The Angler, the Baker, and the Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance)

by Day, Amberlee

  By the time the boat, Just for the Halibut, had cruised out to its destination for the day, Sophie found ample reasons to be grateful she’d stopped to pick up Cathy’s contributions. The bag she’d given Sophie contained motion sickness medicine, which thankfully kicked in quickly; a bright yellow raincoat and pants that were unsightly but kept her warm and dry; sandwiches and chips for the crew’s lunch; and, for their breakfast, two dozen of the most delicious cinnamon rolls Sophie had ever tasted.

  Cathy had also thought to send thermoses full of hot drinks, and after downing two of the rolls, Sophie, a little groggy from the medicine, sipped on rich hot chocolate in an out-of-the-way corner of the deck to watch the men work.

  Sophie’s boat mates for the day were five men, all wearing the same utilitarian yellow rain suits Cathy had provided for Sophie. There was her cousin, Roger Platsky, who managed all the company’s charter boats; an older native man with dark, leathered skin; a scruffy-looking younger man who had eaten at least five of the cinnamon rolls in a row without uttering a word; and two men who looked to be in their early forties—clearly the paying customers of the day. The last two—good-looking but boorish braggarts, from what Sophie could see—smelled of cologne and pretension.

  Fishing was a busy business, the way this crew handled it. As a child, Sophie had occasionally gone fishing with her father in California, and it had mostly involved sitting quietly in a rowboat and usually stopping for a burger on the way home because they hadn’t made a catch.

  Sitka Sound Fishing was a different experience all together. The three crewmen moved busily around the deck, securing and preparing various things. Most of the equipment was foreign to Sophie, so she just enjoyed watching.

  It rained softly. She tugged the hat up to cover the messy bun she’d tossed her long, dark hair into that morning. The gentle motion of the water relaxed, even mesmerized Sophie with the beauty of Alaska. Her memories of Sitka didn’t compare with the picture-perfect reality, even on a cloudy day: silver-grey water, forested islands dotting the view wherever she looked, and magnificent snow-capped mountains peeking through clouds in the distance. Despite being on the coast, it was the complete opposite of San Francisco, and Sophie felt both more relaxed and more alive than she had in a long time.

  Roger, she found, planned to fill the role of older brother while she was in Sitka. Sophie didn’t mind, but she was an only child, so it was a curious experience. When he’d picked her up from the airport, he’d explained that his boss—also Marisa’s boss—owned the plane, and he thought it would be a treat for Sophie to arrive in Sitka in style. She’d enjoyed seeing his excitement, so she didn’t let on how embarrassed she’d been before Marisa had made her feel welcome.

  The fish were definitely biting, Sophie noticed from her protected corner. Roger had known exactly where to bring the boat to catch fish. Within an hour of their arrival, one of the businessmen had his first halibut, and his friend soon followed. The fish were bigger than any she’d seen in person. It was a busy morning, and Sophie was so fascinated watching, that she had crept out of her corner to get a view of the latest catch when someone bumped into her. She looked to see whose way she was blocking.

  It was the younger crewman, the scruffy, grubby one with the long hair and beard. Flakes of cinnamon roll, wet with rain, sparkled in the gnarly beard. Above his sunburned cheeks and nose, though, his eyes were a surprisingly clear hazel, and rather than scooting past her, he stopped, looking right at her. He was so close that she had to suppress a shudder. A dark stocking cap clamped the top of his long, unruly hair under the raincoat hood. He looked like someone who’d materialized from some backwoods haunt, and she had a prickly thought that he might be dangerous. When he leaned even closer, Sophie drew back an inch.

  “Did you see that?” he half whispered, and pointed for her to turn around and look in the other direction.

  Following his gaze out into the water, Sophie didn’t see what he wanted her to see. The water looked the same as it had all morning: not at all still, but nothing out of the ordinary, either. She was about to ask the crewman what he’d seen when a spout of water shot into the air about a hundred yards off the deck.

  “Is that …?” She knew there were killer whales close to Sitka and had witnessed some from a distance when she’d visited as a child. At a hundred yards, this whale was much closer, and she was thrilled with such a good view.

  Sophie rushed to the edge of the boat, leaning forward so she wouldn’t miss the whale if it surfaced. The others were unaware, focused on the fish catch at the boat’s stern, but she felt the scruffily bearded young crewman join her at the rail.

  “Do you think it will come back up?” she asked him eagerly, forgetting her initial unease at his appearance. “I’ve never seen a whale that close. Is that something, way over there?” She pointed to a distance much farther than the spout had been.

  “Could be,” the man said, “but just in case, you might want to stand back.”

  There was no other warning, as out of the quiet water less than ten feet in front of them, a whale breached. Not a sleek, painted killer whale, as Sophie had been imagining, but a massive humpback whale, its mouth opened wide to take in fish, closing as it reached its peak and then sinking back down into the water.

  Sophie hadn’t made a sound, other than a sharp intake of air. She didn’t move a muscle; she couldn’t. Had that really just happened? It was almost close enough to touch.

  The others in the boat had reacted once the goliath sank back into the water, whooping, laughing, and—in the case of the tourists—cursing enthusiastically at the awesome sight.

  A wave had rushed under the deck rail, and the boat pitched sharply enough from the whale’s movement that Sophie didn’t realize she was falling until the young crewman grabbed her. She looked up at him and saw concern in those sparkling eyes. She remembered that she was still a little woozy from the medicine as she caught herself leaning closer to those eyes. A sensation at her feet made her pull her eyes from his and look down to her tennis shoes, which were soaked through.

  She looked back up at him. “Did you see that?” she asked, barely able to speak.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I saw it. Are you alright?”

  “A whale! Right there! I’m more than all right—look!”

  Farther out, the whale had surfaced again, and this time was followed in close succession by two smaller humpbacks. As Sophie and the tourists exclaimed in delight, the strange angler, laughing, held her firmly to the boat as she leaned further over the edge.

  “You got her?” Roger asked him in passing, somewhat hesitantly.

  “Oh, yeah. I got her.”

  As the breaching whales moved farther and farther away, Sophie’s excitement only grew.

  “Did you see that?” she asked again. “Did you see it?”

  “Yes, I saw it,” the scruffy man answered again.

  “Amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it. I think you could have driven a Volkswagen bug into its mouth, it was so big,” Sophie said.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “It was huge … and right there! I could have reached out and …”

  She kept talking, beaming at the scraggly stranger. He wasn’t someone she would normally talk to. In fact, he looked like one of the destitute men near her old bakery in San Francisco, the ones her mother had regularly given day-old baked goods. And yet, over that tangled beard, this man’s eyes danced. Sophie felt a sudden warmth toward him for sharing this experience with her and for keeping her safe. The others were busy reliving the breaching, too, guessing why the whale had surfaced so close to the boat and wishing they’d had their cell phones recording. Sophie couldn’t stop talking, but glanced back and forth between the water—would the whale emerge again?—and her watchman, who still kept a firm hold on her arms.

  Finally, her adrenaline settled down, and she ran out of things to say. She looked back at the angler, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. He was c
ertainly rough-looking. She would have called him an old mariner—he had the look of one—but he couldn’t be any older than Roger. “What’s your name?” she asked him. “I’m Sophie.”

  He grinned at her, and finally released his grip on her to offer a hand. “Jamie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jamie. A whale!” she half squealed.

  “Yes, it was. And you have wet shoes. Come on, let’s see if we can find something dry in the cabin.”

  3

  The two tourists, as it turned out, weren’t as big on fishing as they were on fishing stories. With an impressive enough halibut catch and a close encounter with a whale, they were ready to head back into Sitka early. Sophie wasn’t disappointed. Jamie, despite his quiet ways and grungy, rough edges, was kind and helpful, and had indeed found her a pair of dry wool socks and a warm blanket. The water had been freezing, though, and as the initial thrill of the breaching whale passed, she was chilled even below deck in the warm cabin.

  As they headed back across the water, Roger came down just long enough to check on his younger cousin. He said he’d called ahead to let the charter’s dispatch know they were coming and to give the lodge kitchen staff time to warm soup and coffee for the fishermen.

  Sophie was still huddled below when quiet Jamie came back down. She smiled at him, but he only glanced at her and turned his attention to the small refrigerator. Was he shy, she wondered, or just used to keeping to himself? He hadn’t said much on deck. Even before the whale surfaced, when he was fishing, he seemed to be more a man of action than words. The others had worked with him, but he seemed separate somehow.

  “Thank you for keeping me from falling,” she said, tentative. She didn’t want to scare him off.

  “Didn’t want to have to go in after you.”

  A sentence, she thought. That’s good. “Have you been working on the boats long?” she asked, hoping to draw him out more.

  Jamie looked up at her before continuing his refrigerator exploration. “Awhile.” He closed the door and came to sit quite close to her on the small couch.

  All right … maybe not as shy as I thought.

  He opened up a packet that turned out to be one of Cathy’s sandwiches and offered her half. “Hungry?” he asked.

  Sweet, at least. She took the triangle sandwich and tried to think of how to make conversation with someone who spends all his time on fishing boats. He probably didn’t have a lot of social skills. Then again, she thought ruefully, how socially skilled am I, usually in bed by eight and starting work at 3:30 a.m.? “This is good,” she said between bites.

  “Cathy makes the bread.”

  “I can tell.”

  He looked at her again. “You’re a baker too, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re going to help Cathy with her business?”

  “Yes, with her new business. She had things started before she realized she was going to have a baby, so I’m going to help her get things going and run the new bakery when she takes maternity leave.”

  “Maternity leave?”

  She still wasn’t sure about Jamie. His eyes were bright, intelligent-looking—or was she imagining that? It could be a childlike innocence she saw there. His speech was abbreviated, or was that because he was talking between bites? She’d have to go slow with him, just in case he didn’t understand quickly. She didn’t want to embarrass him.

  “Maternity leave,” she enunciated slowly, “is when a woman takes time off work to recover after having a baby, and take care of a newborn’s needs. It’s a very tiring time for a new mom.”

  Jamie must have taken a large bite of sandwich, she thought, as he suddenly seemed to be choking. She patted him hard on the back to help loosen things up. “Are you all right?”

  He sputtered a bit before answering, “I’m okay. Go on. Tell me more about … maternity need?”

  Ah, see, she thought. He is a bit slow. “Maternity leave. When Cathy’s baby comes, she won’t be baking things for a while. That’s why I’m here, to bake the bread and her wonderful cinnamon rolls. I’m going to have to ask her to teach me how she makes them.”

  “Don’t you know how?” His eyes were a little wider now, definitely childlike.

  “I know how to make cinnamon rolls. My mom and I had a bakery, and we used to …” Sophie let that thought go. “But Cathy’s cinnamon rolls are special. I’m not sure what she does, but they just melt in your mouth.”

  “You had a bakery? Was it pink? Cathy’s bakery is going to be pink.”

  “Really? I hadn’t heard that. No, our bakery wasn’t pink. It was brick with white painted wood around the windows. It was in San Francisco.”

  “Why aren’t you there now?”

  There was that lump in her throat again. “Because I can’t be there now, Jamie. Our bakery isn’t there anymore.”

  Roger came down into the cabin just then, bringing the cold air with him. Even at noon in August, the air was cool on the water. Sophie shivered. “We’re almost in,” he said. “You doing okay?”

  Sophie felt safe in reaching out and patting Jamie’s rain-pant-covered knee. “Yes, Jamie’s been taking very good care of me.” Her voice was kind.

  Roger’s eyebrow went up, and Jamie, starting to choke on another bite of sandwich, jumped up and headed for the stairs. “I’ll go help,” he called over his shoulder before he was out of sight.

  Roger stared at Sophie. She thought he looked lost.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “I … think so. So … Jamie’s been taking good care of you?”

  “Yes,” Sophie nodded. She had finished the sandwich and got up to find a paper towel. “He’s sweet. Has he been with you long?”

  Roger pushed off the hood of his rain coat and scratched behind one ear. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s been with me a while.”

  “He seems to be a big help. It’s nice you let him be on the crew.”

  “Well, I really don’t have a choice. He just kind of shows up and stays. But yes, he’s a big help. He’s a good worker.”

  “I can see that. I hope you pay him well.”

  Again, Roger looked lost, but he nodded. “Jamie does okay.”

  “Good. I love seeing special people finding they’re needed in the world.”

  “Oh, Jamie’s special, all right.” Roger was shaking his head as he walked up the stairs.

  Back at Angler’s Cove Lodge, Sophie warmed up in a hot shower and changed quickly so she could help in the kitchen. Cathy had gone home to rest during the morning, but was back preparing for the next day’s baking.

  She dried her loose, dark curls and pulled them back into another messy bun. She spent much of her life in kitchens, so keeping it out of the way was second nature. Shrugging into a dry pair of jeans and a cozy brown sweater she hadn’t expected to wear in August, she followed her nose to the lodge kitchen.

  Cathy was already there, and she wasn’t alone. A young couple hustled busily about the kitchen, and Cathy introduced them as the lodge cooks, Reva and Loren.

  Reva, a full-figured young native woman, her black hair streaked with bright purple and pulled back by a kerchief, saluted in greeting. A worn grey apron with the logo for Angler’s Cove Lodge covered her front. Her partner, Loren, wore a similar apron. Loren was slender and pale, his hair also pulled back in a ponytail. The edges of his T-shirt offered peeks at some detailed tattoos along his neck and arms. They were definitely the most unique people Sophie had seen since leaving San Francisco.

  “So how does this work?” she asked, washing her hands in the sink. “It looks like you two run the kitchen?”

  “Reva and Loren cook for the lodge guests,” Cathy explained. “I just do my baking here, usually before they arrive each morning. Legally, I need a designated kitchen to sell goods, and I’m not set up for that at home.”

  “Must get a little tight in here.” Sophie looked around. There were large pots simmering on the stove, cutting boards and bowls with vegetables, wide
metal countertops, and half a dozen shelves with canned and bottled items. “It’s a big space, but that’s a lot of food to move through. And baking takes so much counter space. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “It’s limiting, that’s for sure,” Cathy said. “Which is where we got the idea to open the bakery. I started thinking I’d just find a new kitchen, but somebody suggested I take the next step and open a store front. I could hire some extra hands—maybe some of your cousins—and let people come get the items, rather than wait for catering orders.”

  “I think it’s a great idea. Would your twins help, then?”

  Cathy scoffed. “Ty and Spence? Not a chance. They’re more interested in boats and fish, like Roger. Besides, they'd just eat all the inventory.”

  “Jamie,” said Reva, who’d been quietly adding spices to a simmering pot. Her soft, cheerful voice didn’t match her streetwise looks.

  “What was that?” Cathy asked.

  “I was trying to think whose idea the bakery was. It was Jamie’s, remember? He said he’d been to the best little Paris bakery painted pink and thought your cinnamon rolls could rival anything they had.”

  Cathy smiled. “It was his idea, that’s right. The pink, too. I wasn’t too sure about it at first, but now I think it will be perfect. I just wish my timing was a little better.” She placed a hand on her swollen belly.

  Sophie wondered how the scruffy, childlike Jamie had come to be in Paris, but kept the question to herself. “Hopefully I can help,” she said. “You’re going to have to teach me how to make your rolls, though. Those are amazing.”

  “You’ll be surprised how easy they are. Probably not too different than the ones you’re used to making, just a few little tricks.”

  “I can’t wait.” And she was surprised that she really felt that way. Although she’d agreed to help Cathy, it had been a while since the baking bug had grabbed her. Maybe coming to Sitka really was what Sophie needed.

  Roger, who always seemed to be busy, popped his head through the dining room door just then. “You haven’t fed these guys out here yet? We’re already done at the boat.”