by Agatha Ball
"Oh, sure," I said, trying to be neighborly. I put the kickstand down on my bike and walked up on to the porch.
"Awfully lucky to have spotted you coming up the road. I didn't know what I was going to do." He handed me the key and then walked off like this was somehow my job to let him into his own home.
I jiggled the handle. It was actually unlocked, he just hadn't tried the handle. I figured it didn't do any good to bring it up. Instead, I just opened the door. "All set," I informed him and held the keys out.
"Say! That's great." He jogged over to the door and then hooked his thumb toward the inside. "Want to come in? I picked up a twelve-pack."
Now, I might be an idiot sometimes, but after everything that had happened this summer, my brain started screaming stranger-danger. Especially from some rando dude in an isolated area asking me to come in for a drink.
"Sorry, got an early morning tomorrow," I replied, turning toward my cottage.
"Oh!" he said, suddenly a little colder. He folded his arms and his voice dripped with accusation. "Are you participating in the bakeoff?"
"Um... No, my granny is. I just have to mind our shop."
The mood shifted again. He was as easy to read as a recipe book. He flipped on the charm as he dug for some insider scoop. "That's great. What she's making?"
Like I was going to tell this jerk. "She didn't say." I hoped my smile didn't look completely fake. "I take it you're participating in the bakeoff? Or are you just an enthusiast?"
"Oh, THAT's why you didn't want to come in for a drink," he replied like some great epiphany had just struck him. "You don't know who I am. I'm Bryce," he said, reaching out his hand.
I gave his fingertips a light shake in return. "Bryce?"
"I've won the bakeoff for the last three years?" he continued, like that should jog something in my memory. He looked at the cottage. "You'd think that would afford me a little bit more luxury."
His contempt for our adorable little cottages cemented my gut instinct. I pointed out at the horizon. "At least the view is nice."
"I suppose," he said. "I don't really like the ocean."
So, listen, I get not wanting to get into the ocean. There are all sorts of scary things out there. But not liking looking at it? I realized I was dealing with a special kind of shallow. But I bit back my reply. The island needed people to feel like this was one of the best places they had ever been. We needed them to tell their friends about it and make plans to come back.
So, instead, I plastered on a friendly smile. "Well, I'm certainly lucky to have you as my neighbor! Three years as the champ of the bakeoff! How does it feel?"
He shrugged. "Oh, well... it's sort of old hat now. It's not like there's any real competition in these things. I've been baking since I was a little kid, so it really feels like second nature to a man like me."
"Oh," I replied, struggling for a response. "Well, congratulations on finding your calling."
He swatted at a butterfly that was trying to land on him. "You know, you get on the circuit and you get to know people. It's like you just can't escape. That's why I think it is so important to vibe with locals."
The way he said 'locals' made it sound like he regarded me as some member of a wild tribe that hung out on this island, spearing wild boars and trading seashells instead of money.
"Good luck with that," I said.
"Are you going to Trevor's bar?" he asked me, leaning against his doorframe. "We could go down together."
"Um..." I realized I really didn't want to give him any excuse to try and escort me down to Main Street. "I'm just here to grab some comfy shoes. For work. Headed back down right now. But I'll see you there!"
"Sure! See you there!" he replied.
I couldn't help the shivers that ran up and down my spine as he stood there watching me go into my cottage. He was still standing there, watching, as I came out again. A part of me was starting to think that maybe I should hang out in Bitter Beans all week until this guy decided it was time to check out of the island.
I was learning it didn't pay to take chances in a place like Seaside.
Chapter Seven
The bell rang as the front door to Bitter Beans opened. Granny had seemed surprised to see me, but I managed to convince her to take advantage of my presence and go grab a nap before her big day tomorrow. I didn't mention my new neighbor in case I was just being paranoid. Last thing I needed was to go accuse an innocent person again.
But as that bell tinkled, I found myself praying Bryce hadn't pulled some sort of stalker maneuver and followed me.
A wave of relief washed over me as I saw I had a different customer. "Why, hello Richard!" I called from behind the counter. "Great to see you again!"
He smiled warmly, his merry eyes taking in the shop as he smoothed his tidy white hair.
"This is a wonderful place," he said, admiringly. He ran his fingers along one of the checkers tables. "A place where a person could just sit and feel at home. You've created quite a shop, Paige."
"Oh, It's not mine," I replied. "My grandmother owns it. I'm just here for the summer."
"Ah! Your grandmother!" he exclaimed. He peered into the pastry case. "And did she make these? These look like some mighty fine bakes."
I waved away his compliments. "Our old family recipes."
"Well, the treats you put in the basket were so good, I knew I needed to come down and grab a few more," he said, pulling a thick stack of cash from his wallet. He looked admiringly at all the shelves of local history books and beach reads. "Yes, indeed. If I could imagine the perfect bookshop, this is what it would look like. Pass along my compliments to your grandmother, would you?"
"Oh, well hang on just a second! She's just upstairs. You can tell her yourself." I walked over to the door that went up to her apartment. "Granny? We have a customer who would like a word." I gave him a wink. Not letting Granny know whether those words were compliments or complaints would light the fire under her.
I heard her kitten heels tap down the stairway as she walked into the room. She must have skipped the nap in lieu of some housework. Her big, black beehive was wrapped in a scarf, and she was wearing a plaid shirt over her denim capris.
"And how can I be of —" And then she suddenly stopped. Her face was shocked, but I think it was a good shock. I looked to see what was the matter. Her eyes and Richard's eyes were locked on one another and the whole world had stopped spinning.
"Cindy?" he whispered.
"Richard?"
"Um... do you two know each other?" I asked.
Granny was suddenly alight with joy. "I'll say I do. How the heck are you, Richard? It must've been... what... thirty? Forty years?" She rushed over and gave him a great big hug.
"There about," he replied, breaking away, but still holding onto her hands. His eyes twinkled with happiness. "You haven't changed a bit."
"Oh, go on you," she replied, but soaking up the compliment.
"This is your place?" he asked, motioning to the shop. "This fantastic place?"
"Designed by my brain and these two hands," she replied with pride.
"I remember we used to talk about the perfect bookshop. And here you went and made it," he marveled. I’m not sure if he was more enthralled with Bitter Beans or Granny.
"We had a lot of good talks, didn't we?" she admitted, her voice tinged with the warmth of nostalgia.
"Where are my manners! Let me buy you a cup of coffee!" he offered, stepping up to the counter and pulling out a couple bills.
"Oh, it is on the house—" she started to say.
"No! No bribing the judges! I insist."
She laughed and came around the back. She fired up the espresso machine and made two perfectly timed cappuccinos. "Well, if you're buying, I'm going to definitely need some company while I'm sipping. What do you say we blow this popsicle stand? Take a walk along the boardwalk and you can fill me in on all you've been up to all these years."
"There is nothing that would please
me more."
She handed him the paper cup and still unable to keep their eyes off each other, they stepped out of the shop with the little tinkle of the bell overhead marking their exit.
"Well, what do you know?" I said to myself. "Guess I'm not the only one with a summer romance."
Chapter Eight
Granny and I headed over to Trevor's Saloon. The night ferry was just pulling out of the dock and the streetlights of Main Street were starting to come on. It was so peaceful, couples walking down the street hand-in-hand, eating ice cream and laughing. Granny was practically aflutter. She even put on her good fuchsia lipstick.
"I just can't believe he's here!" she said. "After all these years! I haven't seen him since high school."
"He was pretty special, huh?" I asked.
She waved me away as she lied through her teeth. "Oh, just an old flame." She linked her arm through mine. "But it is nice to have these people in your life who knew you when. I mean, obviously I haven't changed a bit. But you know what I mean."
I smiled. She wasn't fooling anyone.
The wash of cool, recycled air met us as we opened the doors to Trevor's Saloon. The whole place was hopping. The conversation and music spilled out into the street.
Trevor had taken over the place from his uncle and had redecorated it to look like a bar in the old west, hence the name. I hadn't been in since it opened about a month ago, but a lot had changed. I guess that's what happens when you hook up with a marketing maven like Madison. Now, it was like a nautical amusement park. There were bad paintings of sailors in storms hanging on the wall. Fishnets hung from the ceiling. Waves had been painted on all of the furniture. Somewhere, they had gotten a maiden masthead.
Okay, so the masthead was pretty cool.
But it was a far cry from Trevor's original vision.
Granny's posse had staked out a corner at the end of the bar and as soon as they spotted us, waved us over.
I realized that Madison wasn't the only marketing genius at work. The posse was subtly touting their shop's wares to the bakeoff contestants and tourists. Wanda had dyed her hair a pale purple and was wearing a t-shirt from her shop that read: "Mermaids Do It Underwater." The purple matched Marnie's hand crocheted cardigan. I wondered if they coordinated it. I wouldn't have put it past them. Even Holly's messy Gibson girl hairdo had been done up with an abalone shell barrette, which I recognized from a display in her general store. If anyone paid them any compliments, they'd be able to respond, "I know just the place where you can buy it!"
Holly trotted over to grab an extra stool for us, her wooden clogs flapping against the soles of her feet. "I heard you had a very special reunion today," she said with heaps of innuendo.
Granny primped her black beehive. "Now, don't you go spreading rumors of my magnetic personality."
"Pulled that one off the boat straight to your door!" Wanda laughed, slapping her thigh. "If I had a glass of wine, I would raise it to you now."
"Why don't we have glasses of wine?" Marnie asked, flipping her long, grey braid over her shoulder so it was hanging down her back. She pounded on the counter. "What does a wench have to do to get a bottle of grog in this here shanty?"
I left them to flag down the bartender as I spotted Nate across the room, schmoozing with the judges and contestants. I could hardly wait to compare notes and to see if his first impressions matched mine.
By the speed in which he excused himself, I'd hazard we were on the same page. He swiftly made his way through the crowd and gave me a hug. "So glad you're here," he murmured into my ear. "I have absolutely no idea how to talk to baking people."
"You mean 'bakers'?"
"I submit exhibit A why I cannot be left with them unaccompanied by you and the defense rests its case, your honor." He rested his hand on my waist as he walked me over to the bar. Out of nowhere, Johnny popped up from behind the counter holding two bottles of expensive liquor.
"What are you doing, Johnny?" I asked in surprise.
He shook his head to get his curly, blond hair out of his eyes, and then poured the liquids into the metal shaker, and rattled it around like he had taken up maracas. "Just moonlighting while Trevor does his seal impression."
He jerked his chin at a dark corner of the bar. The seal suit had blended into the shadows, but the flash of the camera as Trevor got a selfie with Lorraine gave him away.
Hashtag, gag me with a trout.
"Well, I'm not sure which is a bigger hell," I remarked. "Dressing like a team mascot or being forced to work behind the counter on your night off."
"Aw... my dad was having me make drinks since I was in kindergarten," said Johnny good-naturedly. "This is a piece of cake. And if I can't make it? I just make it up."
"Well, Johnny," said Nate, bravely. "What do you say you pour Paige and me one of your secret recipes."
"Anything you like? Don't like?" he asked.
"We are in it to win it, Johnny. Go wild."
Probably not the best words to use with a guy like Johnny. His whole face lit up as he contemplated the possibilities. Suddenly, he started juggling the shakers. The hum of the bar lowered as everyone turned to look at him. He picked up a bottle of rum, sucked down a mouthful, then blew it out and set it on fire. The bar went crazy. He flipped two glass bottles behind his back and then poured the liquid into a soup bowl.
"I'm calling this one a Johnny Surprise Special," he announced. "Surprise!" he shouted, and then with a flourish, set that on fire.
The room gave him an enthusiastic round of applause, which he accepted, bowing this way and that before moving on down the bar to take someone else's order.
I looked down at the flaming punch and then at Nate. "Does it come with a fire extinguisher?"
Nate looked at me like my guess was as good as his. "Maybe we should ask for some marshmallows to make some s'mores?"
"By the time this thing burns out, it is going to be time to go to work."
"I'm pretty sure Johnny just sent all of Trevor's profits tonight up in flames."
"Quite a fancy beverage you have there!" said a voice.
We both turned around and I was so happy to see it was Richard.
"Oh, my cousin is trying his hand at bartending," I explained. We both looked over as Johnny piled twelve paper umbrellas into some bro's beer. "Gotta say, I think he has a real knack."
"I would hire him in Vegas," commented Richard with amusement.
I motioned to Nate. "Have you two met?"
"Indeed, we have. Your boyfriend was welcome company, but I took his lead when he made a run for it and plotted my escape, too."
"Granny's down at the end of the bar!" I offered. The moment his eyes caught sight of her, I could see he was trying very hard to seem polite and not dance across the room, so I said, "Let's go see what she's up to."
We all walked over. The room parted as Nate carefully carried the flaming bowl. Surprise! Johnny's special drink was also great for crowd control.
Granny's face lit up brighter than the fire of our punch when she saw Richard. He leaned over and gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek.
"Girls, I'd like for you to meet Richard. Richard, these are my dearest friends." She went around the circle and introduced her posse.
But then everyone's favorite pooper decided to come in and ruin things.
"Doesn't it feel great in here? All this air conditioning? I don't know how you all manage to survive summers on the island without it." Madison sidled onto the barstool next to us. She pointed at our beverage, mocking it. "Hey everyone! It looks like a party!"
Ignoring her completely, because that's the kind of classy ladies that they are, Wanda raised her glass. "To Richard and Cindy, and to having rediscovered each other. High school sweethearts and through fate, they are reunited.
Madison did not take the charming news like everyone else did, however.
"Excuse me!" Madison called. Her arms folded. Trevor, sensing that there was an issue, wandered over, bumping into peo
ple as he tried to navigate the dark room in his seal outfit. "I need to say, as the sponsor of this bakeoff, that I am horrified to see that the owner of Bitter Beans would engage in such... shenanigans."
"I'm sorry, what?" asked Granny with confusion.
"Well, one can hardly expect for a judge to be objective when one of the contestants is romantically involved with one of the judges."
Granny looked over at Richard, horrified. She turned back to Madison. "This was not premeditated. We just discovered each other here on the island."
"A happy accident," Richard explained.
"Happy accident or not, any competition you have ever entered clearly states that immediate friends and family are not eligible to enter," Madison informed them, her voice becoming shrill. "And I'm pretty sure I made sure that language was included in the contract."
"Are you implying that Richard would be anything but impartial and professional?" Granny challenged.
Madison folded her arms. "Trevor's Saloon certainly cannot give its 'seal of approval' if you were to win." She then elbowed Trevor and, terrified, he clapped his flippers together.
"It is a taste test, Madison," Richard reminded her. "An average of three judges' rankings."
"You know this woman. You have tasted her cooking. I mean, obviously you enjoy what she makes if she weaseled her way through your stomach to your heart after all these years."
"I have not weaseled my way into anything," Granny replied, slamming her wine glass down.
"And I haven't tasted anything!" added Richard. "We haven't seen each other in forty years!"
I knew that Madison was a frickin' jealous low life out to make everyone miserable for her own agenda, but to insinuate that Granny was somehow rigging the game was a low blow.
"You're just scared your friend Kylie will lose to my grandmother, aren't you?" I accused her, stepping into her space.
"Wait, so a contestant knows you?" Nate clarified.
Madison began getting defensive. She traced the rim of her martini glass. "I am not a judge."
"But you just said the rules—"
