Chapter Three
“Hey, Peter, give me a hand,” Mark said that Wednesday afternoon, as he prepared to sink the white posts for the brand-spanking-new Prescott Bed-and-Breakfast sign.
The teen sat on the front porch playing a handheld video game and didn’t bother to look up.
So he made his loud tooth whistle. “Dude!”
Finally, Peter’s head bobbed up.
“Come help.” It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know how.”
“So you’ll learn.”
Reluctantly, Peter put down his device and padded in his flip-flops across the grass toward Mark. “Like I said, I don’t know how to do this stuff, and we’re supposed to have another surf lesson.”
“We’ll make up for that tomorrow.” He watched the kid hide his disappointment. “I promise.”
That got a better response.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”
Over the next hour Mark showed Peter how to dig a hole, set an anchor, use an electric drill—which he especially liked—place washers and install a nut. Peter had obviously never so much as hammered a nail, but the how-to approach seemed to capture his interest enough. At least he tried.
“See that pile of wood over there?” Mark pointed to the grassy yard across the road, between the hotel and the beach.
“Yeah?”
“That’s going to be a gazebo, and I want you to help me build it this weekend.”
“Me!” The kid’s voice cracked and his eyes nearly bugged out.
“Yeah, you need experience hammering nails, and I can teach you how to use more power tools, a crosscut saw, table and band saw, you name it. What do you say?”
“Why?”
“Because knowing how to do a few useful things will build your confidence.” Which he needed. And will come in handy for your mother, too. “Like learning how to surf.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Surf?”
“No. Help.”
Not an option. Think fast. “Think of it this way. Our hotel is right on Main Street, the biggest road that leads straight to the beach.” He glanced up the road lined with palm and fruitless olive trees, small local businesses, storefronts and, in the distance on a hill, the local high school. “All the girls come this way to the beach, and they’ll see you building stuff. They’ll notice you. Might open some doors.”
Peter stood staring across the street at the pile of wood, then glanced up toward what passed as the town center, small as it was.
“It’s better than babysitting your sisters, isn’t it?” Mark noticed the click in his expression from on-the-fence to makes-perfect-sense. Whether it was the girls or not dealing with his sisters, Mark had sold him on the proposition, and though the last thing he needed was a novice assistant, he wanted to help the kid. Maybe he’d find out something new about himself, feel better and, like he’d said, be more confident. Or, he could smash his finger with a hammer, get the mother of all splinters and never want to go near wood again. It was a gamble, but worth the risk.
A half hour later, after a few finishing touches on the posts, and with plans to meet Saturday morning to begin building, they’d hung the B&B sign.
“It’s beautiful!” Laurel called from the porch, her eyes bright with excitement. It was obvious she’d made a conscious effort not to hover over her son while he helped Mark, but from a safe distance she’d followed the whole process. “I’ve got to take a picture.” She whipped out her phone and rushed down the yard toward them.
“You get in it, and I’ll take the picture,” Mark offered.
“Oh.” Her hand flew to her hair. “I wasn’t planning on—”
“You look fine. I’ll get a few shots and you can choose the best one, then put it on Facebook.”
“I’m not crazy about social media.”
“But you’ve got to create a buzz.”
“You’ve got a point.” She glanced at her son. “Peter, you worked so hard on this, come be in the picture with me?” she said with pride.
“Ah, Mom.” He obviously didn’t want anything to do with smiling for a camera, but he hadn’t wanted to help sink the posts, either, and there they were.
“We want to!” Claire came rushing through the screen door and down the porch steps wearing plastic play heels, clicking all the way, Gracie hot on her tail clack, clack, clacking. Laurel split them up, putting one on each side of the sign.
After some arm-twisting, Mark managed to get a picture of the entire family, with a good portion of the beautiful house behind them. He had to admit, Laurel’s smile was captivating, and he thought about secretly sending a copy of one shot in particular to his email. It was of her alone, of course, looking proud, maybe a little nervous but alluring, as she often did. Her understated confidence was just one of the things he liked about her.
“This is the best picture. Agree?”
She shrugged, but he could tell she liked it, too. Yeah, that one, definitely that one. “Should I post it?”
“Sure.”
It was time to face the fact. His grandfather had a word for it—smitten. Mark would never use that term, but he needed to admit he dug her. Yup. There. He’d finally allowed himself to think it. He liked her, and not just in a pure neighborly sort of way. Ready or not. Maybe he’d blame it on the tangerine pedicure.
“There you go.” He handed her the phone. “Anything you want to say with the picture?”
“Oh, sure.” Her thumbs flew over the phone, and Mark took the opportunity to watch her up close. Yeah, as bad of an idea as it was, he liked her all right.
*
Laurel finally realized, with Mark’s hinting, she was behind in the social media game. Instead of going all ditzy over an appealing man like she’d been doing since he’d helped her that first day, she needed to hunker down and finalize her plan for opening the B&B. Sure, she’d given it a lot of thought before she’d bought the place, but making the move and starting the kids in new schools all at the same time had taken her eye off the prize.
She had catching up to do and plans to firm up. Ads to run in the tricounty local papers, visits to make to the chamber of commerce.
What about a mock run? She could invite three local travel agents to spend the night as a sort of rehearsal, maybe get some good endorsements in the process. Her head spun with new ideas, thanks to Mark’s gentle nudging, and she needed to get back on her game, instead of ogling her sexy neighbor. Pronto.
*
On Thursday afternoon, Peter finally stood on his own for a short ride during their surfing lesson, and the kid beamed all the way on the walk home. On the porch, Laurel lifted a brow when her son gave her a hug on his way into the house. Progress.
“He had a good day at the beach,” Mark said. “I’ll let him tell you about it.”
She lifted her shoulders as if she’d just seen magic. “That’s great.” Her earnest glance kept him from rushing off, that and how her hair lifted with the afternoon breeze.
She ventured down the stairs—he couldn’t take his eyes off her—and met him at the gate. “Can I borrow you tomorrow night?”
The request put all kinds of thoughts in his head.
“I’m putting together a few appetizers I plan to serve in the evenings along with wine for the guests.” With her head tipped, she hopefully glanced up. “I need a taster.”
Looking bashful, like a young girl, she’d used words like borrow and taste, and had thrown him. “Me?” His delayed response. “I should put you in touch with Rita, our restaurant chef. Get her opinion. Or my mom, she’d be great for this.”
“But I want you.” Her fingers lightly grazed his forearm.
Want me? When was the last time he’d heard a woman say that? “What time?” he said, far too aware of her touch.
“Seven. Be sure to save up your appetite.” Her sweet smile, and twinkling eyes made the hair on his neck salute.
Liking the way she’d made him feel
, he let go a slow smile, and they spent a long moment looking in each other’s eyes. “See you then.”
*
Friday evening, after a long day of construction work on the early stages of the gazebo, and yet another surfing lesson with Peter, Mark took extra time to clean up good. He’d shaved off his usual two-day growth, even slapped on for the first time the woodsy aftershave his mother had given him last Christmas. Sniff, sniff. Too much? He stepped out of the bathroom.
Conor sprawled on the couch in the sitting room of their shared hotel suite watching the local news. Yup, they were two grown men still living at home. Well, at the family hotel, anyway. It used to be even more cramped when Daniel lived there, too, while starting up his physical medicine clinic. No wonder Grandda was hell-bent they’d each be finding the love of their life soon, just to get them out of the fold. Remember the selkie! The phrase was beginning to sound like a T-shirt slogan.
Daniel had met and married Keela, so chalk one up for Grandda. Conor had a good excuse for still living at home, though. He was saving all his money for the down payment on a house he’d wanted since he was a kid. The Beacham house was abandoned, forgotten and falling apart, and sat hauntingly along the cliffs on the outskirts of town. Whereas Mark still lived here because he had nowhere else to go while getting back on his feet.
The family offer was clearly on the table—take over the hotel—but he still wasn’t sure if he wanted the responsibility of running the entire family business. His parents thought he could do it, but what if he failed, ruining decades of their hard work? Three generations could go down the drain. It occurred to him, while he was so bent on helping Peter develop some confidence, maybe he should start working on himself, too.
“Man, you smell like you mean business,” Conor said the minute Mark stepped out of the bathroom, naked except for the towel around his waist.
“Good or bad?”
“If I say I like it, will you think less of me?” The tallest though youngest of the three brothers, Conor, who looked more like a professional athlete than a sheriff, grinned.
Mark smirked. “Can I borrow a shirt?”
“Okay, now I’m curious.” Conor muted the TV. “What’s up?”
“Just helping out the lady across the street.”
“You mean the good-looking brunette?”
Mark stopped riffling through Conor’s abundant collection of shirts.
“Think I hadn’t noticed?”
He met his brother’s knowing gaze for the first time.
“And she’s got three kids.”
Mark opted to pass over that reminder, for another fact. “I figure she’s around thirty-five.”
“A cougar,” Conor teased. “All riight.”
“Her? Hardly. Besides that’s only four years’ difference. We’re just feeling each other out.” He did his best to sound nonchalant, though inwardly grimacing over his word choice.
Conor’s brows shot up. “Sounds promising.”
Mark gave an ironic laugh and chose a smoky-blue button-down shirt from his brother’s closet, then tried it on. “What about this one?”
Conor went overboard standing, assessing, rubbing his chin with his fingers while walking around him. “It brings out your eyes,” he said doing an obvious imitation of the male fashion consultant from that runway reality show.
Mark unwrapped the bath towel, twirled it tight, then snapped it at his brother.
Jumping aside, Conor grinned. “I dare you to show up like that,” he said, making note of Mark being completely naked from the waist down. “Make one helluva first-date impression.”
*
Laurel fed her kids an early dinner and set the girls up playing Candy Land and building a new Legos kit. Peter was always happy to be left alone, especially after another surfing lesson from Mark. She liked how Mark had made the effort to get Peter engaged in the B&B sign hanging yesterday, too. Once again reinforcing the boy really needed a man’s influence.
She finished making half a dozen different appetizers, hoping Mark would help her decide the top three for the B&B opening. She uncorked the red wine—a silky mixture of three different grapes—to let it breathe and next opened an unoaked white, pushing it into the ice bucket to keep the crisp wine chilled. Then she went to the dining room and carefully laid classic china plates and linen napkins on the antique oak buffet.
Why were her fingers trembling? Was she that nervous about the mock run she’d planned for next week, and opening the B&B for business after that? Or did the tall and intriguing Mark Delaney with great abs have something to do with her jitters?
No-brainer.
The doorbell rang and she rushed to answer it, and what was on the other side nearly took her breath away. She’d already made the mistake of noticing Mark’s sexy mouth, so now as it stretched slowly into a relaxed smile, she couldn’t avoid the gorgeous spectacle. Because he’d shaved, and there was nothing like a man’s smooth face to make a woman want to run her hand along his jaw. Her eyes widened and she looked away…to his eyes.
Beneath his brows, those deep-set blue eyes stood out like they never had before. Maybe it was the time of day, or the shirt—which was a definite good choice.
“Hi,” he said. “Too early?”
Scrambling to cover how flustered he’d suddenly made her feel, she swallowed and forced a welcoming grin. “No. Not at all.” She invited him in, noticing a catchy masculine fragrance, and liked it, then started immediately toward the back of the house. “I’ve got the appetizers lined up in the kitchen. Just gotta move them to the dining room, where they’ll actually be if I ever get guests.”
“You mean when. When you get guests.”
“Oh, right. Positive thinking.” Why did sensing him right behind her make her edgy? Was it the fact he smelled so great? Or looked so handsome, in a natural all-guy kind of way. He was younger than her—she couldn’t forget that little zinger.
“Whatever’s easiest for you,” he said, watching her oddly, like he’d totally caught on how he made her feel.
Could he tell? “Well, the ambiance is nicer in there.”
Without being asked, he stepped up and carried two of the platters to the dining room. “Wow, these look great.”
“Thanks.” She brought two others, then they made one final trip together for the last two platters and the wine. Focus on why you invited him, not how great he looks. Or smells. “I plan on rotating the appetizers for those who stay more than one night.”
“Makes sense.” He stopped, his hands on his hips in a total guy way. “So you want to pretend I’m a guest?” A mischievous smile creased those inviting lips, and she went all skittish again. It’d been far too long since she’d been in the company of an attractive man. Since Alan’s death, she’d never even missed it until she’d noticed Mark Delaney across the street five days ago. A quick pang of sadness and loss settled in her chest. Reminding her of what she’d been through and how much she’d lost. She took a breath. All she had to do was focus on Mark’s pretending to be a guest.
“Oh, well, okay.” She gestured for him to sit.
“Wait,” he said. “Have you taken a picture and uploaded it to your social media pages?”
Why hadn’t she thought of that? Because she’d been too distracted by him. “No. Another great idea.” She went back into the kitchen to retrieve her cell phone, then snapped a couple of pictures and got Mark’s approval for the best one to share. The one with the two wine bottles in the background. He took her phone and used his thumbs superfast, then showed her what he’d written.
Appetizers at five. Join us? Prescott B&B, Sandpiper Beach. Opening soon.
“You’ve got a real knack for this sort of thing.”
“Mom needed some help getting The Drumcliffe online. I had to take a crash course on the whole social media thing. Even figured out how to upload a virtual tour on our website.”
“Impressive. You’re a natural.”
“We could do one for the B&B,
too,” he said.
“I’d love it!”
He smiled like he was as excited for her opening as she was, which touched her. She gestured for him to sit again. “I plan to show every guest around when they check in. Mind if I practice my talk on you?”
“Not at all.”
“Oh, and don’t wait for me, start eating.”
He sat and looked at everything, but did wait while she recited a little welcome speech she’d worked up, feeling more like a child in school instead of a thirty-five-year-old woman. As she did, she poured him a small glass of each wine. To help him decide, she placed before him the cheese platter with honey, fig spread and assorted nuts. On the second plate was crostini with three different homemade toppings to choose from—guacamole, mashed minted peas and salsa. The third item was pinwheels made from feta and cream cheese with dried cranberries in flour tortillas, then came the stuffed mushrooms, and finally the sweet-and-sour meatballs on one plate and tiny crab cakes on another. She’d labeled each plate since her guests would self-serve at their leisure between 5:00 and 6:00 p.m. each evening.
“Wow,” was all Mark said, but looking deep in thought.
“Be honest, okay? Rate them favorite to least.”
“Aren’t you going to join me?”
She sat next to him, poured herself a small glass of red wine and spread some Brie with honey and fig on a cracker. “Sure. It’s no fun to eat alone.” Though occasionally she longed for the luxury of eating by herself, without a single kid needing her attention.
“Don’t I know that.” He appeared to be having trouble choosing which appetizer to have first.
Did he eat alone a lot? Could a person be lonely living and working at a family hotel like The Drumcliffe? She’d assumed otherwise, but his reply had told her different.
“Damn, I feel like I’ve died and gone to mini-buffet heaven,” he said, smiling as he popped a meatball into his mouth. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Have as much of everything as you want.” His general reaction to her efforts and to her invitation warmed her on the inside in a way she hadn’t felt in two years.
Then she realized how much she’d missed being around a man, and Mark Delaney was the reason. Just as quickly, that pang of fear returned.
Soldier, Handyman, Family Man Page 5
