Vanessa shook her head. “I wasn’t holding it. I had it flat on the table.”
“Maybe your floors are slanted and you don’t realize it. Your house is pretty old,” Stef reminded her.
“Maybe. Though Grady did hang some paintings for me, and he said the walls were plumb. Could the walls be plumb and the floors crooked?”
“Perhaps you could let me try,” Grace said. “I used to use … that is, play with a board when I was younger.”
“It’s no big deal, Miss Grace. It’s only a toy,” Vanessa told her. “But you’re welcome to have it. Since ‘DAZ’ isn’t my ring size, I doubt it’ll be of any use to me.”
“Oh, look. Speaking of Grady.” Barbara pointed out the window. “It looks like he’s going into Bling, Ness.”
Vanessa hastily downed the last of her coffee. “I left home a little early today, so he probably thinks I’m there. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Steffie grabbed Vanessa’s empty mug from her friend’s hand. It was customary to return one’s cup directly to Carlo before leaving. “I’ll take this back when I take back mine,” she told Vanessa. “You go on.”
“Thanks, Stef.” Vanessa blew an air kiss in the general direction of the table before flying out the door.
Barbara leaned in the direction of the window. “Now, there’s a match made in that place where all perfect matches are made.”
“Oh, would you look at the way they just beam at each other. Anyone could tell they’re madly in love.” Nita sighed heavily. “Now, there is one very lucky girl.”
“Not to mention one very lucky guy,” Stef reminded them.
“True enough.” Barbara nodded. “We should all be that lucky. We should all know what it’s like to have someone love us like that.”
“Amen,” Steffie murmured. She turned her wrist to check her watch. “Look at the time. I have to get back.”
She picked up Vanessa’s mug along with her own and walked to the counter, where she handed them over to Carlo, then waved good-bye to the others before heading out the door and back to Scoop.
Stef waved to Vanessa and Grady across the street, but neither appeared to have seen her.
With Barbara’s comment still ringing in her ears, Stef walked along Kelly’s Point Road. She knew she’d never had that kind of love in her life. Oh, she’d had plenty of boyfriends, and she’d had a fling or two, but never anything serious. Never the kind of relationship where that over-the-moon feeling was mutual. Besides, in her experience, over-the-moon didn’t last. She thought that might be the tricky part, getting it to last. The key to it all, of course, was finding the right person in the first place.
But what if you’ve found the person who makes your palms sweat and your heart beat faster, the person who filled your dreams for as long as you could remember—but that person didn’t have a clue about you? What if the one person you knew you could love forever wasn’t in love with you?
She thought back to Beck and Mia’s wedding, of dancing so close to Wade that she could feel his heart beating right through the jacket he wore, of looking into his eyes and thinking, Yeah, this is the one. This is what I’ve been waiting for all these years, this moment for him to look at me just this way. The way their bodies had swayed together, as if they’d been made for each other.
And then, of course, there was the way Wade had abruptly left her standing there alone in the middle of the parking lot, wondering if everything else that night had been some horrible joke the gods had played on her for some petty thing she must have done at some point in her life.
She had so not deserved him dumping her that night.
She deserved someone who would love her forever, someone who’d look at her the way Grady looked at Ness and the way Grant looked at Dallas, not someone who got her all revved up and then walked away without explanation and was just poof—gone from her life.
And what was with that, anyway? She’d never understood his actions that night. Just as she’d never understood why she hadn’t been able to find someone else who made her feel the way Wade did.
Annoyed with him all over again, she stepped over the weathered railroad tie that formed the boundary between the parking lot and the back of her shop, sighing as she opened the door. Well, his coming back here just served as a reminder—as if she’d needed one—of how alone she’d felt that night as she watched the tail lights of his rental car disappear down the inn’s long driveway.
What she should do, she realized, is channel all this emotion into finding someone who did appreciate her, someone she could spend the rest of her life with. There had to be someone out there somewhere who could make Steffie Wyler numero uno in his life, someone who could love her forever. Since Beck’s wedding, she’d made no effort to meet anyone else.
Well, that’s going to change, as of right now, she told herself sternly. From now on, I’m open to whatever the universe has to send my way. Wade MacGregor isn’t the only fish in the Bay.
The St. Dennis Historical Society held their monthly meetings at Old St. Mary’s Church on Parish House Road. Once their business had been concluded, they adjourned to Captain Walt’s down at the marina for a luncheon, followed by ice-cream sundaes at Scoop. Steffie usually prepared in advance for the onslaught by making sure she had sufficient staff so that no one would be waiting in line long enough to start complaining about it. Yesterday she’d been so distracted by Wade that she’d forgotten to prepare for the September meeting. Fortunately, Tina and her sister Claire, who pitched in occasionally now that her extra summer help was back in school, had been scheduled to work, so Stef had enough hands.
What she didn’t have was the unique topping that the group’s members had come to expect from their monthly visits to Scoop, the topping she’d create just for them.
It was almost ten in the morning when she realized her omission. The society’s luncheon usually finished around one-thirty, which meant the first wave would arrive at Scoop around one forty-five. Three and a half hours to come up with something unusual, seasonal, and delicious.
She stood in front of her freezer and stared at the contents hoping for inspiration. When that didn’t work, she asked Tina, “Quick. What fruit says ‘early fall’ to you?”
Without hesitating, Tina said, “Apples.”
“Of course! Apples. Who has apples?”
“The markets all have them,” Tina pointed out.
“I don’t know where those apples come from. I don’t know when they were picked or what they were sprayed with.” Stef frowned. “I don’t like not knowing. And yes, the irony that a junk-food aficionado such as myself would care about this is not lost on me.”
“Madison’s have apples,” Tina reminded her. “I don’t think they spray bad stuff on their trees.”
“Right. Madison’s.” Stef grabbed the phone book and searched for the number, which she dialed on the wall phone. “Clay, it’s Steffie Wyler. Yes, fine … Listen, I need apples. What do you have …?”
Five minutes later, Tina was on her way to pick up a bushel of honey-crisp apples and Steffie was showing Claire how to make caramel. On the blackboard for the day, Stef wrote the special of the day: CARAMEL APPLE WALNUT SUNDAES. At one forty, she was scooping up the first of many bowls of vanilla ice cream swimming in warm caramel over chopped apples, topped with walnuts.
“Stephanie, do you think there will be any of that yummy topping left after the crowd disperses?”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Stef looked up and grinned from ear to ear.
“Mom! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today? Is Dad with you?” She tried to look over her mother’s shoulder.
“I had some business to tend to that your father didn’t have to bother with,” her mother replied. “I thought I’d see if you and Grant had time for a quick bite of lunch, but Grant has a full schedule this afternoon. I stopped at the clinic on my way here but only had a few minutes to spend with him.”
Shirley Wyler held up a bag that
read THE CHECKERED CLOTH in black script across a red and white bag.
“I came prepared.”
“Is that what I think it is?” Steffie asked hopefully. “Bleu-cheese burger on a brioche roll?”
“Would I bring my daughter anything but?”
“Give me ten minutes,” Stef told her. “But you might want to start on yours now so it doesn’t get cold.”
“They triple-wrapped the sandwiches in heavy foil, so they should stay nice and warm. I’ll just visit with a few old friends I saw outside. I’ll be back when the crush is over.”
“Great. Thanks, Mom.” Stef turned her smile on the next person in the queue.
It was after two when Stef pulled up the chair next to her mother’s at the corner table in the shop.
“Sorry, Mom. It’s Historical Society day.”
“I know. I saw Eliza Sherman and Peg Wordsworth outside a while ago, and I ran into Grace Sinclair when I first got here. Amazing that Grace is still running that paper.” Shirley opened the bag and handed her daughter a foil packet. “I thought the St. Dennis Gazette was almost ready to fold when your father and I moved to Havre de Grace four years ago. Remarkable that she’s been able to hold on all this time.”
“It’s the advertising that’s keeping her going. All the town merchants advertise in the Gazette every week so the tourists and the weekenders know what shops are in town and what’s on sale where.” Stef unwrapped her sandwich. “Yum. The roll is still warm.”
“Mine, too.” Shirley smoothed out the foil wrapping.
“I’m so hungry today I could eat five of these.” Stef took a bite of her sandwich. “Yum. Just … yum.” She took another bite, then stood. “Would you like something to drink? I have bottled water and tap water, root-beer floats …”
Shirley held up a hand to stop Stef from running through the entire menu of drinks.
“Bottled water would be perfect.”
Stef went to the cooler and grabbed two bottles and a couple of straws.
“So what’s going on? What brought you to St. Dennis today?” She sat back down at the table.
“I had to meet with Cousin Horace’s attorney,” her mother told her. “About his will.”
“Oh.” Stef frowned. “I miss the old guy. Well, not like he’s been the past few years, but before. Gosh, he was a fun guy. I owe this”—she gestured around the room—“to him. He taught me how to make ice cream when I was, like, twelve or thirteen. Remember that old ice-cream maker he used to have? The one with the handle that you had to turn?” She took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I wonder whatever happened to that.”
“I imagine it’s still somewhere in his house.” Shirley put her sandwich down. “We’ll know soon enough.”
“What do you mean?”
Shirley reached into her pocket, pulled out a brass key, and handed it to Stef.
“I met with Jesse Enright this morning. Remember him? Mike and Patti’s nephew who used to visit sometimes in the summer?”
“Sort of.” Actually, Stef couldn’t place the face though the name was vaguely familiar.
“Mike took over the law practice when his father—who would have been Berry’s age—passed away. Since Mike and Patti have no children, everyone was delighted when Jesse agreed to join the firm,” Shirley said. “They’ve represented my mother’s family forever. Mike contacted me some time ago to come in to discuss the terms of Horace’s will, since he’d made me executor, but since Mike and Patti are on a cruise this month, I met with Jesse.” Shirley stopped and tapped her daughter on the arm. “You must remember him, Steffie. He’s tall and very good-looking. He used to be really shy, but I think he might have outgrown that.”
Stef shrugged. “He’s not really ringing any bells, Mom.”
“Well, anyway—to make a long story short: Horace left the house on Olive Street to you.”
“Huh?” Stef’s jaw dropped and hung open.
Shirley nodded. “It’s all yours. Lock, stock, and cobwebs.”
“But … but …” Steffie stared at the key that rested in the palm of her hand. “Why me?”
“Partly because he liked the fact that you were named after him. Stephen was his middle name, I’m sure you’ll recall, since you used to call him H. Stephen, which always amused him.” Shirley reached over and pushed a strand of loose hair behind Stef’s ear. “And partly because of the ice-cream machine, I suppose. You were the only one of the kids who ever went over on your own to visit with him—at least, the only one who hadn’t had to be dragged by the ear to go. No children of his own, no wife … I expect he was a lonely fellow. He often mentioned that he appreciated the time you spent with him because he knew you were there because you wanted to be.”
“Are you kidding? I loved going there. I always felt like he was doing me a favor by spending time with me,” Stef said. “He was such a cool guy. He had all these fun things in the house and he let me play with anything I wanted. He never treated me like a little kid. He was more fun than any other grown-up I ever met.”
“Well, there was more than a touch of the kid in Horace, we all knew that. And I suspect there will be lots more fun in store for you, since I doubt the house has changed much since you were a child. We closed it up when he went into the assisted living home, and I don’t think anyone’s been inside since. I always made sure there was someone to keep the grass cut and to shovel the walks if it snowed, but other than that, I haven’t been inside since your dad and I moved, except to help Horace distribute some of the furnishings. Most of it went to Nita’s antiques shop. I imagine she’s sold almost all of it by now.”
“Holy crap, he left me a house.” Staring at the key once again, Stef shook her head. “I can’t believe it.” She looked up at her mother. “Are you sure you don’t mind? Would you rather he’d left it to you?”
Shirley laughed. “What would I do with it? I already have one house here in town that I don’t know what to do with. Why would I want another?”
“Well, he really was your cousin, not mine.”
“No, he was my mother’s cousin, remember? He and Gramma were first cousins.”
Stef nodded. “I do remember that. But what about everyone else? Your cousin Kathleen, and your sister Betts and their kids. Are they going to be annoyed that I got the house?”
“I wouldn’t worry about what anyone else thinks.” Shirley dismissed Stef’s concern. “For one thing, none of them ever bothered to send so much as a birthday or a Christmas card to Horace. Certainly no one other than you, Grant, and I visited him after he went into the home. Besides, he left everyone else cash.”
“Including Grant? And Evie?” Stef hoped that her good fortune wasn’t at the expense of her siblings.
“Both were well taken care of,” Shirley assured her. “That was one of the reasons I stopped by the clinic. The copies of the will had to be distributed; which reminds me. I have your copy here in my bag.” She leaned over and began to rummage in a tall green leather tote.
“I have a house. And not just any house. The house on Olive Street is mine.” Stef held up the key. “Is it mine now, officially?”
“There are some papers to be signed, which you can do over at Enright’s office as soon as you get a chance.” Shirley handed Stef a brown envelope that was addressed to her. “But Jesse said you can go on in and move in or sell it or—”
“Sell it?” Stef’s eyes widened with horror. “Sell the house on Olive Street?”
“I told him that was most unlikely,” Shirley assured her.
“I’ve been saving money since I opened this shop so that someday I could buy a house.” Stef clutched the envelope containing the will to her chest. “I never thought I’d be able to afford one in that neighborhood, though. I never dreamed that someday I’d be living on Olive Street.”
“I imagine the neighbors will be delighted to see you move in. The house has been vacant, and no one likes to have an empty house on their street.”
“When can
I move?”
“Whenever you want, though I think you’re going to want to take advantage of the fact that the house is empty to do some updates. Nothing’s been touched in many years, Stef. I’m sure the wiring and the plumbing and God knows what else needs to be brought into the twenty-first century.”
“Let’s go look at it.” Stef’s eyes were shining. “Can we go look at it now?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Oh, boy.”
They finished their lunches, and after assurance from Tina that she and Claire could handle the after-school crowd for a while if Stef wasn’t back by the time the kids started pouring down Kelly’s Point Road, Stef and her mother took off for Olive Street.
Four streets formed the second oldest section of St. Dennis: Parish House Road, St. James Street, Cannonball Road, and Olive Street. All the houses on these four streets had been built in time to see the British shell the town in 1814, during the War of 1812. Many of the houses were brick, but a good number were clapboard. Steffie had always thought that Olive Street was the prettiest street in town, because it had a nice mixture of both.
Stef stopped in front of the red-brick house that had the numeral “32” in black letters on one of the porch columns. Rhododendrons rose two stories high on either side of the porch, edging out what might have been hydrangeas and possibly a rosebush or two. Dead stalks of hosta lilies poked out from beneath a network of ivy, and ferns grew uncontrolled along the driveway. A white fence was missing some of its pickets and most of its paint.
“It is a bit overgrown,” Shirley noted as they got out of the car. “Nothing that can’t be cleared away.”
“I think it’s beautiful.” Steffie stood at the front gate, her eyes glistening. “I think it’s the most beautiful house in town.”
“Let’s go see what’s going on inside, shall we?” Shirley reached around Stef and pushed the reluctant gate aside. “You have the key, sugar?”
“Right here.” Stef paused on the front steps and studied the porch columns where the paint had weathered and peeled. “I guess it could use a little paint.”
The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge Page 70
