Snowfall on Lighthouse Lane

by JoAnn Ross

  “In a much different era and behind the scenes.”

  “I’ll bet you could’ve become an actress if you’d wanted to. You were always the most glamorous girl in town.”

  How strange that this was the second time in the past two days someone had used that description on her. In that vintage look she’d taken on to avoid wearing those other girls’ castoffs, she’d always felt like a Martian landing on a planet populated by confident girls wearing Juicy Couture, bedazzled jeans, words written across their butts (she never had figured out why anyone would want to do that) and UGGs.

  “That was Kylee.”

  “Kylee was the most noticeable because she was so extroverted, while you always seemed to want to hide away. Your scent reminded me of a gardenia. Exotic and mysterious.

  “That’s the real reason all those rumors swirled about you. All the girls were envious and wanted to be like you. All the boys wanted you. And when they couldn’t, they thought it raised their stud quotient by lying and saying they had.”

  They’d never spoken about it back then, but while Jolene hadn’t a clue the girls might have felt that way about her, it was impossible to miss the knowing leers from boys who’d known nothing about her.

  “I always understood that false rumors were why you didn’t want to be seen with me,” she admitted. That had been hard, but having given her teenage heart to him so fully, Jolene had been willing to keep their relationship secret. Also, if it had gotten out, the other boys, and many of the girls would’ve dirtied what they’d had.

  “Hell.” He surprised her by scrubbing his hands down his face. “I was so clueless back then, it never occurred to me that you’d think I was trying to protect my reputation. I will admit to wondering if you possibly had thought that since you got back to town.”

  “You came from an important family,” she pointed out. “One of the earliest families in town.”

  “So did you.”

  Despite the seriousness of the topic, she had to laugh at that. “My family—neither on my mother’s side nor my father’s—was ever up to your level. The Mannions were town mayors, and even a state congressman.”

  “None of that meant anything to me. Hell, I was such a smart-ass juvenile delinquent wannabe, I was trying to protect your reputation. I was the last person in Honeymoon Harbor you needed to be seen with.”

  And wasn’t that a revelation?

  Jolene wondered how things would have turned out differently if they’d talked about this misunderstanding back then. They had talked. A lot. He’d tell her about how hard it was to be expected to live up to a Mannion family reputation gong back over a century. How people had expected him to be a choirboy and even his parents had wanted him to focus on the future.

  Quinn, the eldest, had always had a big-city law career in his sights and was so focused, he’d done all that debating in high school to prepare for litigation. Burke seemed to spend every spare minute throwing footballs through a tire in the backyard behind the farmhouse, developing skills that would take him to the NFL. Gabe’s aim had been to become the family’s first millionaire living in a penthouse in Manhattan. The family’s only daughter, Brianna, had, of course, appeared perfect. Like Honeymoon Harbor’s own Princess Di.

  But before the Marines had shaped him up, Aiden had always drifted, unable to find his place in his family, or in life.

  “You weren’t really a juvenile delinquent,” Jolene said. The story she’d read on the Facebook page today about him searching for that poor, stray, wounded Australian shepherd and then taking it to the vet for treatment when he’d finally found it, reminded her of that owl he’d saved.

  And while he’d admittedly played typical teen boy pranks, like papering the Gundersons’ tree on Halloween, the worst he’d ever done before stealing that beer had been to drive too fast and get in fights. But they’d always been to protect the underdogs, kids that were routinely bullied, couldn’t stand up for themselves and had no one else to fight for them. Except Aiden Mannion.

  A thought struck like a bolt from the blue. “Some of those fights that got you sent to Saturday detention had been about me, weren’t they?”

  He shrugged. “There were so many, I forget. Mostly they were because I was a dick.”

  “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with a dick.”

  “You realize you just said the L word.”

  “Young love,” she pointed out. “Which, like that old song says, is filled with deep emotion.”

  Jolene might not have known much about herself in those days, but she had been determined not to get stuck in a too early bad marriage like her mom. Although, for all his problems, Aiden had been nothing like her father.

  Or, another thought suddenly occurred to her, perhaps both men had both just been rebelling at seventeen. Unfortunately, unlike Aiden, her father had never managed to grow up. Could that be why her otherwise intelligent mother still claimed to have loved him until the end? And why she’d stated she still missed him at times.

  “Dad made my mother cry a lot,” she mused aloud. “But he also made her laugh. There was this one special Christmas Eve, when I was about five, and we all went skating during a rare cold snap that had frozen Mirror Lake. Apparently Dad had played youth hockey growing up, and although I’d been terribly wobbly on the thin blades of the white skates he’d rented for me, he’d held my mittened hands and had led me around and around in circles.

  “Then he bought us all cocoa with pastel-colored mini marshmallows from a tiny cabin decked out in bright lights and greenery from your family’s farm... I’d forgotten all about that until now.” How easy it had been to focus on the difficult aspects of her father while overlooking the good times.

  “I knew guys like your dad,” Aiden said. “Some couldn’t get with the Marine program and got booted out of basic training. Others, when I was a cop, were repeat offenders. They’d rotate in and out of the system, but weren’t really bad guys. They just, for one reason or another, couldn’t seem to get their acts together... And hey, isn’t this a fun date night conversation?”

  “It is a good one,” she decided. “We cleared the air about what seemed like a major misunderstanding back then on both our parts, and you reminded me of a wonderful family evening.” She smiled at the memory.

  “Speaking of memories...” He reached out and touched the necklace that was lying just below the spot where her pulse kicked up in response to that lightest of touches. “You kept it all this time?”

  It was simple heart made from a piece of aqua sea glass found on the peninsula that hung on a white gold chain with a fastener that looked like a mermaid’s tail. He’d given it to her one summer night at the cove in July.

  “In the beginning I was afraid not to wear it. Because I thought you might be killed in the war if I took it off.”

  “And I thought we Irish were superstitious. But hey, maybe it worked. Because I survived.”

  “You’ve no idea how glad I am about that,” she said. “Because I would’ve felt so guilty if I hadn’t, and you’d died.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. And believe me, guilt can eat away at you.”

  “Feelings aren’t always logical.”

  “Believe me, I know that.”

  “I stopped wearing it after I’d heard you’d left the Marines,” she said. “But I could never make myself get rid of it. Because that may have been the best night of my life.”

  “Let’s see if we can give you an even better one.” He took her back in his arms for another lingering kiss that had her toes curling in her boots and if probably everyone in Honeymoon Harbor didn’t know they were having dinner tonight at Mannion’s, she’d just pull him into the bedroom of the cottage and have her way with him.

  He laughed when she shared that thought as they walked out to his SUV. “This time we don’t have to worry about misunderstandings, because we’
re both definitely on the same page.”

  * * *

  MANNION’S PUB AND brewery was located on the street floor of a faded red building next to Honeymoon Harbor’s ferry landing. The tragic story of the devastating 1893 fire that had swept across the waterfront, consuming all the original wood buildings had been chronicled and was now in the Honeymoon Harbor historical museum. Jolene knew that one of Seth Harper’s ancestors had rebuilt the replacement for Finn Mannion, who’d reopened the pub until Prohibition had put the place out of business. It had remained an abandoned eyesore until Quinn had come home from Seattle and hired Harper Construction to reclaim the place.

  There were five choice tables next to the windows offering a dazzling view of both the harbor and the mountains beyond. A second row on risers behind the first row also allowed a prime view. Other heavy wooden tables Quinn had custom-built from reclaimed wood took up a good part of the floor, with a long wooden bar that Seth had found at a reclamation place in the old gold rush town Virginia City, at the end of the room across from the door. Behind the bar, out of view except for a rectangular window, where Quinn hung the orders, was the kitchen.

  White fairy lights framed the mirror where the glass shelves for liquor bottles were set, and a tree, decked out with colored lights and shiny balls brightened the corner over by the pool tables and dartboards.

  “Wow,” Jolene said, looking up at the stamped tin ceiling. “Quinn’s really brought it back to life. It looks like it must have looked back when it was rebuilt after the fire.” She hadn’t had the time nor inclination to go to a Mannion restaurant when she’d been in town for the wedding.

  “Seth kept it as close to the original plans as he could. The Harpers apparently never throw anything regarding their work away,” Aiden told her. “So Quinn told me he was working with those original plans. He did put in the windows. Originally, all four walls were brick.”

  “Probably for men hiding from their wives,” Jolene guessed.

  Aiden laughed, which despite the warmth of the fire burning in the gas fireplace caused her nipples to harden as if a cold wave had swept through.

  Apparently everyone in town was eating out tonight because the tables and bar stools were filled to capacity. A cardboard Reserved sign rested on the center four top, boasting the best view.

  Quinn, who was pulling a draft pint of porter, waved a hello, as he took a drink order from one of the servers.

  She shrugged out of her coat, and instead of hanging them on the rack by the door—in Honeymoon Harbor, people still didn’t worry overly much about theft—he draped them over the back of the empty seats. The server who’d just left the order with Quinn came over to the table. She was in her early twenties, which had Jolene wondering if she might be a student picking up extra money while attending the college.

  “Hi,” she said, putting a leather-bound book with a few choices of wine, and more of beer, that Jolene decided made sense given that Quinn hadn’t entirely given up the law to run a pub, but to have his own microbrewery. “I’d like the chardonnay,” she said.

  “Good choice,” the young woman said with a warm smile, despite the fact that the place was crazy busy. “We just got a case of a really great label.” She pointed to the name on the list. “It’s a bit higher priced, but worth it. Quinn’s also handing out cards, asking people who order it, if they don’t mind, to tell them what they think, taste and pricewise. It’s just a one to five scale. You don’t have to write a research paper,” she said with a grin.

  “That sounds fine,” Jolene said.

  “How about you, Chief?” she asked.

  “I’ll have a draft pint glass of the Winter Blizzard Brew,” he said.

  “Dandy. I’ll go get those while you look at the menu and decide what you’d like.” She took a small plate from her tray. “Meanwhile, here are some fried clam strips pulled fresh out of the water today. On the house.”

  “Being family definitely has its privileges,” Jolene observed.

  “Don’t knock it. Jarle’s spice mix, the recipe that he swears he’ll take to the grave, is amazing.”

  “Speaking of Jarle.” Jolene tilted her head toward the bar, where Ashley sat at the end closest to the kitchen door. The giant cook was looking down at her as if she was the most fabulous dessert he’d ever seen.

  “Wow, he really cleans up nice,” Aiden said. Jolene decided that only love would have gotten him to cut his long flaming hair, which was rocking a man bun. And he’d trimmed his bushy beard neatly close to his face.

  “He’s quite handsome.” She’d met him only two days ago, but he’d definitely toned down the Viking marauder look. She squinted. “Is that a full-sleeve tattoo of a butcher’s chart?”

  “Of a cow,” Aiden confirmed. “He takes his carnivore cooking seriously. To show how he’s into full courting mode, he’s traded his usual Embrace the Lard T-shirts for a plain black one. Quinn originally tried to put him into a black chef’s jacket, but he refused, so the topic was dropped.

  “I’m not surprised. Although Ashley claimed he had a soft heart, I doubt anyone would want to get in an argument with him.”

  “He looks scary. Seth had to cut two rows of bricks above the door because he’s six foot seven. But he really is a softy. Quinn told me he gets crushes on all the women that come in—which might have something to do with spending years on fishing boats up in Alaska—but he’s always respectful and has never made a move on one.

  “Until Ashley. He fell for her. Hard. To hear Quinn tell it, he messed up nearly every dish that came out of the kitchen that night. It cost Mannion’s a full night’s profits, but apparently it was so cute, Quinn felt the entertainment value alone was worth it. Halfway through the dinner serving, customers caught on, and started just ordering wings.”

  Jolene laughed. “I suppose that made it on the Facebook page, too?”

  “How could it not? Someone took a photo of his charred to shoe-leather rib eye, and posted it with another of Jarle bringing out a salad with flowers on it and placing it in front of Ashley as if he were presenting a token to a queen.”

  “I’ve never been to a pub that serves flowers on salads. That sounds more like Leaf.”

  “That’s where he got them. He abandoned the kitchen to Quinn for long enough to run over and beg for them.”

  “Aww.” Jolene pressed her hand over her heart. “I adore him.”

  “Too bad. He seems to be taken, so you’ll have to settle for me.”

  She took his hand in hers atop the table. “I’d never consider that to be settling.”

  The wine proved to be excellent, not that she was any expert, so she gave it a five on the card the server had brought with it. Jolene never got into the wine snobbery that was so popular in the movie business. She’d once been at a wrap barbecue at a producer’s house, and while being given a tour, had seen a stone-walled, temperature-controlled wine cellar that held a thousand bottles.

  “Someone who needs to show off,” Aiden decided when she told him about it. “I’ve been called to homes in the hills.” He took a drink of the dark ale. “The people aren’t all that different from anyone else. Just richer, with a sense of privilege, so they also tend to treat cops like employees.”

  “I can imagine. May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you drink nonalcoholic beer because you’re always officially on duty, being chief of police in a small town?”

  “That’s a careful way of asking if I’m an alcoholic and, given your dad, I can see why you’d want to know up front,” he said. “I drink nonalcoholic beer because I spent a few months drunk to the gills when I first came back here. Before I took the job of police chief.”

  “You didn’t seem impaired at the wedding.”

  “I was suffering from the mother of all hangovers, but I quit drinking the night before so I wouldn’t di
srupt Kylee and Mai’s big day. Believe it or not, weddings are up there at the top of drunk-and-disorderly police calls.”

  “I guess I can see that,” she said. “But why did you go in the first place? I don’t remember you being close with them.”

  “No, but Brianna was close with Kylee. And Seth’s always been my best friend, his mom was officiating, and Bri had pointed out to me that I’d been ignoring him since returning to Washington. There was also the fact that if I did get drunk there, my sister would have murdered me on the spot.”

  “I think that’s an overstatement.”

  “Probably. All right, totally. But I had some issues I needed to deal with. Since I mostly have moved past them I don’t need to use alcohol to hide from them. But now that I’ve stopped, cold turkey, I just decided not to start again.”

  “That’s probably wise. Not everyone can do that.”

  “It’s my guess that your dad had a disease,” Aiden said gently. “I just had issues. There’s a difference.” He bestowed one of those dimple-creasing, blood-warming smiles on her again. “So, now that we’ve gotten past that hurdle, let’s get on with the date part of the evening.”

  Jolene returned his smile. “I’d like that.”

  After a dinner of steak and potatoes for him, a cioppino of right-off-the boat crabs, shrimp, and fresh clams for her, they left the pub, which was quickly emptying. As they headed toward the town square, anticipation of the rest of the night, after the tree lighting, hummed warmly in Jolene’s veins.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE THIRTY-FOOT Douglas fir was donated by the Mannions, as it was every year. It had been brought into town on a trailer last week, then lowered into the concrete and metal holder by the town’s utility company crane. Several dozen volunteers had spent the past week—giving up their own Thanksgiving dinners for a potluck in the town hall—to put on the lights and decorations. Last year, on December 26, the committee had decided to do a riff on Disney’s It’s A Small World ride and during the year, woodworkers, including Aiden’s grandfather, had carved dolls wearing painted native costumes, celebrating immigrants from many of the countries that made up America. Members of the high school band accompanied the school’s choral singers who stood in the lacy white Victorian bandstand serenading the gathering crowd, many who sang along, with Christmas songs.