I gave a half-hearted wave before heading up the walkway. As I unlocked the front door, I glanced back, expecting to get one last look at Brett’s broad shoulders as he walked out of my life. But he wasn’t walking away at all. He was standing on the sidewalk, waiting for me to get safely inside. Right where he’d said he would be.
CHAPTER 4
BRETT
June
I HAD WALKED by the Happy Paws Bakery a hundred times, but I’d never actually entered. There were tables on which the owner displayed pet-training books, food dishes, and accessories, but most of the floor space was occupied by glass cases of baked treats. Liver cannoli coated with carob. Peanut butter dog bones. Catnip squares. It was what I would expect of a small bakery that specialized in pet-friendly treats.
“What can I get for you?” A teenager behind the counter reached for a piece of tissue paper while I perused the case.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’m looking for something special.”
“Dog or cat?”
“Dog,” I replied. “And I’m almost certain it’s imaginary.”
For the past week and a half, I’d been casually strolling past the Bayberry Inn, looking for signs that Mindy had moved in. I’d even brought Jai Ling—Mindy’s grandmother—a small potted plant after her surgery and had shamelessly pressed her for information during our visit.
“My granddaughter? Mindy?” Jai had waved one hand dismissively. “Eh. I don’t know when she’s coming. She never visits me, you know.” She’d squeezed my hand. “She’s not like you.”
Clearly, Jai had taken a liking to me. And I liked her, too. She was feisty and she enjoyed talking about her soap operas. She was starting to get irritated by a story line about a pair of twins, one of whom was evil. “He’s planning to kidnap his own brother,” she’d said with a shake of her head.
“Why would he do that?”
“So he can pretend to be him. He wants to marry his brother’s fiancée.” Jai’s mouth had tightened. She did not approve of this. “He’s up to no good. I think he’s trying to get her money.”
Since becoming a people walker, I had become more aware of the signs of loneliness. Jai wanted to talk and complain and sometimes just sit quietly. We had spent an hour watching her soap opera together the day before, and that was when she’d mentioned that Mindy was moving in the next day. “She says she’ll visit me. I’ll believe it when I see it.” I tucked the information away.
I wanted to see Mindy again. I’d enjoyed her company that night at dinner, and she was sure easy on the eyes. But I needed to figure out how to see her without being creepy about it. Just … a friendly gesture. Something for her fake dog.
“An imaginary dog?” The teen behind the counter paused. “What does that—?”
“It’s kind of a long story.” I crouched down to study the dog cookies. “Do you have baskets you can deliver?”
“No, sorry. We don’t do that.”
I rose. “How about just once? I’ll pay you extra for it.”
The teen paused to consider. “I guess I could talk to the owner.”
“Tell you what.” I tugged a business card from my wallet. It was one of my old ones, with everything scratched out except my name, e-mail, and phone number. “You tell the owner that I want a basket of dog cookies. Whatever kind you think is best.”
The teen glanced at the business card. “How big of a basket?”
“About this big.” I gestured with my hands. “I want it filled. Throw in a tennis ball or two. And a Frisbee. Wrap it up all nice. And I want it delivered to the guest cottage at the Bayberry Inn. You call me when the order’s complete, and I’ll give you my credit card number and a nice tip for yourself for delivery.”
“Yes, sir. I think we can do that for you.” He paused. “Do you want to include a card?”
“Oh, right. I should do that, too.”
The teen reached down behind the counter and pulled up a small piece of ivory card stock with a dog bone at the top. “Here. You can fill it out now. I’ll get you a pen.”
I considered for a moment; then I wrote down the message and handed it back. “Thanks again.”
“It may take a few days. We have to get a basket and bake extra cookies.”
“Not a problem.” I lifted one hand in the air as I turned to leave. “Do what you need to do. When it’s done, just give me a call.”
MINDY
THE WEST Portsmouth Main Street was designed with the tourist in mind. There was a shop that sold beach gear: kites, bodyboards, umbrellas, and towels. It was cute, but it was always packed, and I never ventured inside. The other shops in the center were filled with the artsy and impractical: glass wind chimes, dangling copper earrings, birdbaths made of old metal trash cans. I couldn’t see any reason to enter those establishments, either. The ice cream shop was overpriced and the restaurants had waiting lists the length of my arm. But nothing made me miss my dirty, run-down section of River Junction, Connecticut, more than knowing that for the next eight weeks, I would be forced to brave the West Portsmouth General Store for groceries.
Only two weeks after making my commitment to move, I was mostly settled in the guest cottage. My promise to my ailing grandmother had not yet been broken—not even when Mr. Beau Jangles attempted to remove my hand as I stuffed him into a cat carrier. I had texted Sorelle to let her know where I’d be. I had been acting in a fully responsible manner up to this point.
But the general store? That was a challenge.
The West Portsmouth General Store was situated on one corner of Main Street, across from an old barn that had been renovated into a fish market. I parked erratically, the front tire of my Civic partially settled against the curb, but who cared? There was a man standing on the sidewalk in front of the storefront guarding a wooden box loaded with ice and dead fish. He nodded at me as I passed him. “Bluefish, ma’am?” I shook my head and pulled the straps of my handbag higher on my shoulder.
As I stepped through the front door, my vision was assaulted by a corkboard littered with flyers advertising babysitters and lawn mowers. Sticking out from the rest was a yellow flyer that I recognized immediately because it was all over town. People walker, it read, pleasant and confidential. Let’s go for a walk together. References available. I pinched my lips at that one. People walker? What planet had I landed on?
In this age of supermarkets, lots of people might have found a small grocery with wood paneling and three types of fresh bread to be charming. But I believed in progress—neat, predictable, sanitary progress—and the disorder of the general store made my skin crawl.
I pushed a small metal shopping cart down the narrow aisles, past adjacent displays of charcoal briquettes, lighter fluid, and tampons. (Why were those three things shelved together? Was this sexist? I couldn’t decide.) My irritation mounted as I attempted to locate the items on my short list. Why were there lightbulbs in the cereal aisle? Why was the freezer of ice cream novelties situated beside the seasonal fruits? Why, for the love of doughnuts, were there ten brands of sunscreen and only two varieties of ground coffee? “Fuck this,” I whispered, and tossed a bag of light roast into my cart.
“Morning, miss.” A cheerful man in a red apron and a matching visor nodded as he stamped price tags on boxes of Jujubes. “Finding everything all right?”
No, I sure as heck wasn’t finding everything all right. There were paperback novels next to aspirin and eggs next to leeks. It was pandemonium, and the closest supermarket was three towns over. But the problem with West Portsmouth, I was learning, was that this town was inhabited by nice, helpful people. I couldn’t exactly bust through the doors like a well-dressed hurricane and demand that someone put the cat food in a place where I could actually find it. If I did, the man in the red apron would just shrug, smile, and say something breezy like, “There’s only five aisles, you know.” And he’d have a point.
I inhaled and released my breath slowly, willing serenity. “Do you carry cat food?”
“Right this way.”
I followed him to the next aisle, which I’d already walked through three times. Ah, there were the cans of Frisky Feline, right next to the toilet cleaner. Of course. “I must have missed it,” I said. “Thank you for your help.”
“My pleasure. You on vacation?”
“Not really. My grandmother owns the Bayberry Inn. I’m working over there for the summer.”
I braced myself for a barrage of questions. Of course this man—his name tag read Lenny—knew Nana. They had probably been acquaintances for years. For all I knew, he recognized me, too, and would say that he remembered me from back when I was knee-high to a butterfly. I’d watched enough television to know that this was what happened in tiny towns.
But Lenny didn’t ask any follow-up questions. Something happened to his expression. It shifted from one of pleasantness to something else. Discomfort? He averted his eyes and turned away. “Give my best to Jai,” he muttered, and fled the aisle.
I paused, one hand on a can of Tuna Surprise. “I will.” His abrupt retreat stung.
Fifteen cans of cat food later—they were on sale—I was finished. I brought my groceries to the checkout counter at the front, where a woman with gray hair and a mole on her chin was reading a tabloid. “Good morning,” the woman grunted as she set her reading material to the side. “Find everything you were looking for?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I unloaded my groceries onto the belt and watched in amazement as the woman sought the price tags and entered each item into the register by hand. I groaned inwardly. No bar code scanners? What kind of fresh hell was this?
I chewed on my lower lip and remembered that I was working on fitting in. In a town like West Portsmouth, that meant getting comfortable making small talk in the checkout aisle. Being pleasant. I gripped the handle of the cart and forced a smile. “My cat will be happy. He likes tuna.” I hope.
“Does he now? And what kind of a cat?”
“He’s a British shorthair. Gray. His name is Beau.”
The woman with the mole seemed pleased by this, and smiled. “He sounds like a love. Do you live around here?”
I recalled Lenny’s odd departure when I mentioned the Bayberry Inn. “Yes. I just moved in. Over on Poplar.”
“Mm-hmm, I know that street.” This was stating the obvious, since it was literally two streets over. “Where on Poplar?”
I debated silently for a moment but opted for honesty. I would be shopping at the general store for the summer, after all. “I’m staying in the guest cottage at the Bayberry Inn.”
“Is that so?” The woman’s eyes lit. “Well, welcome to West Portsmouth.”
“Thank you.”
Now that wasn’t so bad. I exhaled and wondered why I had felt so paranoid after Lenny’s bizarre reaction. Lenny must have had some history with Nana, and really, that was no big surprise. Nana could be cantankerous. She’d probably complained about the location of the lightbulbs or the placement of the napkins so close to the wasp spray.
“You’re a very pretty girl,” the woman continued. “Exotic looking. Maybe I’ll stop by the cottage sometime. I can help you unpack.” She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe pet your pussy … cat.”
Oh goodness, I was giving off all the wrong signals. I lowered my gaze to my hands and pretended to have trouble pulling out my credit card. “Do you take MasterCard?” I mumbled. My cheeks were on fire.
“Cash only, sweetheart.”
When the woman had finished ringing up the groceries, I kept my eyes down and practically flung a fistful of bills in her direction. “Have a good day,” I muttered after she handed over the change. I grabbed my two sacks of groceries and fled out the door.
• • •
ANYTIME MY parents had taken me and Michael to visit our grandparents in West Portsmouth, we’d had use of the guest cottage. On day trips, we’d change into our swimsuits there before we walked to the beach, and take showers afterward before driving home. We frequently stayed overnight. Michael and I would camp out on the floor of the larger bedroom while Mom and Dad slept in the bed. The slightly stale, warm air that struck me when I returned from buying groceries reminded me of those pleasant summer memories. Returning here was like coming home again.
To an outsider, the cottage was modest. The reason my family used it was because Nana and Grandpa thought it was too outdated to rent. There was a tiny room that served as a living and dining area, a kitchen with a window that looked out onto a brick patio, and two bedrooms. Michael had taught me how to play War at that table. Dad and I had served dim sum for Mom’s birthday in that kitchen. Mom and I had snuggled together on the couch, reading. To me, the place was precious. But the shower in the bathroom was narrow enough that if I put my hands on my head, my elbows touched the walls. “It’s like bathing in a coffin,” I explained to Lettie as I unpacked my groceries onto the table. “And the cell phone service is weak, so if I suddenly lose you—”
“No problem,” Lettie said. “I’m glad you’ve settled in okay. I’ve been thinking about you in between writing the love scenes in my ghost erotica.”
Lettie was a kindergarten teacher who wrote erotica on the side. She worked hard and was disciplined, and I envied her ability to make money that way. It sure beat stretching a meager teacher’s paycheck. The groceries were just one example. I was determined to make a quart of milk, two boxes of cereal, a stick of pepperoni, some cold cuts, and a loaf of bread last as long as possible. Maybe I’d find a farmer’s market and pick up some local produce to balance out my diet. Food was expensive, but I didn’t want to develop scurvy, either.
“Ghost erotica, huh?” I propped the cereal boxes on top of the refrigerator. “Who’s dead?”
“The hero. The heroine meets him while astral projecting—”
“As you do.”
“Right. He’s a cowboy and he’s got this inheritance that’s buried on a farm. Anyway, I’ve been thinking of you.” She paused. “Are you going to the party?”
My jaw tightened reflexively. “The party” was Chase and Jackie’s engagement party. Apparently if you tell Chase Holloway that you’re in love with him, he rejects you and invites you to his engagement party. “I’m undecided,” I said.
Thirty-six hours after moving, I was finding that the distance from River Junction had yet to do me any good. So far the different locale was less of a distraction and more of a reminder of how I was utterly failing to forget Chase and the little larva in Jackie’s uterus. If the downside to my heartache was depression, the upside was that the cost of groceries wasn’t much of an issue when my stomach was too knotted up for me to eat. My clothes were getting baggy, but each morning I woke up and remembered that Chase was not mine and never would be. It was all I could do to get out of bed.
“Mindy, I really think you should think about talking to someone,” Lettie said, softening her voice. “It helps.”
Nothing would help. Chase was my soul mate. The day I met him, I’d remembered a Chinese folktale my mother had told me about a god who ties soul mates together with invisible red thread. Chase and I were tied together, and he was defying his destiny and being a real jackass. But saying as much would only prove Lettie’s point that I needed professional help. “You know, I’m actually feeling so much better now that I’ve got some distance.” I injected my voice with enthusiasm. “It’s the fresh ocean air.”
A long pause followed. “If you say so.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement through the glass on the door. I stepped over and pulled open the sheer, yellowing curtains. Vaughan Prescott, the innkeeper, smiled brightly from the other side. I waved and cracked the door. “Hey, Vaughan, I’m just wrapping up a phone call. Come in.”
“Take your time.” Vaughan swept past, carrying a basket covered with a red and white checkered towel.
I cradled the cell phone between my shoulder and cheek. “Lettie? Vaughan just stopped over, so I’ve got to run. I’ll ca
ll you later, okay?”
“Sure, talk to you then.”
I disconnected the call. “Sorry about that. I was catching up with a friend from home.”
Vaughan waved one hand. “I’m the one who barged in. You have nothing to apologize for.”
Vaughan Prescott reminded me of a woman in an old fashion magazine, one of those timeless beauties with fair skin, a long neck, and a straight nose. She had wavy brown hair streaked with white, which she wore to her chin, and bright blue eyes. The first time I’d met her, my heart had hammered with excitement. Vaughan was stylish. She was elegant. She was beautiful. She was exactly the person who would continue my grandparents’ legacy at the Bayberry Inn.
Vaughan found a space for the basket on the wooden countertop. She lifted the towel as I tucked my cell phone into my back pocket. “I hope you like muffins.” When she smiled, her teeth were straight and pearly.
The smell of warm pastries filled the kitchen. Maybe my appetite wasn’t completely gone. “Are those blueberry?” I asked, reaching for one.
“Yes. I made them with some of the first berries of the season, fresh from a local farm.” Vaughan set her hands on her narrow waist. “Go on. Try it.”
I bit into the muffin and felt the burst of tart, warm berries on my tongue. “Oh wow,” I said through the sweet mouthful. “Delicious.”
“I’m so pleased you like them. You’ll bring some to your grandma, too?”
“Sure. She’s not going to do anything but complain about the food at the nursing home. She’ll love these.”
Vaughan clicked her tongue and shook her head. “The poor thing. I don’t know how many times I told her not to get on that ladder. I said I’d hire someone myself!” She leaned back against the countertop. “She can be so stubborn.”
“There’s an understatement.” I set the rest of the muffin down on a paper napkin and brushed the crumbs off my hands. “If this is what you serve to the guests, it’s no wonder you’re busy.”
Back when Nana had been running the inn, she had complained endlessly. She claimed that business was slow, that tourists were heading off to Misquamicut or Mystic or Stonington, that she was having trouble filling the rooms during the summer months for the first time ever. I’d felt terrible about the state of my grandmother’s affairs. Now that I was actually living there, however, I saw that business was booming. Cars came and went at all hours. I had to conclude that Nana had done a lot of worrying for nothing. But some of the boom could definitely be attributed to Vaughan, who brought a real sophistication to the property in the form of carefully placed fresh flowers, candles, and warm decor. She was so classy in everything she did.
Losing Mr. Right Page 5
