by Olivia Miles
Sarah tried to estimate how many men must live at the home who would even be capable of walking, much less dancing. “I don’t know. Twenty?”
“Try two.” Esther’s eyes narrowed. “And one was Earl. He doesn’t count. He was only there because his blushing bride got her hair done especially for it.”
Of course, Earl was married to Mimi Harper, who was Bridget, Margo, and Abby’s grandmother. It was her second wedding, and a fairly recent one, but a blushing bride? Sarah couldn’t help but laugh.
“It isn’t funny. Just because you get to be my age doesn’t mean you have to give up hope.”
Sarah looked at her grandmother, properly. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Still, she’d never thought of it that way, and truth be told, she’d gone and given it up herself, hadn’t she?
If her grandmother could still believe that she might find love again, then who was Sarah to think she couldn’t?
Buoyed by this newfound belief that everything might just work out, and for the both of them, she took a cookie from the box. But her grandmother slapped her hand. Hard enough to sting.
“Ouch!” Sarah stared at her.
“Don’t go ruining that pretty figure of yours. I intend to attend your wedding before I croak.”
“Grandma.” Sarah shook her head, but the truth was that her grandmother’s comment hurt. Badly. She wanted her grandmother to come to her wedding someday. She’d seen so many brides come through the shop whose eyes shone with tears over the people who had been lost, who wouldn’t be there on their special day. With Esther’s health declining, she wanted to savor every moment she had, to make the most of each day.
“And you’ll wear my pearls,” Esther was saying. The certainty in her voice told Sarah that she must have already planned this all out, and Sarah felt sad to disappoint her, even though she’d already planned to have her friend Beth design her one of her custom jewelry sets that she now sold on consignment at Bayside Brides. “It’s family tradition.”
“That’s nice to think about,” Sarah said wistfully. She’d already picked out her dress. Well, the truth was that she’d already picked out about a hundred dresses. She had always wanted to be ready when the day came, know all her options. But more and more there were too many options and not enough reason to even consider them.
“I have a whole box set aside of things that I want you to have,” Esther said. She looked at Sarah earnestly. “You promise me, right?”
Sarah set a hand down on her grandmother’s wrist. It felt thinner than it had been just a few short weeks ago. “Of course,” she said softly. “I’ll treasure them.”
They fell into silence while Esther ate her cookie, slowly, savoring each bite. The other five in the box might be shared with the staff (if they were in Esther’s good graces, which wasn’t often the case) or Mimi and Earl, more likely.
She’d never thought about what Esther might leave her. She’d assumed that everything would go to her parents, and the fact that her grandmother had been thoughtful enough to set something aside touched her in a bittersweet way. It made her want to hold on to the woman beside her a little tighter, even as she slowly slipped away.
“Grandma, did you ever see Marty Foster when he was here?” she asked. Chris had mentioned that his uncle was here in the last few years of his life. It wasn’t a big place. Surely his path would have crossed with Esther’s at some point. Actually, considering that her grandmother had crushed on everyone from ninety-four-year-old Mitch LaMore to a thirty-ish male nurse, she was surprised she hadn’t heard anything about Marty before.
“Did I ever see him?” she quipped. “Had lunch with him a few times in the cafeteria. Tried to see if he might be interested in a little bingo one night, but he made it clear that he was not. Shame.” She tutted and looked out in the garden.
Sarah decided not to ask if bingo was code for something she didn’t need to visualize. “What was he like?”
“Oh, handsome.” Her grandmother smiled.
Like Chris, Sarah thought.
“He was younger than me, but not by much. It wouldn’t have been scandalous or anything if…Well. Marty made it very clear to every woman here that he was devoted to one person and one person only. Widower, you know.”
Sarah knew she should absolutely not be thinking of Chris right now, but she couldn’t help it, not because he was cute or anything, but because he had asked her to leave, and she couldn’t understand why.
“Did he ever have any visitors?” Sarah asked.
Esther thought about it and then shook her head. “They never had children. She had an accident on a horse, as I recall. She loved riding. Lots of women had an interest in him for a while. He broke many a heart.”
“How tragic,” Sarah said.
“You can say that again. A handsome man like that. Rich, too.” Esther slid her a glance as she waggled her eyebrows and Sarah barked out a laugh.
“I meant that it was tragic he never got over it,” Sarah said.
“Lived in that great big house all alone,” Esther tutted. “Had a falling out with his younger brother, apparently. No other siblings. There was a nephew, though. Marty talked about him every chance he had.”
At the mention of Chris, Sarah bristled. She reached for a cookie, and then, catching Esther’s eye, snatched her hand back. Good thing there was a tub of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream waiting in her freezer at home.
“Did you ever go to the house? Crestview Manor?” Sarah asked, eager to shift the topic away from Chris but not completely off the subject of the Foster estate. Maybe there was another way. Another person she could talk to who was connected to the house and who might have some influence on whether they would allow the property to be rented for a night. Esther had lived in town before moving into Serenity Hills. Perhaps she knew more than she was letting on.
“No, can’t say that I was ever there. But a few people in town were invited to the wedding a few years back.”
“Wedding?”
“The nephew’s wedding,” Esther said, but Sarah could barely hear her, her blood was rushing in her ears. “Heard it was quite an elaborate event. A big brass band and everything. You could hear the music three miles down the shoreline.”
A wedding. But Chris had been adamant that he wasn’t the marrying kind. That he wasn’t looking to settle down, or have a family.
Bad divorce, she thought, feeling the weight of disappointment. He’d been burned, and clearly wasn’t over it if the reaction to the photos said anything. And while once a broken heart might have been something she’d think they had in common, something to say, latch on to, now she just took it for what it was. The man wasn’t looking to remarry. And she wasn’t looking for a man anymore, especially the wrong kind of man.
But she was looking to keep her job, and Chris was the only one who had the power to help her.
She’d just have to find a way to help him again. And now that she understood where she’d gone wrong today, she might just have a chance to fix it.
Chapter Nine
It took Sarah two hours to work up the nerve to finally leave her apartment the next morning. Another cup of coffee was always a good stall tactic. Finally, because she knew with certainty what would happen if she didn’t try with Chris again, but she had no way of knowing what would happen if she did try, she climbed onto her bike and pedaled up the shoreline to Crestview Manor, dread twisting her gut.
The gate was open when she arrived, and from the base of the drive, she could see Chris in the open doorway, in a tee shirt and jeans. He appeared to be sanding something.
He’d bought sandpaper. Somehow this amused her.
He stopped working when he heard her bicycle crunching over the gravel and she mustered up a friendly wave. See, nothing strange here. Just popping by the place she had been told to leave, for basically the second time. Stalkerish? Hardly. Just doing her community service.
Just holding up her end of the bargain.
“You’re back,
” was all he said, his tone mild, if not slightly amused.
A good thing? She hoped so.
She kicked out the stand to her bike, made sure it was secure, and okay, took a long, shaky breath, before walking up the long, flagstone path, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jean shorts.
She could always say she had lost something here. An earring, perhaps? But that would be lame. And she wasn’t the kind of girl who made up excuses to see a guy—not anymore. Besides, there was nothing to be nervous about in this case, well, other than the obvious possibility of outright banishment, a call to the cops or a threat of a restraining order, all of which would be a tad embarrassing but something she’d learn to accept in her professional life as of late.
“I wanted to apologize,” she said instead. Treat him as you would a client, she’d told herself the entire bike ride over, plus those two extra hours spent pacing her apartment. She had overstepped, upset him, however inadvertently, and she should make amends. She’d consider it practice for her meeting with Chloe on Monday.
“No, I’m the one who should apologize,” he said, surprising her. He looked up, swearing under his breath as he waved his hand in front of his face. “Damn bees. Here, come inside. Please.”
She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she might have done a fist pump when he turned his back. He was letting her in. He was sorry. One crisis in her life was finally averted.
She followed him inside, careful to keep her tone calm, her smile serene. But one look at the scrubbed mirror and the shining light fixtures made her self-control go wayside, and she dropped her jaw dramatically. “Wow! You’ve been busy in my absence!”
“Well, I didn’t think you would come back,” he said, giving her a sheepish smile.
“Please,” she said, grinning broadly now. “I think you’ve learned by now that I don’t back down that easily.”
“No, and to be honest, I’m happy that you don’t.” He smiled, but there was an intensity in his dark eyes that made Sarah’s breath catch.
It wasn’t her that he had missed. It had been the help. The extra set of hands.
She turned away, trying to think of something witty to say to break the sudden tension. “Of course, there is the fact that while I’m stubborn you seem to have a bit of a temper.”
“Actually, I’m one of the most carefree people you’ll ever meet,” he said, raising a hand as if he were taking an oath.
She didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “So you’re not going to kick me out again?”
“I’m a man of my word,” he said, setting the same hand to his chest. The sincerity of his gesture touched her, but then she thought of what her grandmother had revealed and decided that she couldn’t afford to let anything about this man touch her. If he was a man of his word then he meant what he said when he told her that he wasn’t ever looking to get married.
And the truth of the matter was that she was hoping to get married someday. She wanted the white picket fence, the kids, the family dinners and holiday traditions. She couldn’t help it. She just wasn’t holding out for it anymore.
“In fact, as a peace offering, let me make it up to you.” He took a step forward. She saw that he had dust in his hair. His eyes were a bit bloodshot, and she noticed that he was wearing the same shirt as yesterday. Had he spent the whole night here?
Probably. And damn if she didn’t feel a little sorry for the guy for that.
“A peace offering.” She bit her lip. Just what could he be offering? A small figurine from the curio cabinet? The conservatory for the cocktail reception (Hannah and Chloe would both swoon over that coop!)?
“Lunch,” he said simply.
She gave him a hard look. “Lunch?”
It’s not a date, it’s not a date, it’s not a date.
“Well, if you call sandwiches and sodas I picked up in town with my breakfast this morning lunch.”
“I do call that lunch,” she said, trying not to smile.
It’s not a date, Sarah.
“Okay, then.” He blew out a breath and looked around the rooms that jetted out on every side. He seemed nearly as relieved as he did bewildered. “Maybe we can tackle some of the bedrooms and work up an appetite?”
“Lead the way,” she said. And no, she did not check out his broad shoulders as she followed him down the hall.
Well, maybe just a little.
They climbed the stairs, single file, and this time, she kept her eyes trained on the floor. Hardwood. A bit of fading. Otherwise good condition. They approached the landing, which she’d only passed yesterday, and Chris reached to open the first door on the left. It was a bedroom. Bright, despite the heavy teal-blue curtains which hung from the window, with simple furnishings: a small white desk in the corner, with an upholstered chair in blue and pink. A double bed with a simple pink coverlet. The walls were decorated with the seascapes, similar to the ones she’d seen in the attic. She wanted to ask who painted them, but she didn’t want to stir up any memory of yesterday. Today was a fresh start.
She walked to the nearest window and pulled back the curtains. All at once the room filled with more light and a stunning view of the sea. “I like the use of blue in this room. It feels…beachy.”
She glanced at Chris, but he shrugged. She assumed that decorating wasn’t his thing, which was why it was good that she was here to help!
She walked to the second window and reached for the curtains, but there was a rustling at the bottom of the fabric, where it met the floor, and before she could even process what was happening, a tiny grey mouse dashed out from under the drapery and scooted behind the desk. A sound filled the room. Shrill, loud. Petrified.
Dear God, it was coming from her mouth.
When she clamped it shut, she realized her entire body was shaking, and she stared wide eyed at Chris, whose hand was covering his mouth, his face red as his shoulders shook nearly as hard as her own.
Only he wasn’t shaking from fear. He was shaking from amusement.
“It’s a mouse!” she cried, pointing in the direction of the desk. “Didn’t you see it?”
“Oh, I saw it, all right.” Chris struggled to compose himself. He pushed his hair back off his forehead, taking in a breath that did little to pull the smile from his face. “God, I needed that,” he said under his breath, and then he started chuckling again.
Now, she was mad. Really mad. She put her hands on her hips and gave him a stony stare. “Well, I didn’t. That thing came out of nowhere! I could have been bit.”
“Mice don’t bite.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
His pause told her that he wasn’t sure, and so, muttering something she couldn’t quite hear, he crossed the room to the window where she now stood, and opened the French door leading out to the balcony.
Sarah frowned. “If you send it out there, how will it get to the ground?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Now you’re suddenly concerned about its welfare?”
“Fine,” she said, shuddering at the idea of being alone in the room with the mouse. Or worse, having it get loose somewhere in the house.
With that in mind, she walked to the door to the hallway and quickly shut it, just in time to watch Chris inch the desk away from the wall and peer over the edge. Her body went stiff with tension. She barely breathed as she watched. Wanted to jump up on something, but the nearest chair was by the desk.
“I don’t see it,” he finally said. “I think it’s gone.”
“Gone?” Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. She edged toward him, her heart racing, and then—
There was the sound again. Louder than last time even. A scream so shrill she was almost impressed by the power of her own pitch. And oh no, she was clinging to him. His back. Her fingers clawing at his tee shirt. She could feel the cotton, smooth on her fingertips, a strange opposition to the heat radiating off his skin. He was strong. Thick. And…
And he was laughing at her.
Tears filled his eyes as he sputtered and shook, and this time she knew it wasn’t from the dust. For one fleeting moment, she forgot all about the rodent and struggled not to take a good, hard swat at him. But then she remembered. Her entire body went stiff. And oh…oh…
She jumped on the chair.
“It can probably climb up there,” he said, still laughing so hard that he struggled to get the words out.
“Are you kidding me?” she all but shouted. “Get it out! Get it out!”
“Get a broom,” he said, clutching his side.
She considered her options. To open the door risked letting the thing have free roam of the house. But to not…
She jumped off the chair and fast as she could, darted to the door and slipped out. She stood, panting, and then ran down the stairs. She found the broom in the kitchen, with a box of other cleaning supplies, and brought it up the stairs, this time not risking going in. Instead she knocked. Chris opened the door wide enough to reach out his hand, and she placed the broom inside it.
A few minutes later he emerged, doing a sorry job of trying to look somber.
By then, she had composed herself. Had even started to worry he might send her home again, tell her she was no help if she was scared of a mouse.
But he just cut her a glance and then burst out laughing again.
“Well, at least that’s over,” she said, lifting her chin a notch. But Chris just raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing, and she frowned at him. Deeply.
“I think I’ll start on the next bedroom,” she said and walked to the other side of the hall, just in case. Honestly, she thought as she entered the room, this one done up in green and pink, if Chloe even dared to say she hadn’t shown how desperately she wanted to keep her job at Bayside Brides after this, then there was truly nothing more she could say.
She glanced at the clock on the bedside table after gingerly checking under the drapes for any more surprises. How many more hours until lunch?
