by Maria Geraci
Once, as a kid, Ben had attended the annual Whispering Bay Spring into Summer festival. As a ten-year-old living in a dilapidated double-wide with a single mom on food stamps, the festival, with its bright lights, music, and abundant food trucks, had seemed like something out of a fantasy.
“Where can a guy get a decent cup of coffee in this town?” Ben asked his assistant, Gavin, through the car’s speakerphone.
“I don’t see a Starbucks in your area for almost twenty miles, sir,” said Gavin from his desk at the Miami office. “But there’s a place called The Bistro by the Beach and according to Yelp, it’s very popular.”
Gavin gave him directions, then cleared his throat the way he did whenever he got nervous. “So, sir, I know this is none of my business, but just how long do you plan to be up there, wherever it is you are?” Gavin thought that anyplace outside of south Florida was the sticks.
“As long as it takes.”
“Right! Didn’t mean to pry into your personal affairs. Not that I’m implying that you’re having an affair. I…just um, need to update your calendar. Sir.”
Ben could practically feel Gavin sweating through the phone line. Gavin Porter was twenty-five and had recently graduated with his M.B.A. He was also Ben’s third assistant this year. Joan, his legal secretary, handled all the work for his Martinez and Martinez clients, but Gavin was on Ben’s personal payroll. He took care of everything Ben didn’t have time for—from financial spreadsheets on his latest business acquisition to picking up the dry cleaning.
Joan had urged Ben to be “gentler” with Gavin than he’d been with his previous assistants. Ben was never anything but professional, but he didn’t have time to babysit anyone. He was direct and he expected anyone who worked for him to be the same.
Still, he liked the kid. He was smart and a hard worker. He’d hate to lose him this early in the game, so he tried to take some of the gruff out of his voice. “Let’s assume I’ll be here for at least two weeks. A month, tops. Is everything set for the house?”
“Roger that, sir. I got in contact with a local realtor, Kitty Pappas, who’s arranged everything. The address on the house is 134 Tortoise Way. That’s Tango-Oscar-Romeo—
“I know how to spell tortoise,” Ben said, gritting his teeth. God love ’em, but ever since Gavin had discovered that Ben had once served in the army, he’d started using the military phonetic alphabet to spell everything out. He’d also started calling him “sir.” Ben had asked Gavin to simply call him by his first name, but Gavin had claimed that it crossed the employee-boss line. “Sir” was probably better than “boss man,” which is how Gavin had originally addressed him, but it still made Ben feel like a pretentious prick. Any day now, Gavin was probably going to start saluting him, too.
“Right, sir. Got it. The house is fully furnished and it’s already been stocked with your usual provisions. I’ve also taken the liberty to make sure the rental car will be ready to go. Greta should have no trouble at the airport this afternoon.” He gave Ben the code to the rental home’s keypad and promised to call him back later with an update on a new deal in the works.
Ben glanced at the car’s dashboard clock. It was almost noon. He’d left Miami yesterday and driven to Orlando to check out a business opportunity, spent the night in Mickey Mouse town, then left bright and early to head here to Whispering Bay. Greta and Rachel were on a flight from Miami coming into the local airport in nearby Panama City. The flight should be arriving in the next thirty minutes.
For a second, he thought about driving over to meet them but then changed his mind. Greta was more than capable of taking care of everything. He’d made sure of that when he’d hired her.
He easily found The Bistro by the Beach, but the small parking lot in front of the café was full, so he parked near the business next door. The sign above the door read Baby Got Bump, which sounded familiar. He thought back to where he might have heard that name before, and then it came to him. Last night at the hotel, he’d picked up a copy of Florida Entrepreneur. According to an article in the magazine, Baby Got Bump was an online clothing store specializing in designer maternity wear. It was also one of the fastest growing businesses in the state, which had piqued his interest.
He made a mental note to approach the owner about potential investment opportunities, then opened the door to the café. It was bright and airy and had a great view of the gulf. Almost every table was packed, too. He inspected the overhead chalkboard menu above the counter.
“Hi!” said a pretty blonde. “My name is Sarah. How can I help you?”
He hadn’t thought to get any food, but according to the menu the special today was a Cuban sandwich. Living in south Florida, he doubted it would be half as good as anything he’d eaten in Miami’s Little Havana, but he was hungry, so he’d give it a try. “I’ll have the Cuban and a cup of whatever you’ve got brewing.”
She poured him his coffee and took his money. “What name should I put on the order?”
“Ben,” he said, before taking a sip of the coffee. It was strong. Just the way he liked it.
“Passing through town on your way to court?” she asked.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s September and hot as all get out, and you’re wearing a suit and tie. Here in Florida that means you’re either a lawyer or going to a funeral. But there’s no funeral in the area that I’m aware of, so…” She ended that with a smile.
He couldn’t help but smile back. “No court today. But you’re right, guilty as charged. I’m a lawyer.”
“Welcome to The Bistro by the Beach, Ben the lawyer. Find yourself a table and we’ll bring your sandwich out to you when it’s ready. And if you need a refill on the coffee, just holler.”
He seriously doubted he’d be doing any sort of hollering, as she put it, but he thanked her anyway, found an empty table near the back, then immediately pulled out his phone to check his email.
“The Wi-Fi password here is dolphin,” said a female voice.
He glanced over to see an attractive older woman sitting at the next table. “So that you don’t use all your data,” she said, pointing to his cell phone. She was in her late sixties, maybe, with short bobbed silver hair and blue eyes. She wore yoga pants and looked extremely fit. “I’m Viola, president of the Gray Flamingos.”
The Gray what? “Thanks,” Ben said.
“You’re welcome.”
Seated at her table was a guy who looked about her age, and another woman, this one maybe a decade older. The older woman wore bright red lipstick and a T-shirt that said Prepare for the Worst.
Normally, he didn’t do friendly chitchat with strangers or anyone else for that matter, but he had to admit to being curious. Plus, these people looked like locals, and it would behoove him to get a feel for the town. Maybe he could even pick up on some gossip that could prove useful to his clients. “What are the Gray Flamingos?”
“I’d thought you’d never ask,” T-shirt said. She smiled at him like he was a hamburger and she was starving. “I’m Betty Jean Collins, current secretary of the chapter. The Gray Flamingos are an activist group for senior citizens rights. Don’t let anyone tell you that ageism isn’t a real thing.”
“You’ve never heard of us?” Viola asked.
“Sorry, but no. I don’t live around here.”
“We can tell,” said the man, who was eyeing him curiously as if he knew him, something Ben had unfortunately gotten used to over the past couple of years. Ever since the press had made a heyday over his relationship with Tiffany, he couldn’t go anywhere in Miami without being recognized. But way up here in the Florida panhandle? He hadn’t expected this.
“I’m Gus Pappas. Owner of Pappas and Son Plumbing and Whispering Bay city council member.” The man rose from his table and came over to offer his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Ben shook the older gentleman’s hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Gus.” There was a twitch in Gus’s brown eyes that told him he’d noticed Ben hadn�
�t given out his name.
“It’s not every day we have a strange lawyer come to town,” Viola said.
“And here I was about to say that all lawyers are strange,” quipped Gus.
Ben chuckled. He’d heard enough lawyer jokes to last a lifetime, but he didn’t mind them. He’d been known to tell an occasional one himself if it put a prickly client at ease.
“It’s that obvious that I’m a lawyer?”
“Well, there’s the suit,” Viola said, “Plus, we overheard part of your conversation with Sarah. We just didn’t catch your name.”
“Speaking of names, any relation to Kitty Pappas?” he asked Gus, remembering Gavin’s mention of the realtor handling his rental.
“She’s married to my nephew Steve. Great guy. Part owner of Pappas Hernandez Construction. If you want to build a house, then he’s your man.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ben said trying to be polite.
“So are you new to town or just passing through?” asked Betty Jean. “Married, single, divorced? Please say you’re moving to town and that you’re not married. We need a new hottie to take our minds off the fact that Luke Powers is now taken.”
Ben shook his head. “Excuse me?”
Viola and Gus smiled at one another like they were used to this.
“Luke Powers used to be Whispering Bay’s most eligible bachelor but now he and the blonde at the counter, that’s Sarah by the way, are living together and in love”—Betty Jean made air quote marks on the word love—“so that takes Luke off the market.” She sighed heavily. “My first allegiance is to Zeke Grant. That’s our town’s chief of police. He’ll always be number one in my heart, but he’s married and about to be a father again so that kills off a little of the fantasy.”
Ben couldn’t help but stare at Betty Jean.
“It seems like every time we get a hot new stud in this town, he gets snatched up right away. You look a little stiff in that suit, but I’ll bet once you get out of it—”
“Ok-ay! That’s enough, Betty Jean,” Viola said, laughing with embarrassment. “I think this poor man gets the picture.”
“No need to get all snippy with me, Viola Pantini,” Betty Jean huffed. “Just because you’re the president of the chapter doesn’t mean you’re the boss of me.”
Pantini? The name startled him. Ben took a sip of his coffee and discreetly eyed Viola, going over her features in more detail. The only other Pantini he’d ever met was a tall, willowy redhead, and although both women had blue eyes, that was where the similarity ended. He supposed they could be related through marriage.
When was the last time he’d thought of Jenna Pantini?
Just about any time he saw a redhead, that’s when.
Funny, how after all these years he’d still get disappointed when he’d spot a tall redhead from behind and catch up to her, only to discover that it wasn’t Jenna. Florida was a big state. The odds of ever running into her again were probably zero. He could easily look her up and find her. The firm had some top-notch investigators. But what was the point? They’d had their chance, and he’d blown it. Besides, she was probably married with a couple of kids by now.
“I guess this is my cue to apologize to you,” Betty Jean said sounding not the least bit contrite. “Some people around here”—she looked at Viola when she said that—“think that just because you’re retired means your sex drive has shriveled up, but that’s exactly the sort of prejudice we Gray Flamingos are trying to fight.”
Viola rolled her eyes.
“No need to apologize,” Ben said. “I have no problem with being sexually objectified.”
Betty Jean threw her head back and laughed. “You might just become my favorite after all!”
“Do I detect a Boston accent?” Ben asked, liking Betty Jean more with every minute. She was a character, all right.
Betty Jean smirked. “You better believe it, buddy. Boston born and bred, although I’ve lived in Florida for a few years now.”
“Ben!” A woman holding a plate in her hand called out his name. She spotted him and came over to his table. “I figured that must be you since you’re the only person in here I don’t know. Here’s your Cuban sandwich!” she chirped cheerfully. She was young, with dark curly hair and glasses. Pretty, too, in a nerdy kind of way. “I’m Lucy. If you need anything just let me or Sarah know.”
“Thanks,” he said.
She hovered by the table, as if waiting for something.
He automatically pulled out his wallet.
“Oh, I don’t want a tip. I just want to see if you like the sandwich.”
That seemed a little odd. He took a bite of the sandwich, prepared to say it was perfectly fine no matter what it tasted like. The bread was fresh, and the sandwich was authentic—pork, ham, Swiss cheese, pickles and mustard. A perfect Cuban. “This is good,” he said, meaning it. “Thanks.”
Lucy beamed. “It was my idea to include that on the menu today, and I always appreciate feedback.”
If this sandwich was any indication, then The Bistro by the Beach might just turn out to be a staple during his stay here in Whispering Bay. Lucy sauntered off, making small talk with the customers at the other tables on her way back to the counter.
“So your name is Ben, huh?” Gus asked, his eyes narrowed. “And you’re a lawyer?”
Here we go.
Ben nodded and took another bite of the sandwich. Any second now the obligatory questions would start to roll. Was he that Ben Harrison? The one from the tabloids? Were he and Tiffany engaged? How did it feel to date a Playboy Bunny? Was he ashamed of himself for depriving Arthur Clendenin’s children of half their inheritance?
“Ben Harrison?” Gus clarified. “The guy who’s representing Nora and Vince Palermo?”
Not the question he was expecting, but there was no reason to deny it. “Yep. That’s me.”
Viola and Gus stared back at him with varying degrees of hostility, and even Betty Jean now looked at him in horror. “And here I was really beginning to like you,” she said. “You do know that if Nora and Vince win they’re going to sell off all that beachfront property to Ted Ferguson, who in turn is going to litter our beaches with a bunch of concrete condominiums?”
Ted Ferguson was a south Florida developer who was always in the papers. Ben had never met him, but he was familiar with his M.O.
Ben wasn’t a fan of overdeveloping the beaches, but if Nora and Vince wanted to sell their land to Ferguson, there wasn’t much Ben could do about that. His job was to represent his client to the best of his ability, not police their every action.
“You’re going to lose this time,” Gus said. “Earl Handy’s will is tighter than a drum.”
Ben nodded genially. He wasn’t about to discuss his clients with these people, no matter how much he might like them. Or how wrong they were about his odds of losing, because the fact was, he predicted this case was going to be a slam dunk for him.
The Bistro door opened, and all three seniors glanced over curiously. Gus smiled in satisfaction. “Talk about perfect timing. Look who just walked in. The mayor, the city attorney and the city manager herself. You’re about to get your buns toasted, Harrison.”
Unable to help himself, Ben laid down his sandwich and turned in his seat. A trio of women all dressed in business attire stood at the entrance to the café. One of them was obviously pregnant. She had brown hair and wore a pleasant expression on her face. The one in the middle was short with dark chin-length hair and a familiar steely sort of look in her eyes. This one was the attorney, no doubt about it. And the third woman…
The third woman was tall with red hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She wore a tan-colored pencil skirt that clung to her slim hips and a crisp white shirt with black heels. Even from across the room, she had the kind of take-charge attitude and looks that would have gotten her noticed in Miami or Manhattan or anywhere else in the world. Her gaze locked with his in recognition.
Jenna Pantini.
At eighteen, she’d been pretty enough for him to notice. She must be, what? Thirty-one now. She’d grown from a pretty girl into a beautiful woman.
Ben had only two regrets in his life, and one of them was standing just a room’s length away, staring at him as if he was the last person on earth she wanted to see.
Chapter Three
Apparently, yes, fate was a cruel bitch, because, really, what were the odds of running into Ben right here, right now?
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mimi said. “Is that Ben Harrison over there?”
Pilar followed Mimi’s gaze. “It certainly looks like him. And we’ve seen enough pictures of him this morning to be pretty certain.” She squinted. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think he’s even better looking in person.”
Jenna’s knees hadn’t felt this shaky since she’d visited Disney World this past spring and gotten off the Tower of Terror. Good thing no one was taking her pulse at the moment or they’d probably break out the AED machine.
What was he doing here? Yes, he was the attorney representing Nora Palermo, but wasn’t all that supposed to happen over phone calls and court motions and email?
“Hey, ladies!” Sarah Jamison smiled at them. “Are you here for lunch or just coffee?”
“Lunch,” Mimi said, still ogling Ben. Okay. To be honest, they were all still staring. It was like they’d conjured him out of thin air simply by talking about him.
Pilar was the first one to shake herself out of their Ben haze. “Do you know who that is eating in your cafe?” she demanded, pointing to Ben.
“Technically, it’s not my café yet. Lucy and I don’t sign the papers for another week.” The Bistro by the Beach belonged to Frida Hampton and her artist husband, Ed, who had just spent a summer in Europe and decided to ditch the everyday grind of restaurant ownership and move abroad. Luckily, Sarah and Lucy, both of whom had spent the summer working at The Bistro, were buying the place. No one had wanted to see Whispering Bay’s iconic coffee house sold to strangers. Or worse, turned into a hookah bar.
