by Melody Grace
He had a duty, to protect the family legacy, just the way he’d been raised.
And boy, he needed a drink.
4
Eliza and Paige walked into town that night the way they had ever since they were teenagers: along the beach, up past the dirt track, and cutting through the back of old Jerry Granger’s yard, bramble hedges and all.
“Ouch!” Eliza yelped, as a branch gripped her sleeve. She fought to get free, her flashlight swooping wildly.
“We’re too old for this!” Paige protested. “Why didn’t we just drive instead?”
“Because it’s tradition!” Eliza yanked loose and continued along the worn path. “You and me, sneaking out after curfew to buy cider with fake IDs.”
“You know those things never fooled anyone?” Paige laughed. “Mitch knew exactly who we were.”
“But we got served, didn’t we?” Eliza navigated the stream, her flashlight beam cutting through the dark. “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure—” Her foot slipped on a rock, and she stepped down—into cold, rushing water. Splash!
Paige hooted. “Still feeling adventurous now?” she teased, helping Eliza step back up onto dry land. Eliza shook out her wet foot and winced.
“OK, you win. Next time, we drive.”
It wasn’t far to the town square, where the old pub sat on the corner, lit up and spilling warmth and laughter into the chilly spring night. Eliza pushed through the doors and made a beeline for the bar, where Riley was pouring drinks, and his girlfriend Brooke was perched with an explosion of wedding magazines spread around her.
“Are you . . . dripping?” Riley asked, peering over the bar.
“Don’t ask!” Eliza groaned. “We took a wrong turn.”
Brooke jumped down. “I have some spare clothes stashed upstairs,” she offered. “Want to change and dry off?”
“No, I’m fine. This half of me is dry.” Eliza grinned. “And this half of me just needs some French fries.” She batted her eyelashes at Riley. “Extra large, with a couple of burgers on the side.”
“Coming right up.”
Brooke plucked down a bottle of wine and three glasses as Paige joined them. “It’s so great to finally meet you.” Brooke greeted Eliza’s sister with a hug. She dropped her voice and gave a wink. “I’m a big fan of your work.”
“What?” Paige frowned.
“The lingerie,” Brooke explained. “Aphrodite Designs?”
Paige flushed bright red. “You told her?” She elbowed Eliza in the ribs. “I said that was a secret.”
“I’m sorry,” Eliza protested. “And also, oww.”
As well as designing kids clothing for a company up in Boston, her sister also had a line of gorgeous, hand-made lingerie that she sold in a few high-end boutiques—anonymously, of course. Eliza didn’t understand why it was such a big secret, but Paige insisted that nobody could know.
“Eliza was only bragging about you,” Brooke told Paige, reassuring. “Your designs are so beautiful. Do you do trousseaus, or any bridal lines? I could add your portfolio to my resource list, maybe help set up some trunk shows.”
Paige was looking uncomfortable, so Eliza jumped in. “How are the weddings going? Any famous bookings at the hotel?”
“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Brooke replied, deadpan. Then she grinned. “No stars this month, just some very demanding French brides. They want everything imported, I don’t know why they didn’t just stay in Paris!”
Eliza laughed. “Good luck with that.”
They took their drinks—and a heaping basket of fries—and settled in at a table by the fire. Soon, Summer arrived, along with their other friend, a visibly-pregnant Poppy. “Look at you,” Eliza exclaimed, carefully embracing her. “You get bigger every time I see you.”
“When are you due?” Paige asked.
“Not for another twelve weeks!” Poppy grabbed a handful of fries. “I swear, I feel like a whale already. Plus, she’s kicking now, every night like clockwork.”
Eliza gasped excitedly. “It’s a girl?”
“I think so,” Poppy replied, beaming. “But Cooper’s painting the nursery yellow, just in case. He wants to be prepared for everything. Which is why there are five hundred parenting books on the nightstand, and I can’t hold a conversation about anything except infant nutrition.” She sighed and reached for some more fries. “Don’t tell him I’m eating these, he’s got me drinking all kinds of gross health smoothies.”
“Aww, that’s sweet,” Summer said, nudging her. “He’s excited.”
“He’s terrified,” Poppy said cheerfully. “Whereas I’m still in denial. It’ll be easy, right? Just like getting a new kitten.”
They exchanged looks. “Sure!” Brooke exclaimed brightly.
“Piece of cake,” Summer agreed.
Eliza sat back and let the chatter of news and gossip flow around her. Her friendships in Sweetbriar Cove had been the best part of a painful year, and it was comforting to be with everyone again. They talked about Poppy’s new book, and Mackenzie’s big art show in New York, and all the gossip Eliza had missed since the holidays.
“. . . Rumor has it, Bert’s been seeing a nice woman down in Truro. And they’re closing the Cape Cod Caller,” Poppy added.
“No!” Eliza exclaimed. “The newspaper was always my favorite weekend read.” Not so much a paper as a quirky local gossip sheet, the Caller was the first place to find local news and eclectic guest-written columns. “We’re only up to part five of Wilber’s ten-part guide on how to prune your roses for fall.”
“He upped and moved to Florida,” Poppy said. “I think he was the only one keeping that place afloat.”
“Shame.” Eliza sighed. “Where am I going to find what happens after the cuttings now?”
The pub door opened, letting in a blast of chilly night air. She glanced over and froze, a French fry halfway to her lips.
Paige followed her gaze. “Friend of yours?” she asked.
“Not exactly.”
It was Cal Prescott, his hair rumpled, sauntering to the bar. He stripped off his navy peacoat and looked around the room, and Eliza glanced away, hoping he wouldn’t notice her. Still, she couldn’t resist sneaking another glance.
He was staring straight at her. Cal’s lips curved in a smile.
“Hello.”
A voice behind her made Eliza turn. The rest of her group were all checking him out. “Guys,” she hissed. “Don’t be so obvious.”
“Why not?” Poppy replied with a smirk. “We’re all respectable married women. Well, as good as.”
“Except you two.” Brooke nudged Paige. “What do you think?”
Paige flushed and shook her head quickly. As long as Eliza could remember, her sister had been painfully shy about guys.
“He’s definitely not your type,” Eliza told her.
“And how would you—” Summer stopped, her eyes widening. “Is he . . . ?”
“I said, shh,” Eliza shushed her again. “And yes. That’s Cal.”
“Wait, I’m lost,” Brooke piped up. “Who’s Cal?”
“Eliza’s new nemesis,” Summer answered.
“I’ll let you tell my shameful story.” Eliza left them to gossip and made her way to the bar. She needed another drink, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Cal was leaning there, talking up a storm with Riley.
“. . . down to Aruba, last spring,” he was saying. “What kind of vessel do you have?”
“Just a sailboat,” Riley replied. “Fifty foot.”
“Nice.” Cal nodded. “Those things are classic.”
Of course he sailed. He probably came out of the womb in deck shoes—with a lacrosse stick in the other hand.
“Did you say something?” Cal looked over to her.
“Nope.” Eliza ignored him. “Another bottle of wine,” she smiled at Riley. “When you get the chance.”
“You girls are getting into it, huh?” He found her one from the shelf
and reached for the corkscrew. “I’m glad you’re back in town,” he said, his voice dropping. “There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about, if you have time this week.”
“Mysterious,” Eliza replied, intrigued. “Any hints?”
“You’ll see,” Riley winked.
“OK, just give me a call.” Eliza paused and glanced back over to the fireplace, where the rest of the girls were still chatting up a storm. “And would I be right in thinking this something is meant to be a surprise for Brooke?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Riley said, his smile spreading. “So if you could be discreet . . .”
“My lips, sealed.” Eliza mimed locking her mouth shut and throwing away the key.
“Thanks for the recommendation,” Cal’s voice came from beside her, down the bar. He raised his beer to her and smiled. “You’re right, this is a great spot.”
He was trying to be friendly, but Eliza was already regretting telling him her favorite local haunts. Was he going to pop up all over town now, with that rumpled hair, and those smiling blue eyes, and the way his soft cashmere sweater was pushed up over those tanned, muscular forearms—?
Eliza shook her head.
“Any more tips?” Cal asked. “Declan’s food is great, but if there’s anyplace else to grab a bite—”
“Nothing up to your standards,” Eliza interrupted him. “The fancy restaurants are all out in Provincetown. Perhaps you should look for your place up there,” she added sweetly. “You’d probably feel more at home on Millionaire’s Row.”
* * *
Cal didn’t expect everyone to like him. He’d had his share of rivalries over the years, and a couple of painful breakups, too. But he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him with the kind of laser-focused disdain he saw in Eliza’s dark-eyed gaze.
He watched her walk back to the group of women in the corner, and he whistled under his breath. “Is she always like this?” he joked, turning back to Riley.
But the bartender wasn’t laughing. “No,” he said, giving Cal a measured look. “Eliza’s solid. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard her say a bad word about anyone. So, whatever you’ve done, it can’t be good.”
Riley moved off to serve another customer, his earlier friendliness gone. Cal was thrown. If his siren wasn’t slaying men left and right with that sharp tongue of hers, it meant she was just mad at him alone. But for the life of him, Cal couldn’t think of a reason. If anything, he should be the one holding a grudge, after the eventful way they’d met.
He followed her across the bar. “Can we talk for a moment?” he asked, arriving at Eliza’s table.
Her friends stopped their conversation and turned to look at him with naked curiosity. “In private?” he added, flashing them all what he hoped was his most charming smile. “It won’t take a moment.”
Eliza looked him up and down, but eventually, she shrugged. “Sure.”
Cal led her down a back hallway that he found led to a small patio area, empty in the cool night air. He stepped outside, feeling strangely off balance. “Did I do something to offend you?” he asked, deciding to cut right to the chase. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, but I have no idea why.”
Eliza sighed. “I’m Eliza,” she said icily. “Eliza Bennett.”
Was that supposed to mean something? “Still drawing a blank here,” he said, lost.
“I used to work at the Herald,” Eliza said, narrowing her eyes. “Until you fired me. Apparently, one of my features hit a little too close to home.”
Oh.
Suddenly, it all became clear. “Aunt Mindy,” Cal said, with a sigh of recognition. “You were the one who wrote that article.”
“Bingo.”
Cal exhaled. Family dinners had definitely been . . . interesting after that hit piece landed. “I’m sorry,” he said apologetically. “If it makes any difference, firing you wasn’t my call. I thought the article was funny. Sharp, but funny.”
“Maybe you could tell that to my old editor,” Eliza replied, her eyes still flashing angrily. “So I can have my job back.”
Cal paused. “I don’t know about that. We’re planning layoffs, and . . .”
“And it would make life a lot more complicated for you,” Eliza finished for him. He couldn’t disagree. Uncle Arthur would throw a fit, and how could he justify hiring someone back, only to go and fire another dozen people right away? “Typical.”
Her comment was murmured, almost under her breath as she turned away, but it needled under Cal’s skin.
“You think you you’ve got me all figured out,” Cal said, annoyed.
“What’s there to know?” Eliza gave a casual shrug. “Prep school, Ivy League . . . now you’re running daddy’s company. I’ve met a dozen guys like you, and I’ll probably meet a dozen more. Have fun looking for your summer house.”
She turned on her heel.
“Now wait a minute.” Cal moved to block her path. “Anyone ever told you that first impressions can be deceiving?”
“And did anyone ever tell you that the simplest explanation is usually right?” Eliza shot back.
“If that’s true, then you’re a sneaky, destructive vandal,” Cal said, his lips quirking in a smile.
“Maybe I am,” Eliza replied. “But nothing you could do would surprise me.”
“No?” Cal looked at her for a moment. “I’m going to enjoy proving you wrong.”
Eliza snorted with laughter, taking a step back towards the door. But before Cal knew what was happening, he caught her hand and pulled her into him.
“What—”
Eliza’s question died on his lips, smothered by a kiss.
A hot, wild kiss that sent Cal’s heart racing, zero to sixty in a heartbeat.
Her mouth was hot, and sweet, and surprisingly soft for someone who seemed all sharp edges and icy comments. But there was nothing icy about the Eliza in his arms. She swayed against him, warm, and he kissed her deeper, teasing his tongue against her open lips and drinking in the taste of her.
He could have kissed her for hours, he was right there on the edge, but he remembered himself just in time.
He stepped back.
“Surprised yet?” he asked, enjoying the heavy-lidded look of shock on her face. And before she could have the last word, he turned and walked away.
What had he done?
Cal shook his head, retrieving his coat from inside and heading out the front door. It had been a wild impulse, against all his better judgment.
And, more importantly, when could he do it again?
5
Eliza couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned all night, replaying the most surprising kiss of her life. It wasn’t just the fact Cal had kissed her like that—out of nowhere—that made her feel like her world had tilted dangerously off its axis. No, it was her reaction that shook her to the core.
She’d liked it.
The feel of his lips, urgent against hers; the soft pull of his hands around her waist. And his tongue . . .
Oh, the things that man could do with his tongue.
She flushed, her cheeks hot in the dark. This was Cal Prescott! He’d ended her career with a stroke of the pen—without even bothering to learn her name. She should be vowing to never think of him again, not slipping into a hazy, lustful daydream about the feel of his body, solid and taut against her—
Enough!
Eliza leapt out of bed. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, but she couldn’t lie around a moment longer, not with thoughts of Cal so tantalizingly close. She pulled on a sweater and padded silently downstairs so she didn’t wake the others. Her father’s office was still in a state of cluttered chaos, so she grabbed a couple of garbage bags and some empty boxes, and set about filing, clearing, and trying to sort the last twenty years of his oddball research into some kind of order.
There was a method to the scatterbrained mess, she discovered. Old periodicals may have teetered in perilous stacks, but
they were arranged by date and subject. Drawers of hand-scribbled notes divided neatly into boxes, and even the books gathering dust on every spare inch of carpet followed some kind of pattern: biographies by the window, thick history tomes jumbled by the desk, fiction piled within reach of his favorite armchair for an afternoon break.
Halfway through the stacks of old newspapers on the desk, Eliza found a book of clippings. Her old articles from the Herald, neatly snipped from the pages and filed away in a special blue scrapbook, everything from the smallest review of a downtown food cart to her bigger, in-depth articles, all pressed into the pages, a father’s pride right there to see in black and white.
She sat down on the squeaky old desk chair with a thump.
God, she missed him.
She knew that they’d been lucky, if you could call it that at all. His diagnosis had come too late to help, but early enough to treasure the last months together. Eliza had spent every weekend at home with him, and they’d taken trips, and talked late into the night, but it hadn’t been enough.
It would never be enough.
Looking back, Eliza could barely even remember the months after the funeral. She’d muddled through, throwing herself into work to keep from thinking about the raw, bleeding ache in her chest, and coming out to the Cape as often as she could to distract herself with her friends’ romantic shenanigans. Now, the pain had faded, a little, to this empty ache she felt while looking around the room, and feeling her father there, like he’d never left at all.
Eliza leafed further. Books, and papers, and random torn recipes. He had a whole stack of the Cape Caller, too, with articles marked for reference: gardening tips, coupons, the high tide report. He’d had a top-of-the-line laptop, and all the latest apps on his phone, too, but he’d always preferred the printed word. He’d passed that on to Eliza: the years she’d spent curled up in that corner by the window, reading her thrift-store Nancy Drews while he’d graded assignments, one of his favorite Don McLean records playing on low.
