Seaside Gifts: a Seaside romance (Hometown Romance)

by Gayle Roper

  Mrs. Patterson was apparently stalled in the office. "I have to get back home," she said. "So much to do for the party."

  But there was time to rearrange Nan's apartment without permission?

  "Ten minutes, Mom."

  Couldn't the woman hear the emotion in Nan's voice? Didn't she understand how much this meant to her daughter?

  "Ten minutes isn't that much to ask, is it, Elise?" Aunt Bunny called sweetly. "After all, it's the career your daughter has chosen, and she wants to share it with you."

  Mrs. Patterson appeared in the doorway and shot an ugly look at the old woman, who pretended not to notice.

  "You'll love her inventory and her eye for display." Aunt Bunny continued, and Rog had to smile. The spunky lady knew how to manipulate—and irritate. "She's very gifted, but of course you already know that."

  With that final turn of the knife, Aunt Bunny picked up one of the pressed-flower pictures and pretended to study it.

  Nan looked at her mother. "Come on, Mom. Please?"

  Mrs. Patterson blew out a mighty sigh. "Oh, all right. Five minutes. Then I must get on my way."

  She wasn't exactly ungracious, but she definitely wasn't gracious as she walked the aisles. Rog watched Nan as she watched her mother. He might not be her catch, though he was certain he'd be a better one for her than Brandon ever would, but he did care when she was hurt.

  #

  Nan watched her mom nervously. She wanted so badly for her to like Present Perfect and tell her she was doing a good job that her stomach ached. She feared those words weren't going to be spoken.

  Nan tried to see the store through Mom's eyes. It was hard, since it meant so much to her—a career she enjoyed, a connection to Aunt Char, an answer to a desperate prayer. To Mom it meant disappointment, dissension, and lost dreams.

  The barn-siding walls were stained a medium brown, and display shelves of the same shade held her stock. Sure, many of the items were related to the shore, but they were attractive display pieces to put in one's home, either here at the shore or inland as a reminder of a wonderful vacation week. Beautiful seashells sat in baskets beside signs that read Beach Time and Down the Shore. There were prints of sand dunes and Adirondack chairs under beach umbrellas, not that anyone actually took an Adirondack chair to the beach. Small lamps with seashell bases cast soft light on displays of frames and pottery, hand painted tiles, and framed maps of the island. Ceramic starfish, wooden seagulls, and glass dolphins sat in sand scattered artistically on one shelf.

  Mom walked around the store with all the enthusiasm of a kid in a doctor's office knowing a shot awaits. She frowned and looked at Nan. "Where are the sweatshirts and sunglasses?"

  Nan felt hope at the question. Mom had noticed Present Perfect was different. "There are lots of nice shops with stuff like that all up and down the boardwalk. Aunt Char made Present Perfect special, and I want to keep it that way."

  Still frowning, Mom continued walking up and down the aisles, examining the shelves and the goods. Nan hated that her stomach was in turmoil as she waited to hear Mom's assessment.

  Aunt Bunny sidled up to her. "It's a wonderful store, Nan. Whatever Elise says, it's wonderful. Char had great taste, and you have the same gene." She tugged her red tote higher on her shoulder. "I need to talk to you, but not now. I've got to go. I've a meeting at eleven. I want to beat Alana there." Her eyes sparkled with the thought.

  Nan laughed at an image of Aunt Bunny in her Hawaiian shirt and red flip-flops sitting in a meeting beside the impeccably tailored Alana. She leaned in and kissed the woman's soft cheek. "Have fun."

  Aunt Bunny snorted. "I doubt it."

  "Hey, you the owner?"

  Nan turned to find a lanky guy slouching beside her with dark hair that needed a barber. "I am."

  A goofy, yet charming, smile was accompanied by a big hand reaching to shake. "I'm Mooch Traylor. I'm hoping you want to hire me for the summer."

  "Mooch?" She was aware of Rog eyeing the boy.

  "Yeah. My mama says I'll mooch food off anyone." His goofy grin came again. "And she's right. I will."

  Nan couldn't resist grinning back. "And why do I want to hire you, Mooch?"

  "'Cause I can carry stuff for you, and I can work lots of hours, and my landlord says I gotta get a job."

  As he spoke, he fiddled with the items sitting on the closest counter. When he stopped, Nan stared. He'd rearranged things, and somehow the counter looked more inviting, the groupings warmer, more artful.

  "How did you do that?" Nan pointed to the counter.

  He followed her finger. "Do what?"

  "You rearranged everything."

  "I did? Did I mess it up?" He looked stricken. "I always do stuff like that. It drives my mom nuts. How was it before? I'll put it back."

  Nan turned to the counter opposite, where plates with paintings of colorful shore birds on them sat in piles, watercolor pictures leaned against the wall, and beside them, vases and wooden decoys stood next to a pair of sailboats of differing heights. "Rearrange them."

  Mooch looked at the collection. "Not bad. Not good, but not bad. You have any of those picture supports? You know, those little tripod things?"

  Nan ran to the office, passing Rog, who was leaning against the register counter, ankles crossed, arms folded.

  "Problem?" he asked.

  She paused at the storeroom door. "I've got exactly the kid I need, I think. I just hope he doesn't have a record or a drug habit or something equally undesirable."

  She grabbed some easels and hurried back to the store just in time to hear Rog say, "Hey, you the owner? Geez, kid, where are your manners?"

  "What?" Mooch looked confused.

  "How about, 'Excuse me, miss, are you the owner?' "

  Mooch shrugged. "Hey. I lack class. Who cares?"

  "I do." Rog's look was stern.

  Mooch appeared unaffected.

  Rog glanced at Nan and went back to leaning on the counter.

  She handed Mooch a fistful of easels as she wondered at Rog's interference over something so petty. The kid was seventeen or eighteen. She was pleased he hadn't said, "Yo!"

  Mooch took the easels and started moving things. While he worked, Nan followed her mother with her eyes. Mom stopped her wandering and picked up a lighthouse with a switch. She flicked it, and a light at the top of its tower came on. She glanced at Nan as she turned the light off and put the lighthouse down. She moved on without comment.

  So far, there were no unexplained items this morning, and Nan was very glad. She shuddered at the thought of explaining leavery to Mom.

  "Done." Mooch stepped back. "That's as good as I can do with what's here." He looked around him. "I could do better if you let me move stuff around, like from there to here, you know?"

  She nodded. She knew. She studied the rearranged shelf. "Very nice, Mooch. You're good. Come on back to the office, and we can get your paperwork started."

  "I'm hired?" The goofy grin appeared yet again.

  "We'll see." She smiled noncommittally while hoping he would work out.

  They turned toward the office, or at least Nan did. Mooch was rooted to the spot, staring at the front door. Nan turned and saw Tammy in her blue Present Perfect shirt walking toward them.

  "Whoa." Mooch leaned toward Nan. "She come with the place?"

  Nan nodded.

  "Cool."

  Tammy came close, and Nan swore she could hear Mooch hyperventilating.

  "Tammy, this is Mooch Traylor. He's applied for a job here. Mooch, Tammy can answer any of your questions if I'm not around."

  Tammy smiled. "Mooch, huh? Interesting name."

  "It's really Daniel," he mumbled, suddenly shy.

  "Okay." Tammy looked to the back of the store. "I see Officer Studly is here, serving and protecting."

  Nan watched Rog glance in their direction, indicating he'd heard.

  "You always have a cop here?" Mooch asked.

  "He's trying to solve the mystery of the
leavery." She watched Tammy sashay toward Rog and wasn't surprised to see him start for the office door and escape.

  "I'll talk to you later," he called. "Bye." He was gone before Tammy reached him.

  Tammy sagged against the counter, a pout marring her pretty face as she watched him disappear.

  Mooch watched her and sighed. "He's a good guy, but not for her. Too old. Now me on the other hand..."

  Nan looked at him with surprise and concern. "You know the officer?"

  "Yeah, but don't worry. Not in a professional capacity. He's my landlord."

  "Really? I didn't know he took in boarders."

  Mooch looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well, he's not really my landlord because I don't pay rent. But I do live at his house, and he did tell me I needed a job. In fact, he suggested I come here."

  Nan studied the boy. No wonder Rog was correcting him earlier. "I'm assuming that means he trusts you."

  He shrugged. "In spite of everything."

  Nan grew cautious again. "What do you mean?"

  "He used to go with my sister and got me in the split."

  Nan blinked. "You're Lori's brother?"

  "He told you about her?" Mooch seemed surprised. "Huh."

  "She broke up with him when he decided to become a cop."

  "Yeah. Not her finest moment. I have to ask myself if she's going to dump me when I become a cop—which I plan to be."

  Nan laughed. She liked the kid. "I don't think you can dump brothers. They're yours for life."

  "Cool. What's leavery?"

  As Nan explained, Mooch followed Tammy with his eyes.

  "So Rog stopped in to see if anything else showed up," she finished. "And photograph what's here." Though, as she thought back, she hadn't seen a camera and to her knowledge, he hadn't taken a single picture.

  "Cool."

  "And I don't encourage staff fraternization."

  Mooch nodded, not the least bit disconcerted by the abrupt change of subject. "At least not at the store." He grinned. "You won't know what happens away from work, right? But I get it. It could get sticky."

  "Yes, it could." She turned toward the back. "Tammy, please bring out that order of ceramic angels and hang them on the Christmas tree."

  "Here, let me help." Mooch hurried after her.

  Mom walked up the center aisle and stopped beside Nan. "I don't think you should hire that boy, Nanette. I see trouble there."

  Nan frowned. "He's fine, Mom. Rog recommended him."

  "Oh. Well."

  It wasn't oh, well, then it's okay. It was definitely oh, well, then I'm right. You're in for trouble.

  "Look how he reorganized the shelf." Nan pointed.

  Mom looked but said nothing.

  Nan sighed. There would be no approval coming for Mooch, for the store, for Rog, or for her. If only it didn't hurt so much.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Late that afternoon, the raucous sound of the buzzer at the back door made Nan smile. He was here.

  "Come in!" She stood and stretched, happy to leave the numbers she was working with, and headed for the door. She pulled it wide, and there Rog was. How ridiculous to feel this rush of pleasure at the sight of him. He was just a guy, and she'd only known him for two days. Really not even two days. Still, she wondered if she'd ever felt this excited to see Tyler.

  He wore a T-shirt that had seen better days and a pair of paint-spattered knee-length shorts and was loaded down with a pouch of tools in one hand and an electric drill clutched in the other. A white painter's cap sat on his head.

  She grinned at him.

  He frowned at her. "Why did you open the door?"

  She blinked. "To let you in."

  "But you didn't check—"

  "—to see who it was. Yeah, yeah. But I was expecting you."

  "But you didn't know it was me."

  She waved his comment away and stepped back to let him in. She eyed the pouch and the drill. "You look like a man with serious intentions."

  He gave her a slow smile. "You have no idea."

  She swallowed. Was he flirting with her? Yowzah!

  He turned a little pink, blinked, and plain Rog was back, not as all-business as Rog the Cop, but not at all flirty. He walked to her desk and unloaded on top of the catalogs.

  "I have another load in the car." He strode to the still open door. "Back in a minute. And close the door behind me."

  She did as told, leaning against the door, listening to the rapid beat of her heart. Nuts. She was nuts! But he was adorable.

  The buzzer sounded.

  "Yes?" she called.

  "It's me."

  "Who's me?"

  "Rog." She heard the smile in his voice. "Roger Smedley Eastman."

  "Smedley? Your middle name is Smedley?"

  "My mom's maiden name."

  She grinned. "How do I know it's really you?"

  "Because I say so?"

  "Anyone could say so. It could be someone imitating you. Prove it's you."

  He was quiet for a moment. "You like Ferris wheels and I don't."

  "Proof if I ever heard it." She opened the door.

  He had a bag bulging with unidentifiable objects clasped in his fist.

  "What's all this stuff?"

  He walked to her desk, added the bag to the jumble already there, and pulled out a box. "Your peephole for one thing." He held the box toward her as if to prove his words.

  "You going to install it now?"

  "Is that a problem?"

  "Dinner's in the oven upstairs. It's almost ready."

  "Do I have five minutes?"

  She nodded. "Five minutes."

  He opened the box and lifted out a screen about the size of a cell phone. A small camera followed.

  She eyed the things with interest. "Very cool. I was expecting a fisheye lens thing."

  "Old-fashioned. We're going for high tech." He measured and put an X in the middle of the door.

  "Am I supposed to see out of that?" She went up on tiptoe.

  He looked from the X to her, then waved her over. "Stand here." Another X, this one at her height instead of his.

  His drill whirred as he made a small round hole and then enlarged it to the size of the tube connected to the camera. In no time, she had an electronic peephole that showed her a picture of whoever was outside the door.

  Rog went outside and pulled the door shut. "Push the button on the screen," he called.

  She did and there he was, clear as day.

  "I love it!" she told him as he came back in. "I feel so much safer already. Now come on upstairs. Dinner's got to be ready." She grabbed his tool pouch to carry up and was surprised at the weight. "What have you got in here?"

  He held out the drill. "Take this. I'll take the pouch." He followed her up the stairs, the pouch in one hand, a paint can in the other. He deposited everything just inside the bedroom.

  They sat at Aunt Char's antique table, which Nan had set with Pimpernel placemats that had pictures of roosters on them. She added the rooster plates she found in the armoire Aunt Char kept her entertaining supplies in. The napkins were black and white checked to match the border on the placemats, and the glasses sported black rims. The red Gerbera daisies she'd found at the supermarket added a splash of color.

  "Roosters, huh?" Rog took his seat.

  "I guess Aunt Char saw them as a break from seashells and beach scenes."

  "They're fine, but it's what goes on them that counts, and it smells wonderful." His smile only deepened as she served him roasted chicken, broccoli and cheese casserole, and a baked potato.

  After he said grace, she helped herself to a spoonful of cranberry relish for her chicken. "I didn't have any leavery today."

  He looked pleased. "Good."

  "Do you think it's finally stopped?"

  "The giver has probably seen the light now that you've gotten a cop involved. This chicken's great."

  "Thanks. So I've got what? Presents left by an unidentified hyperact
ive secret pal?"

  He added more sour cream to his potato. "What's a secret pal?"

  "You know. People draw names, and for a year, everyone gives gifts to the person they drew, but they don't reveal themselves until the year is up."

  "Like birthday and Christmas presents?"

  "And any other day you feel like. Valentine's or Fourth of July. Unbirthday."

  "And where do you get the names to give these secret presents to?"

  "Usually it's someone in a group of friends or a club. We used to do it in Girl Scouts when I was a kid."

  "Ha! I knew it. It's a girl thing."

  Nan sat up straight, taken with a thought. "So the perpetrator is female?" Had they just eliminated half the world, give or take a few million?

  Rog nodded. "They're female type gifts. If a guy was leaving stuff, it'd be tools or baseball mitts or a couple of universal TV remotes."

  Nan laughed as she rose to clear the table. When she offered him double chocolate brownies with ice cream, he couldn't stop smiling. After he polished dessert off, he sat back with his coffee in hand.

  They fell silent, smiling at each other until Nan had to move so she could breathe again. She jumped to her feet and grabbed the coffee carafe. "More?"

  "Thanks." He pushed his cup toward her. "That was a wonderful meal. The chicken was some of the best I've ever had."'

  She delighted in his praise. "My mom's recipe."

  His smile faded, and he became much too somber. "Speaking of your mother."

  I'm not interested in your best catch, Mom, because I've already found my best catch. Isn't he wonderful?

  Her stomach cramped and her face flushed. Dinner had been so pleasant, she'd dared hope he'd forgotten about her ridiculous assertion, but no such luck.

  #

  Rog watched Nan's cheeks turn scarlet. He hated to upset her, especially after she'd fed him that great dinner, but her comment had to be addressed before it became the elephant in the room. He didn't want times with her to be awkward. He liked her too much. She was sweet and kind and cute. She'd even given Mooch a job.

  But he wasn't anyone's catch. He didn't want to be anyone's catch. He wasn't some fish waiting to be reeled in. When she'd spoken this morning, he could almost feel her tug her line to set the hook in him. It was all he could do to not spit out the imaginary barb while he could, but one look at her mother's sour face had kept him quiet.