Seaside Gifts: a Seaside romance (Hometown Romance)

by Gayle Roper

  "I'm sorry, Rog." She traced the rooster's tail on her placemat with her finger rather than look at him. "I don't know what came over me."

  He knew. Her mother.

  She shook her head, her expression one of disbelief. "I don't know where those words came from. They just popped out."

  "Pressure of the moment."

  Nan sighed. "She loves me, you know."

  There was something sweet about her defending the infuriating woman. "Shouldn't love be encouraging?"

  Nan gave a little laugh. "She thought she was encouraging. She wants what she thinks is best for me."

  "And that's Brandon."

  "And Pizzazz."

  "I'd find her pushing very—" Lots of words sat on the tip of his tongue, words like infuriating or interfering, but he caught himself. The woman was, after all, Nan's mother, and aggravating as he found her, Nan cared for her, so he settled for the rather bland "—frustrating."

  "Oh, it is, believe me, but that's no excuse for what I said. So she pushed too hard. So I was upset and at my wits' end. A lie's a lie, even if it's only by implication. You probably won't believe me, but I try hard not to lie. I work really hard not to even exaggerate." Her voice shook.

  He tried not to lie, too, and he had to admit that sometimes he failed. He sighed. "It's okay. I'm not mad." And he wasn't, at least not any more.

  "It's not okay, and I was wrong, and you can be mad if you need to be."

  He reached for her hand, and she gave it to him. It was so small in his. He ran his thumb back and forth, back and forth over her soft skin. "We can't let her believe an untrue thing. It's not right."

  "I know, but confessing my stupidity will be so embarrassing!"

  Rog doubted Joan of Arc looked that pitiful when she went to the stake. He gave her hand a squeeze. "We'll figure this out."

  "We will?" She stared at him with such hope his stomach cramped. "How?"

  "I haven't the vaguest idea."

  For a minute, they just smiled at each other. She really was sweet. Maybe a bit truth-challenged, but sweet.

  "I've tried so hard to be a good Christian in front of my family," she said. "They think I'm nuts for believing. They're convinced I'll become a fanatic and end up drinking grape Kool-Aid in some faraway jungle somewhere."

  He held out his other hand, and she laid hers in it. He held his up, and she fit the base of her palm against the base of his. Her fingertips reached just past his first knuckle. He slid his palm down and their fingers laced.

  "I grew up in a Christian family," Rog said. "I can't remember when I didn't believe in Jesus."

  Nan nodded. "I was never even in a church until my roommate got married when I was twenty-one. I was in a Bible study at college and had been for a couple of years by then, but not an organized church. It was Aunt Char who told me I needed to find one and get involved when I finished school."

  Rog looked into her serious hazel eyes. "I think I would have liked Aunt Char."

  "You would have. She was wonderful. The thing I appreciated most about her was her faith. She loved God and wasn't afraid to tell you so. In fact, she spent my first summer here telling me how much God loved me. It made me so uncomfortable, I wanted to go home half the time. The other half, I was having so much fun being in Seaside that I couldn't leave."

  "And you came back."

  "Every summer. I decided my third summer I wanted what she had, and I became a Christ follower. I met Tyler at the Christian fellowship group on campus I started attending after I believed. When I introduced him to my parents, they were so relieved he was normal that they really liked him. Until he dumped me. Then he was this hypocrite of a Christian who said one thing while he lived another. 'He took your good years!' my father roared. Like I have no good ones left. I think one of the reasons Mom is so set on fixing me up with Brandon is that they're afraid of the man I might select."

  "Too religious. Another perceived hypocrite."

  "Right. Too fanatical. Like my father told me once, not everyone likes church as much as I do."

  "A true statement, no doubt." He smiled at her. "Know what I think?"

  She shook her head.

  "I think you're secretly relieved you can't get away the weekend of the Fourth. You're spared the Brandon ordeal."

  She actually grinned. "If I could get away, and if you weren't busy keeping Seaside safe for democracy, I'd take you as my date, not Brandon. At least I'd know what I was getting, and original context aside, you definitely are a good catch."

  "Want to tell Lori for me?"

  "Forget her." Nan pulled a hand free and made an erasing motion. "She's no longer a person of interest."

  And with surprise, Rog realized she wasn't.

  Nan pulled her other hand free and started clearing the table. He stood to help her. He wasn't sure they'd resolved the catch problem, but at least it was no longer an issue between the two of them. That was a good first step.

  When the dishwasher was loaded, she turned to him. "You won't finish painting tonight, will you?"

  "Not a chance."

  "How about dinner tomorrow?"

  He grinned. "This is a great gig."

  He started for the bedroom, then stopped in the doorway, turned, and eyed her. He leaned into the jamb and crossed one foot over the other at the ankles. Very Joe Cool if he did say so.

  "By the way, I like church." And with a wink, he turned away, savoring her startled look.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Rog disappeared into the bedroom, Nan dropped into her chair at the table. Oh, boy, was she in trouble.

  When she'd moved here, she told herself no men. She'd promised herself. No men, just lots of hard work. So much was at stake here. She had to prove herself, and that would take every ounce of strength and every minute of her time.

  In just two days, Rog was making a lie of that plan. The first time she'd seen him walking into the store all starchy and professional, she'd felt it, whatever it was. Love at first sight? Or at least lots of like at first glance. It was as if he were the biggest gift of all in this whole leavery thing, and God had sent him. Talk about grace-gifts.

  Not that he returned her feelings. Sure, he'd flirted here and there, but he always pulled back. The brutal specter of his failed romance with Lori clung to him like a bad odor to a pup who'd tried to be friends with a skunk. And she'd made him even more hesitant with her stupid catch statement.

  She sighed and rose. She'd survived Tyler; she would survive Rog. She would.

  Lord, I will, right?

  She ran the water in the kitchen sink until it was as hot as she could stand it, then wet the dishcloth. She squeezed it dry and wiped the placemats clean. She dried them with a paper towel and carried them to the drawer in the armoire. With all the wonderful grace-gifts she'd received from Aunt Char, she neither needed nor wanted the leavery items.

  A thought slid through her mind and she glanced toward the bedroom. When she got frustrated with the leavery, she needed to remember that if not for it, she might never have met Rog. Instead of griping about all that stuff, maybe she should be thanking the Lord.

  #

  Rog grinned to himself as he prepared the bedroom for painting. Teasing Nan was the most fun he'd had in—well, he couldn't remember how long.

  He studied the pink walls. Usually he didn't mind pink. It was a girl color for sure, but it could be pretty. He liked it on things like roses and babies and little princesses like his nieces. But this pink, no way. Even in a room where you had your eyes shut most of the time, it was grating. For a woman of taste like Aunt Char, she'd sure fallen off the wagon with this shade.

  "I hope you don't mind sleeping on the sofa for a few nights," he called as he tested the weight of the bureau. Heavy!

  Nan appeared in the door and watched as he manhandled the bureau away from the wall inch by tiny inch. "I don't mind the sofa. Do you want Mooch to help you move stuff?"

  He hadn't wanted to ask. After all, Mooch worked for
her. "That'd be great if you can spare him."

  "I'm going down in a minute, and I'll send him up." She started to turn away, then looked back. "Promise me you'll wait for him. I don't want any ruptured discs. I don't think my workman's comp insurance covers friendly house painters."

  She was worried about him. It was stupid, but he felt somehow blessed.

  She looked around the room. "You've got to move all the furniture, don't you? Even the bed."

  "I have to get to the walls behind stuff."

  "Right. Will I be able to get to my clothes?"

  "The closet, no problem until we have to empty it to paint. For other things, I'd suggest you get a couple of days' worth and store them somewhere where they won't get dusty or paint spattered. I'm about to cover everything with tarps."

  Her shoulders slumped. "This is going to be a bigger deal than I thought."

  He grinned. "Just think about the end product: a lovely room you'll be happy to go to sleep in every night."

  She left, and a few minutes later, Mooch appeared. "The boss lady said I'm to help you move stuff." He seemed less than enthusiastic.

  "Ever paint a room before?" Rog was pretty sure of the answer.

  "You kidding? That's what you hire people for."

  "You've been hired."

  "But not for painting. I'm an artistic consultant."

  "You're a stock boy and general dogsbody, and you won't be painting. You're being used for hard labor." He looked at the lanky kid and grinned. "We're bulking you up for the ladies."

  Mooch got a faraway look. "Lady. Singular."

  Rog rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. The beauteous Tammy?"

  "She is beautiful, isn't she?"

  Rog expected the kid to start drooling any minute. He snapped his fingers. "Yo, Romeo. Stay with me. The sooner we're finished here, the sooner you can go swoon over her."

  "Ha, ha. I don't swoon." He grinned. "But I do pant a bit."

  Rog laughed and threw Mooch the car keys. "There are several canvas tarps in the back. Bring them up, will you?"

  While Mooch clomped down the stairs, Rog removed pictures and carried them into the living room, where he propped them against the wall. He was resting the last one carefully when he heard thumps on the back door and the buzzer squawked.

  "Who's there?" Nan called.

  Before he could remind her to push the button on her new electronic peephole, he heard her laugh. "I see you, Mooch." And the back door opened. When Mooch came upstairs with the tarps in his arms, Nan followed.

  Her face glowed with pleasure. "I love it!"

  He grinned at her, his shoulders straightening a bit. Nothing like impressing a lady, especially when it was so easy a task.

  She fled downstairs, and he turned to find Mooch staring at him with an I-don't-believe-it look. "What?"

  "And you have the nerve to give me grief. Your own tongue is hanging out a mile."

  "Is not."

  "Is so."

  "Is not."

  Mooch shook his head in disgust. "Deny it all you want. You think she's hot."

  Rog swallowed. "She's a very attractive young woman. Very nice."

  Mooch hooted and Rog squirmed. Before he could decide how to deny his attraction to Nan with any plausibility, the back door buzzer blatted again. A minute passed, and Nan didn't answer it. The buzzer sounded again.

  "Want me to get it?" Mooch looked anxious to do anything but move furniture.

  "You're cheap labor. I'll get it while you put the night tables in the living room. Remember to unplug the lamps and move them separately."

  "You'd think he thought I was dumb," Mooch told the air. "Unplug the lamps. Geez!"

  Rog grinned, hurried down the stairs, and hit the button on the viewing screen. An older man in a dress shirt, his tie pulled loose and his top shirt button undone, stood outside. Rog pulled the door open. "May I help you?"

  "Oh." The man was clearly thrown off stride at the sight of Rog. "I thought this was Present Perfect."

  "It is." Rog pointed to the name painted on the door.

  "I was expecting my daughter."

  Rog's finely honed deductive skills kicked in. "Mr. Patterson?" He shot out his hand. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Rog Eastman."

  Mr. Patterson blinked and slowly extended his arm.

  "Dad?"

  Both men turned as Nan came into the storeroom. She hurried to her visitor with a welcoming smile and gave him a hug. He bent and kissed her cheek.

  "This is a surprise." Her happy expression was replaced by anxiety. "Is something wrong? Is Mom okay?"

  Mr. Patterson patted her arm. "Don't worry. Everything's fine. I didn't mean to scare you." His eyes slued toward Rog. "Um, can we talk somewhere, sweetheart? Somewhere private?"

  Rog watched Nan look at him apologetically and bit back a smile at her pained expression. Protective fathers were the same everywhere.

  "Hey, Rog!" Mooch appeared at the top of the steps. "What do you want your child labor to do next?"

  Nan stepped to the bottom of the stairs. "Forget Rog, Mooch. I'll take my child labor in Present Perfect while I visit with my dad." She signaled to him, and the kid cooperatively thumped his way down to the office.

  Nan indicated the store. "Go help Tammy and Ingrid."

  Mooch gave a nod. "Yes, ma'am. As you wish, ma'am." He looked at Rog. "You gotta love a strong woman."

  Without pausing for breath, he stuck out his hand to Mr. Patterson. "Since these people haven't the manners to introduce me before they send me to the mines, I'll do it myself. Mooch Traylor. I work here. Child labor."

  "Mooch," Rog warned. The kid must have forgotten to take his Ritalin.

  Mooch made believe he didn't hear. "When my dead body shows up, bring charges against these two for youth abuth." He grinned. "Say youth abuse fast three times and see what you get." He laughed. "Youth abuse. Youth abuth. Youth abuth." He leaned in and stage-whispered to Rog, "You look awesome. Nice way to impress the father of your crush."

  Rog glanced down himself all the way to his laceless, paint-spattered sneakers. Sartorial splendor all right.

  Mooch gave his goofy grin. "It's got to be embarrassing that I look better than you."

  With a satisfied smile that he'd wreaked enough havoc for one evening, Mooch disappeared into the store.

  Rog glanced at Nan, who had a little half smile as she watched the boy go. Sure, she could think he was funny. She wasn't responsible for him. That would be Rog. Being around the boy was like watching a super ball ricochet wildly around the room, waiting for it to bounce into an irreplaceable antique and shatter it. No wonder Lori was happy to pack him off to Seaside for the summer.

  But the kid sure could be funny.

  Nan turned to Rog, looked him up and down, and laughed. "He's right, you know. Street person."

  "I'll have you know I worked hard for this look. Spent hours in front of the mirror mixing and matching. Years in the field splattering the shoes and shorts. The shirt is just a victim of natural attrition."

  Mr. Patterson frowned and cleared his throat.

  Nan let her smile fade. "Um, Dad, would you like to walk around the store while you're here?"

  The look of hope on her face touched Rog. He watched Mr. Patterson shake his head and saw the hope drain away. She caught him watching her and shrugged.

  "Come on upstairs, Dad. We can sit and talk there."

  Nan led the way with Mr. Patterson following. Rog brought up the rear.

  Mr. Patterson looked over his shoulder. "Um..."

  Nan didn't miss a beat. "He's painting my bedroom, Dad. He has to come up."

  "Oh."

  As soon as they entered the living room, they all but tripped over the pair of bedside tables in the middle of the floor. The bedside lamps sat like tipsy friends in the middle of the sofa.

  Rog shook his head. "Sorry. My fault. I didn't tell him to put them against the wall." He muscled the tables out of the way and put the lamps on them.

  "S
o you're working for Nan?" Mr. Patterson asked as he took a seat in one of the chairs by the window.

  Rog bit back a smile. "No, sir, not working for her exactly. I'm helping her out with some painting."

  "He's safe, Dad," Nan called from the kitchen where she was pouring three glasses of iced tea. "You don't have to worry."

  "Of course I worry. It's what parents do, especially about their baby girls."

  Right then, Rog decided he liked Mr. Patterson.

  After handing her father his iced tea, Nan wandered to the bedroom door and glanced at the canvas-covered rug and furnishings and the bare walls. "Looks strange."

  Rog stood beside her. Mooch had done a lot more than move the night tables. "Just wait. I haven't begun to do strange yet." He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

  She glanced back at him, her eyes unhappy. Two parents in one day had to be overwhelming.

  "Want me to stay with you," he asked softly, "or would you rather I disappear? I can close the door and work. Or I can go home."

  She turned and grabbed his hand. "Stay. Please."

  He nodded. It was what he wanted, too. Protect and serve.

  She walked to the sofa, pulling Rog behind her. "Rog offered to paint for me, Dad, and I'm so glad, because I wouldn't be able to get to it before late fall. Plus he knows what he's doing, and I don't." She sat and he sat beside her.

  "Worked my way through college as a painter." Okay, Rog knew he said that to impress Mr. Patterson with his college degree. Petty but satisfying. Just because he looked like a bum...

  Mr. Patterson barely glanced at him before he focused on Nan. "You're saying the store is that demanding?"

  She nodded. "More demanding than Pizzazz."

  "Then you need a break—" he began, but she raised a hand to cut him off.

  "No break, Dad. I can't. Not this time of year."

  "I don't know, Nan. You had such a good job, a good salary and benefits, and you threw it all away."

  "I like it so much better here at Present Perfect. In fact, even with all the pressure and work, I love it."