Love on Lavender Island (A Lavender Island Novel Book 2)

by Lauren Christopher

  “He’s . . . not like I remembered.” It was the only thing she could think to say. She knew that too many adjectives would give her away.

  “Paige.” Her mother’s voice held the timbre of warning. Paige could picture her, her silky auburn bob shimmering. It was a wig she began to wear after the first couple courses of chemo, but it almost exactly resembled her real hair from before. She habitually reached up when she was nervous, pushing a few strands back with the tips of her narrow, French-manicured fingers. “I hear something in your voice.”

  Paige pressed her lips together. She knew her mom would read things into this. “Mom, it’s fine. Tell me more about why you went to the hospital. Was it your legs? Were they checking for blood clots?”

  “First tell me about Adam.”

  Paige was trapped. She tried to think of vague descriptions. “He’s . . . uh . . . tall. Polite. Smart. He has a loyal staff up here, and—”

  “Oh, Paige, for goodness’ sake. You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”

  “Mom.”

  “I know you. ‘Tall’ means attractive, ‘polite’ means charming, and ‘smart’ means savvy. I’m just worried about you. You can’t make good business decisions if you’re swept away by the man.”

  “Mom.”

  “This is just like that summer.”

  “It’s not like that summer.”

  “Then it’s just like later, with Terry Connor—remember him? Remember how you got swept away, and I ended up having to fire him as the wedding photographer?”

  “This is not like Terry Connor.”

  “And Brandon Nichols? Remember the DJ that you got wrapped up with, and he ended up as a no-show on the Brewster wedding?”

  “Mom, I was eighteen.”

  “Paige, you wouldn’t keep things from me, would you?”

  A wave of nausea swept through Paige. Her mother always used that line—it had been her trump card. It was how she got Paige to tell her about the first boy she’d kissed, the time she’d been only thirteen but tested all the wine in the fridge, the time she’d snuck out her mom’s car overnight to meet some friends at the beach. That line was like a truth serum.

  “Paige?”

  “It’s fine. Everything is fine.” Paige sank back into the chair and waited for God to strike her down.

  “Because I’m counting on you. And so is Dorothy. Do you need me to come up there?”

  “No.”

  “I think you need me.”

  Paige gripped the phone and closed her eyes. “I will be furious if you come up here. You just had an EKG. You need to rest. Everything is fine. Adam is fine. He’s polite and smart—and by that I mean polite and smart—and he seems to be a hard worker. He’s not in any kind of trouble with the police, like you were worried about. That’s it. Now stop. He needed to discuss some things with his lawyer, but I’m in discussions with him now about the gazebo and the orchard, and it’s going to be fine. I’m cleaning up Gram’s place and researching local vendors. But this place is in serious disrepair, Mom. Also, most of the wedding vendors are in LA, so that’s a huge hassle, getting everything across on a ferry, and the staff we’ll need to take care of it will be enormous. But I’m working on it and—”

  “Paige, don’t tell me you can’t do it.”

  “No, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying—”

  “We need to pull this off.”

  “I’m not saying—”

  “Don’t lose this deal, honey.”

  “I’m not going to lose it. I’m just saying—”

  “Just get Adam to lend us at least some of the land. Especially the orchard, plus the area for the gazebo. We’ll take care of the details later.”

  “Of course.”

  “Great. Great. You’re doing great, baby. Is he anything like his father?”

  Paige stalled over the sudden shift. “What?”

  “If he’s anything like his father—”

  “Mom, stop talking about Adam. Let’s move on. I wanted to ask you about the size of the gazebo and—”

  Her mom continued as if she hadn’t heard her. “He’ll be shifty, wily. Is he good-looking? George was so good-looking—with that blond hair and those blue eyes . . . he looked like Robert Redford. And Adam is probably charming. He got into all that trouble, remember? With that girl? What was her name?”

  “I have to go now.” Paige couldn’t bear to tell her mom about Samantha, or Amanda. Her mom would have no sympathy. Ginger had always thought of Adam as a troublemaker at best and a deviant at worst. And, when business was her mom’s primary objective, she had that uncanny way of turning off her heart. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

  Her mother seemed almost disappointed to be snatched from her memories of George, but she cleared her throat and said yes.

  “Are you doing the yoga moves I taught you?”

  “Yes, actually, they’re quite good, Paigey. They do make me feel better.”

  Paige smiled. She’d been working on a set of yoga moves specifically for her mom’s chemotherapy-induced body aches and was now expanding the repertoire for chronic conditions like arthritis and fibromyalgia. She’d been receiving great feedback so far from Ginger and some of her friends.

  “Do you want me to call Mrs. Terrimore to check on you?” Paige asked.

  “For God’s sake, Paige, I’m not ninety. I’m fine. I have a cell phone.”

  “But you don’t pick it up.”

  “I listen to the messages,” she said indignantly.

  “Have Natalie or Olivia called you?”

  “Olivia called last night.”

  “Do they know you were in the hospital?”

  “Paige, please. We’re driving each other batty. Maybe we’d better hang up. I’ll call you again tomorrow night. Be good. And stay smart around Adam Mason.”

  “I will.”

  “You’re a smart girl.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t let him take advantage of you.”

  “Take advantage of me?”

  “Just be smart.”

  “I will.”

  Paige hung up and looked out the window. The rising sun cast an orange glow through the pine branches lining the back of the property, dappling the green ground with what looked like gold dust.

  Leaning against the countertop, she sighed.

  This was going to be a delicate dance.

  As she continued to stare out the window, gazing at the patterns in the grass left by the leaves, a figure in a cowboy hat caught her eye. She sucked in her breath and slid away from the window.

  Could that be Adam?

  And why was she hiding?

  Dang. She leaned forward and peeked out the window again.

  A few more cowboys joined the first. All over her yard. Young, old, with great bodies. What in the world? It looked like a Chippendales show out there.

  She saw her favorite cowboy leading the pack. Adam said something to one of the older guys, then tugged on his brim, wiped his palms on the thighs of his jeans, and stepped up to her porch.

  “Howdy,” Paige said when she answered the door. She meant it to be sort of funny—she felt as if she were suddenly in a Wild West film.

  “I brought some helpers,” he said.

  She glanced over his shoulder. A couple of the young ones were inspecting a broken fence, and another was peering into the cellar. “I see.”

  “This is Antonio, my super.” Adam pointed to the older guy, who was climbing the porch steps.

  “Hello, ma’am.”

  Being called “ma’am” for the first time made Paige’s brain stall. For some reason, she thought of her agent, Dirk—was he right? Was she going to be washed up in Hollywood before she ever began? But a second later, there was something oddly satisfying about it. It felt sophisticated. She briefly wondered at what age Lauren Bacall and Rita Hayworth were first called “ma’am.”

  “Call me Paige,” she said in her best Rita Hayworth voice.

  “P
aige.” Antonio tipped his hat toward her.

  “Antonio’s crew will replace the cellar door,” Adam said. “They’ll also patch up some holes on the roof and put a new screen over the chimney for raccoons. My wranglers there will fix your fence. That’s Luke, Gabe, Gordon, and Joe.”

  Paige studied the four. All were muscular and young and cute. When Paige and Natalie were still early twentysomethings, they’d always joked that Lavender Island had a terrible shortage of that age category—which was part of the reason they’d never wanted to come here. Little did they know the hot twentysomethings were up on the hill, working on this ranch with their muscles bulging out of their cowboy shirts.

  “Thank you for the help,” Paige said. “But I don’t know if I can afford all this.”

  “The labor’s on me,” Adam said. “And the materials for the fence and roof are items I had left over. These safety issues are things I meant to do for Helen anyway.”

  “Thanks, Adam.” Although he’d intimidated her before—and had been causing a flurry of emotions pretty much every time she looked at him—she now sought his gaze and bravely held it to convey her appreciation. She didn’t even need to call on Ava Gardner or Lana Turner for courage. She simply let her heart fill with sincere gratitude and met his stare. “Truly,” she added in her own voice.

  For the first time, she saw him falter. All this time, she’d seen him as a rock from the earth—confident, dismissive, not caring a lick whether she existed or breathed. But in that one moment, when she said “truly” and held his gaze for maybe a second too long, she saw his expression flicker with uncertainty or confusion. He almost looked flustered.

  He cleared his throat and pivoted on the porch. “I, uh . . . I have a generator for you. It’ll get you by for a few days until we can get the electricity problem fixed.”

  “A few days?”

  “You can sleep at the resort—I have your room reserved through Thursday—but the generator will allow you to at least charge your phone and a few power tools. Pedro and I will arrange to get the electricity fixed by Thursday.”

  “Thursday?” Paige felt her shoulders fall. This would make things harder. But it wasn’t the end of the world. She could work around this and still stay on her deadline. “Okay, the generator will be great.”

  She made herself busy (and tried not to stare out the window) while Adam and his biceps hauled and situated the generator. As he stepped away, he adjusted a few balustrades around the porch that were coming loose, then inspected the bottom step that was starting to fall apart. Her eyes traced his every move as he wandered out to the fence line to get the wranglers started on the fencing project.

  Paige put her water glass down and went to adjust the curtains in the dining room so she could get a better view. From atop a dining chair, she tugged and tugged, trying to get the one side over without snagging. At one particularly forceful tug, though, she lost her balance and fell into the window screen. As if in slow motion, she found herself tumbling—along with the entire screen—outside the frame and straight into the grass.

  “Ooof!” Her belly and elbows broke most of her fall. She could hear the men shouting and running toward her. She slowly rolled over and stared into the sun.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you okay?” It was two of the younger guys, staring down into her face.

  “I’ll be fine once you all stop calling me ‘ma’am.’” It was one thing when you could adopt a Rita Hayworth stance, but another altogether when you were spread-eagle in the grass.

  Adam’s face joined the others to stare down at her, too—but his held a note of amusement. He extended his hand to help her. “Enjoying the view?”

  She let him lift her, brushed off her elbows and her pride, and tried to stand tall.

  “I’m fine.” It was all she could do to keep from batting him away. She had embarrassing falls and stumbles constantly—she was quite used to awkward adventures—but she didn’t usually do them with an all-male audience who treated her like a senior citizen.

  “I’m fine—I’m fine,” she said as Gordon reached for her elbow. She hustled out of their view as quickly as she could. But halfway around the corner, her gait turned into a limp.

  She dragged herself up the porch steps and tried the door. But . . . damn. Had she locked herself out?

  Her forehead dropped to the wooden doorway.

  “Need help?” she heard over her shoulder.

  Adam. She didn’t lift her head. Now he’d seen her with her butt in a window, a splinter in her foot, falling out a window, spread-eagle in the grass, and locked out of her own house. She might as well have a sign over her head: PAIGE GRANT: AWKWARD SINCE 1987.

  “I think I’m all right.”

  “You look like you’re locked out.”

  She sighed. She might as well face the fact that she was never going to be able to hide her gracelessness from him. She was never going to look like Faye Dunaway or Anne Bancroft to Adam Mason.

  “I think I left the side door open.”

  She heard his heavy boots come up the steps and a set of keys clink. Then his arm was reaching around her. In seconds he had the key in.

  “I’ll give you these extra keys now,” he said over her shoulder. “I only had them when Helen needed me to check on things. Unless, of course . . .”

  The door fell open, and Paige stepped inside. “Unless what?” She glanced back.

  “Unless you have these situations often.” He was definitely trying not to smile.

  She limped into the kitchen. It was hopeless. He’d never taken her seriously back then, and he wouldn’t take her seriously now. She wanted to talk to him about letting her use the meadow regardless of the sale, but now didn’t seem to be the time. Right after she’d been sprawled in the grass and all.

  She poked at a few keys on her laptop.

  “Are you going to be okay?” He pushed the keys toward her across the dining table.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped.

  “Your hip, I mean, are you sure you—”

  “I’m fine.”

  He lifted his hands in a surrender position and backed toward the doorway. “Just making sure.”

  “No need.”

  He frowned at the fruit cups sitting on the counter. “Is that all you’re eating?”

  She really couldn’t handle any more of his observations regarding her sad life. “Don’t you have to be going now?”

  He blinked back at her. “Sure.”

  She followed him to the door and watched him head down the steps.

  “Thank you for the generator,” she mumbled.

  He lifted a hand and kept walking.

  Paige watched him saunter away with his languid, sexy stride and wondered how she’d ever turn this ship around.

  First step: stop acting like a goofball.

  Second step: let him see her being capable.

  She knew she was—capable, that was. In her normal life, away from the island, she felt efficient in many things. But for some reason, whenever she was here on Lavender Island, she launched back into old behaviors. And coming face-to-face with the boy who’d laughed at her attempts to be cool in her developmental years didn’t help. Not that he appeared to remember. But it was still hard. She simply didn’t seem to know how to be competent in front of him.

  But a lot more was riding on this now than pride—she had business reasons to impress him. Not to mention her mom counting on her. And Dorothy Silver. And getting that part. And then, of course, her dream of the yoga studio.

  She was just going to have to pull herself together once and for all.

  She’d be a different person around Adam Mason.

  Starting right now.

  CHAPTER 9

  For the next couple of days, Paige woke every morning, yanked open her hotel-room drapes, did her pranayama practice and asanas in the best patch of sun she could find, then drove across the meadow to do more work on Gram’s house.

  By day three, she’d managed to
get all the downstairs windows clean. The floors were mopped, the cabinets were wiped, and at least seven repairs had been started. Paige had even started searching for gazebos online. She found an enormous one—it was perfect—and sought out a private shipping company to bring it over when it was time. Now she just had to talk Adam into lending her the land to build it on.

  By the end of the third day, Paige stood back, hands on her hips, to admire her work. She could almost see now how beautiful this place would be again, once it had its full face-lift and was filled with cozy furniture. Click seemed to approve, as well, as the kitten leaped up onto one of the newly cleaned sills to check out the views.

  Paige was exhausted, though. And she knew she should probably talk to Adam, but she didn’t know if she had the energy to look like the new pulled-together woman she needed to project. She also wanted to return the empty propane tank for the generator, but she didn’t want to show up looking this spent. Maybe she’d just slip it onto his porch, hope not to see him, and go back to the room to shower and relax. Then she’d get her act together and talk to him.

  She dragged her things onto the flatbed part of the golf cart and headed back across the meadow. The sky was turning a dusky blue, the dandelions blowing gently in the evening air. She’d come to love these bookend times of day—the hour the sun rose over the meadow, then the hour the sun decided to set, making its hesitant decision to disappear. She loved the feeling that the sky was holding on to something wonderful—only to give in, and then slip into sunsets that became even more vibrant and beautiful.

  Her wheels bumped around the edge of the resort. It had been nice having a few days off from Adam—and the tiring work of trying to be someone more sophisticated, or at least tamping down her hormones. After making such a fool of herself, then being plagued with memories of his flexing biceps as he hauled that generator around, not to mention his seriousness and intensity that she knew must be amazing in bed, she’d had a terrible time getting him off her mind. It was exhausting.

  At his back porch, Paige hopped out of the cart and pulled the propane tank onto the top step, pushing her hair out of her eyes and wiping away the line of perspiration trickling its way down her cleavage. As she turned to make her quick escape, she caught a glimpse of him walking through the field.