“I don’t own one yet.”
Mr. Biggs gave her a long look as if he wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not. He looked as though he was calculating how much time he had just wasted this afternoon by showing her four properties. “Are you planning on buying one, Ms. Morley?”
“I will if I’m living on the coast of Maine.” Of course she wasn’t thinking about a boat that would require a dock or even an engine. She was thinking more along the lines of getting Austin a little rowboat for Sunset Cove.
Mr. Biggs had no idea who she was or who she represented. As far as the agent knew she was a single mom looking for a place to build, who might or might not have money. She was playing her cards close to her chest for a couple reasons. Matt was the main one. She didn’t want it getting back to him who she really was until she’d had the opportunity to tell him first.
She carefully walked downhill to the edge of the bay as the agent’s phone rang. After Matt had dropped her off at her place this morning, she had taken a shower and worked the phone. By ten o’clock she had a meeting set up with a real estate agent in Trenton and an appointment with Mr. Biggs for two in Ashville. The first appointment had been a bust, but she had hit pay dirt with Mr. Bigshot. He just didn’t know it yet.
Something special had happened between her and Matt last night. Special enough that she wasn’t willing to walk away from it. It hadn’t just been the sex. She had had sex before. She wasn’t a virgin, for goodness’ sake. What they had shared went deeper than sex. It had gone straight to her heart.
She was in love with Matt Porter.
Mr. Biggs was out of breath by the time he reached the edge of the bay. “So what do you think about this piece of property, Ms. Morley?”
“Not bad.” She continued to look out into the bay. “What’s the asking price?” She had given Mr. Bigshot a short list of needs, such as acreage and waterfront. When he had questioned her about price, she had told him they would discuss it later. She hadn’t even bothered asking the price on the other three pieces of property; they hadn’t met her requirements.
Mr. Biggs quoted a price that made her flinch. “I’m taking it that there will be room for negotiating that amount?” She knew what Millicent Wyndham was thinking about asking for her twenty acres, including the lighthouse. The only thing built on this piece of property were a couple of birds’ nests, and the asking amount was way more than five times Millicent’s price.
Mr. Biggs looked startled for a moment. His greedy little eyes narrowed in thought. “I’m sure Mr. Jefferies might come down a little. Not a whole lot, mind you, just a digit or two.”
Sierra turned and started to climb back up the hill. It wasn’t easy in dress sandals, but Mr. Biggs was having a harder time. “How long has it been on the market?” She had seen the faded and weathered FOR SALE sign by the main road. It took months out in the elements for that kind of damage.
Mr. Biggs was sucking in oxygen. “Not long at all. It’s a prime piece of real estate, so it won’t last long. They aren’t making any more oceanfront properties.” He wheezed and laughed at his own joke.
She reached the top of the incline and waited for him. “I could ask around.” She didn’t have time for dillydallying. Her father and Jake knew she was up to something. Both were eager for a report. “Besides, the property is not oceanfront, but it is right on the bay.”
“About nine months.” Mr. Biggs didn’t look happy with that admission.
She figured that probably meant closer to a year. “Any particular reason it hasn’t sold yet, besides the sticker shock?” The price was indeed too high, but she’d let her father and Jake worry about that detail.
“Truth?”
“Yes, please.” What did he expect her to say, no, I prefer lies and bullcrap?
“Jefferies is a stubborn old coot who refuses to budge one dollar on that amount.” Mr. Bigshot looked as if he’d just lost a new Cadillac in commission.
She smiled. Her father and Jake were going to love tangling with Jefferies. “Just as long as there is nothing wrong with the property.”
Juliet walked along the sidewalk in Bar Harbor holding Steve’s hand and peering into display windows. “People actually buy this stuff and lug it back home with them?” The table lamp on the other side of the glass was made of used lobster buoys and old fishing net.
Steve chuckled at a five-foot stuffed moose and a clock made out of starfish. “I guess so. Why else would they keep selling it year after year?” Steve gave her hand a tug. “Come on. Let’s go in.”
She shook her head but followed him inside the gift shop anyway. Bar Harbor wasn’t quite what she had expected. She’d thought the coastal town would be along the same lines as Misty Harbor, only bigger. It was bigger all right, and crowded with tourists of all shapes and sizes. Baby strollers and cranky toddlers jammed the sidewalks, along with pushy adults and obnoxious teens. Oh, there were plenty of great tourists, but it was always the bad ones who stood out and demanded attention.
She missed the slow, leisurely walks down the streets of Misty Harbor. There she could walk along the dockside, eating a double scoop of French vanilla ice cream, and not worry about someone running into her. Tuesday night Steve had taken her out for ice cream and a walk. He had also managed to steal a few innocent kisses in the shadows.
The streets of Bar Harbor didn’t have shadows. Everything was lit up like the Fourth of July. But they did have wonderful restaurants overflowing with some of the best seafood she had ever tasted. Steve had even gotten her to try one of the local beers to help wash down her lobster. Dinner had been great, overlooking the water and watching the parade of boats coming in for the night.
It had been romantic.
Steve held up a twelve-inch red plastic lobster with black wire antennae, a sneer, and claws the size of frying pans. “Are you sure you can’t use one of these back home?” he teased.
“No.” She nodded to the back of the store, where a selection of children’s books was displayed. “But that looks interesting.”
Steve tugged her over to the books and grinned as he opened up a pop-up book and a seal sprang up. “Now this is cool.” The next page was a huge humpback whale. Steve was like a little kid discovering Christmas morning.
“I was thinking more along this line.” Juliet reached out and picked up a storybook on catching lobsters, and another on harbor seals. “My kids will love these.”
Her classroom always had more books than the other classes because she couldn’t resist supplementing what little the school district supplied. Other teachers had families to support, while she had only herself, and no one had ever accused her of being high maintenance. School budgets were notoriously stingy.
“You buy books for your classroom?” Steve picked up another pop-up book. This one had birds springing out every time he flipped a page.
“Of course. Most teachers do. We never seem to have enough to satisfy the kids’ appetite for learning.” She squatted down, making sure her skirt wasn’t dragging on the floor. “You’re the marine biologist; come help me pick out a couple more books on marine life. Kids are fascinated by all kinds of animals.”
“So are adults.” Steve squatted down next to her. “How many do you want?” He frowned at the array of books before him. “There must be a book on every sea creature imaginable here.”
“I doubt that.” Juliet pulled down a couple more books. “Since you know so much about whales, you pick out a couple whale books. How many kinds of seals are there in the Gulf of Maine?”
“Five.” Steve was looking at a picture book on baleen whales. “Harbor seals can be found all year-round, but sometimes they migrate south for the winter. Then there are hooded seals, harp seals, grey seals, and ringed seals, which have all been sighted in the gulf. Why?”
“Just curious.” She had the harbor seal book in her hand along with another book on seals in general. “What about fish?”
“What about them?” Steve chose two whale book
s and put the rest back. “You want a book on fish?”
“I want to do a lesson on things that live in the Gulf of Maine. Since I teach right outside of Boston, most of the kids have seen the ocean.” She pointed over to the wall of bins holding plastic and rubber animals. There were also bins overflowing with shells. “After we pick out a dozen or so books, we get to go find the matching animals, that way it will be fun and hands-on for the kids. Most learn better that way, and I can usually hold their attention through an entire lesson.”
Steve’s amber-colored eyes glowed with pride. “Why didn’t I have a teacher like you in third grade?”
“Because I was only in kindergarten at the time.” She wrinkled her nose and pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. Tonight she had left it down, put in her contacts, and even added a few touches of makeup. The way Steve was looking at her tonight, she didn’t feel like the awkward or klutzy Carlyle. She felt beautiful and special.
“I’ll help you match the animals, on one condition.” Steve leaned forward and stole a quick kiss from her surprised mouth.
“What’s that?” She could think of a lot of conditions that she would be more than willing to comply with when it came to Steve. His kisses were tantalizingly quick, and she had only six more nights in Misty Harbor before she had to return home.
“I’m paying for the animals. You can buy the books.”
“Why would you do that?” It was a very sweet gesture, one that could cost him a small fortune if he wasn’t careful what he picked out.
“Because if kids had more teachers who cared like you do, there might be more marine biologists, more scientists, and more people looking for answers to the world’s problems. The ocean’s ecology is a mess, and we need answers. Soon.” A faint blush swept up Steve’s cheeks as he stood back up. “I’m sorry, I’ll get off my soapbox now.”
Juliet stood and gave him a quick kiss in return. “It’s a wonderful soapbox, Steve.” She meant it. It was wonderful to meet and talk to someone who cared about the world around him. “My class and I would be very grateful and pleased with any animals you wish to purchase.”
Steve’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Really?” His hands reached out and pulled another book off the shelf and placed it on the pile already in her hands. “You can’t teach about the ecosystem of the gulf without first learning about plankton.”
She laughed at the book on top of the pile she had already selected. Its title was Plankton Soup and there were two cartoon whales holding forks in their fins and wearing napkins tied around their necks. “I’m sure it will be a hit.”
She handed Steve the pile of books. “You can go start matching animals to books while I keep looking here to see if there’s anything else interesting.”
“Okay.” Steve headed for the wall of bins.
She glanced around the book section in wonder. It wasn’t a very big space, but it was crammed with all kinds of goodies for the mind. Gordon really needed to improve and expand his children’s section of the bookstore. Maybe he could even get in some rubber fish to go along with the picture books, or at least a stuffed animal or two. Something a little more manageable than the five-foot moose in the window. Kids would be begging to go inside, and mothers, once they saw how Gordon was changing the shop, would be taking them there more often. A child couldn’t have too many books.
Forty minutes later she and Steve left the shop. Each of them was carrying two bags. She had ended up buying a total of fifteen books. Two were for her own personal use: one on whales, and one on the environmental impact people were having on the world’s oceans. The rest of the books were for her classroom.
Steve’s bags held thirty-five animals, countless shells and starfish, and a coffee mug he had purchased for her. The cup had a whale on the front with “Maine” written under it. He claimed it was to remind her of their first semi-informal date, their afternoon aboard the whale-watching cruise, when she was back in Boston teaching her class.
She didn’t want to think about next Wednesday morning when she had to head back home. It was less than a week away, and there still was so much she wanted to know about Gordon and his life in Misty Harbor.
Then there was Steven Blake.
If Sierra was having a hard time believing Friday night was already here and halfway gone, all she had to do was look around Norah and her mother’s cottage. Total chaos reigned. Norah appeared to be in shock. Joanna was giving Zsa Zsa, the Pomeranian, a bath in the kitchen sink. Chelsea Dennison, Norah’s college roommate who was going to be the maid of honor, had brought five suitcases for a three-day stay in Misty Harbor.
One of the suitcases had contained the pink dress she was going to wear for the ceremony. The dress was now hanging on the coat-closet door in an attempt to get the wrinkles to fall out of it. It was never going to happen. Sierra had never seen so much frill, netting, and puffiness sewn onto one dress before. It was hideous. Norah’s perfect wedding was about to be ruined by a pink nightmare. The only thing missing was the matching parasol.
Kay had taken one look at the dress and fled out back to consult with Jill and her mother-in-law. Sierra had no idea what they were consulting about. Short of setting it on fire, there wasn’t much anyone could do at this late date. Norah had looked at the dress and without saying a word reached for a bottle of wine and a glass. Norah was now sitting alone in the far corner of the dining room muttering to the half-full glass.
Norah had seemed so happy when she and Chelsea had driven up an hour ago. Norah had picked up her best friend at the airport, and they had been talking nonstop, until the dress that was dipped in Pepto Bismol came out of the suitcase.
“What can I do to help?” asked Chelsea.
Sierra realized she and Chelsea were the only ones standing there in the living room. She had been abandoned by the Porters. “I could use some help making bows for the centerpieces.” Thirty vases sat on the coffee table along with four different-colored ribbons.
“Great.” Chelsea sat on the floor, ready for her instructions.
Sierra sat on the couch. “I thought they would be pretty if we used four colors of ribbon in each bow. Norah wanted some color, but nothing too bright. More on the pastel level.” She glanced over her shoulder at the dress and tried not to shudder. Where did Norah get the idea that Chelsea’s gown was a calm, almost pale pink?
Chelsea’s gaze followed hers and she bit her lower lip. “Norah said it would be fine.”
“She did? When?” She had seen the look on Norah’s face as the first fifty yards of netting spilled out of the suitcase. Norah hadn’t said a word.
“On the phone.” Chelsea toyed with a roll of ribbon. “When Norah called and said she was getting married in less than three weeks and wanted me to be her maid of honor, I was so happy and thrilled for her. We talked about dresses, but since there wasn’t any time, and I had just been in my sister’s wedding in June, Norah told me to wear that gown. She said she could work with pink.”
“I see.” Well, at least now it all was making some sense, except why would her sister make Chelsea wear such an ugly garment? “You sent her the shawl made out of the netting, didn’t you?” That would explain the pink netting Norah had been showing everyone.
“I sent her netting, yes, but it wasn’t a shawl.” Chelsea cringed. “My sister made us wear that as a bow pinned to the back of our heads. It looked like every member of the wedding party was being attacked by mammoth butterflies.” Chelsea looked ready to cry. “Please tell me Norah won’t make me do that again. Two little kids laughed at us as we marched down the aisle in the church. It was humiliating.”
“Don’t worry about that one.” Sierra glanced into the dining room, where Norah was still muttering to a now-filled wine glass. “So Norah said okay to the gown without seeing it first?”
“She said she knew my sister’s taste in clothing and whatever she had picked out for her own wedding would be perfect.” Chelsea nervously tied a knot into the ribbon. “I think
Norah was just so happy that I had something to wear. It was another problem checked off her to-do list.”
Sierra studied the young woman before her. Chelsea seemed like a nice, reasonable young lady. One she could see being best friends with Norah and dropping everything to fly to Maine to be in the wedding. Chelsea was a couple years younger than she, and quite pretty. “Did Norah happen to mention that there are quite a few single guys in Misty Harbor?” She winked. “I also hear that a lot of them will be at the wedding.”
Chelsea grinned. “So Norah tells me.” Her smile fell as she looked across at the dress that was obstructing the entire closet door and half the wall. “Fat lot of good that’s going to do me. I look like a pregnant marshmallow pig dressed in that.”
Sierra remembered her manners and didn’t comment on that. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” She moved closer so they wouldn’t be overheard. “There are some brides, and no, Norah is not one of them, who purposely pick the ugliest dresses they can find for their bridesmaids and maid of honor.”
“Why would they do that?” Chelsea had moved closer to the table.
“Well, I’m not sure how to put this delicately, because I may be talking about your sister, but some brides want and demand to be the center of attention. How would they look, not only on their special day, but in all the pictures, if certain members of their wedding party outshone them?” It was a nice way of saying her sister was self-absorbed, self-conscious, and insecure.
Chelsea looked at her, and then at the dress as if it all suddenly started to make sense. “So she humiliated us on purpose?”
“No, she probably did it subconsciously.” She didn’t want to start a fight between sisters. What was done in the past was done and over with. They had a more serious problem right now.
“What do I do now? The wedding’s tomorrow afternoon.” This time there were actual tears in Chelsea’s eyes.
“I have an idea.” Sierra glanced at her watch as she pulled her cell phone out of her tote. There was still time to pull off a fast miracle. It took her a moment longer to find what she was looking for.
A Misty Harbor Wedding Page 21
