Shelby had tricked him, wearing the Claddagh ring and with all her pushing for them to start over again. Why did he fall for it? Because he never wanted to do to Shelby what his dad had done to his mom. Even though his father wasn’t anywhere around in that dream.
Then something Mark said when Conor had brought up the subject of his mother feeling held back by Dad and the three boys, came to mind. Why does Mom always look so happy, then?
Yeah, how had she gotten past her resentment and restlessness, giving up her dreams for him and his brothers?
Before he let Shelby slide another blade into his heart, he needed to have a conversation with his mom. He tucked in his undershirt and reached for his belt, then headed out the door.
*
“Thought I might find you here,” Conor said, approaching his mother’s favorite spot to paint. Instead of facing the ocean, this time she faced the hills.
“Good old predictable me,” she said, flashing a self-deprecating look, then quickly got back to scattering morning glow over the brown hills.
He’d come with a purpose and decided to get right to it. “You ever wish things could’ve been different with your painting?”
She stopped and tossed him a curious gaze. “I get to paint every day now, what more could I want?”
“Did you ever wish you could’ve had a career painting?”
“With three boys, a husband and a hotel? Not likely.”
He stepped closer, worried about asking the next question, but needing to for his sake, to finally know the answer. “Did you ever resent us because of that?”
She put down her palette. “What are you talking about?”
He sat on a large rock near her chair. “I have a memory of you being upset because you couldn’t go to a showing or something.”
“When?”
“I think I was eight or nine.”
Her hands came together, her fingertips touching her lips as she thought. “Twenty or twenty-one years ago. Hmm. Oh, yes. I’d been invited to an exhibit in San Diego. I would’ve been gone a weekend, a very busy hotel weekend, as it turned out. Padraig and Dad needed my help.” She glanced over at Conor. “I admit I was upset, but it wasn’t the end of the world, and I got over it.”
“I’ve always thought you seemed restless, Mom. Like there were other places you wanted to be. I thought maybe you resented Dad and us boys—”
“If I ever made you feel that way, Conor, I’m so sorry. Sometimes I wanted to be selfish and have time all to myself, but I’ve never been unhappy.” She stood, came to him, put her hand on his shoulder. “Your father gave me the best gifts I could ever hope for—love, a good marriage, a home, three beautiful sons. I’d never resent that.”
“But you had to put your painting on hold.”
“Says who?” She planted a fist on her hip. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve done a lot of oil paintings over the years, and I’ve also gotten better and better.”
“Maybe you could’ve had a career.”
“Never wanted one. The competition would’ve been unbelievable. Do you have any idea how many artists actually make a living at it?”
“So I was wrong?”
“Honey,” she said, rubbing his shoulder firmly enough to jostle him around. “If you picked up on any vibes from me, it was stress from living the good life in Sandpiper Beach. The hotel could be a bear, plus the three of you kids were a handful, and with all those extracurricular activities, well, it used to make my brain spin.” She shielded her eyes with her hand and stared at the ocean. “But I always had your father. We’ve been a good team, and he’s always believed in me, and he was the one to tell me to put a painting in every single room in this old hotel.”
Conor stood and hugged her, new thoughts and possibilities forming in his mind. “I guess what I was picking up was wrong, then.”
“Is this about Shelby?” Mom was always good at reading his mind.
“Yes.” No sense in denying it.
“She’s got to figure things out all by herself.”
“You’re probably right.”
She pulled out from the hug. “Mothers always are.” Then she patted his back and he gave an ironic laugh before he headed back to his room.
“Menopause,” she called out after he was a few steps away. “If you’re thinking about a few years back, that is. Honey, there’s just no explaining it, but I got through it.” She gestured toward the ocean. “How could anyone be unhappy living with this view every single day?”
With a relieved smile over his mother’s state of mind, Conor waved and let her get back to painting those craggy hills, but in typical Maureen Delaney fashion by shining shimmery golden light all over them.
*
Just after lunch, Conor needed to get ready for work. He slid into his uniform pants and put on some socks, then heard a knocking at his door. Opening it without a second thought, he was confronted by Shelby dressed in full interview wear, cream-colored shell top with a navy oversweater tied around her torso, and a matching navy straight skirt. He stared. Worry contorted her eyes and pursed her mouth.
*
“Please understand,” Shelby said, willing to beg if necessary.
His brows shot up. “You took it?” His disbelief couldn’t be hidden.
“No.” She wanted to get that straight right off, coming inside, invited or not. “Though it is a dream job. May I sit down?”
He gestured toward a chair, then took his ironed uniform shirt off the back of another chair and slid his arms into it, giving a big hint. He had to be at work soon, so she needed to talk fast. Yet there was so much to say.
“He’s a restaurant scout and he offered me an interview in San Francisco. I think, if I take the job, he gets a finder’s fee or something. Anyway, it’s only as sous-chef, but under a Cordon Bleu–trained chef in a posh new restaurant aiming for a Michelin star.” This was the hard part, and under the time constraint she wasn’t sure she could make her point without upsetting him. By the expression on his face, she already had, but she prayed he’d understand her logic. “The opportunity to learn under such a chef is astounding. I couldn’t very well refuse an interview, could I? A Michelin star on my résumé could make my career!” She could come back to The Drumcliffe with her head held high, and a shiny reputation.
He searched for and chewed an antacid from his pants pocket. God, she was making him sick. “Then why do you look so unhappy?”
Because she needed someone to bounce her thoughts off, he was her guy, he’d always been her guy. Always. Overcome with emotion, she fought for composure. He sat, quit buttoning his shirt, giving his full attention.
He had to go to work, but she needed him to understand the history, her unexplainable drive, where it came from.
“Back in New York, I sometimes felt like I was drowning in the middle of that sea of people, and no one cared. Back then, the focus of my life was all about the next great appetizer, or discovering my own special twist on any of the tried-and-true dishes. But how was I supposed to reinvent perfect?” She wound and unwound her hands, pushing her brows hard together. “If I get the job, Benjamin will need to be cared for, and my mother can’t very well pick up and move with me. Plus the cost of housing there. And how do I know it won’t be just like New York?” She rubbed the pinched area between her brows with her fingers. “I don’t even have the job and I’m already questioning everything.”
“Maybe because you already know where you and Benjamin belong.”
That didn’t help! She felt guilty enough. All Damian had to do was dangle a job offer in front of her, and her old yearnings came back full force. Ten years she’d waited for an opportunity like this. It’d never come in New York. Now she had a chance in another culinary mega center, San Francisco, throwing all of her sensibilities out of whack. “Do I?”
Obvious hurt briefly invaded his gaze, but before she jumped and ran to him to beg his understanding, he recovered. “Well, you won’t know anything until yo
u have that interview.” So businesslike. “Do you know when it is?”
She inhaled a sudden gale of jitters. “Monday.”
“I have Monday off. How about I drive to San Francisco with you? You’d probably be too nervous to take yourself, might run off the road or something.”
She gave a half-hearted laugh, her lungs quivery with butterflies. “You’re probably right.” She latched onto his gaze, worried about how she’d come off, and grateful he hadn’t thrown her out. “Would you?”
“Of course.”
She stood and went to him, her anchor, invited or not, she sat on his lap and put her head on his shoulder, needing his steady peace. “It’s just an interview. I swear. I need to know if all those years were wasted or not, if I finally have what it takes.”
He swallowed quietly. “I’m trying to understand, but it’s hard, Shel.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezed tenderly. The man was a saint, and a hero, and she’d be crazy to leave him again. “What would I do without you?”
“That’s something you’re going to have to figure out for yourself.” He gave her a chaste kiss, then broke the news to her. “I’ve got to leave for work.”
She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts and worries she’d been completely selfish. What did the man even see in her anyway? “Oh, right. Sorry. I’m so self-centered.” She hopped off his lap, trying to make up for it with a lame compliment. “You always look handsome in your uniform.”
He forced a noble smile. They walked together in silence to his car, he got inside; she needed him to understand, so she gestured for him to lower the window.
“It’s just an interview.”
“Yup.”
“Come by for dinner tonight. I’m making salmon like you’ve never tasted it before.”
“You bet.”
She didn’t believe him, the hurt in his eyes told the truth.
He backed out and drove off as she watched. Her heart should have been soaring with excitement over the interview, but it was only sore. Was reaching for that star worth losing him over?
*
Conor drove like a robot, he had no intention of seeing her again today. It’d hurt too damn much. He’d only last week admitted to himself that he loved her again. She’d been pushing, and he’d been the one resisting. He should have kept it up. After last night, he’d started thinking like a dad toward Benjamin, too. Hell, he’d even decided to finally put an offer on that house. So why be a fool and let her keep chasing her dreams?
Because he was the baby of the family and he’d always felt closest to his mother, and he’d always worried she wasn’t happy. That he and his brothers weren’t enough. Today he’d found out it wasn’t them. She’d as much as sworn she’d been happy, and all that time he’d thought otherwise.
Still, there was no way he’d ever want to make Shelby unhappy. Because staying here in Sandpiper Beach, with him, had to be something she decided on her own, or he’d always have doubt. As hard as it was, he’d had no choice but to encourage her to take the interview, and risk losing her forever, because he’d never let her back in his life if she left this time.
*
Shelby tried her best to dive into work, explaining the night’s menu to the crew and how to make it. Every moment that wasn’t occupied, her mind jumped right back to Conor. Not the man she loved, but the guarded and careful guy she’d seen that afternoon. She’d done it to him again.
And he was too willing to let her go, again. History repeating itself. Maybe because San Francisco wasn’t on the opposite side of the country? Still, long-distance relationships were poor excuses for couples, and they’d already tried that before. A shiver went through her. Remember how that had turned out?
She measured and poured soy sauce, balsamic vinaigrette, peanut and sesame oil into a large stainless-steel bowl, then added brown sugar and stirred to dissolve and blend it. Next came the diced green onions, minced garlic, salt and red pepper flakes for the salmon glaze.
When she was honest she admitted she’d always wished Conor would fight for her instead of insisting she follow her dreams. No man had ever fought for her. Her father had left and given full custody to her mother when he remarried. Over the years he’d hardly pursued a relationship with her. Laurent certainly hadn’t given a damn about her, even when she’d told him they’d had a son.
Her eyes welled up, and she blamed it on too much red pepper flakes in the glaze, adding more of everything else to compensate. Still upset, she went for the freshly delivered salmon in the refrigerator, grabbed one and threw it on the cutting table. She removed the head and tail, sliced down the spine, dividing it in half, and deboned it, then made seven cuts and divided that into fourteen similar-sized pieces. One down and a dozen more to go.
Yet she was still upset. Because the only person to never break her heart had been Conor…because she broke his first. Now, instead of begging her to stay, he seemed fine with helping her get that job in San Francisco. He’d even offered to drive her there!
It’s just an interview. I owe it to myself to go and see. If I don’t, my time in New York will all be a waste. Ten years! She’d sacrificed so much for her dreams—how could she not go? And he’d understood too easily.
She grabbed another salmon and went to work, taking out her frustrations on the huge and gorgeous fish.
Conor had said last night he’d gotten attached to Benjamin, and that selfie with her kid proved it. But he’d yet to tell her he loved her again.
Chapter Twelve
Monday morning, Shelby’s outfit was understated but chic. Or Conor could only assume, because really, what did he know about fashion? A shimmery long-sleeved loose-necked top that was almost gold and fell naturally off one shoulder, and revealing matching camisole straps beneath, fit great. Even from the parked car he could see how it picked up her huge gold-looped earrings. She wore a black pencil skirt that made him perk up when she walked down the front porch steps. He was such a sucker for her. Once she was in the car he saw how the top made her brown eyes more golden. Such beautiful eyes, why couldn’t they see what was right in front of them?
Then he noticed the Claddagh ring. Right hand. Crown pointing away from her. A sign of willingness toward love. Why the hell had she worn that? To torment him even more, or was she sending a message? Damn, the woman confused him, so he insisted on ignoring the ring.
He’d been reticent yesterday, so he expected Shelby to keep trying to make him understand her side of the story this morning. Instead, she spent her time going through note cards that, he assumed, held her best recipes and also, probably, her take on the classics. He understood she needed to be prepared. At this rate, the nearly-three-hour drive to San Francisco from Sandpiper Beach would be surprisingly quiet.
Her résumé was tucked inside a folder. He knew that because she’d asked him to look it over while she bought their coffee before they finally hit the road. Her accomplishments looked great on paper. Now all she had to do was believe in herself.
He believed in her chef abilities, but couldn’t understand her mercurial heart, pushing him to get back together as a couple one minute, then potentially packing up and moving away the next.
For a while she put her head back and snoozed, which made him wonder if she’d had as much trouble sleeping last night as he had. The early morning Pacific Ocean view along Highway 1 helped calm his nerves, but once they headed inland, his mind started to wander again. What could he do to get her to understand where she belonged?
She’s got to figure that out herself. He hated the freaking voice of reason. Even if his mother had echoed those very words yesterday.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, clenched his jaw and kept driving. Would she get all stressed out and forget to feed herself again if she got this job? And what about Benjamin, how would she work out his childcare? His gut twisted and it wasn’t because of the extra-strong coffee he’d just downed. Shelby was responsible for that.
; An hour later she woke up with a start and a quick inhale. Were her dreams as bad as his had been lately?
“Oh, my God, why’d you let me sleep? I’ve got to get prepared. How close are we to San Francisco?”
“Should be there in another forty-five minutes to an hour. The GPS says it’ll be another twenty minutes after that to reach the restaurant.”
She went silent and, instead of going over her notes again, watched out the window as small communities whizzed by and they neared their destination, passing Sunnyvale and later Redwood City.
“You know what I don’t get?” He broke the silence. “Why you want this job, which is clearly a step down, now that you’ve been running your own first-rate kitchen? Why go back to being a sous-chef?”
“It’s just an interview. To see if they’d choose me to work with a Cordon Bleu–trained chef and to help her get a Michelin star.”
“Why help her? Why not earn your own Michelin star at The Drumcliffe? I think you could do it. I know you could.”
She tossed him an incredulous look. “Do you have any idea what that would entail?”
“Enlighten me.”
She folded her arms. “First off, you have to be in an area where Michelin scouts travel to even get noticed. I can assure you Sandpiper Beach isn’t one of those areas.”
“But you were noticed by a food scout to get this interview.”
“True, but…”
“You’re on the radar. Why not stay where you are and make sure you keep getting noticed? You’re good enough to do that.”
“I worked for ten years to get noticed. Never did. I need to see if they’d hire me.”
“Why not stay where you are, help Mark turn our place into the best restaurant it can be? You could earn a Michelin star, even though it might take ten more years, what’s wrong with hard work and waiting?”
“You don’t understand.”
No he didn’t. She was only twenty-nine, she had her whole life ahead of her. Why aim for a big award that she might never get and, in the process, lose the people who love her and the community that was already coming out to support her? He shook his head and focused back on the last part of their trip. Open your eyes, Shelby.
Reunited with the Sheriff Page 17
