The Irresistible Blueberry Bakeshop & Cafe

by Mary Simses

  He brushed his hand across my cheek. “I’m in love with you, Ellen. That’s the bottom line. I’m in love with you and I want us to be together. I know I can give you a good life. I know I can make you happy. That’s a promise.”

  I looked down at the tiny house nestled in my hand. How could I tell him that I felt something? That of course I felt something. That I couldn’t stop thinking about our dance that night at the Antler. That when he took my hand in the wildflowers at Kenlyn Farm, a vibration went through me like the vibrato of a note played on a violin string. And that even though I tried to convince myself that my feelings for him were just an infatuation, because he’d boosted my ego or saved my life, I knew, standing there, that it was something more primal.

  But I had made a commitment to Hayden. And we were too far down that path. I couldn’t back out now. It was crazy to even think about it.

  I took a deep breath. “You’re a nice guy,” I said. “A really wonderful man, in fact. You have a certain way about you…a certain charm that’s different from anyone I’ve ever known.” Oh, God, this was sounding so stupid. “And I appreciate all the things you said. It’s all lovely, really lovely.” I stopped to collect my thoughts. “And this little house”—I held it up—“it is a palace. It’s magnificent and it’s amazing and it deserves to go to someone who will love you and share your dreams.”

  I looked down. “But that person isn’t me. I can’t be with you.” I held up my engagement ring and let the diamonds dance under the streetlight. “I’m engaged to Hayden. And I’m getting married in a few months. It’s all planned, and Mom’s halfway through her checklist.”

  I thought about my mother and how I’d be letting her down, too. She loved Hayden. And she loved the idea of Hayden and me together. “Mom has it all figured out,” I said, “and when we get back we’ll be sending out the invitations. They’re printed. I’ve got one in the room, in fact.” I pointed in the direction of the inn.

  “The invitations,” Roy murmured, looking past me.

  “Yes,” I said, imagining the ivory card tucked into the mirror—the date, the time, the place. “It’s all arranged,” I said. “All final.”

  Roy’s eyes caught mine and he held me in his gaze.

  “And Hayden’s a good person,” I rushed on. “He’s wonderful, really. We’re cut from the same cloth. I know I’ll be happy with him.” I nodded emphatically. “And let’s face it, I live in New York City. That’s hundreds of miles away. And I have a good career going. I’m pretty well respected for what I do.”

  “I’m not asking you to leave your job,” Roy said. “I’m just telling you that I know I could make you happy, Ellen.”

  Two teenagers on bicycles, a boy and girl, pedaled lazily past us down the darkened street. I watched them until they turned a corner.

  “Look,” I added. “Putting all that aside for the sake of argument, you don’t even know me. And if you did, I’m sure you wouldn’t like me. I’m stubborn and I act like I know everything and I’m high-maintenance and I grind my teeth at night.”

  Roy leaned against the wall of the tailor shop. “I already know all that,” he said. “Except for the teeth-grinding part. And I probably know a lot more about you than you think. I even looked you up on the Winston Reid website. Picture’s pretty good, by the way.”

  He had looked me up on the website. He liked my picture. Oh, God, why did he have to keep saying these things? “That picture’s awful.”

  “No, it’s good,” he insisted. “And everything about you on the Internet—I read it all. And then I found every article that mentioned you. And I found your photographs.”

  “My photographs?”

  “Yeah, the ones you have on that blog. The pictures you took in Italy…I liked those the best. The way you see things, Ellen…” He paused. “You have a way of looking at the world that’s really special. It’s beautiful. It’s a gift.”

  I felt my heart do a double beat. I wanted to collapse into his arms. I wanted him to hold me forever and tell me these things again and again.

  But I couldn’t do that. I was getting married.

  “Roy,” I said. “You did your research. You know a little bit about me, but—”

  “No, wait a minute.” He stepped closer. “I know a lot about you, Ellen.” He had hooked me in his gaze again, and I couldn’t look away.

  “I know you’re smart and you’re funny. And I know you love your family very much. That’s obvious by the way you talk about your grandmother and by the fact that you came up here for her. I also know you’re loyal and dependable, that you never want to let anyone down once you’ve given your word. And you’re an artist, just like your grandmother. Even if photography is only a hobby right now, you need to keep doing it, because you’re great at it.”

  He tilted back his head and peered at me. “And yeah, you’re right. You do go around thinking you know everything. I figured that out right away in the ocean. You were in the middle of whitecaps trying to convince me you didn’t need any help because you were on the swim team at Exeter.” He smiled, and I couldn’t help smiling myself.

  “But I know that’s just the way you are on the outside,” he said. “And you know what?” He lifted my chin and gazed at me. “I love that about you. I love that about you because…well, because I love you.”

  I looked away so he wouldn’t see the tears brimming in my eyes. The wedding gown in the window swirled with beading and lace. I gazed at the tiny pearls stitched into the bodice, the yards of fabric carefully sewn together for some magical day long ago. I thought about everything Roy had told me. And then I told him what I really wanted to believe.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really, really sorry, but I’m just not in love with you, Roy. Infatuated, maybe. Interested, maybe. But not in love. I’m in love with Hayden.” I paused and forced a smile. “And I’m going to marry him.”

  Roy stared at the moon, a silver crescent in the sky. I stood there, not sure whether I wanted him to believe me or not. Finally, he turned back to me. “Well, that’s another story,” he said. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can’t change the way you feel, Ellen. I thought I was pretty good at figuring people out—I really thought you felt something like I did or I would never have come here tonight. But I see now I was wrong.”

  He glanced down at the pavement and then back at me. “Well, I guess that’s that.” His voice sounded lost; his eyes looked tired. He reached into the pocket of his Windbreaker and took out a folded sheet of blue paper. My grandmother’s letter.

  “I’ve been carrying this around with me, but now I think you should have it back,” he said.

  “But I wanted you to keep—”

  “No, Ellen. You should have this. It might be the last thing your grandmother ever wrote.”

  I looked at the letter and then reached out for it. Roy took my hand, held it for a moment, and then let my fingers slip through his. “Well, Swimmer, good-bye, then.” He gave me a little nod, turned, and walked down the street.

  I heard his footsteps on the sidewalk. I watched him get into his truck and heard the purr of the engine. I saw the lights come on and I watched him drive away, the red taillights fading into darkness.

  Chapter 19

  Confession

  I walked back to the Antler, the salt air heavy in my lungs. I had done the right thing, the only possible thing to do. I felt certain. I opened the door and pushed my way through the crowd. The band was playing “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue,” an old Crystal Gayle tune. The tall brunette girl who was singing was doing too good a job with the song, her voice drenched in sadness, and it made me feel like I could cry any second.

  Edging my way through the crowd, I made it back to the table. Hayden was talking to Jim and Tally. A man with a handlebar mustache was standing at the other end of the table, chatting with my mother. I sat down next to Hayden.

  “So what was all that about?” Hayden asked.

  “Nothin
g much,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “Just some things about his uncle. About the farm.”

  “The farm?” Hayden peered at me. “He came here to tell you something about that farm?”

  “He’s going away for a couple of weeks.”

  Hayden took a sip of wine. I could tell he was mulling this over. I could feel him looking at me, wondering if there wasn’t something more to the story. In a deposition, this is when he would begin his methodical interrogation of the witness.

  I noticed the waitress out of the corner of my eye and flagged her down. “I’d like a drink, please. Right away.”

  “Another soda?”

  “What kind of Scotch do you have?”

  “Uh, let’s see.” She began ticking off the names on her fingers. “We’ve got Dewar’s, J and B, Johnnie Walker…” She rattled off a couple of others.

  Hayden blinked. “Scotch, Ellen? Since when do you drink Scotch?”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Jim stabbing the olive in his drink with a fork. “Since now,” I said. “I’ll have a Johnnie Walker Black.” And then I added, as if I knew what I was doing, “On the rocks.”

  “Got it,” the waitress said as she picked up a couple of empty glasses and hustled off.

  Hayden leaned in. “What’s going on with you tonight? You’re like a different person. People here think you’re someone else, you’re drinking Scotch, eating lobster and fries. Maybe you are someone else.”

  “Maybe I wish I was,” I mumbled.

  He looked at me, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing,” I said, waving him off.

  The man with the mustache left and Mom moved to a seat across from me. “I just met the publisher of the local paper,” she said. “Do you know he moved here from New Jersey? Fascinating man. He wants me to play darts later.”

  “Darts?” Hayden and I asked.

  “Yes, darts. With a board and a target.” She smiled like a little girl and rubbed her hands together. “What fun.”

  This was too much. Roy Cummings’s declaration of love; my mother throwing darts with the publisher of the Bugle. When my Scotch came, I took an enormous gulp, letting it blast its way down my throat. I began to cough, feeling as though my lungs were constricting.

  “Kind of like drinking jet fuel,” I gasped.

  “You’re supposed to sip it,” Jim said, eyeing me with a wry smile.

  “So I’ve heard.” I took another long drink. It burned the whole way down.

  The band began to play “Proud Mary,” an old Creedence Clearwater Revival tune.

  “I always liked this song,” Hayden said.

  “Me, too,” Tally said. “Maybe Ellen would let you dance with me.” She gave me a wink, as though she and I were plotting this together.

  The nerve, I thought, but then I placated myself with the knowledge that I’d have the last laugh. Hayden would never get up and dance in a place like this.

  “Don’t take it personally, Tally,” I said, “but Hayden isn’t one for…” I stopped because he was already getting up from his chair to escort her to the dance floor. Upset and angry, I watched them walk away.

  The Bugle publisher with the mustache returned, and the next thing I knew my mother got up as well. She winked at me and made a little motion as though she were throwing a dart. I felt like everyone was deserting me.

  Jim moved to the seat across from me, cracking an ice cube between his teeth. “Want to dance?”

  “Not really,” I said, lifting my glass to take another drink, but getting only ice cubes.

  He nodded and stirred his drink with his finger. “You know,” he said after a moment, “you’ve got an interesting way of drinking Scotch, hammering it down like you do.”

  “I usually drink wine,” I said. “And I sip it.”

  He seemed to be considering this. Then he leaned across the table. “My editor, Tom, is really excited about doing this series on you and Hayden. Looks like it’s going to be quite a wedding.”

  I reached for my glass and rattled the ice. “I didn’t realize we’d become nuptial standard-bearers,” I said, taking a couple of sips of ice water.

  Jim raised his eyebrows. “Oh, no? I’m under the impression that anything you do, you do quite well, Miss Branford.” He grinned and cracked another ice cube. I liked his smile and his crooked tooth.

  “And how would you know that, when we’ve just met?” I glanced at the dance floor, looking for Hayden, but all I could see was one solid mass of moving bodies.

  “Ah, I do my research. And one of the things I read was that piece about you in New York magazine.”

  “Oh, God, the Lark-Hawkins thing?” I grumbled. “I don’t know why that was in the headlines so much. Zoning issues usually put people to sleep.”

  “It was a big development,” Jim said. “There was a lot at stake.”

  “That article was hardly about me,” I said. “And anyway, it’s ancient history.”

  Jim sank back in his chair and peered at me. “It was three years ago and the writer was very complimentary.” He raised his empty glass at our waitress, who bustled by without stopping.

  “Complimentary? He hated me. Said I was a skirt-wearing shark, as I recall.”

  Jim shrugged. “Maybe. But he said your plan was brilliant. I remember that.”

  “All right then, I’m brilliant.”

  “Agreed.” He craned his neck for a waitress, then pointed to my glass. “You want another one? I’m heading to the bar.”

  I nodded.

  When he returned he was clutching an armload of drinks.

  “That’s enough for the whole table,” I said.

  “Affirmative, Captain. Skip, the bartender, insisted. Said they were on the house.”

  Well, I thought, if you can’t beat them, join them. I picked up a glass of Scotch, tilted it, and let the amber liquid glide down my throat. It was starting to taste pretty good—warm, almost smooth.

  The waitress came over with a tray laden with plates of food.

  I stared at the lobsters on the platter she put in front of me, feeling suddenly ravenous. “Do you think we should wait for the others?”

  Jim put his napkin in his lap and picked up a fork. “No, I don’t.”

  I ate some french fries and gaped at the lobster before me. It looked daunting.

  “So,” Jim said. “How does it feel now that you’re just a few months away?”

  “A few months away from what?” I asked, eyeing the metal lobster cracker and wondering if there were tiny instructions printed on it somewhere. I picked it up, but didn’t see anything. I’d never been too adept at using them.

  “A few months away from your wedding.”

  “Oh, is the interview starting now?” The room had become warm and fuzzy all of a sudden, the lights radiating a red glow.

  “Just background.”

  “Okay,” I said, drawing out the last syllable while I tried to remember what the question was. Oh, right—something about how I was feeling now that the wedding was so close.

  “Well, I’m happy about it,” I said. “Of course. I mean, how else would I feel?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Jim said. “Sometimes people get a little nervous when they get closer to the actual date. You know, they worry about whether everything will go well, all be perfect, that kind of thing.”

  I shrugged. “Not me. It’s all under control. Mom’s helping me and she’s very—” I was about to say she was very organized, but before I knew what was happening, something else came out. “Actually, she’s a professional wedding planner. Yeah, and a very good one, so I don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  What was I saying and why was I saying it? It was obviously the Scotch talking, but I couldn’t help myself.

  Jim looked surprised. “A wedding planner. Wow, that’s lucky.” He raised his glass to take a drink, as ice cubes floated around like tiny glaciers.

  “No kidding,” I said, feeling as though I was havin
g an out-of-body experience. “Good thing she was able to squeeze us in.”

  Jim looked shocked. “You mean she’s that busy? She might not have been able to handle your wedding?”

  “Oh, she’s busy all right,” I said. The words were tumbling out now, faster than my brain could keep up with them. “Well, not just with the wedding stuff. She also travels a lot.” I paused. “Dart tournaments.” I stirred my drink with my finger, as Jim had.

  He eyed me skeptically, one side of his mouth turning up. “Darts?”

  “Yeah,” I said, pointing toward the end of the restaurant where the dartboard was located. It was impossible to see what was going on, though, because so many people were in the way. “She’s over there now, probably giving tips to the other players.”

  “That’s…amazing,” Jim said.

  I could tell he didn’t know what to think. “Do you know,” I said, leaning in closer, “that she paid for our summer house on Nantucket with her winnings one year?” This was becoming fun.

  He let out a low whistle. “Impressive.” He cocked his head. “I doubt there are many people who can do what she does. Wedding planner and tournament-level dart player.” I could see a faint smile on his lips. “My mom’s just a plain old CPA.”

  I took another drink. It tasted good, and I was finally feeling good, light and floaty. I started tapping my foot to the beat of the music. The band was playing Faith Hill’s “The Lucky One.”

  “So,” Jim said after a moment. “I was wondering—did you two meet at Winston Reid?”

  I sat back in my chair. “Yes, we met in the cafeteria. There was only one bok-choy-and-noodle salad left, and Hayden let me have it.”

  “The mark of a true gentleman.”

  “Yes, it was,” I said. “Then, on our first date, he took me to a fund-raiser for the governor. We just”—I clasped my hands together—“hit it off.”

  “I hear Hayden’s interested in politics himself. That he’s going to make a run for city council.”