As Beautiful as the Bay

by Serenity Woods

  “Sorry,” Mac said, obviously feeling Sam’s emotion. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m all over the place today.”

  “If you can’t be touchy feely on the day of your dad’s funeral, when can you be?”

  Sam ran his hand through his hair again, then laughed as Mac grabbed him in a bearhug. He held him tightly for a moment, and Sam gripped his friend fiercely. They’d both been through a lot over the past year, but they had each other, proving that blood wasn’t necessarily thicker than water.

  Finally, they broke apart, and Sam punched Mac on the shoulder. The intimate moment was over.

  “You want to join the others?” Mac asked.

  “In a minute.” Sam felt as if a someone had been sitting on his chest, and they’d finally risen, leaving him breathing in lungfuls of fresh air. Ginger had been right. His father’s passing was an opportunity to change things. He’d done his best to please his dad while he was alive, but now, his life was his own.

  And in his heart, what did he want to do?

  An idea grew in his head like a balloon being pumped full of helium, so pure and complete he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. Had it been there all along, just waiting to appear when he was ready? Or had something... or someone... put it there?

  Dad? he thought, catching his breath. Surely not. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that his father had whispered it into his ear on the back of the afternoon breeze.

  Wherever it had come from, he had to grab the thought balloon before it floated up into the atmosphere, out of reach.

  “I’ve got a business proposition to put to you,” he blurted out to Mac.

  “To me?”

  “Well, to the girls as well. But I want to see what you think of it first...”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  In the kitchen, Ginger had finished adding all the ingredients to the bowl. She turned out the dough onto the floury table, tied on an apron, and began to knead.

  There was something so satisfying about making bread. She breathed in the rich, yeasty, malty smell, and thought about what George had said about the flour holding the memory of the fields it came from, the sun and rain, the sound of birdsong.

  The flour would have come from grain grown from crops that had originally been brought to New Zealand from England by the first European settlers. She let her mind linger on her old home, thinking about her friends there, about Jack, and about her mother. Tears pricked her eyes, but she continued to knead, just letting her mind wander.

  Losing a parent was such a strange event. It was like playing a game of Tetris, and someone removing one of the bottom blocks, so that all the others had to shuffle about to fill the gap. The circumstances around her mother’s death—the fact that it was a suicide—had been difficult, but Ginger hadn’t been close to her mother; Fred had taken over that role since as long as she could remember, and Louise Cartwright had remained a shadowy figure in the background, someone who brought Ginger down if she spent too long with her. She’d escaped to university as soon as she could, and hadn’t returned to visit much. Now, she felt guilty about leaving Fred to look after her, especially considering what had happened, but it was done, and she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life poking herself with a mental cattle prod every time she thought about her mistakes.

  Strange how grief was so self-centered. She was supposed to be thinking about George, but as always, her thoughts had returned to herself. Stretching the dough with the heels of her hands, she brought her mind back to the old man. Hopefully, Sam wouldn’t take his passing too hard. It was important to grieve, but it was easy to blame yourself for the bad times in your life, and it was so pointless. Even if you were to blame, once the deed was done, recriminations only kept you from moving on.

  She doubted that many parents meant to cause their children such heartache. When she had her own kids, she was going to try to make sure she let them fly free, and not decide their future for them. It would be great if her son or daughter joined her in the kitchen and inherited her love of food, but if they didn’t, she wasn’t going to blame them for it. She would just encourage them to discover their own passion. George had been a lovely man, but his insistence that Sam keep the bakery as it was had done a lot of damage, and could have seriously affected his son’s future happiness. Would Sam be content staying in Blue Penguin Bay making rolls and loaves every day? Only time would tell. It was out of her hands now.

  It was time for her to move on. Sam had shown her it was possible to find love without jealousy and possessiveness, a love that was kind and gentle and passionate. Even if what they had didn’t work out, there were plenty more fish in the sea.

  Except she didn’t want another fish. She wanted the snapper she’d caught. She paused, her hands still in the dough, feeling a wash of emotion. There wasn’t such a thing as soul mates. Sam wasn’t The One she was supposed to be with. He was just one man who’d liked her, that’s all.

  So why did it feel as if she was losing a part of herself?

  “You’re not putting nearly enough elbow grease into that.”

  Her head snapped around at his voice, and her heart leapt at the sight of him leaning against the counter. How long had he been there? A while, by the looks of him. She searched his face for signs of irritation or anger, but found only mild amusement and kindness in his eyes. And something else—a glimmer of heat.

  “Maybe you should show me how the experts do it,” she said, returning her attention to the dough.

  He pushed off the counter and walked slowly up to her. Standing beside her, he took a moment to slide the cufflinks out of the cuffs of his white shirt. She glanced up at him, and he held her gaze as he rolled the sleeves up a few times. Her heart hammering against her ribs, she dropped her eyes.

  He moved to stand behind her, his chest flush with her back, put his arms around her, and covered her hands with his. His warm breath fanning out over her ear, he guided her hands, helping her stretch the dough, fold it, stretch it, fold it.

  “Why are you making bread right now?” he asked, amused, his deep voice causing the hairs to rise on the back of her neck.

  “In George’s honor,” she whispered. “I wanted to do something for him. It’s the best thing I could think of.”

  His hands paused, then continued again. When he spoke, his voice was husky. “It’s a lovely thought. I can’t think of anything he’d rather someone do for him.” He touched his lips to the bare skin of her neck above her dress.

  Ginger’s lips parted, and her eyelids fluttered shut. His body was warm against hers, and she felt safe and content in the circle of his muscular arms. She could feel his hips pressed to her bottom, and at the thought of him pushing her down onto the table and lifting her dress, she had to stifle a groan.

  She forced her eyes open and took a deep breath. She had to keep her wits about her. It was possible he’d come to say goodbye—that he was going to leave with Alyssa. Only... it didn’t feel like goodbye. It felt very much like a sexy hello.

  The dough was becoming pliable beneath their fingers. Ginger liked the way his hands covered hers, the way he guided her, pulling up the dough. It made her think of stroking something else...

  “This is like the pottery scene from Ghost,” she whispered. “We’re going to end up with a penis-shaped loaf.”

  Sam laughed, turned her around, and took her face in his floury hands. He kissed her then, a long, lingering kiss, full of sweetness and time and with lots of let’s-not-hurry-because-I-want-to-make-the-most-of-this in it.

  When he eventually lifted his head, Ginger’s insides were the consistency of warm caramel.

  “Oh,” was all she could manage to say.

  “Mmm,” he said. “That about sums it up.”

  “You’re not leaving?”

  “I’m not leaving.” He kissed her again. “I want you, Ginger Cartwright. Maybe I didn’t realize how much before. I know we’ve only been g
oing out a few weeks, but I’ve been crazy about you since I first saw you on Mac’s wedding day. I fell in love with you then, and I’m in love with you now. I want to say it, before it’s too late. I love you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

  “You’re as beautiful as the bay, full of sunlight and happiness, and I want to share my life with you. If that’s okay with you?”

  She nodded, swallowing hard, but it didn’t stop a tear spilling down her cheek. “Yes, that’s okay with me. I love you too, Sam.”

  He brushed it away with his thumb. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

  She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him, not caring that they were now both covered in flour. “Oh, Sam. This is such a sad day, but you’ve made me so happy.”

  “I’m glad, sweetheart.” He gave her a fierce hug, his arms tight around her.

  Ginger couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t going? He didn’t want Alyssa? He wanted her? She could have run around the kitchen waving her arms and screaming like a toddler, but she did her best to contain it, burying her face in his chest and breathing in the scent of warm male. She’d be able to breathe it in every day. Go to bed with him every night.

  Oh Jesus. Dreams really did come true.

  Something struck her then, and she moved back a little to look up at him. “What about the bakery? Are you going to rebuild it?”

  At that, he moved back. He squeezed her hands, then released them, and leaned against the table a few steps away.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

  “You were right. What’s the point in dedicating the rest of my life to a business that my heart isn’t in?”

  “Well, I agree obviously. But what are you going to do, build a patisserie on the site?”

  He looked away then, out of the window, across to the ocean. Ginger’s gaze lingered on his face, his ruffled brown hair. He wasn’t leaving! She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and scream her joy, but she made herself stand still and wait.

  “I’m going to sell the site,” he said. “Richard Smith, who owns the shop next door, was talking about extending his shop, and I think he’ll buy the plot from me.”

  “Oh Sam. Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I’m ready for something different. And you know what? I know the land belonged to my ancestors, but if I’m really honest with myself, I don’t think the soul of the business lies in the soil. It lies within the people. Life isn’t about being static. Life is about change, and I think we only get miserable when we try to stand in the way of change.”

  “That sounds very Buddhist,” Ginger said. “The idea that hanging onto material things causes suffering.”

  “That’s right.” His eyes came back to her. “I ran my idea by Mac, just to see whether he thought it was worth putting to you. He likes it, but you and Fred and Sandi are the ones who need to be all right with it because obviously, the vineyard belongs to you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I wondered what you thought about building onto the kitchen.” He gestured to the north, to the large expanse of grass leading down to the vineyard. “I thought we could build another room there, and turn it into the patisserie you mentioned. First and foremost, it would service the restaurant, and we could work together on menus to find courses that complemented each other. But I could also make specialty cakes, for birthdays and weddings.” His eyes lit up. The idea excited him. “What do you think? It’s up to you, of course, and I’ll understand if you’d rather not...”

  “I love it.” Ginger was so thrilled she could barely contain her excitement. “Jesus, Sam, with Fred and Mac’s wine, and with you making your fantastic desserts, Blue Penguin Bay will outshine the whole Northland!”

  “I know. It could be amazing.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip. “What about... the money? Would you want to... you know?”

  “Get married?” He moved forward then, and took her floury hands in his. “I don’t want to do it for the money.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Mac said that if you were agreeable to the idea, he and Fred would consider adding the cost of a new building to the mortgage they’re planning to take out because they want some money for more renovations. I’ll lease the building from them.”

  “That makes sense,” Ginger said.

  His lips curved up, and he cupped her cheek. “You look disappointed.”

  “No, of course not,” she lied. It made sense. She was caught up in the romanticism of the notion of getting married, that was all. The idea of commitment, of him deciding he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. It was far too soon for that, she told herself.

  He tilted his head. “I said I didn’t want to get married for the money. I didn’t say I didn’t want to get married.”

  She blinked a few times. “What do you mean?”

  He bent and kissed her, his lips lingering on hers. “I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you, and it’s important to me that you know that. But I need to separate the two—the money from the commitment. I don’t ever want either of us to wonder whether we would have married if it wasn’t for the money. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes,” she said, because it did, especially considering the way he’d spoken about marriage, about it being sacred.

  “So what I propose is this. We tell ourselves that if we feel the same way about each other at Christmas, we’ll get married then. And if we do, you can give your inheritance money to Mac and Fred, or whatever you want, it’d be your choice. But we wouldn’t be getting married for the money.”

  She felt her lips curve up in a huge smile. “Okay.”

  “Don’t think that I don’t want to right now,” he said, somewhat fiercely, his brown eyes boring into hers. “Because I do. I want to tell the world that you’re mine. And I want to prove to you that I want to be with you forever. I’m going to buy you a ring, and I’d like you to wear it to show everyone how much you mean to me.”

  “Okay,” she said happily.

  “And in December, I’ll be the proudest man in the world when you finally say ‘I do’.”

  Ginger tried to blink away the tears pricking her eyes. “Oh, Sam.”

  He kissed her again. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m marrying you for anything other than because you’re the girl of my dreams. Because you are, Ginger Cartwright. I didn’t realize it, but even before I knew you, you were the only girl for me.”

  Tears poured down her face. Sam tried to kiss them away, but there were too many, so instead he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

  “Don’t cry,” he murmured in her ear. “Or I’ll start wailing with you.”

  She gave a half-laugh, burying her face in his chest. “I’m so sorry about your dad. I miss him.”

  “Me too.”

  “He’d be proud of you, Sam, for following your heart. I know it. We’ll dedicate the new patisserie to him.”

  “Okay.”

  “Maybe one of his granddaughters or grandsons will follow in his footsteps and be a baker.” She pushed back, wiping her face, and looked up at him. “I mean... um... Do you want children?”

  “At least five,” he said. He bent and nuzzled her neck. “In fact, I think we should start trying right away.”

  “Not until we’re married,” she scolded, even though the idea sent her all aquiver.

  “Then I’ve changed my mind. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

  She laughed. “No, you were right. A Christmas wedding would be lovely. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get plenty of practice in, just to check everything’s in working order.”

  “Now you’re talking.” He cupped her face with his hands and looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry if I gave you even a minute of doubt that I didn’t want to stay here with you. You complete me, Ginger. You make me whole. When you smile at me, it’s like the sun coming out over the bay on a beauti
ful summer’s day.”

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she whispered. Jeez, she was going to bawl her eyes out at this rate. Time to change the mood. “Will you always be my stud muffin?”

  He laughed. “Always.” He kissed her again. “Now come on, we should return to our guests.”

  They washed the flour off and placed the bread aside to rise. Then he tucked her under his arm, and they walked back outside, into the afternoon sunshine.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Much later, after all the guests had gone, the five of them—Sam, Ginger, Fred, Mac, and Sandi—went up to Mac and Fred’s house, and sat around the log fire with a glass of whisky or wine and a box of chocolates. Scully the dog stretched out in front of the fire, roasting slowly.

  “You guys going to stay here tonight?” Fred asked Sam and Ginger. “The bed in the spare room is all made up, and it’ll save getting a taxi.”

  Sam looked at Ginger and gave a non-committal shrug, and she smiled. “Sure.”

  They sat on one of the two sofas in the room, Ginger cuddled up to him, her legs drawn up. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. Despite the sadness of the day, he felt a warm contentment that he knew wasn’t all due to the whisky.

  “I’ve had an idea,” Fred said.

  “I don’t know if I can take any more bright ideas,” Sam replied. “I might explode with excitement.”

  They all laughed. They’d been talking about the new patisserie most of the afternoon, discussing the best place for it, what it would look like, and the kind of food they’d make there. Sam’s stomach was filled with a buzz he hadn’t felt since he worked on the ship. He already had a dozen of his favorite desserts planned in his head, and he would enjoy spending hours trying out new ones. He wanted to help turn Blue Penguin Bay’s vineyard and restaurant into a five-star attraction, a place that every visitor to the Northland would want to come to.

  “I was thinking about where the two of you are going to live,” Fred said.