After recovering, with their breathing slowed and their tangled bodies settled into euphoric relaxation, Conor started talking. “You know there’s only one way to erase the past. Right?”
Shelby raised herself from his chest, making sure she’d heard him correctly.
He lifted his head to meet her unsure stare, his prior drowsy expression now alert.
“Padraig calls it a Mulligan,” he continued. “All we have to do is have a do-over. Let’s start fresh, like it’s the beginning. Date again. See what happens.”
“Start fresh?” Obviously the sex had drained his brain, or he’d had an epiphany during the riots?
“Yes. That awful day? It’s gone. Never happened. All we have is now and from now on.” Was this the same guy wearing a wall three-feet deep she’d been banging her head against going all philosophical on her?
“Start fresh?” She loved repeating the words.
A new look of interest overtook his face. She reached for his jaw, gently pulling him to her, leaving no doubt she liked what he’d preached. “You mean like this?”
Chapter Nine
It hadn’t been the riots that’d opened Conor’s eyes, but the talk with the therapist during the debriefing. She’d said, don’t go back to your life as though nothing has changed, go back and make it better. Choose one thing, and make a positive change. No way could Shelby argue with his crazy plan, pulling a Mulligan. Not with his hips planted tight against hers, and her topaz-brown eyes delving straight to his soul, and especially not after they’d spent the rest of the amazing night making up for six lost years.
There was only so long he could hold on to a grudge and apparently, along with Shelby’s persistence and the therapist’s wise recommendation, two years, seven months and change was his limit. He’d missed her. God, he’d missed her. At one point, he would have sworn he couldn’t go on without her…until he did. Barely. But he didn’t have to miss her anymore because he was pulling up to the curb at her house on the following Monday morning, to spend their entire day off together. Kid and all.
He’d gotten extra days off after the prison riots, and he and Shelby had scheduled more than a few dates together. Today was another “day” date, which meant Benjamin would be coming along. He parked the car and got out, not forgetting the red wooden pull-string train he’d picked up at the toy store on his way over.
Theoretically, he should resent the boy for being a constant reminder of Shelby’s betrayal, but that wasn’t his style. And Benny was sweet and funny—a hard combination not to like.
He knocked on her front door. Remembering his grandfather and his favorite golfing trick—pulling a Mulligan. He mentally patted himself on the back for coming up with a genius idea to help him finally get it.
“Hi,” she said, with a genuine smile, a spring to tippy toes and an expectation of a hello kiss. He didn’t waste a second before giving her what she wanted. His reward—bright eyes and a sexy grin that all but said out loud, “I can’t wait for Benjamin’s afternoon nap.”
Neither could he. She looked great, as usual, in crop-length olive green pants that hugged her hips tight, wedge sandals, which helped the tiniest bit with the huge height difference between them, and a formfitting brown tank top. Nothing about her was overdone, and he sure liked the way her measurements added up. More importantly, how she felt when he held her close.
“Bah-blo!” The kid wore khaki-colored shorts, a dark blue shirt with a tiny bear applique above a useless pocket, and mini versions of a popular sports shoe.
Conor had no clue what that Bah-blo meant, but Benny boy was heading in his direction with a stuffed something in one hand and half a banana in the other. “Hey, buddy.” He dropped to a knee for the official greeting.
Benjamin must have thought that was funny, because he giggled up a storm, inadvertently crushing the tip off the banana, only then noticing with a bewildered glance as it fell to the floor.
Shelby rushed to Benjamin’s aid, picking up the dropped fruit, wiping his hand and delivering some smooshed banana from his palm to his mouth. Undaunted, he made the last few steps to Conor, swatting his thigh when he reached him, which made Benjamin laugh all over again.
“I got something for you.”
“Is it?” Benjamin said, looking everywhere except behind Conor’s back.
He displayed the bag, then opened it for Benny to have a peek inside. “It’s a train.”
“Tay-no!”
“Train,” Conor said slowly as the boy watched his mouth.
“Tay-no!” Benjamin grabbed and ran, holding the bright green engine, the attached-by-string blue boxcar and red caboose dangling behind. “Tay-no!”
“Let me show you how it works.” Conor coaxed the pull train from the boy’s death grip, set it on the floor and showed him how to pull the string as he walked around the small living room. Already, Conor had learned that asking Benny to walk was a joke, and the boy took off at his usual jog on his sturdy short legs, soon dragging the train on its side, instead of on the small wooden wheels from living room, to the dining alcove, to the kitchen and back. But he didn’t care because he knew how to have fun.
Something Conor had nearly forgotten, until he’d started hanging with a toddler. And his mom, again.
He glanced up at Shelby, who had a strange look in her eyes. Not quite sad, more like wishful, and he almost understood why. Things had gotten all messed up between them over the years, and if he’d had his way, their history would have him in it, and maybe a kid like Benjamin in it, too. Which made him wonder what Shelby’s version of wishful history might be. Maybe he could entice her to tell her version by using some of her favorite moves later, when they hit the sheets.
He understood the past couldn’t be changed, but he was still curious. Probably always would be. “You ready for the park?”
“Absolutely. Just let me get the picnic basket.”
“I’m going to get fat hanging out with you all the time.” Benjamin was still running around dragging the new toy behind him, now extending the route to include the hallway.
“If memory serves me, we always manage to work off the calories,” she said from the kitchen, giving him a great view of her backside.
Flashes of the many ways they’d been working off calories for the last week of April had him mentally undressing her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, teasingly, when she re-entered the living room with picnic basket in hand, presumably reading his mind. “There’s a young child in the room.” She passed him a smoldering gaze that zipped up his leg and simmered below his belt. The day was looking up, and the afternoon promised to be unforgettable.
*
The first Tuesday morning in May, Conor had made an appointment with the realty agent he’d been dangling along over his intention to buy the Beacham House for the last year or so.
“I’ve mentioned before,” the ready-to-retire, silver-haired and tanned gentleman started. “You don’t have to have twenty percent down payment to bid on a house these days.”
“I know, it’s just there’s a lot of building still to do and repairs that I’ll need to take care of, too.”
“I’m working on getting you the best price possible. Shall we go have a look at the current state of the place?”
Would it be any different than three months ago, the last time he’d gone for a house tour? Shelby and Benjamin popped into his mind. Yes. Because lately his future looked bright, and a man with a bright future needed a house…to share all that future-ness.
*
Shelby came to work a half hour early Thursday afternoon to meet Mark. The kitchen smelled like last night’s root vegetables side dish, and caramelized onions, so she left the back door open. The move had nothing to do with being able to keep an eye on Conor’s car, or his hotel suite. Though she did keep peeking out back until Mark showed up.
Since she’d started the new job, they’d had brainstorming meetings every other week. Mark had grown a distinguished-
looking beard that made his bright blue eyes stand out even more than usual. The Delaney men all had devastating eyes, easy to get lost in. Shelby was sure of one thing: Conor’s were the only eyes she wanted to float away in, and it had been that way since their very first kiss.
“I’ve got some great news,” Mark said, opening his notebook-styled computer, setting it on the center island and booting it up. “We have steadily increased business in the two months you’ve been here.”
Shelby could have told him that, as a plate counter from back in NYC, but seeing the graph made her grin. “Terrific.”
“Indeed. In fact, the hotel business has picked up, too, and May is usually a slow-down month before summer starts.” He shared a victorious grin, and Shelby understood why Laurel had fallen for him. “So, I wanted to throw out some suggestions, but first I’d like to hear anything you’d like to try.”
At any given time, Shelby had ten different ideas zipping around her mind for how to improve business. Today, she planned to share two of them. “I’m glad you brought up the uptick in hotel bookings, because I’ve been thinking of adding a theme night during the week. Say, on Thursday nights, when we are slower than the weekend. We could offer some sort of package deal for our guests, you know something like, add Thursday night to your weekend stay and enjoy a special themed meal from our chef.” She scratched her nose, wishing her idea had come out better. It’d seemed great in her mind, but saying it out loud suddenly made her insecure. “For instance, how about a Titanic night, where everything I serve would be something that had been served on the Titanic. Or a Roaring Twenties night, where guests will experience a typical menu from that era, or how about a night-in-Paris dinner. Oh, and to start off the holidays, we could have a Victorian Christmas theme in early December. You know, that kind of thing.”
Mark’s gorgeous eyes brightened. “I think those are all great ideas. It might also appeal to people in the area looking for something different to do. Especially after summer and during the holidays.”
“Yes, of course, but to bring in more hotel guests, they should get first dibs on booking, and because some of the meals might be extravagant, I’d need to limit how many to serve.”
“You mean, like only one sitting for the night?”
“Or two, depending on how many people want to partake.”
“Maybe at first, you know just to see how things go, we could reserve the main lobby area and make this a themed happy hour, appetizer kind of thing?”
He was pulling back a bit, but his enthusiasm level hadn’t changed. She could compromise, and it made sense to try something out on a smaller scale, rather than go for broke right off. Her motto in New York used to be “no risk, no gain,” but sometimes small steps made more sense. Plus, she had the Delaney family to answer to if her great idea wound up tanking.
“Do you trust me to go with this, Mark? I’ll do my best not to let you down.”
“I think it’s a great idea.” His confidence in her was obvious. “Let me run it by my parents—” That statement threw her: What happened to believing in her all the way? But something clicked behind his eyes the instant he mentioned his parents. His chin jutted out the slightest bit, and resolution set his mouth in a straight line. “No, you know what, I’m making an executive decision on this. Let’s do it. When do you want to start?”
Wow, she hadn’t expected such cooperation from her boss, and it excited her. “Uh, well, we need some time to get the word out, social media and all that, so how about two weeks? Let’s try the Titanic night first. I’ll work up a menu and get it to you ASAP so you can post it on the website.”
“Excellent, and I can print up flyers for local businesses to hand out, oh, and I’ll do a mailer to past guests.”
“Yes, all great ideas, bring them back. If the guests like the idea, you could get monthly bookings!”
Mark grinned, rubbed his beard with one hand and put his other hand on her shoulder, patting her back.
“This idea of yours could put The Drumcliffe on the map.”
“You think?”
His expression changed from excited to curious. “You really don’t get how talented you are, do you.”
“Well, I was beginning to hold my own with a few of the chefs back in New York, but…” Along came Laurent.
“And Paris. Didn’t you study there for a while?”
“Uh, yes.” Her heart started to sink, her shoulders got heavy, remembering Laurent. He may have been the dumbest move in her life, but aside from getting blindsided by his charm, she’d learned amazing things in his kitchen. And he’d inadvertently given her the greatest joy of her life in Benjamin. Now, at the humble Drumcliffe Hotel, she’d finally get a chance to show her stuff.
“I don’t want you to ever feel trapped in a dead-end job, Shelby. Always feel free to share your ideas with me.”
“Thank you. And on that note, didn’t you say you had some ideas, too?”
“Yeah, but nothing like yours. Well, sort of like yours except I was going with the appetizer and cocktails kind of thing.” Which was exactly what they’d landed on by the end of their conversation. Shelby may just be an observer, but Mark showed great talent in running the hotel. And being honest, she liked his roll-out idea of appetizers and drinks better than her totally disruptive themed-menu idea. “Let’s do this,” he said. “Let’s get your name on the Central Coast map for great chefs.”
“I’ll do my best, boss.” Was it possible for a heart to sing, because she was pretty sure that was what hers was doing.
They looked at each other, totally friends, in complete respect of each other’s business sense, then shook hands on the deal.
“I’ll expect to see that menu mock-up by tomorrow,” Mark said as he left the kitchen.
Wow, sooner than she’d thought. With added urgency, she put the ideas otherwise floating around in her head to paper. If this had happened while she was in New York, she’d be on a list of chefs to watch! But opportunity knocked in the strangest places, and this time it happened in Sandpiper Beach. Time to get serious about knocking more socks off.
Then she took another glance out the back door to Conor’s hotel suite. He was probably still sleeping from working the night shift, and the idea of knocking some socks off, in a whole different setting, really took hold.
*
“Taste this.” Shelby followed Conor around her small family kitchen with a spoonful of sabayon sauce while he cleared dinner plates and put them in the sink to rinse and load in the dishwasher. He complied, tasted the sauce, then made that heavenly expression she loved.
“What’s in it?” He stopped loading his arm with plates long enough to ask.
“Egg yolks, champagne, tarragon, butter.” She’d gone back to stirring the saucepan.
“Kill me softly, Shel,” he whispered over her shoulder, sending an unintended message to her nether parts.
“I know.” She laughed, covering for her straight-to-sex reaction. “If it tastes delicious, it’s bad for us.” She hoped that didn’t transfer to relationships. As in theirs.
They’d had a simple dinner at her house since her mother had an overnight meeting down in Ventura. Fortunately, Conor was scheduled off work, too. Now they played “family” even to the point of Benjamin insisting Conor put him to bed. That move had allowed Shelby to test her sauce recipe.
What amazed Shelby was how willing Conor had been to play along. Hope welled up inside. Could he be willing to accept both of them? Hold on, she chastened herself, the guy hit the ceiling when she’d worn his Claddagh ring. Though he’d signed on to the starting fresh idea, he hadn’t come close to whispering I love you after sex, either—of which there had been plenty of opportunities in the last couple weeks. At least he’d started calling her “Shel” again, a nickname she had never been particularly fond of until now, when it mattered so much.
They’d had a fun dinner. Benjamin loved eating hamburger meat and colorful vegetables, and come to think of it, so di
d Conor. Especially since he’d grilled the burgers out back. Her only contribution on her Monday night off was to bake homemade sweet potato fries. Benjamin loved those, too. As did Conor. Men were so easy to please.
“What’s the sauce for?” He got back to the business of rinsing and loading.
“I’m putting nice plump seared scallops in this sauce as part of the Titanic-themed appetizers.”
“Great idea you and Mark came up with, by the way.”
“Your brother is amazing. He makes me feel like I’m the best chef on earth, and that only makes me want to prove him right.”
Conor faced her. “You know he resisted taking over the hotel, like it was the last thing in the world he’d ever want to do.”
“Seriously? He’s so good at it.”
“He is, isn’t he.” Pride was the only way to describe Conor’s expression.
He turned back to the sink and dishwasher duty, so she put down her stirring spoon and went up behind him, then hugged his torso, placing her cheek against his back, loving his warmth and strength, never wanting to let go. “You know what he said to me?”
“Hmm.” His hum rumbled against her face.
“He didn’t want me to ever feel trapped in his kitchen, so he’d always welcome any ideas I had.”
Conor went still, but only for an instant so as not to alert Shelby to his reaction. Mark had taken their conversation about Mom and Shelby to heart. Obviously, Mark agreed with Conor, so he’d started this new themed happy hour bit, to challenge Shelby and keep her from getting restless.
He still worried it would only be a matter of time before Shelby got restless again.
“He also came up with the ingenious idea of showing your mother’s paintings in the lobby on easels every Sunday afternoon. That’s the mark of a successful businessman—innovation. Don’t you think?”
He turned to face her. “Absolutely.” This too had been the result of Conor’s concerns for Shelby based on his gut feelings about his mother and her art. “Mom should get a kick out of that.”
Reunited with the Sheriff Page 14
