, resting his hands on the back. “When you work at a construction site, you sit on the ground and eat whatever y
ou’ve brought with you.” Nate pulled out the chair. “Come sit down, Mo.” He seated her before taking a chair on her left.

  Morgan handed him the dish containing a crab cake and a shrimp cake. “Please take one of each.”

  “Only if you’ll have some of the neck bones I ordered.”

  She ladled a spoonful of neck bones onto her plate, along with a serving of potato salad. They ate, concentrating on the delicious cuisine. Morgan broke the comfortable silence when she said, “Tell me about the work you did in California.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” Nate said as he picked up a light, fluffy golden biscuit.

  Morgan stared at Nate’s profile. The contours of his face reminded her of Michelangelo’s statue of David. Her gaze shifted to his large hands, with their long, slender fingers and clean, blunt-cut nails. She recalled the calluses on his palms, indicating he was no stranger to hard work.

  “I still want to know.”

  “Why?”

  Resting her chin on the heel of her hand, she lowered her gaze. “I’m curious as to why you stayed away so long.”

  Picking up his napkin, Nate wiped his mouth. “Money.”

  She blinked. “Money?” she repeated.

  He nodded. “I’d gotten a full academic scholarship to attend several colleges, but I decided on San Diego because a widowed aunt lived there. She’d married one my uncles, and because she never had any children she invited me to live with her. Despite not having a lot of money, she bought me a secondhand car so I could commute to and from campus. Halfway through my freshman year I got a job with a local contractor building custom kitchen cabinets. Whenever he paid me I took out enough for gas and incidentals and gave what was left to my aunt. It wasn’t until my father called to ask me whether I was selling drugs that it hit me that Aunt Lizzie had called him. He went on and on, threatening to come to San Diego and beat me if I’d gotten involved with drug dealing. I had to explain that I’d taken a part-time job, while still keeping my grades up.”

  “What was your major?” Morgan asked in between bites of the expertly prepared fish cakes.

  “Business. I continued making cabinets even after I’d graduated. That’s when a developer approached me to work for him. It was the beginning of the housing boom and he was in demand, putting up mini-mansions and subdivisions in southern California, Arizona, and Nevada. I put in an average of sixteen hours a day building cabinets and designer doors. I carved a set of doors for a house in Vegas made of Brazilian mahogany that sold for two million dollars.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

  “I wish. The client owned a share in one the casinos.”

  “Talk about conspicuous consumption.” There was a hint of revulsion in Morgan’s voice.

  “The price was obscene, but he never batted an eye when he wrote the check. I’d made so much money that the IRS owned my soul, so that’s when I decided to invest it. I ran into a guy I knew from college who’d gone on and on about building self-storage units similar to those used by commercial companies. He nagged the hell out of me until I agreed to sit down with him, and we worked out a financial feasibility plan. We started with one location in L.A. Two years later we had six in Los Angeles and three in San Diego. Collectively we owned more than two dozen sites when I sold my share earlier this year. I was amazed at the number of people who are hoarders. And they’re not like the folks you see living in filth, like those on reality TV shows, but people who are loath to throw anything away.”

  “Were you affected when the bottom fell out of the housing market?”

  “No, only because I was an independent subcontractor—not a developer who buys land, builds homes, then waits for someone to purchase them at outrageously inflated prices. When everything went bust I was living in L.A.”

  “I can’t thank my granddaddy enough for willing me his house, because there is no way I would’ve been able to afford to buy a house on my former salary. I did update the plumbing and wiring and expanded it to suit my lifestyle.”

  “Is the showerhead operable?”

  Morgan screwed up her face. “You know you’re not right.”

  He smiled from ear to ear. “It’s just that when you pay someone to do work for you it should be done right the first time.”

  “Have you never had to go back for a do over?”

  “Never. Only because I had an incredible teacher. My father would make me cut and sand a piece of wood over and over until I was ready to clobber him with it. He said he couldn’t in good conscience take folks’ hard-earned money and do a half-assed job. There’s an old sign on the wall in the shop that reads IF IT’S NOT PERFECT, THEN IT’S A SIN. I don’t know how long it’s been hanging there, but it’s become a Shaw credo.”

  “Are you going to put it up in the barn?”

  “I’m not overly superstitious, but something tells me if I take it down it’ll bring bad luck.”

  Nate was more than lucky. He’d been blessed. In addition to his college degree, he had inherited a skill that went beyond anything he could learn from books. It was almost inconceivable that someone would pay him two million dollars for a set of doors. But for those who had more money than they knew what to do with, it was little more than a drop in the bucket. He’d become the fortunate recipient of their folly.

  “If it ain’t broke, then don’t fix it,” she intoned.

  “You’re right about that,” Nate said in agreement.

  Morgan glanced at her watch. It was a lot later than she realized. The research she wanted to finish would have to wait until she got home. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

  Pushing back his chair, Nate stood. “What about your research?”

  “If I’m not too sleepy I’ll do it at home.”

  She rose to her feet, reaching for the dishes. Nate had answered her question as to why he’d elected to live in California, but there was another question she wanted answered: how he’d met his model-actress wife. That might have been too personal, and she didn’t want to cross the line and jeopardize their newfound working relationship. Even though he would be an independent subcontractor, she still held the purse strings.

  Nate reached for the serving dishes. “I’ll clean up the table while you take care of your office.”

  “There are containers in the cabinet over the sink for the leftovers. You can take home whatever you want.”

  Nate met her eyes. “What about you?”

  She managed a tired smile. “I have food at home.”

  Morgan hadn’t realized how fatigued she was until she stood up. She’d gotten up at dawn to go cycling with Francine. Her friend always biked from the Cove to meet her, and then they returned to the Cove before Morgan biked to the Creek, cycling along the causeway’s bike lane. The early morning ride always left her invigorated. Occasionally they would walk down to the beach and watch the sun rise. After a leisurely shower, fortified with her usual breakfast of fiber, seasonal fruit, and a cup of herbal tea, Morgan was ready to meet the challenges of the day.

  Most times she could be found in her office hours before the business district was beginning to stir. The exception was when she decided to stop off at the Muffin Corner. Lester and Mabel Kelly always opened early for customers looking to buy freshly baked bread, doughnuts, and other bakery items.

  “Are you sure you don’t want save some for tomorrow’s lunch?” Nate asked as he walked into the kitchen.

  “I try not to eat the same thing two days in a row.”

  “You don’t eat leftovers?”

  “If I eat chicken today, then I won’t eat chicken again until Friday.”

  “Picky, picky,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “I heard that,” she called out to his broad back. “Just rinse the dishes and I’ll stack them in the dishwasher.”

  She’d gone through a phase when she’d not only been a picky eater but also ate only enough to keep from being malnourished. On one occasion, she’d gotten sick
after she’d gone to a restaurant with her family to celebrate her father’s birthday. Her illness had become so severe her parents had to take her to the hospital. Unfortunately the doctors were unable to identify what had gotten her sick, which frightened Morgan so much that she was afraid to eat for fear of a violent reaction. Once she got over her phobia she monitored everything she put into her mouth in the hope that she would be able to identify what made her sick if she were to experience a similar reaction.

  “I do know how to use a dishwasher,” Nate called out as he emptied the remains of their dinner into glass containers.

  “So you’re not one of those helpless bachelors?”

  “Far from it. I can cook, clean, change baby diapers, and put out the trash without being told.”

  Sitting in front of her computer, Morgan logged on, printed what she’d saved, then logged off. She had no comeback to Nate’s claim that he didn’t need a woman to take care of his daily needs.

  She’d gathered her tote bag when he joined her in the office. “Aren’t you going to take the leftovers?”

  Nate shook his head. “I’ll get them tomorrow when I come back to fix the shower.” He glanced around the office. “Are you ready?”

  “Let me check the back door and make certain the transom is closed.”

  Five minutes later she sat in her Escalade following Nate as he drove slowly along Main Street. The streetlights had come on, and most of the businesses had closed. The lights ringing the town square highlighted the young people who’d gathered around the fountain. Once she drove past the Cove Inn, blackness descended as though someone had pulled down a curtain. A sweep of headlights from an oncoming vehicle illuminated the road. She focused on the taillights of the Sequoia as Nate maneuvered along the road, seemingly having memorized every curve.

  Morgan let out an audible sigh when she saw the lights from Oak Street in the distance. It would’ve been preferable for her to set up M. Dane Architecture and Interior Design along the Creek’s main street, but the town’s charter wouldn’t permit two businesses offering the same services to open within one thousand feet of the other. She also didn’t want to anger her former employer. Traditionally, businesspeople who lived in the Creek operated their businesses in the Creek, and it was the same in the Cove. Those living in the Landing were given the option of doing business in either town.