Lake Effect

by Johannah Bryson

Wyeth. She rolled the name around in her head. It was different; an old name, perhaps a family name. It suited him — tall, dark and demanding. She’d felt the electricity hover in the air of that mudroom. Here was a man used to demanding and getting his own way. His brown eyes were almost black and they’d burned through her one minute but then softened and showed great concern the next. His dark hair with bits of grey speckled throughout was sexy as hell. How could anyone fall in a slime-filled pond and walk out still looking that good was beyond her. She blushed again, thinking about her own landing in the pond. She’d been mortified — not only by the action, but by his reaction.

  It had been five long and lonely years since Jack’s death, seven since they’d lost their daughter, and in that time, despite her friends’ best efforts, she’d not had a single date, preferring instead quiet nights at home with Norman. She knew it was time to start living again. At thirty-three years old she wasn’t exactly ready to live a celibate life. She thought again of the dark and brooding Wyeth Packard and just as quickly dismissed him.

  Girl, he’s totally out of your league, she reminded herself.

  Shelby did feel bad about the suit and would’ve felt worse if he hadn’t been such an ass about it. How could she compensate him for that? What if she couldn’t? What if he decided to sue her? No, she knew he wasn’t that kind of man. It was an accident, no harm done.

  She stopped for a moment and then realized she could do what she did best. Heading to her kitchen she slapped her iPod into its dock. While the melodic voice of Dean Martin crooned to her in Italian, Shelby began dragging out bowls, her stand mixer, sheet pans, and ingredients.

  Hours later she looked at the basket she’d made up and knew this would be a great way to say “sorry for what my dog did.” She cleaned up the kitchen and headed for bed feeling … happy? It was a new feeling for her. Although why she felt this way was harder to pin down. Replaying the morning’s events in her mind, she crawled into bed exhausted and with a smile on her face.

  • • •

  Wyeth had, by some miracle, managed to be on time for his meeting. It lasted forever but he finally gained the permits and permission he needed. With the help of his realtor, Cheri Beauchamp, the last pieces to the puzzle were in place and now he could focus his attentions on making the winery productive as well as profitable.

  He found for the most part that the islanders involved were more concerned with what he wouldn’t do — namely, plow under the grape vines and build. Following the meeting, Cheri Beauchamp invited him to join her and a few others to the only open restaurant for happy hour. The Island House served not only as the biggest hotel on the island, but also the nicest restaurant. Although the hotel wouldn’t open for another month, the restaurant only closed for a few weeks in January. They’d received many accolades from travel magazines for their dining and accommodations, and Wyeth could see why. The atmosphere and food were on par with many of his favorite New York restaurants. It was a very pleasant surprise.

  “Wyeth, have you met any of the local residents yet?” Cheri sat across the table from him, her easygoing mannerisms a decoy to her ruthless business sense. Cheri had been the top-selling realtor on this island for years. Her knowledge of its history was superior, her effervescent smile infectious. She’d gotten him a great deal on the property too. With her silver hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, wire-rimmed glasses, and long, flowered skirt, Wyeth had no problem picturing her as a young, beautiful woman. He guessed her to be in her late sixties.

  She knew someone at every table. She and her husband Len, a character right out of a book with his Louisiana drawl, snow-white hair and beard, ran the island’s only grocery store. They’d made Wyeth feel at home from the first day he’d arrived. He’d quickly discerned that if you wanted to know about anyone or anything, the Beauchamps were your go-to couple.

  “Actually, I had the pleasure of meeting a dog named Norman this morning.”

  He watched, amused, as Cheri tried to fight off a grin. “Oh my, how’d that go for you? The dog really is sweet, you know. He just has a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one can ever stay mad at him because he’s part of Shelby. Did you get to meet her too?”

  Here was his opportunity.

  “Yes, we ran into each other this morning.” That was one way of putting it, but telling Cheri the truth of that meeting seemed too much like kiss and tell. “I’m afraid it didn’t go too well.”

  “Really? That’s not like her at all. I hope everything is all right.”

  The concern in her voice had Wyeth’s attention. “Her dog did create a bit of an upset over at the manor house this morning — perhaps that’s what put her in a bad mood?”

  Cheri laughed. “Well, where Norman is concerned there is just no telling what he’ll get into. Perhaps you’re right.”

  “Is Ms. Aylesworth a full time resident?”

  Wyeth had about a dozen more questions to ask but didn’t want to tip his hand to Cheri. The woman was very astute and would catch on to him in no time.

  “Not always. She and Jack bought a place up here about five and a half years ago. In fact, I’m the one that sold it to them.” She beamed at him across the table and in that moment he knew this woman could sell ice to the Eskimos.

  “Anyway,” she waved her hand for effect, “they’d been coming up here prior to that just for occasional weekends and the like.”

  Wyeth felt his stomach drop in disappointment. So there was a Mr. Aylesworth; he should’ve figured that. Still, something in Shelby’s mannerisms hadn’t exactly exuded married woman.

  “I don’t think they’d even spent a full night or weekend in the place before Jack was killed,” Cheri continued, the word shocking Wyeth.

  “Killed? That’s horrible.”

  “Yes. It was an accident at work. I don’t need to tell you that it’s been a rough few years for her.”

  Cheri had Wyeth’s full attention. His heart constricted as he thought of Shelby, and her beautiful eyes that seemed to show her emotions like a mirror.

  “Anyway, it wasn’t until this past fall that she decided she’d had enough of life on the mainland. She left her job — doesn’t really need the money, since Jack was very good with their funds and left her well taken care of. Last I heard she’s still trying to sell their house down in Bennett’s Corners. Of course, housing prices sure aren’t what they used to be.” Cheri let the conversation end there. She looked at her watch.

  “Lord, will you look at the time, six-thirty already, poor Len will be wondering where I’m at or more likely where his dinner’s at.”

  She laughed her full hearty laugh and was gone; leaving Wyeth with more unanswered questions than when he’d arrived.

  He took the long way back to the manor house, taking the outer road that led past all the beautiful little cottages on the far end of the island. There at the farthest end, just before the road curved back inland, stood a lovely two-story home, white with dark green shutters. A sign hung out front: Jack & Shelby Aylesworth. Flower beds waited on the other side of a white picket fence. They outlined the yard and the brick walkway that led to the front door. The only light was coming from the back of the house — the kitchen, he guessed. A green Kia Soul sat in the driveway.

  The house looked like an enchanted cottage, something right out of the storybooks he used to read to his younger sister. Janele would love this house, and she’d love Shelby. Where the hell did that come from? He frowned and drove home a little faster than was necessary. His mood darkened further when he arrived home and found Abby Newkirk waiting for him on his front step.

  • • •

  Shelby carefully pulled the pale-colored cellophane up around the basket, securing it with beautiful satin ribbon. It was huge, bigger then she’d intended, certainly more than one man could want or need, but there it was. She’d r
eally outdone herself and hoped that this would atone for yesterday’s fiasco. Shelby blushed deeply each time she thought of falling into that damned pool. She’d forgotten what a man felt like, and Wyeth Packard certainly felt like a man yesterday. She felt the color rise to her cheeks again. It had been a very long time since she’d been touched by a man. She felt her heart quicken as she thought of Wyeth’s strong hands effortlessly putting her up on the counter yesterday and the feel of his commanding yet gentle touch as he so delicately cleaned her scraped legs.

  He’d also been a first class jerk about it, she reminded herself. Well, hopefully a basket full of goodies would be just the ticket to clear the air between them. She looked at the clock; nine o’clock, surely he’d be up and moving by now. Carefully cradling the basket in both hands, Shelby made her way out the door and to the car. Norman would be staying home this morning, just for safety’s sake.

  It took a full ten minutes to cross the island, allowing Shelby plenty of time to second-guess her motives. Now that she was here, the impressive manor house looming before her, she wasn’t so sure of herself.

  What if he’s a vegan or gluten intolerant? What if he has a nut allergy? Oh, that would be bad, very bad.

  Not giving herself time to think about it again, she marched up to the front door and rang the bell. The basket was so big she couldn’t see around it or over it. She didn’t hear any sounds coming from the inside and had just turned her back when the front door flew open. Looking over her shoulder she almost dropped the basket. In the doorframe stood the most handsome man she’d ever seen: wet and towel tousled hair, ripped jeans, and no shirt. Oh holy mother of God!

  • • •

  Wyeth was still aggravated. He’d spent a most uncomfortable night on the sofa in his study. At six A.M. he’d finally given in and pushed himself through a grueling workout. He’d had an even worse time showering in the small, cramped bathroom on the main floor. He was royally pissed at Abby for coming in without calling. She’d acted surprised that there was no lodging available, but he wasn’t buying that at all. He knew her all too well. She’d done her homework. This was exactly what he was trying to get away from.

  Get away? Was that what he was doing? He hadn’t really thought of it that way before. The doorbell startled him. Who on earth would be at his door at nine in the morning? Not bothering to put on a shirt or even comb his hair, he went to the front door expecting a courier. What he got instead was a view of Shelby Aylesworth’s backside. He had to admit, the woman looked as good from behind as she did from the front — but what on earth did she have in her hands?

  “Ah, my mystery redhead, can I help you with that?” He leaned against the doorjamb, enjoying the startled look on her face as she looked back at him over her shoulder and then slowly turned around.

  “Hi,” she answered shyly and handed him the biggest basket of baked goods he’d ever seen. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t get around to introducing myself yesterday. I’m Shelby — you know, the one that fell in your pool?”

  He watched as that beautiful blush began creeping up her neck. “Yes, I seem to remember that.” He laughed, which brought a smile to her face that went straight to his heart.

  “I felt really bad about the suit and what Norman did and, well, ah, we just got started off on the wrong foot and this is my way of saying sorry, and I hope it’s enough.” She’d said it all in one breath as if she were repeating lines she’d rehearsed.

  “Well, Shelby, won’t you come in?” He stepped back into the foyer and waited for her to follow.

  She didn’t.

  “Well, at least let me set this down somewhere,” he said. He sat the enormous basket down on the table by the door and was just about to invite her in for a second time when a voice trilled down the stairs.

  “Wyeth, honey, would you be a dear and help me out up here?”

  “Oh, sorry,” Shelby said, her face reddening even more. “I didn’t realize … well, there’s plenty of bakery.” She laughed nervously and pointed to the basket, then bolted out the door.

  Fuck!

  Wyeth watched her drive away, feeling a combination of anger and disappointment course through him.

  Abby floated down the steps and looked at the basket on the table. “Wow, who sent you that, Martha Stewart? There’s enough fat and calories packed in there to sink a ship! You’re not going to eat that, are you?”

  “Why are you here?” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looked back up at her. “Let’s cut through all the bullshit Abby, and get right to it. Why are you here?”

  “Wyeth.” She cooed his name as she walked the rest of the way down the steps. “It doesn’t have to be this way with us, does it? We had a fight — all lovers do. I’ve missed you. I thought you’d be excited to see me.”

  He couldn’t believe she was actually pouting. Wyeth had a sudden and unexpected moment of clarity. This was exactly what he didn’t want in a woman. “Huh.” He voiced his surprise at the thought aloud, shaking his head. Picking up his cell phone, he made a few short instructions, then turned back to Abby.

  “Your flight leaves in an hour. I’m sorry you wasted your time.”

  He watched impassively as the anger crossed her face. Not hurt or sorrow — anger at not getting her way. He’d seen it before. She’d be hell to live with for a few days. The beauty of it was, he didn’t have to live with it. That thought lightened his mood considerably.

  “I certainly appreciate your hospitality, Wyeth.”

  He had to give her credit for style. She wasn’t about to show him just how angry she really was. He watched her head back up to get her bags and had his second epiphany of the morning: he wanted an honest relationship. An honest relationship would be worth the hard work and effort needed to maintain it. An honest relationship would mean trusting your partner, knowing without a doubt that what she told you was the truth, that what you felt for her was true and meaningful. An honest relationship could absolutely not be had with a woman like Abby Newkirk.

  • • •

  “Oh, Norman.” Back at the cottage, Shelby hugged the big collie close to her chest. “What an ass I just made of myself, yet again. Of course he would have a woman there. What made me think he wouldn’t? Someone who looks like that probably dates a super model — and what do I do? I show up with a ridiculously large basket full of baked goods! Well, I’m mortified, that’s all there is to that.”

  She sat down on her living room sofa and let her disappointment and grief wash over her. “I’ll tell you one thing,” she addressed the dog who still sat patiently looking at her as if he understood every word coming from her mouth. “This won’t do. I will not feel sorry for myself, no sir.”

  With that she got up off the sofa and started to clean her already clean house. She set upon the book shelves with a vengeance, turned her iPod on, and made her way through the house trying to forget the empty feeling way down in her gut.

  She finally allowed herself to collapse in a chair, hours later.

  “Jack, you bastard. Why’d you have to die?”

  Shelby always thought just having had Jack, even though it was only for a short time, would be enough. No man could ever compare to him. His boyish charm had drawn her to him in high school. She smiled as an image of him in science class flashed through her memory. They’d started dating their junior year in Henderson and never looked back.

  There had been some heartache and the usual ups and downs, growing pains as the two of them grew up, yet overall their time together had been joyous. Their trials — and there had been some big ones for two people so young — seemed to pull them together rather than push them apart. And then, he was gone.

  She hadn’t allowed herself a date for three years after his death, choosing instead to hide her emotions and feelings deep inside, withdrawing from work and life. It had been a dark and lonely place
. After that, when she finally did come out of her grief to the real world, every man she met was found sorely lacking when put up against the memory of Jack Aylesworth.

  Part of the reason why she’d finally put their house in Bennett’s Corners up for sale was to put a few more miles between her and his memory, hoping against hope that she’d be able to start her life anew, and meet a good man. Could a person have that kind of lightning strike twice? Only one man seemed to be in the running to prove that theory, and right now he was in his beautiful manor house with a woman whose voice dripped like honey from the comb, probably feeding each other her bakery.

  • • •

  Wyeth sat behind the wheel of his black BMW wondering if what he was about to do was a good idea or a bad idea. After sending Abby on her way back to New York, he’d gone to the vineyard office and immersed himself in permits, fees, license agreements, and anything else that would keep his mind occupied.

  But no matter how hard he worked, no matter how hard he tried to think of other things, the image of a short, red haired, beautiful woman kept popping into his mind. It didn’t help that he’d brought some of the bakery into work with him. The brownies were the most spectacular thing he’d ever eaten. It seemed like everyone at the office knew where the bakery had come from and had a story of their own of Shelby’s quiet acts of kindness. That didn’t help him either.

  That’s how he found himself parked in front of her storybook cottage, a handful of wild flowers from the manor yard hastily picked and bundled together on the front seat of his car.

  Never return an empty plate. Wyeth had Olivia Packard to thank for these words of wisdom. His very Southern mother had ideas about manners, things she had instilled into both her children from an early age. Flowers weren’t bakery but Wyeth figured they were the next best thing, and so the decision was made. If nothing else it was an excuse to see her again.

  The dog barked before he was halfway up the walk — two barks then quiet. The front door opened before he could even knock.