“Mindi told me she’d finally convinced you to come back and help her. I promised I’d stop by soon as I stepped into town and settled in on Parkers Point. Is she here? I ‘spect she’s headed home to put up her feet. Why I didn’t think to stop at her bungalow first.” Before Lauralee could explain about Mindi, PattiSue plowed on. “You tell Mindi I stopped by, you hear. I should’ve been in touch all summer, but time flies with all Roy’s work obligations. Lordy, I hope he retires soon. I’ll have you up for some sweet tea and talk.”
With a wave, PattiSue floated out the door and disappeared into a waiting sleek, black Jaguar.
Could mama’s life have been so different from her own convoluted upbringing? Lauralee could not conceive of mixing in with people of PattiSue’s economic status. But then, Mindi had never answered her questions about her mom’s childhood, or about a grandfather she’d never met. All the things that made her feel as if she’d never fit in…anywhere.
Time she found out. Having sweet tea with PattiSue might help quash some of Lauralee’s uncertainties.
Chapter 2
With only a soft glow left in the western sky, Lauralee stepped off the curb. The blast of an angry horn and screeching brakes pulled her out of her cloud.
Stopping dead in her tracks, opposite the Starlight Grille, she endured the driver’s angry and deserved tirade. Once he moved on, she stood still, shaking from the near miss and trying to get her head on straight. Truthfully, it hadn’t been on straight most of her life. Aunt Mindi had referred to it as the wandering mind of a creative. A natural for a girl of your talents.
She’d give anything to hear Mindi speak of those times when she and Aunt used to paint side-by-side. But these days Auntie was lost in her own world robbed of recent memories, as she reverted more and more into the world of her childhood.
Enough maudlin thoughts and inattention.
Lauralee concentrated on crossing the street to the Starlight Grille, alive, to enjoy a light supper. And, she hoped, to chat it up with the bartender. She looked both ways—more than once—down the empty street.
She prayed the place would be quiet this early. As she pushed through the door, his voice resonated off the sparsely decorated walls. “Hey, Lee. Great timing.”
How many times over the last two weeks had she protested being called Lee? In reality, her heart jumped each time he did. Lee, her mama’s middle name tacked on to her grandmother’s name, Laura, she carried both names into the next generation, having never known either woman.
No one had ever cared enough to give her a nickname. She liked the way Lee rolled off Gray’s tongue, his voice deep and throaty. Like verbal foreplay.
She stood stock still by the door. Eyed the man behind the bar, tall, broad-shouldered, a lock of dark hair falling over his brow. His sapphire blue eyes dragged her under his spell. She liked him. A little too much for only knowing him a few weeks. Like maybe he could be more than a friendly face behind a wide bar.
What the hell was she thinking? She had no time or energy for fantasies. She wouldn’t be in Serenity Harbor long. Besides, she and Gray couldn’t possibly have anything in common. His cultured voice spoke of experiences she’d never have. He tried to blend in, but she saw through the flannel shirts she suspected replaced a life of suits and ties and casual khakis and polos.
Gray stared at her, as she pulled her head out of the clouds.
“Good timing, you said?”
He poured shots into a shaker as she sat. “Experimenting before the crowds roll in.”
Turning on her stool, she scanned the room as she did every time she entered, amazed at the intimacy of the spot. The cool green walls, soft as a tropical sea, and the bold blue glass of a November sky in the rectangular boxed sconces all along the wall, was the only color, except for the silver metallic rim topping the glass tables and gracing the arms of the black chairs. Lauralee wondered who had designed this study in ocean and sky.
“I really do like this atmosphere—understated.”
Gray paused, the shaker midair above the fluted stemware. “Wasn’t what I was going for?”
“Yeah it is. Calm, cocooning people away from their rushed worlds. The creative use of colors in the fixtures, the drape of materials, the lighting. This place inspires me to…anyway, it’s the ambiance I would’ve gone for.”
He set down the shaker and turned. “Inspire you to do what?”
Lowering her gaze, she reached for the frosted martini glass Gray plunked in front of her and sipped.
“Lee, inspire you to do what?”
“Nothing. Anything. Create something, like you do with…. What’s in this?”
“You tell me.” His voice sizzled with underlying anticipation.
She held high the light, frothy pink concoction, twirling the stem in her fingers, then lifted it to her nose. “Mint?”
He shook his head. “Take another sip.”
She let the cool, refreshing liquid slip down her throat. Another image of foreplay had her shaking her head.
“You don’t like it.”
“I do. Trying to figure out— Basil? And….”
“And?” The tiny dimple at the corner of his mouth appeared. Goosebumps tripped up her forearm.
“Subtle. Watermelon and…I don’t know.” She took another sip. “Citrus? And...a bit of bitter—enough to make it interesting, and…. Help me out here.”
He leaned against the bar, his citrus and pepper scent mixing in with the flavors of the cocktail,
“Close. Watermelon and cucumber infused vodka with a splash of simple syrup steeped with basil and a touch of orange rind.”
Again, she lifted the glass high. “It’s lovely. Refreshing. Praying for a cool ocean breeze on a hot day.”
“Poetic.”
“Yeah, not.” Self-deprecation laced her words. Her childhood, spent with people who cared little, had taught her to doubt herself.
“We’ll call it Ocean Breezes.”
Her stomach tumbled again. We’ll call it….
She should be so lucky to find a man who wanted her as a part of we.
“You ready for dinner? Chef’s experimenting. You don’t mind an on-the-house meal” He grinned, full-faced this time. She loved the way his smile radiated from his eyes. Teasing. Like a friend. “He’s trying a new dish for the menu.”
“Really? Like I’d mind being the guinea pig.” And a real meal instead of an inexpensive appetizer. Huge help to her pocket book.
“Good, you never eat much.”
She looked straight at him. “Is this a pity meal?” She couldn’t bear the thought.
“No way—there’s a catch though.”
“What?” Did she want to know? After all the ass-hole men she’d known in her life, the wary-dar reared its ugly head.
“The truth about this dish. It’s all on you, babe. You like it, it goes on the menu.”
“So, no pressure.” She crossed her heart, then raised two fingers to counteract her sarcasm.
“Ah, a Girl Scout.” He backed toward the kitchen.
She shook her head. “Brownies only.”
Again, the dimple, barely there, as if it showed only for her. “Too much a rebel for the scouts.”
It wasn’t a question. In a few short weeks, an hour here, an hour there, Gray seemed to know her better than anyone, except Auntie. As if an unseen thread connected their life paths. She hadn’t a clue about his past, nor he hers. Still, the thread shimmered between them, almost invisible but sturdy as a spider’s silken strand silhouetted in sunlight.
There she went again—drifting into a poetic and absurd fantasy land. The imagination had gotten her in so much trouble in school. And still did. Case in point—almost being splattered on the pavement half an hour earlier while daydreaming about Gray.
When she looked up, he’d disappeared, the kitchen door swinging lazily in his wake. Soft strands of piano filtered through the quiet dining room to reach the bar—not a melody, but discordant notes. A sof
t plunk here. A soft plunk there. When she glanced at the stage, Luke lifted his hat—fedora style—reminding her of smoky, southern, downtown bars at the turn of the century. Like the rundown relics she’d been drawn to, where she lurked in corners to catch tunes when she’d told her adoptive parents she was at friends. Music. Art. Her escape from reality.
Luke’s dark black skin, and the black of the piano, was a study in contrast to the billowing whites of the layered material over his head.
She waved. Luke winked. She smiled.
Luke tickled the keys, his warm-up morphing into soft melody. She turned to watch him.
Soon his meaty hands hammered on the piano, as he upped his stride across the keys, leaning into the music, feeling each note. She wondered what brought him to this now-sleepy northern town. He’d fit in with the summer tourists long gone home, but still he played with the same passion he’d played with for the sophisticated and wealthy palettes a few weeks earlier. The owner knew his stuff, keeping Luke on through the long, dark winter to warm the hearts and souls of the locals. He was a performer, his huge personality filling the intimate restaurant and bar.
As if on cue, the door swung open to welcome two fishermen, in from the docks. They were bundled against the cold ocean winds blowing in, as dusk descended on an Indian summer day. Sun down. Cold invaded. A lot to get used to—her blood running thin and slow as a lazy southern river.
Several women tripped in wearing pumps and suits. One she recognized from the insurance agency down the street. Soon after, more folks drifted in to get a start on their weekend. Lauralee sipped her martini and watched the crowd grow.
As the noise rose around her, she regretted agreeing to be guinea pig on a Friday night. Chatting it up with Gray time was over. He glanced her way a time or two, as he slammed out drinks, as if he too regretted the interruption.
Minutes later, the waitress delivered a plate piled high with color and texture. Already, she could give a thumbs up for presentation. Scents drifted, her stomach rumbled, her mouth watered, but her brain said no way you’re eating all this.
The nausea roiled up like a tidal wave accosting a serene beach, bringing with it the voices from her youth—the ones still haunting her. You’re too fat. You don’t need so much food. You’ll never amount to much, waddling through life.
Warm hands covered hers. She opened her eyes to see Gray’s, the same deep, bright blue as the wall sconces, staring at her. “You all right?”
She nodded. Pulling her hands from under his, she shoved the plate away. “I can’t eat this.”
“That bad?”
The tease in his voice was meant to calm. She relaxed the press of her lips. “I meant, it’s a huge helping. It’s lovely.”
“You say lovely about everything, you know.”
She dropped her hands to her lap and cocked her head. “The plate is lovely. Tempts the palate, and the scents—”
“Then why aren’t you eating?” He cut a bite from the thinly sliced beef, cooked to a perfect pink, and lifted the fork to her mouth. The glint in his eyes enticed her to take one decadent bite.
Damn. More foreplay.
She planned to eat part of the mammoth portion. She owed him an honest assessment. Scents of garlic, tarragon, shallot, and reduced red wine hit her before she latched onto the bite. “Ooh, this is good. There’s a secret though.” She listed the ingredients she thought she smelled. But another flavor teased her tongue. “Black pepper?”
Gray nodded. “Yes. And.”
“You gonna’' to do this all night?” She wanted to ask, will you do this the rest of my life?
His dimple flickered as if he’d read the meaning in her question. “If you’ll let me.”
“Gray. Order up!”
The dimple disappeared as he glanced toward the kitchen. “Grab it for me, will ya?”
He forked a mound of the pale yellow mashed potato swirled on her plate with a pastry tube and lightly browned on top, and handed it to her. “Now try this.”
The flavor burst on her tongue. Golden sweet potato cut with rich cream. Again the voices. Fattening. But she couldn’t stop. She took another bite and sighed.
“Good?” Gray’s lips parted like he wanted a taste too. She ached to offer up her lips. Instead she shoved her fork into the potatoes and lifted it to his mouth.
His hand covered hers—the one holding the utensil barely shy of his mouth. The fork his lips now barely touched as he pulled the smooth potato concoction deep into his mouth. His tongue swept across his lower lip.
Watching him eat—her imagination played havoc on her again.
He swallowed the bite on a groan. “Oh yeah. This is going on the menu.”
Three more people sidled up to the bar, and a waitress stood at the station calling out orders. ”Back to work.”
Lauralee released an audible sigh and took another bite, then another. With a small dent in her plate, she shoved the plate toward the opposite edge of the bar.
“Eat,” Gray instructed as he ran by balancing a handful of cocktail glasses. He finally stopped and pushed the plate back in front of her. “You eat lunch?”
She glanced toward Luke and his piano and the people gathered around him. “I’m full.”
Strong fingers gripped her chin. “Look at me.”
When she did, concern radiated from Gray’s eyes, darkening the blue with silver-grey flecks.
“You need to keep up your strength—for your aunt, the gallery, the—” He waved his hand as if he wasn’t sure what to add. Fact was, she hadn’t told him much. Why would he want to hear about pathetic moments of her past, a litany of unfortunate circumstance and missteps? “Put some meat on those bones.”
“This was a pity meal.”
“My word is solid. If nothing else, know that about me. No pity.”
Vowing to give trust a chance, she forked another bite of sirloin. “The secret ingredient—pepper—not black. Not jalapeno.”
“You are good. Want a job?”
She laughed. “Yeah, right. Now tell me the flavor.”
“Poblano pepper. Eat.”
“You going to hover all night?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Such a charmer.” She cut each slice of beef into smaller pieces. Moved them around her plate, and finally speared two beans. “Happy now?”
He ignored her question. “About the job. I’m serious. I need someone two nights a week to schlep food. Monday and Tuesday. Slow nights. Tips are usually decent.”
“You don’t even know me. I could be a complete klutz. The only food service I know is Buster’s Chicken Palace”
His brow lifted. “You made up the name.”
“Nuh-uh. Fast food at its finest.”
“You can handle this job. What do you say? I’m desperate.”
“You’d have to be. Besides, I’m dragging at the end of the day.”
He leaned in, biceps flexed as his arms crossed against the top of bar. His black Polo molded his chest. He’d never been so close—the bar always a barrier between them.
“I have Wednesdays and Sundays off. I’ll come in and help you declutter your back room. Take off some of the pressure.”
Again she shoved the plate toward him. “I’m exhausted. Thanks for dinner.” She pulled a five from her pocket, placed it on the bar, and slipped off the stool.
Once outside she sucked in a breath. She’d thought she could do this—make friends with Gray and maybe more.
Chapter 3
Gray stood inside the Ocean’s End Gallery door. A clear shot through the storage hallway to the workroom, he watched Lee swipe her forearm across her forehead, then the back of her hand up her cheeks and across her eyes. She wasn’t only wiping away sweat, but tears.
Damn. What was it about this woman? Made him want to protect her with all his being. His mom a surgeon, his dad an attorney, both had taught him from an early age to hold in emotion, not depend on other people, and do whatever it took to get
ahead.
Wanting to help someone meant getting close. Getting close meant depending on them and letting them depend on you. A cold shiver zipped down his spine in warning. Don’t do it. But his feet moved him toward Lee.
This woman, wiping tears and grit off her cheeks pulled him in. He had no choice. Rescuing people coursed through his blood and genes. Only he’d ditched the detached professionalism and the god-like rescuing of his parents. He wanted to believe he rescued with heart. Lee wouldn’t go for the knight in shining armor bit. She had to rescue herself. And he had to figure out a way to help.
“Lee.” He sauntered across the scuffed, wide-planked wooden floor, stopping to look at someone’s idea of a vivid landscape to give Lee time to compose herself. Studying the painting, he picked out a distorted pearl-gray gull soaring against a fuchsia sky hoovering over crashing emerald waves against purple rocks. Probably some secret, metaphorical meaning he had no clue how to decipher.
“Told you I’d show up for a little back-breaking labor. Put me to work.”
By the time he moseyed through the storage hall, she’d pulled forth the stoic control. Looked at him as if to say she had enough shit going on without him prying into her problems. She hadn’t invited him, but damn if she thought he wouldn’t pitch in. “You’ve done a ton. I remember helping Mindi move these boxes. Think we should unbox them, see what’s here? Maybe hang a few? Might bring in more sales if you change things up a bit.”
She looked at him like he’d descended straight from Mars. “Why are you here?”
“Told you I’d help.”
“Only if I agreed to work a few nights.”
“One wasn’t conditional to the other. I need help. You need help. Two different things. Still….” He grinned, hoping to make light of his interference. Maybe actually entice her to help him out too.
She shook her head and swept her arm around the room, and then down the hall. As if she didn’t know where to start? Or did she want him gone? Yeah, well, she didn’t know him well enough yet to know he didn’t easily back down from a challenge. And she was the sexiest damn challenge he’d met in a long time.
Welcome to Serenity Harbor Page 30
