“If you want to go to a restaurant, you probably take the family plane and jet off to France.”
Abby blushed.
“I was just kidding,” Tack said. “You mean you’ve done that?”
“Louis loved to surprise me.”
Tack’s shoulders sagged. “Well, then I hope this dinner isn’t anticlimactic. A friend of mine from Boston just opened the place. I helped him find the property. It has a great view of the water, but I guess nothing would come close to the view from Longley House.”
“Tack, it sounds lovely. I am looking forward to it, and to spending time with you.” She might as well have said, Okay, take me now.
Abby locked up the house and unlocked her heart. She was taking a chance on Tack, but it was a chance she wanted to take.
“I’ll bet you have some garage. I heard the Longleys collected cars.”
“It’s a ten-car garage, and yes, there are cars of all makes and models down there. I rarely take one out.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for my BMW.” Tack helped Abby into the passenger seat.
“It’s a wonderful car,” Abby said and meant it. She wondered how Tack could afford this nice a car on what he made as a boat captain. Exorbitant car payments, no doubt.
Tack pulled out onto Hidden Cove Drive in front of the Longley House and drove about five miles out of town.
“Isn’t this a little off the beaten path?” Abby asked, as the car climbed higher. “It’s almost in Acadia National Park.”
“Yes, it’s at the edge of the park and on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and that’s the beauty of it—it’s remote and romantic.”
Abby swallowed. Romantic. Hmmm. Interesting.
When they arrived, Tack turned his car over to the valet and came around to help Abby out.
“And did I tell you that you look amazing tonight?”
“Yes, you did. But a girl can’t have enough compliments.” Her black sheath showed off her trim legs and bare shoulders, but it was cool up in the mountains, so she was glad she’d brought along a wrap.
When they walked into the restaurant, they were greeted by a man about the same age as Tack—and Louis, had he lived.
He hugged Tack and offered his hand to Abby.
“Who is your date, and how much did you have to pay her to go out with you, Garrity?”
“Cut it out, Reardon. Abigail Longley, this is Caleb Reardon, the friend I was telling you about. He owns the restaurant.”
Caleb’s brows rose, and he looked at Tack, who shook his head.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Abigail. Any relation to the Longleys of Lobster Cove?”
“Abby was married to Louis Longley,” Tack said, turning to Abby. “She lives at Longley House in town. Abby, Caleb also went to school with Louis.”
“And by school, I assume you mean Harvard.”
“That’s right,” Caleb replied. “I did some deals with Louis. I was sorry to hear he had died. And then his parents. Double whammy. You have my sincere condolences.”
“Thank you, Caleb.”
“I’ve reserved our best table for you two tonight.” He led them to a cozy table at the back of the restaurant, where a large picture window gave a scenic view of Acadia National Park.
Tack seated Abby, and she admired the vista. “This is lovely. I had no idea this was up here.”
“Well, we just opened, but we have people coming all the way from Bar Harbor.” Judging by the number of diners who were already seated, it looked like the new venture was going to be very successful.
“Let me bring over a bottle of our best champagne—on the house, of course. Are you celebrating anything special?”
Abby looked up at Tack.
Tack held her hand across the table. “Any night with Abigail is special.”
“Smooth, Tack,” Caleb quipped. “And where did you rent the suit? I’m glad you’re respecting our no-overalls policy.”
“I happen to own this suit,” Tack countered.
“Glad to hear it. I’ll send over the waiter to take your order.”
“Tack, this place is lovely. The view of Acadia National Park and the ocean at sunset is breathtaking. And the sparkling lights on the patio—what a lovely touch. Live music…and the décor is stunning. Your friend has done everything right.”
“Let’s drink to that. You know, Abigail, there’s a lot to like about Lobster Cove.”
And there’s a lot to like about you. “What was that secret message passing between you two a minute ago?”
“Nothing,” Tack said dismissively.
What are you hiding, Tack Garrity?
“The artwork on the walls is wonderful. Someone has very good taste.”
“I’ll pass on your compliments to Caleb.”
“So you two met at Harvard Business School?”
“Yes. Caleb not only owns the business but is a celebrity chef. He owns several restaurants around the country.”
“I don’t know much about cooking, so I’m not familiar with him. I imagine Chef would be.”
“I’m sure.”
“So, how’s Isabella?” Abby asked.
“I think you’re more interested in my daughter than in me.”
“That’s not true. But there’s just something about her. I can’t get her out of my mind.”
The sommelier arrived, uncorked a bottle, and poured the sparkly liquid into two crystal champagne flutes before them. “Mr. Garrity?”
“It’s wonderful, Jacques, thank you.”
“You’re on a first-name basis with the sommelier?”
The server came over with two menus. “Mr. Garrity? Would you like to hear the specials tonight?”
“Of course, Brady.”
“And the server?”
“I’ve been here before.”
She wondered with whom. Had he been here with a date?
“Abby, I could recommend the duck or the trout. I’ve had both.”
Abby studied the menu.
“I think I’ll start with the lobster bisque. We are in Lobster Cove, after all. And I love duck, so I’ll try that. Thank you.”
“And I’ll have a Caesar salad and the trout,” said Tack. “We’ll have an order of the haricot vert with herb butter also, please. And bring out some of those delicious popovers.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Garrity.”
The fact that he pronounced green beans in perfect French didn’t escape her. There was more to Tack Garrity than met the eye. But she wondered what it would take to shake out his secrets. And she was convinced there were some. A pilot of a whaling boat who wears overalls and rubber boots by day and transforms into a debonair, French-speaking man of the world, who drives a BMW sports car, by night? Something was wrong with this picture.
Abby sipped her champagne. “This is divine, Tack. Everything about this place, is so—unexpected. And so is everything about you. So what are you hiding? Are you a wanted fugitive—a bank robber—hiding out in an obscure backwater town?”
“I’m an open book, Abby. And I wouldn’t exactly call Lobster Cove a backwater town. After all, your in-laws were one of the richest couples on earth, and they chose to live here.”
“Their ancestors came over on the Mayflower, literally. They only tolerated me. I think they thought of me as a changeling even though I am a descendant of John Adams and named after Abigail Adams, the second First Lady of the United States. They were in a perpetual state of prune-faced disappointment because I couldn’t give Louis children—heirs—and they blamed me, although it was never determined definitively whose fault it was. I know they hoped Louis would tire of me. But that was never going to happen. Louis never would have left me, unless he had no choice, which in the end, was exactly what happened.”
“I doubt that. You are a beautiful, sophisticated woman. I’m sure they loved you. Still, I don’t think you’re giving this town a chance. It’s no Paris, but I don’t think I’d want to live anywhere else on earth or raise
my child anywhere else.”
“Really? Not even if you had all the money in the world?”
Tack pursed his lips.
Now she’d insulted the man. Abby, will you ever learn not to lord it over people less fortunate? It was obvious he could barely make ends meet. He was working on a boat to salvage his father’s business. He looked amazing, and his suit fit like a glove, but he’d probably rented it and those beautiful Italian leather shoes. He’ll probably have to take them back before midnight or he’ll turn into a pumpkin. Most likely, he’ll have to earn a month’s salary to pay for this dinner. He couldn’t even afford regular clothes for his daughter. She had to wear a tutu to school, inside out. Dammit. His friend had to treat them to the champagne to make it look like he could afford to be here in this high-toned place, while she had all the money in the world. Dropping some of it on a dinner at a place like this wouldn’t mean anything to her, but to Tack it would be everything. Poor Tack. He wanted to impress her. He was so sweet. But it was heartbreaking. She’d pick up the check but that would be even more embarrassing to him. Still, she was falling hard for the man. In fact, she wanted to take him into her arms right now.
The waiter brought her lobster bisque and Tack’s Caesar salad.
She tasted the soup. “This is wonderful, better than any I’ve ever tasted. I’m serious.”
“I told you, Caleb is a first-class chef.”
“How’s your salad?”
“Delicious. Crisp. Excellent.”
The two ate in silence until the next course arrived. She was calculating what this meal was going to cost him. She should have ordered something less expensive than the duck.
Her first mouthful of duck delighted her taste buds. “This duck is perfectly cooked and flavored. It’s so fresh.”
“Again, I’ll tell Caleb you’re pleased. So tell me more about how this gallery enterprise came about.”
“Well, I was on a Mediterranean cruise. We were in Florence at the Uffizi Gallery, and the four of us were all standing there gawking over The Birth of Venus. That’s one of the famous Botticelli paintings hanging at the gallery in Florence.”
“I’m familiar with Sandro Botticelli,” Tack said in a deadpan voice.
Shit. He thinks I think he’s a hayseed. I’ve got to stop being so condescending, just because I’m worldlier than he is. This date is not going the way I thought it would. Maybe it will never work out. We’re so different. But she felt something when she was with Tack and Isabella. Isabella. What she wouldn’t give to have a child as sweet as Isabella.
“Well, that particular painting meant something special to each of us,” Abby said. “We had been on several excursions together, yet not together. We were each alone on the cruise, but we found we had the same taste in art—in everything, as it turned out. I invited them out for coffee after our visit to the Uffizi, and we discovered we were all widows. Another thing we had in common. We were all at loose ends. We’re all interested in art, and Jane is a gifted artist. Suddenly it just clicked. I had this idea about the gallery. I had this big house, and wads of money, and nothing to do with it. It was a revelation. It just made perfect sense.”
Shit. There she went again. She had wads of money, and he was fighting to keep his head afloat. How insensitive could she be?
She swallowed and tried to dislodge the lump of guilt bouncing in the pit of her stomach and wallowing at the bottom of her throat.
“We’ve spent the past three months traveling, acquiring art, meeting with the architect, building out the gallery, and having a great time. The other women are lovely. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
“And I assume you are footing the bill for this entire enterprise? Is this all a game to you? You’re toying with people’s lives. What if you suddenly tire of your little project? Where does that leave these other women? Homeless, out of a job?”
Abby was shocked. “Where is all that anger coming from? You don’t know me if you think this is a game. I’m totally invested in this project, and I don’t mean monetarily but emotionally. I think I’d like to go home now.” How disappointing to find the chink in Tack Garrity’s armor so soon. Well, better late than never.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I stuck my foot in my big mouth again.”
Abby was adamant. “I think we’re done here. Please take me home.”
“Abigail, please give me another chance.” Tack grabbed her arm across the table. “I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t know why I said that. Please, stay. We haven’t even had dessert.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed. Was dessert a euphemism for sex? Because if it was, then he was way off base. She was attracted to him. More than attracted, but Louis had never gotten angry with her. And here they were fighting on their first date. She didn’t need this aggravation. She crossed her arms and pouted for a minute.
“Now you remind me of my ex-wife,” Tack said. “She was a world-class pouter.”
Abby’s mouth opened in surprise. “Well, we all know how much you thought of your ex-wife. I would never have cheated on you. Don’t put me in the same category.”
“It’s just that you are—well, fancy, like her.”
“Go ahead, say it, Tack,” Abby interjected. “Fancy is just another word for snobby and stuck-up and self-centered and privileged. So why the hell do you even want to go out with me?”
Some of the other restaurant patrons were turning to look at them.
“Because,” said Tack, lowering his voice and rubbing her arm in a circular motion. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
“Your wife was beautiful.”
“How do you even know that?”
“I looked her up on the Internet. She was an accomplished ballerina.”
Tack smiled. “You looked me up on the Internet? I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. I definitely did not look you up on the Internet. I looked up your wife. And don’t you dare patronize me. I asked you a simple question. Why bother with me?”
“Because,” Tack continued, “you’re fiery and you’re smart and you’re driven, and I can’t wait to kiss you again. In fact, I’d miss dessert for another sample of what we had on the pier this afternoon.”
Abby blew out a breath. “So, you’re horny, and I’m available.”
“That’s not what I said or meant. You’re driving me crazy, Abigail Longley.”
The waiter crept up to the table.
“Would anyone care for dessert or coffee, on the house, courtesy of the chef?”
Abby shook her head. The man couldn’t even afford dessert. Okay, she was going to order dessert, the most expensive selection on the menu, and coffee, and maybe an after-dinner drink—because she was never going to see Tack Garrity again.
The waiter handed them dessert menus.
“Anything look interesting?”
“Yes, I’ll have the house special. Surprise me,” Abby said.
“I’ll have the same.”
Abby tried to make herself smaller at the table. She shut her lips tight as a clam and stared daggers at Tack. She huffed and hissed, “You do not know how to treat a lady, which is why you will never get another date with me and is probably why you can’t get a date with any other woman, which is why you’re so horny.”
Tack started laughing.
“For your information I could have any woman I want. But I don’t want any woman. I want you, dammit.”
“You are priceless, Tack Garrity. And conceited. The only females sniffing around you are whales. And you can’t even manage to spot any of those.”
At that point the waiter came to the table with a scrumptious-looking confection that consisted of gelato, chocolate, and fruit in an edible almond basket, under a mound of whipped cream.
Abby looked at Tack. He said she was driving him crazy. Well, let’s see what he thinks of this. She swiped a dollop of the whipped cream with her forefinger and slowly touched it to her tongue, letting it
linger there. Then she licked the whipped cream off her fingers.
Tack was mesmerized.
“I hope you get an eyeful, Tack Garrity, because this is the closest you’re going to get to my tongue, tonight or ever.” She licked her lips and proceeded to taunt him.
She repeated her suggestive display, this time with a strawberry dipped in chocolate.
“Christ, Abby. You’re a difficult woman.”
“Take that back.”
“I will not.”
“I am not difficult!”
Furious, Abby threw a spoon at Tack across the table, and it landed with a thud against his chest, splattering melted chocolate and strawberry juice all over his white shirt. “Ha,” she spat.
“Abigail Longley, you deserve to be spanked like a naughty child.”
“Don’t you dare lay a hand on me, Tack Garrity. You’re nothing but a big brute. I am a civilized woman, but you make me so mad I want to spit and throw things.”
“You are a bit of a banshee,” Tack said, trying not to smile.
“I think we’re done here. Obviously we rub each other the wrong way.”
Tack took her hand and rubbed his thumb across her palm. “That is not the way I want to rub you.”
Abby pulled her hand out of Tack’s grasp as though she’d been scalded. He was trying to stir her up—and it was working.
“That is crass, even for you, Tack Garrity.”
Suddenly the waiter appeared with the check, and Tack slapped down his credit card.
“Tell the chef the dinner was excellent.”
“Yes, Mr. Garrity.”
Abby marched out of the restaurant, amid stares, and tapped her foot impatiently on the pavement at the valet stand. Tack chased after her, breathing hard, and handed the valet his ticket. “It’s the blue BMW, please.”
“Yes, Mr. Garrity.”
“Does everybody in this restaurant know you?”
Tack fumed. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t. Now take me home, straight home. No detours to your house, which I’m sure is nothing but a man cave, a web where you trap unsuspecting women in your lair.”
“What did you say? Do you know how juvenile you sound?”
“I know exactly what kind of man you are.”
The Widows' Gallery Page 8
