Beauty and the Beach

by Diane Darcy

  She picked up the pen, poised it above the notebook, and couldn’t think of a single recipe.

  Tears filled her eyes. What about the pressure she was under? Cooking for five strangers when, she had to face it, she really wasn’t much of a cook.

  What was she doing there? She wanted her tiny kitchen sink, her little hummingbird feeder, her dad, and her sister. She wiped a tear that fell to her cheek. She wanted to be helping her family, not making hors d’oeuvres for strangers.

  If she could, she’d run upstairs, grab her bag, and bolt back home. She took a couple of gulping breaths. She needed to get hold of herself. It would be fine. As soon as the necklace was returned, she’d never have to see Adam again as long as she lived.

  She knew it wasn’t fair to him that she felt that way. He was giving them a chance. Probably for her sake, because he liked her. But she was just so embarrassed that her family came out of this looking like lowlifes.

  She’d really liked him. Was it just yesterday she’d looked forward to dating him? Had envisioned him picking her up at her own place in town? Had considered kissing him goodnight at her front door?

  She sighed. That was all over now. At least with him. Her family would get through this and Adam would never be part of her life.

  In the meantime, she had some shopping to do. She’d go to the store, look for inspiration, and probably end up making some of her usual recipes and hope for the best. They were just guys after all. Military guys playing poker. Surely they weren’t picky. No doubt they’d just be glad to have food, of any kind, that someone else had prepared.

  She grabbed her purse and headed for the door, determined to figure something out.

  ~~~

  As always, Isabelle was careful with what she purchased and, when she found items on sale, adjusted the menu. She didn’t want Adam to think she was careless with his money. Especially in light of the fact that at the moment her family was tremendously in his debt.

  As she headed down another aisle, her phone rang. She scrambled for it, hoping against hope it was her father. It wasn’t. It was Pete Anderson, her boss at the VA. She wondered if he needed her to come into work today and hoped he could find someone else. She considered not answering, then decided she couldn’t do that to him. If he needed to find someone, he should know she was unavailable. “Hello?”

  “Isabelle?”

  “Hi, Pete. What’s up?”

  “I have some good news for you. Do you know who Felicity Sullivan is?”

  “The brunette in orthopedics?”

  “Yes, that’s her. Her husband has just been transferred to Texas, so she’ll be moving and will have to give up her part-time job. If you want her hours, the job is yours. It’ll mean working both regular appointments and orthopedics, but if you’re up to it, I’d like to offer you the position.”

  Everything inside Isabelle froze as she came to a halt in the grocery store. She closed her eyes and tried to think of a way to save the job her boss was offering.

  Surely her father would find the necklace quickly. But there was no way she could know that. He hadn’t called so far. And the more time that passed, the less hopeful she became.

  She’d told Adam she was off by noon every day and she’d be free to work for him. But she’d been moving toward the goal of full-time employment for so long. And now that the opportunity was here she was going to have to turn it down? She felt sick to her stomach.

  “Isabelle? Are you there?”

  Isabelle pressed a shaking hand to her chest. “I’m here. I’m just stunned.” Her insides quivered as she realized she couldn’t take the job. She took a deep breath and said what needed to be said. “I wish with all my heart I could accept your offer,” she said in a stilted tone. “But I just took another part-time position and I’m now committed to it for the foreseeable future.”

  “With another hospital?” His tone was sharp.

  “No.” She was at a loss for what to say.

  “Well, with whom?” It was a reasonable question, but she didn’t know how to answer it, she certainly didn’t want it getting out that her father had essentially stolen a priceless necklace. “I took a job as a personal assistant. And when I took it, I had to commit to it.”

  “For how long?”

  “It’s sort of open-ended. It’s for as long as I’m needed.”

  “You can’t have worked there for very long. Just yesterday you seemed excited about the prospect of going full time here. Surely you could tell your new employer you’ve had a better offer?”

  This was just killing her. “I wish I could. I gave my word.”

  Now it was Pete’s turn to sigh. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, but I can’t hold the job for you. We’ll need someone immediately.”

  Isabelle felt tears rush to her eyes. “I understand. Once this new job I’ve taken is finished, I hope you’ll consider me in the future?”

  “We’ll see.” Pete’s voice was noticeably cooler.

  Isabelle swallowed. “Okay. Thank you for thinking of me first. I really appreciate it.” After she’d hung up, she let the tears fall. Less than twenty-four hours ago, everything had seemed to be going so well. And now this? She started pushing the cart down another aisle and tried to concentrate on the food she needed to buy. She looked at the items on the shelf, but couldn’t see them for the tears blurring her vision.

  Maybe when it was all said and done, and her father was no longer in danger of going to jail, she could confide in her boss. Maybe he’d take pity on her and she could get back into his good graces. She hoped so. She really did.

  Chapter Four

  AS ISABELLE FINISHED THE SHOPPING, her phone rang again. She snatched it up to see that it was Becky, one of her college roommates. She considered not answering, as Becky was like a barracuda for getting information out of anyone, but the chance to hear a friendly voice overrode her caution. She didn’t have to tell Becky about her crazy, messed up life, and she could really use a friend right about now.

  So she answered. “Hi, Becky.”

  Becky laughed. “I love that you called me that. It makes me feel normal again, you know?”

  “Uh, what do you mean? Your name is Becky.”

  Becky sighed. “I wish. Only my close friends call me that now. In public, I’m always Miss Washington State, Rebecca White. Or the reigning Miss Washington, Rebecca White. The Apple Heiress won’t have it any other way.”

  “The Apple Heiress?”

  “Yes. You remember my stepmom? Well, she finally inherited the millions her dad left her and apparently she thinks that gives her the right to direct my life. I think she keeps a running tab of what she’s spent on my little career so she can control me somehow. I can’t wait for nationals to be over. I’m not allowed to do anything anymore. My life completely sucks. I long for uncomplicated. Every time she introduces me as The Reigning Miss Washington, I call her The Reigning Apple Heiress. The only problem is--she seems to like the title, so it sort of backfired.”

  “Yes,” said Isabelle. “Money certainly does seem to make the world go ‘round, doesn’t it?” The words ended up coming out more wistful than intended, and she immediately regretted it.

  There was a long pause. “Izzy? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Izzy. Don’t give me nothing. We roomed together for nine months during a developmentally critical time in our lives. Nine months. You do realize what that means, right? It means we’re practically twins. Besides you’ve had a major impact on my life. I never would’ve entered a beauty pageant if it hadn’t been for you. You made it seem cool, with your awesome good looks and your quiet intelligence, always looking gorgeous and out-studying us all while you did it. Now look at the mess my life is in. It’s practically your fault I’m primed to be the (cough, cough) next Miss America. So give it up. What’s going on? I hear something in your voice and if you don’t spill your guts, then I’m telling The Apple Heiress to stuff it, and I’m on the next p
lane out.”

  Isabelle was laughing by the time Becky finished speaking. “Okay, okay. Look, my family is having a few money problems at the moment, that’s all.”

  “Maybe I could talk to my stepmom? Maybe she could help you out?”

  Isabelle snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s super sweet of you, but we’re working this out as a family and it’s going to be okay. Don’t mind me. I’m just tired at the moment.”

  “When I think about what one dress costs my stepmom lately, it just seems like the money would be put to much better use bailing out someone I love, you know?”

  “Thanks, but no. Just as it’s weird between you and your stepmom because of money, it would then be weird between us. I’d rather work some overtime, okay?” If only she could.

  “Fine. But I’m here if you need me. I have about two thousand in my own account you’d be welcome to anytime.”

  Which would only be a drop in the bucket. “Thanks.” It was time to change the subject before Becky asked exactly how much money they owed. “So are you dating anyone?”

  “Change of subject noted, but I’ll still answer your question. Nope. Now that I’m Miss nose-stuck-in-the-air Washington, real men don’t want anything to do with me. I’m suddenly not getting asked out anymore. And do you know why? All the guys are suddenly super intimidated. It’s all this crap clothing and makeup and elocution lessons. Seriously, even with you around, I got way more dates in college than I’m getting now.”

  Isabelle was laughing again. “Elocution lessons? You don’t sound any different to me.”

  “That’s because I’m talking to you. If I’m talking to anyone else, I have to speak in a certain way. Do you want to know how I do it?”

  “How?”

  “I forget all the crap they’ve taught me and I pretend I’m you.”

  “Me?” Izzy laughed. “Becky, I’ve been living in an apartment since I was fifteen years old. Most people consider that one step up from trailer trash. I doubt I’m anyone’s idea of high class.”

  “That’s just it, Izzy. It’s not really about being taught this high class stuff, you know? You either have it, or you don’t. And you have it in spades, baby. You rocked those thrift store clothes you used to wear. I’ve thought about it, and I think it’s just that, besides being pretty, you’re super nice. Naturally, I mean. Most of us just pretend we’re nice, or try to be nice, but you pretty much treat everybody the same. That’s real class in my book. Anyway, the impersonation seems to be working for me. Whenever I’m supposed to be on, I bring out my Izzy persona and my elocution teacher pats herself on the back for what a great job she’s done with me.” Becky giggled.

  Izzy laughed. “I think you’re crazy, but if it works for you, I’m glad.”

  “I’m being screamed for. The botoxed bat could use a few lessons in class, herself. So I’ve got to go. Take care, okay? And let me know if you need the money in my account.”

  “Thanks. Will do. Bye.”

  Isabelle inspected the items in her cart one last time, set her jaw, then headed to the checkout counter. She was glad Becky had called. The stress of her day, of waiting for her father to contact her, of getting ready to cook for a group of men she’d never met, had been lightened considerably. Now, if she could just get through the next few hours…she checked that thought. From now on, she was just taking it one minute at a time.

  ~~~

  From his workshop window, Adam saw Isabelle pull her car into the driveway. He plucked the stress ball from off his desk, leaned back in his chair, threw the ball hand to hand, and waited. A few minutes later, he heard the front door open and warmth spread through his chest. He realized he was grinning. He hadn’t been sure Isabelle would walk in or if she’d ring the doorbell, and since he wanted her to feel at home, he was glad she’d let herself in.

  He tossed the ball aside and got back to work on the commissioned piece, a 30th wedding anniversary gift from a husband to his musician wife. He picked up his circular blade and started carving the treble clef he’d drawn into the round wax disc. Eventually the piece would be made of 18-karat gold, with two round-cut diamonds in the middle and lower curves.

  He usually worked with the door closed and the radio blasting, but today the door was open and the room quiet as he listened for Isabelle. Occasionally he could hear her opening and shutting cupboards in the kitchen. She was probably starting dinner.

  He glanced at the clock. His friends would be there in the next half hour or so, and he was man enough to admit he was looking forward to letting them think Isabelle was his girlfriend.

  He shook his head. Yes, he was an idiot. But, he reminded himself, Isabelle’s presence would have an immediate side benefit. His friends would no longer try to set him up with their sisters, cousins, and strangers they met on the street. Wouldn’t that make a nice change?

  When the doorbell rang twenty minutes later, he headed down the stairs. Isabelle, looking flushed and gorgeous, her blonde hair piled high, poked her head out of the kitchen and he caught himself staring. “I’ve got this,” he said, and answered the door.

  Sean, Charlie, and Jeff grinned at him and walked inside. Charlie held up a case of beer. “First Sergeant, we are here to par-tay!”

  “How long do I have to be retired until you’ll call me Adam?”

  Charlie snorted and headed toward the backdoor. “You never retire from the Marines. Once a Marine, always a Marine,” he threw the words over his shoulder.

  “Where’s Brandon?” asked Adam.

  “About ten minutes behind us,” said Sean.

  Adam glanced behind him to see that Isabelle had disappeared. He thought about going in to see if she needed any help, but decided against it. If he headed in there, all the guys would follow, and she didn’t need that kind of aggravation while she cooked.

  He led the guys through the doors onto the side patio instead. He saw Isabelle looking out the kitchen window for a moment, then she was gone.

  Sean immediately headed to the stereo system and turned on a local rock station. Jeff went to the cupboard and removed cards and poker chips. Charlie pulled out one of the patio chairs, sat down, and drummed both hands on the glass table top. “Let’s do this!”

  Adam did a quick survey of his friends. Sean, half-inch facial hair, unruly sun-bleached hair pulled back into a ponytail, surf-toned body, and quick grin. Jeff, with his longish dark hair, dark eyeglasses, mustache, and goatee. Charlie, with a ready dimpled smile, straight slicked-back hair, his Hispanic skin giving his professional bodybuilder frame a tanned appearance.

  Isabelle would be coming outside shortly, and she’d meet them. It suddenly hit him that every one of his friends was better-looking than he was since his Humvee had struck a buried mine and left a divot in his cheek. And they were single. He hadn’t really thought this through. He suddenly felt ugly, overlarge, and gawky. Was that how Isabelle saw him? The thought didn’t improve his mood.

  “What’s the matter, First Sergeant?” asked Charlie. “You look like you did that time the sniper about took Private Barfield’s head off.”

  Adam turned away. “Nothing’s the matter.” He supposed he could go inside and just bring the food out himself.

  “Just ignore him,” said Jeff. “It’s just his artsy-fartsy temperament. Artists are known to be moody, don’t you know?”

  “Oh,” said Sean. “We have an artiste in our midst.” Sean bowed to Adam, his hand making a circular motion as he bent over. “I bow to your greatness.”

  “You shouldn’t bow,” said Jeff. “He might’ve scared the greenies and the locals in Afghanistan, but he makes ladies’ jewelry now. I bet those guys wouldn’t have been so scared of him if they’d known that.”

  Adam looked at his friends. Sean, in particular, never had any problem with the ladies. His blond and blue-eyed good looks had them lining up in droves. Adam was suddenly self-conscious about his thick dark hair, hairy arms, and over-large body.

  Would Isabelle take o
ne look at Sean, or any of the others, and fall for one of them?

  Sean’s brows pulled together. “What did I do? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Quit razzing him,” said Charlie. “He’s getting mad, and we’re here to have some fun.”

  “Was it something I said?” Jeff winked. “Did I hurt your feelings, First Sergeant?”

  What was he supposed to say? That he was worried one of them would steal away his fake girlfriend? That he wanted a shot at her before she got everything organized to her satisfaction in her life and started to date? That he didn’t want to be introducing her to single guys, lining up other choices?

  Normally the friendly razzing didn’t bother him, and he was quite capable of giving it back in spades. But tonight was different. What he needed to do was to stake his claim on Isabelle right off the bat. That way the guys wouldn’t poach, or if they tried, he’d have a good reason to pummel them.

  “Just deal the cards,” he said.

  ~~~

  A while later, they’d just finished setting up poker chips and cards at the glass table when Brandon came outside and rounded the pool, his green eyes slightly widened. “Who was the girl who answered your front door?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

  “My girlfriend, Izzy.” The title and nickname slipped out and so did the smugly satisfied expression he felt on his face.

  Brandon whistled, long and loud, and Adam glared at him. Undeterred, Brandon opened his mouth to say more, when Isabelle stepped onto the patio. She balanced two platters, one in each hand, and slowly rounded the pool.

  Eyebrows rose around the table and Adam stood up and surged forward to help her. He took one platter, and placed his other hand at the small of her back. She looked a little uncomfortable and he hoped it was because of the guys staring at her, and not because of him. When they reached the table his friends continued to stare, and Adam couldn’t even blame them. “Hey, this is Isabelle.”