Bolted: Promise Harbor Wedding, Book 2

by Meg Benjamin

  She took a quick breath. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Oh yes, definitely time to go to Merton for some new clothes.

  Normally, the drawbacks of the showers at Casa Dubrovik didn’t bother Hank too much. All he really asked was that the water be clean enough to rinse off dirt and sweat, of which he usually had quite a bit. Now he found himself simmering with exasperation at the low flow trickling from the showerhead and the distinct lack of heat. He had a feeling his hair was going to be standing on end, particularly since he had no way to dry it except with one of Alice’s limp towels.

  But, of course, those towels had never bothered him before. Greta Brewster was having one hell of an effect on his routine and his general satisfaction with life. Not that he minded all that much.

  He checked his closet, settling on a clean pair of jeans and one of the Hawaiian shirts he wore when he wanted something besides a T-shirt. This one had some kind of vaguely tropical white flowers against a turquoise background. Spiffy.

  It was a little weird going out with somebody who lived in a room across the hall. He wasn’t sure whether he should knock on her door or wait for her at the foot of the stairs. He’d peeked across the hall once before he’d changed his clothes, but it looked like she wasn’t there. Well, that eliminated option one anyway. He headed downstairs.

  Alice stood waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs with her perpetual sardonic smile. “Going out?”

  He nodded. “Taking Greta to Promise Harbor.”

  “Don’t bring her back too late. She’s got muffins to bake for the store tomorrow.”

  Yes, Mom. “She’ll know when she needs to be back so that she can get up in time.”

  “Maybe.” Alice shrugged. “You know this is all Nadia’s idea, right?”

  Hank gritted his teeth. “Believe it or not, Alice, Nadia’s plans have very little effect on my social life.”

  “You just keep telling yourself that.” She gave him another grim smile.

  The door to the kitchen swished open behind them, and Hank turned to see Greta wiping her hands on a towel as she turned toward Alice. “Your dinner’s in the refrigerator—it’s salad and spring rolls. No heating required. But there’s a potato gratin in there too if you want something hot. In that case, put it in the oven at three seventy-five for forty-five minutes or so. Then just set the table and serve.” She paused when Alice narrowed her eyes. “Or have Nadia put it in the oven while Hyacinth sets the table. What I’m trying to say is you’re all ready to go here.”

  Hank worked on controlling his slightly elevated pulse rate. Greta was wearing a short-sleeved, emerald-green sweater along with slacks in a lighter shade. The color somehow made her brownish hair glow red, while the slacks hugged her hips and thighs in a way that gave him a very vivid flashback to the blanket they’d shared under the full moon. He wasn’t sure about the bra situation yet, but right now it looked like she’d gone without again.

  He wondered if it was too late to suggest another picnic.

  Greta flashed him a quick smile, turning to toss the towel on the desk. “Ready?”

  Oh my god, yes! “Sure.” He reached for her hand, ignoring the annoying way Alice’s lips had quirked up. On closer inspection, Greta was wearing a bra, but at least it looked easier to dispose of than the one she’d had on last night.

  The drive to Promise Harbor was surprisingly quiet. He had the feeling Greta was thinking about something else. “You’re from Promise Harbor, right?”

  She gave him a quick smile. “Right.”

  “Does your family still live here?”

  She nodded. “My mom and brother do.” She paused for a moment, seeming to consider something. “Want to see the house where I grew up?”

  “Sure.”

  She directed him through a series of neighborhoods—nice midsized houses, lots of elm trees. “There it is,” she said, leaning forward quickly.

  The white clapboard house sat on a large lot with its own set of spreading elms. “Nice. Your mother still lives there?”

  She nodded, squinting. “I don’t see her car. Looks like nobody’s home.”

  He gave her level look. “Would you have gone inside if she had been here?”

  Greta shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not ready to talk yet?”

  “My week’s not over yet,” she said flatly.

  He nodded slowly. “So what happens when it is over? You come back here to Promise Harbor?”

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead.” She shrugged again. “I’m not making any decisions at the moment. I’ll figure it out when the time comes. Meanwhile, why don’t we head over to Barney’s for some chowder?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Ten minutes later, he pulled in to the parking lot next to what looked like a classic silver-sided diner with a red brick addition at the far end. Judging from the number of cars in the lot, the addition was justified. “Popular place.”

  “Yeah. There’s not a whole lot going on in the harbor in terms of entertainment. Barney’s sort of fills the gap.” She gave him a quick smile. “Ready?”

  “Sure.”

  He took her hand, leading her toward the building. “Do you know people who work here?”

  “Maybe.” She sighed. “I’m not exactly looking for old acquaintances right now. I’ll probably keep my head down.”

  He paused, glancing at her tight smile. “We don’t have to do this, you know. We could go back on the highway and see if we can find an Applebee’s or something.”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s a good place to eat. And I’m a big girl.”

  His lips spread in an involuntary grin. “Yeah. Thank the good lord.” He drew her to the door while she was still laughing.

  Inside, the place was packed. The harried hostess grabbed a couple of menus and led them down a narrow aisle to a booth tucked beside one of the windows. “This okay?”

  “Great.” He slid in one side, watching Greta slide in opposite him. Given his choice he’d have preferred to have her sit alongside him, but he’d take what he could get.

  “What’s good here?” He picked up the vinyl-covered menu.

  She shrugged. “Clam chowder and fried clams are the two big things. The lobster roll’s respectable. My brother likes the hickory burger.”

  “Are we likely to run into him?” Hank worked on keeping his voice neutral. In reality, he was beginning to be very curious about her family. The family she was apparently trying to avoid at the moment.

  She shrugged again. “Not likely. He took off after the wedding that didn’t happen. I’m not sure where he is right now.”

  He nodded. “Because your phone is dying and you’re keeping it turned off.”

  “That’s right.” She narrowed her eyes.

  “You know, I’ve got a universal charger. I’d be glad to lend it to you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Thanks a bunch. That would really simplify my life.”

  A waitress stepped to the their table. For a moment she frowned at Greta, as if she were trying to remember her. Then she seemed to shrug it off. “What’ll you folks have tonight?”

  “Fried clams,” Hank said. “And the largest, coldest beer you’ve got.”

  Greta gave him a tight smile. “That sounds great to me.”

  He deliberately moved away from the topic of Greta and her hometown during dinner. He wanted her real smile back, if only until he finished his order of fried clams.

  “Good,” he muttered through a mouthful. “Tasty.”

  She frowned, moving a fried clam with her index finger. “Not bad. A little greasy. Either the oil needs to be hotter or the clams need to be warmer when they cook. My guess is they dump them in straight from the freezer. Which, of course, is the way most people cook them. I mean, it’s not like Barney’s is doing anything wrong. And when I was a teenager I ate a ton of these with no complaints at all.”

  “Right.” He took a swallow of
beer. Very good, very cold. There was even frost on the glass. “Can you enjoy eating in a restaurant anymore, or do you always find yourself doing a critique?”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry. Occupational hazard. Yeah, I can turn this kind of thing off sometimes. And for the record, I really do like Barney’s clams. It’s just that they’re better in my memory than they are on the plate.”

  “That’s the way with a lot of food, I guess. Hot dogs were a hell of a lot better when I was a kid.”

  “And we liked it that way,” she said in a little old man voice. “Where are you from, Doc?”

  “Omaha. Haven’t been back in a while, though. My folks moved to Texas when the winters started getting to them.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  “I got a job. In archaeology, you don’t worry much about where the job is. You know you won’t spend much time there, unless it’s in someplace like New Mexico.”

  “But now you’re digging here in New England.”

  “I lucked out. Most of the big digs in the area are in historic sites, and the guys who have the grants aren’t interested in sharing.” He gave her a slightly sour grin, shoveling in a few more clams.

  “Well…” she began.

  “Greta?”

  The voice came from a few feet away. Hank turned to see a rather plump blonde working her way down the narrow aisle toward their table.

  Greta sighed. “Oh, swell.”

  “Greta. It is you.” The blonde gave her a triumphant smile, as if she’d just proved her case.

  Greta’s smile was more like a twitch of the lips. “Hi, Bernice. How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m just fine.” The blonde turned her gaze on Hank, skewering him with a suspiciously bright-eyed glance. “Who’s this?”

  Greta looked like she was gritting her teeth. “This is my friend Hank Mitchell. Hank, this is Bernice Cabot.” He noticed she didn’t describe Bernice as her friend, but maybe that wasn’t significant.

  Hank nodded in Bernice’s direction. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Her greenish-hazel eyes looked both avid and slightly suspicious, like she wanted to see his ID. If so, she was destined for disappointment. “Are you from Boston?”

  Hank shook his head. “Nope.”

  She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

  Bernice turned back to Greta. “Where did you go after the wedding? Your mother was looking for you. Have you heard anything from Josh? Did he go after Allie? What about Gavin?”

  “I haven’t heard anything from Josh or Allie,” Greta said quietly. “I don’t know what they’re doing. I took off for a few days.”

  If she was hoping that statement would bring the conversation to a close, she’d underestimated Bernice’s persistence. “So are you home now?”

  Greta’s smile looked transparently annoyed. “I’m around.”

  “Well good, because once Josh and Allie come back, there’s going to be fireworks. Your mom’s going to need your help. Unless you need to get back to your husband in Boston?” That bright-eyed look was back again.

  “Mom can handle stuff like this better than I can.” Greta shrugged, her smile sliding into something that looked more like a grimace.

  Bernice’s own smile suddenly seemed annoyingly self-righteous. “Even so, you should be there to help. It’s your responsibility, Greta.”

  Greta gave her a steely-eyed look but said nothing.

  Bernice’s ample bulk had effectively blocked the passage, making it almost impossible for the waitresses to get by. “Bernice,” one of them snapped. “Move. You’re in the way.”

  Bernice snugged herself more tightly against the table, which only moved her rear end into a more prominent position. “You can scrunch by.”

  The waitress narrowed her eyes, giving Bernice a death-ray stare. “Only if I lose fifty pounds. I’m serious, Bernice. You have to move.”

  “Well, there goes her tip,” Bernice muttered. But she turned back toward the front of the restaurant. “I guess I’ll see you later. Call me.”

  “Sure.” Greta gave her another tight smile. “In about a hundred years,” she murmured as Bernice moved away.

  “Friend?” Hank asked.

  “Acquaintance.”

  “Want to get out of here before you meet anybody else?”

  Greta gave him a thin smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He followed her toward the cash register at the end of the counter. She seemed to be keeping her gaze fixed on the door deliberately, as if she really didn’t want to see anybody else she knew. Fortunately, no one else seemed interested in them. He paused at the cashier to pay the check, making one last survey of the restaurant. Bernice was tucked back in her table at the side, casting furtive glances in his and Greta’s direction while she muttered to her dinner companions. He glanced back toward Greta.

  Only to have his gaze caught by a guy sitting by himself at the far end of the counter. Dark hair. Medium height. Clothes that looked expensive, although Hank had no way of knowing, really. He bought his own stuff off the rack with as little thought as he could manage. Judging by his expression, the guy had developed an instant hatred for him, although Hank wasn’t sure why. Maybe he objected to Hank’s choice of shirt.

  Oh well. He pushed his money toward the cashier, turning to follow Greta out the door. But he felt as if someone’s gaze was burning into the middle of his back until they climbed into the truck.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The ride back to Tompkins Corners was even more silent than the drive over had been. Greta stared out the window at the darkening trees alongside the road, wishing she could have the last couple of hours back to start over again. She should have known going to Barney’s for dinner was a bad idea. She was just lucky she hadn’t run into anyone besides Bernice, although actually running into somebody other than Bernice would probably have been an improvement.

  She’d deliberately avoided looking around Barney’s so that she wouldn’t lock eyes with anybody who knew her. She’d reckoned without Bernice’s ability to find her prey, however. Bernie could smell gossip a couple of miles away. And there Greta was with somebody other than her husband. Granted, Ryan wasn’t her husband anymore, but Bernice didn’t know that. Thus all those pointed references to Boston.

  She only hoped Bernie wouldn’t tell her mom she’d been at Barney’s. She was pretty sure Mom’s feelings would be hurt even though she had tried to stop by. And that might be the least of it.

  “So.” Hank’s voice sounded blessedly normal in the gathering twilight. “I guess Promise Harbor, in spite of it being your hometown, is not one of your favorite spots.”

  She sighed. Given the way she’d acted with Bernice, that was probably a fair assumption. “I like the town. I’m not crazy about some of the people who live there, but it’s home.”

  “What’s the problem with the people who live there?”

  “They still think of me as a high school screwup.” Also college. Also culinary school, although in reality she’d done pretty well there.

  “Dare I ask what that involved?” He turned off the highway on the road toward Casa Dubrovnik.

  “Oh, the usual. I borrowed my parents’ car without asking and ended up in a snowdrift. I dyed my hair purple and had to let it grow out instead of washing it out because it turned out to be permanent dye. I painted my room black without checking with my parents first. My prom dress had a wardrobe malfunction.”

  His eyebrows raised. “An interesting wardrobe malfunction?”

  She shook her head. “Not so much. My date caught my skirt in the car door and it ripped up the back. I had to go home and change into one of my mom’s party dresses. So I ended up looking like I was channeling Joan Collins.” She sighed. “It wasn’t one of my best nights.”

  “But your brother’s the one who’s in the spotlight after this wedding, right?”

  “At the moment.”

  He pulled to a stop in the ca
rport, shutting off the headlights, then turned toward her. “So what’s really going on here, Greta? I mean, I’m guessing it was more than just your friend Bernice, although god knows she strikes me as someone who’d depress the hell out of anybody.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s not exactly my friend. More like an acquaintance.” She sighed. “I’m sorry about this. I should probably have steered you away from Barney’s. But I didn’t know being there was going to be such a downer. Actually, it wasn’t much of a downer until Bernice reminded me why I took off after the wedding.” The whole decision-free zone thing was looking like another disaster.

  “Come on.” He opened his door. “The moon’s still up. Let’s walk around Nadia’s garden.”

  The faint smell of lavender still perfumed the night air, slightly humid against her cheek. Hank interlaced his fingers with hers. “Nice night. Nadia’s plants always smell great.”

  The lavender scent was replaced with mint. Greta closed her eyes, letting the aromas and the feel of the night air drift over her.

  “So I’m guessing a lot of what you’re not telling me has to do with your divorce. And the fact that the people back home apparently don’t know about it.” His voice was soft. “Would I be right about that?”

  Her eyes popped open again. “Well, crap.”

  “Sorry.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Didn’t mean to exactly drop it in your lap like that. Am I right?”

  She sighed. “Yeah. For what it’s worth.”

  “So having wandered into this minefield, I guess I’ll just keep going.” He guided her to a bench, half hidden beneath a maple at the side of the garden, pulling her down beside him. “Tell me about it.”

  She stared off into the darkness toward the garden shed. Just her luck to have what should have been a great date turn into a confessional. “My divorce was final about two weeks ago. We were separated for two or three months before that. He cheated on me. I threw him out. That about sums it up.” She glanced back at him, trying to see his face in the gathering darkness.

  His hand moved across her back, rubbing gently. “Okay. Sounds messy, but not all that unusual, unfortunately. Did you love him?”