by Olivia Miles
Chloe gave a little shrug, but it was clear that she wasn’t convinced. She walked around the counter and stared at her appointment book, and even though Sarah knew that perhaps she was off the hook, that perhaps yesterday’s disaster was replaced with today’s, she didn’t feel right just letting it hang there, never knowing when it would come up, or how long it might lurk.
“About yesterday,” she blurted, now wishing she hadn’t said anything at all when she saw Chloe’s icy gaze cut across the room. She gripped her hands together until they hurt. “I want to apologize. I didn’t know that a client would be here.”
“We’re open to the public,” Chloe said. “You should always assume that a client will be here.”
Sarah felt her shoulder sag. Leave it to Chloe to make this more difficult than it already was. “I feel terrible. I should have kept my personal problems to myself.”
“Correct,” Chloe said, letting her eyes drift back to the book. For a moment Sarah thought that the worst of it was over, that Chloe was going to drop it there. Instead, Chloe came around the side of the counter.
“And I didn’t realize that was…the Merrik client.” She held her breath, hoping that Chloe had cooled off, that maybe the bride had found it funny, maybe even flattering that she was amongst the lucky ones?
Chloe just raised an eyebrow. “I can’t think about this right now with everything else I’m dealing with at the moment. We can discuss it Monday. At the staff meeting.”
Sarah supposed in a way that was promising. It meant she still had a job. But it also meant she wasn’t off the hook just yet.
She walked over to the flower girl dresses and began fluffing the skirts, even though they were already fluffed. Sweet little dresses. The pink one in front was the same style Hannah’s two flower girls would wear.
“So, will you be at Hannah’s bridal shower tonight?” Sarah asked, eager to make lighthearted conversation even though of course she wished the answer was that no, Chloe wouldn’t be there to spoil the fun and stress her out and make her a nervous wreck the entire time.
“Evie and Kelly asked me to help plan it,” Chloe replied.
Of course. “Well, I can cover the afternoon if you want to head out early to set up,” Sarah offered. It would be chaotic, especially with Melanie out for the day, but she could manage. And maybe, just maybe, it would help her to earn her way back into Chloe’s good graces.
Or at least buy her some much-needed space, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief when the first client of the day pushed into the shop, her eyes taking in the goods like a child would enter a candy shop.
She’d have to find a way to prove to Chloe that she was a good hire. Until then, distance was best, she thought, as she moved to the storage room to check on some orders that she had technically checked on yesterday.
Chapter Three
The real estate office was located in the heart of downtown Oyster Bay, and Chris had already set up the meeting earlier in the week, hours after he learned that he was now the sole owner of the property that was commonly known as Crestview. He arrived early, happy to relax in the comfort of the cool, temperature-controlled waiting room, next to an oversized, waxy plant and a stack of magazines, his back to the window with its view of Main Street.
“Chris?” A man a couple years older than himself appeared in the entranceway near the front desk. “Jeff McDowell. Pleased to meet you.”
“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” Chris said, standing to shake his hand. Jeff looked vaguely familiar, and judging from the way that he was frowning, perhaps he felt the same.
“Come on back to my office,” Jeff said, leading him down a short hallway to an office that held a desk and two grey upholstered visitor chairs. There was a framed photo on a file cabinet of two boys. His kids, no doubt. “So, you’ve inherited the Foster estate.” He raised his eyebrows, seeming impressed, or perhaps he was just mirroring Chris’s own feelings. It was overwhelming. It was too much. It needed to go away.
“It belonged to my uncle, and my grandparents before that. I spent every summer there as a child.”
“Ah.” Jeff nodded, his grin one of satisfaction. “I thought you looked familiar.”
“I didn’t get to know any of the kids in town, but yeah, you probably saw me around.” He cleared his throat. He didn’t need to go down memory lane. “The place is obviously too big for me, and my home is in Boston. I’d like to list the property.”
With any luck he could be out of here by tomorrow.
Jeff was still nodding, but now his smile had turned to something tenser. “I’m afraid that it won’t be as straightforward as you might hope.”
Chris frowned. “It’s old and it needs some work, but it’s oceanfront. Aren’t people climbing over each other to find property like that?”
“Yes—”
“Or a developer,” Chris said, but something in his stomach tightened at that thought. It was one thing to sell the house. It was another to know it would be torn down. He blinked, forcing back that ache in his chest that was creeping in. No, let it go. Let it go completely. It was better that way. After all, what was he supposed to do with it? “My father found an interested developer years ago. Surely that land is worth something.”
“Technically, yes—”
“What do you mean, technically?” Chris could feel his blood pressure rising. It was bad enough that he’d have to pay property taxes on the place. Now he was being told there wasn’t a market for it?
“Your uncle’s house is now a registered historical landmark,” Jeff explained.
Chris swore under his breath. “That sounds ominous.”
“It means that selling to a developer is no longer an option. And unfortunately, the historical status, coupled with the condition of the home, may make it a tough sell, even with its prime location. Not every buyer wants a fixer upper, and just from a glance at the property, it’s obviously behind on routine maintenance. Of course, I haven’t been inside yet.” Jeff dared to look optimistic.
Chris shook his head. There was no need to hold out false hope here. He thought about the closet door handle that had come off in his hand. The wallpaper that was peeling. The paint that was flaking. And all that was from a cursory walk-through before coming here. There was no way the plumbing was up to code. He tossed up his hands. “So what are my options?”
Jeff shrugged.“We’ll go over to the house after this so I can assess the value. We can definitely put it on the market. You never know. The right buyer might walk in here tomorrow.”
And good old Marty might walk right through that door, Chris thought miserably.
“You’ll want to get it ready to list,” Jeff advised. He slid a stack of papers across the desk to Chris. “This is a list of regulations for properties registered as a historical landmark. Any changes that exceed those permitted and stated here will have to be approved by the committee.”
“Red tape,” Chris muttered, pulling the stapled papers closer. He briefly leafed through them. “I don’t really have time for this.” He had clients in Boston, clients who wanted his attention, who didn’t want to hear that he wasn’t in front of a computer screen, watching the markets, but instead, petitioning a small-town committee to allow him to replace a leaky faucet. Yes, the kitchen faucet was dripping, too.
Jeff frowned. “I’m afraid there aren’t many options. Is the house still furnished?”
“It is,” Chris said, pushing the list of rules and regulations away from him. From what he could tell, there was next to nothing he could do to the property to improve it or even bring it up to code. Even the shingles on the roof could only be replaced with ones of similar architecture. That house had a slate roof. He felt a headache coming on.
“I’d suggest an estate sale,” Jeff said. “Normally I would stage an empty house, but given its age, I think in this case it will be better to show it as a blank canvas, or clear out some of the older items, give it a fresh feel. And you never know; an e
state sale could drive traffic. A potential buyer could walk in and fall in love with the place.”
Chris met Jeff’s gaze. “Level with me, here. Am I going to be stuck with this property forever?”
“Not if I have anything to do with it. In fact, to open your options, I will list this as a commercial property as well as a residential home. This would make a fine artist retreat. Or a small hotel. You never know.”
In other words, he was grasping at straws. Still, Chris appreciated it.
“I could recommend someone to oversee the estate sale,” Jeff said. “Do you have to leave town soon?”
Technically, he did not. His job as a financial planner allowed him to work remotely, on his own schedule. “I appreciate that, but I feel like I owe it to Marty to go through his remaining things myself.”
Jeff gave a small smile. “Of course. He was a fine man. Didn’t know him well, but when he came into town he was always friendly. Philanthropic, too. He sponsored my sons’ baseball teams one year.”
Chris’s brow knitted in confusion, but he was smiling. “Really? He always did like baseball.” He’d given him a ball one year, signed by every player on the Red Sox. Chris still had it back at his condo, on a shelf in his living room. It was one of his most prized possessions and one of his only keepsakes from childhood, other than the postcards his parents mailed to the boarding school he attended. In the summers, it was his turn to send them postcards, which he picked up in town, right here on Main Street.
“He was a fine man,” Jeff said again.
He was, Chris thought, pulling in a breath as he stood to leave. A fine man with a dilapidated mansion that Chris was now stuck with for the foreseeable future. Fortunately, he’d never been one to shy away from a challenge. Still, something told him that nothing about this was going to be as easy as he’d hoped.
***
At seven that night, armed with a set of champagne flutes boxed and wrapped in glittery white paper and tied with a gold ribbon, Sarah walked up the steps to the front porch of the Harper House Inn: a house that the Harper sisters had grown up in, now owned by Bridget, the eldest, who had transformed the property into a charming inn. Abby, the youngest, was the chef, there. Well, cook, technically, seeing as she’d learned all her skills at home rather than through formal training, but she was so good at what she did that she was a chef in all their eyes. What had started with breakfast had turned into afternoon weekend tea and soon dinner would be added a few nights a week.
Sarah knew that Abby had insisted on catering Hannah’s wedding, and she and Chloe had had many meetings about the menu, going over it again and again, leaving Abby to sometimes widen her eyes across the shop at Sarah when Chloe was distracted by something in one of her many folders: budgets, schedules, paper and fabric samples. And menus, of course.
It will all be okay, she told herself as she reached the last step. So Chloe would be here tonight. But so would all her friends.
A middle-aged couple was sitting on the porch swing, fingers intertwined, and she gave them a polite smile, feeling as if she had interrupted a private moment, a romantic evening, a country weekend getaway, a little alone time after dinner. All things she would never know.
She checked that bout of self-pity at the door and let herself into the lobby, which was relatively quiet for a Saturday evening. One glance to the right showed an empty dining room, another to the left marked a cozy lobby where a single guest sat in a leather armchair, reading near a crackling fire. Bridget liked to keep it going for ambience, even though the evenings were growing warmer by the day.
She walked through the room to the sun porch at the back, which had been closed off for Hannah’s party this evening. Still, Sarah couldn’t help but wonder how this was supposed to work. They weren’t the wildest group of women, but they weren’t exactly all quiet when they got together, either.
But of course, Chloe had thought of a solution for this. In addition to the closed French doors, there were billowing sheets of fabric for privacy. Leave it to Chloe, Sarah thought ruefully. She may not be the easiest person to work for, but she was certainly impossible not to respect.
She opened the door to the porch, making sure it closed behind her, and gasped. What was a simple porch and an extension of the lobby in many ways had been transformed into a chic, airy, elegant party room, complete with fairy lights and candelabras that anchored a buffet table covered in a white tablecloth. Bunches of bright, colorful flowers accented the otherwise white space, and even the throw pillows that Bridget kept on the armchairs and settees had been replaced to fit the color scheme of sea foam blue and white.
“I seriously couldn’t have pulled this together better myself,” Margo hissed in Sarah’s ear as she took the gift from her hand. “I mean, I was happy to do it, with Hannah being my cousin and all, but Evie and Kelly wanted to take over, as they should, with Chloe’s help. I figured they were just trying to toss a little business over to you guys at Bayside Brides, but this.” She shook her head as they both took in the room. Even the floorboards had been replaced by rugs that matched the flowers.
“Is that…blue punch?” Sarah marveled.
“Yep,” Evie said, coming up beside them. “And there are even little umbrellas to drop onto the side of your glass. A different color for each guest so they don’t get mixed up. I mean, Chloe thought of every detail.”
“I’m definitely going to hire Chloe to do my wedding,” Kelly said. “I mean, if I get married.”
Which was a likely scenario, given how much her boyfriend Noah adored her.
Sarah couldn’t help it. All at once, all she could think of was how amazing it would be to have a party like this for herself. To have a bridal shower, full of her closest friends, to have so much ahead of her to look forward to.
Instead, she’d have to settle for being a guest. And, seeing as she’d walked here from town to work off some of her anxiety, she was going to have a glass or two of that punch.
Hannah was helping herself to a glass, and Sarah leaned in to give her a hug. “Congratulations! Are you getting excited?”
Hannah blinked as if she were holding back tears. “I’d be more excited if my venue hadn’t flooded.”
Sarah set a hand on her arm. “You know it will be a beautiful day wherever it’s held. Look at how Chloe transformed this space!”
“I know.”’ Hannah looked down at her drink. “I always told myself I’d never be one of those brides, you know? But then I became a bride, and well…”
Sarah nodded. She understood.
“Dan says it doesn’t matter where we get married. That he’d marry me at town hall. But I want it to be beautiful. I want photos.” Hannah laughed. “I’m already turning into a pest with that that, too, telling the photographer exactly which shots I want. I’d do it myself if I could.”
Hannah was a talented photographer, but Sarah said, “You’ll be too busy dancing with your new husband to even think about the photos.”
“I hope you’re right,” Hannah said earnestly. She sighed, then looked around the room. “Well, I suppose I should greet my guests.”
Sarah watched her go, hoping that some miracle could happen and soon, and sighed as she reached for a glass.
“How was work today?” Melanie whispered, coming up beside her.
Sarah darted her eyes over her shoulder to where Chloe was sitting on a sofa talking with the guest of honor.
“The best I could hope for, I suppose,” she said, turning back to reach for a glass. “How was your fitting with Samantha King?” She knew from several talks with Melanie that Samantha was turning into one of those special sorts of bridezillas that came along every once in a while. They came in different forms, of course. Some changed their orders a hundred times. Others didn’t like anything. Others brought their bridesmaids to tears when they shoved ugly brown dresses onto them.
And then there were the clients who were never satisfied. Samantha was one of them.
“She decide
d to change the design again,” Melanie said as they stood sipping their punch. The logical thing to do would be to cross the room and sit with the others, who were now slowly joining Chloe and Hannah on the wicker chairs and sofas, and they would, soon, but it seemed that Melanie was eager to have her story told out of earshot, and Sarah couldn’t blame her. After all, Chloe hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic over having Melanie make custom gowns. She was concerned about many scenarios, including this one.
Chloe would be asking if Melanie was charging Samantha for each redesign, Sarah knew, and she knew Melanie well enough to know that she was too nice to bother with this, even if it probably was the professional thing to do at this point. Melanie wanted all her brides to be happy. She’d go to great lengths to ensure that.
They all would. That’s why they were such a great team.
A funny feeling stirred in Sarah’s stomach. “Well, I suppose we should join the others,” she said, a little reluctantly. What she’d really like to do right about now was drink back the rest of her punch, slip out the back door, and go for a walk on the beach. Nothing soothed her soul more than the feeling of sand between her toes and the wind in her hair.
Instead, she moved to sit between two of the Harper sisters. Chloe was across the coffee table, and Melanie wedged in beside her on the small couch. For cousins, they couldn’t look more different, Chloe with her long, silky, smooth blonde hair, and Melanie with her darker waves. But they both had small, upturned noses. Both had long legs that they crossed in the same direction, and hands that they folded on their kneecaps.
“When I was in town today, I ran into Jim. He said that Crestview Manor might be coming on the market,” Bridget said, and, across the table, Hannah’s eyes went round.
“I love that house! Oh my goodness, Evie, remember how we used to ride our bikes up to the gates and stare inside?”
“Do I!” Evie’s mouth pinched as she squeezed into a seat between her two sisters and rearranged a throw pillow behind her back. “I can still remember the time you made me hoist you over the brick wall so you could take some photos of the flower garden. Then you couldn’t get back over. I’ve never pedaled home so quickly in my life. Nearly lost my footing!”
