“Uh-huh.” Charity nodded, slowly, her lips curled in an “I knew it” smirk. “My Gracie said she met an architect in the Pelican last night, and when she and Glo left, you all but fell into his lap.”
“Not exactly.” She pointed to the register. “Please?”
Patti, a much bigger woman than her sister, worked her girth around the counter to give Lacey a hard look. “He said he might be building an inn of some kind.”
Lacey just stared at her, saying nothing, reality dawning. Grace and Ron Hartgrave owned the Fourway Motel, and no one in the extended family run by these two matriarchs would like the competition. But they couldn’t stop it.
Could they?
She cleared her throat and met Patti’s beady gaze. “Nothing is set in concrete,” she said. “I’m looking at all the possibilities.” Damn, she wanted to have more conviction than that, but these two, they were not to be messed with.
“Well, look at this possibility.” Charity whipped out a binder and slapped it on the counter. The Building Code and Bylaws of Mimosa Key was typed across the top. Literally typed. By a typewriter. Probably before Lacey was born.
Charity flipped open the cover and pointed to a page already marked with a bright pink Post-it note. “Says right here that no structure that contains more than five bedrooms can be built on Mimosa Key.”
Lacey almost choked. “That code was written in the 1950s, Charity. It—”
“Still holds true,” Patti interjected. “You don’t see any six-bedroom houses on this island.”
“Which is the problem,” Lacey shot back.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if we would let some people build big houses, we could be the next Jupiter Island or take some of the money that gets poured into Naples’ real estate. Mimosa Key is ripe for big money, and I can’t imagine who on the town council would be opposed to having more tourist dollars on this island.”
They both stared at her, but it was Charity whose eyes narrowed. “So it’s true. You’re trying to ruin this island.”
She fought an exasperated sigh. “No, Charity. I’m looking for ways to expand it, make it better, bring in jobs, and—”
“We don’t need any more jobs,” Patti insisted. “We want it just like it is, young lady.”
“Oh, now I’m young. A minute ago I was too old for the man I was talking to last night.”
“Don’t you get snippy,” Charity warned.
“That’s right,” Patti chimed in. “Because your Granny Dot and her dear Theodore would roll over in their graves if they knew what you were planning to do with that beautiful old home they built for you when they founded this island.”
She didn’t even know what she was planning to do, how could Granny?
“And that home is gone,” Lacey said softly, hating that the loss she felt could be heard in her voice. “And so are my grandparents.”
“Then you should respect their memory,” Charity said.
But Granny Dot always wanted a B and B. She’d been the one who’d planted the idea in Lacey’s head years ago. But Lacey wasn’t about to share that with these two old witches.
“You don’t have your facts straight, Patti,” Lacey said. “And you’re jumping the gun. I’m not sure at all what I’m going to build on my property. For the most part, I’m just happy Ashley and I survived.”
Charity sniffed. Patti crossed her arms. So much for the sense of community and helpfulness that had arisen after the storm. But for one minute, in the face of expressions that looked a lot like her mother’s most disapproving scowl, Lacey considered changing her mind.
Was this dream worth getting the doyens of Mimosa Key riled up and ready to wreck her life? Was it worth fighting for?
Behind her, the bell dinged with a new customer and all Lacey could do was exhale with relief. At least now she could pump her gas.
“Mornin’, Strawberry.”
The words went into her ear, down her spine, spun through her belly, and gave her knees a little push.
“Strawberry?” Charity choked.
“It is you, isn’t it?” He put two strong and solid hands on her shoulders and slowly turned her around. “Yeah, I’d recognize that hair anywhere.” He closed his eyes and sniffed. “And the scent.”
Oh, Charity ought to have a field day with that. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m addicted to gas-station coffee, so I thought I’d get us some.”
Us.
“Introduce your friend, Lacey.” Charity tapped impatiently on the counter. “As if we don’t already know who he is.”
Lacey gave him a secret eye roll and silent warning. “Clay, this is Charity Grambling and Patti Vail, sisters and owners of the Shell Gas Station and Super Mini Mart Convenince Store, also known as the Super Min. Ladies, this is Clay Walker.”
“The architect,” Patti said. “We’ve heard all about you.” She threw a smile at Lacey that gave the distinct impression that all they’d heard came right from Lacey herself.
“Mornin’, ladies.”
Charity’s gaze wandered up and down Clay’s T-shirt and jeans. “You don’t look like an architect.”
“Looks are deceiving,” he said, stepping toward the coffee station. “Man, that smells good.”
“So are you rebuilding Blue Horizon?”
He gave Lacey a questioning look.
“That’s what my grandfather called the house,” she said, even though she suspected his unspoken question was more along the lines of Am I rebuilding it?
“If you are, you better familiarize yourself with this very important piece of historical documentation.” Charity lifted the binder. “We have rules against certain-sized buildings and nothing can be, you know, gaudy.” Charity dragged out the word and wiggled her fingers. Like those talons weren’t the gaudiest things that ever came out of Beachside Beauty.
“I’m not building anything gaudy,” Clay said as he filled two large cups.
Patti stepped forward. “’Course you couldn’t build that big a place. Your land isn’t that sizable, after all. Unless you’re planning to buy Everham’s and that plot on the other side of yours.”
The Tomlinsons’. Yep, that was exactly what Lacey was planning to do. But she just gave a noncommittal shrug.
“That’d be quite a piece of land if you pulled that off,” Patti said, proving that speculation was all she needed to turn something into fact.
At the coffee machine, Clay glanced at Lacey. “How do you take your coffee?” he asked, their eyes connecting in silent communication.
“Cream and sugar.” She could kiss him for not responding to Patti. Oh, she could kiss him just for standing there like a golden, gorgeous, glorious god, too, but mostly she loved that he didn’t take the bait these two were throwing out.
“We’re just counting on our Lacey to do the right thing,” Charity said. “Seeing as she’s part of the very special family of people who built this island for the distinct reason that they wanted to avoid the hellhole of high-rises over in Naples. We want things to stay just the way they’ve always been.”
“Change is good,” Clay said, giving Lacey one of the coffees and placing a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. “Can I have some?”
Charity didn’t move. “Change isn’t good for Mimosa Key and we don’t need some big-time architects building eyesores on Barefoot Bay.”
“I’m not big-time, and I’m not building an eyesore,” he said, putting a hand on the book. “But if you’d like, I’d be happy to give you some ideas about how you could make the elevation of this little convenience store even more attractive, and then when the nice people come to stay at Lacey’s new place, they’ll all stop here on their way in and out to buy your”—he sipped the coffee and nodded approvingly—“fantastic coffee.”
Charity yanked the book away and pushed his twenty back. “The coffee’s on the house.”
“Much obliged.” He toasted her with the cup. “For the coffee and the history
lesson.”
He shouldered open the door, holding it for Lacey, who walked into the sunshine and let out a long, slow breath.
Clay dipped his head and whispered in her ear as the door closed behind them, “You gonna let those two be a roadblock?”
“No.” Maybe. He didn’t know how much power they wielded on this island.
“Good.” He put his arm around her, pulling her into rock-solid muscle in a dizzyingly casual and intimate move. “Now, let’s go look at your property and see how many more people we can piss off.”
Chapter Seven
The first thing Jocelyn heard when the elevator doors opened to the Ritz lobby was the ring of Zoe’s laughter echoing through the cavern of marble and glass. The sound made her realize how much fun she’d missed the night before. Still, no amount of fun was worth the risk of seeing… someone she did not want to see. She’d stay here for Lacey as long as she could, but nothing could make her venture south on Mimosa Key.
Which is why she loved that Zoe, Tessa, and Ashley had sweetly agreed to come to the Ritz for lunch today while Lacey met with her architect. Of course, without Lacey to run interference, they might press her a little about coming over to the island, but she could always manufacture a client crisis. Considering she’d just spent the last half hour on the phone with a weeping Coco Kirkman, there wouldn’t be too much manufacturing involved.
The three of them stood outside a high-end boutique, Zoe’s arm draped over Ashley’s shoulder, their heads close as they discussed the bathing-suited mannequin in the window. As she approached, Tessa turned and brightened at the sight of Jocelyn.
“I never thought I’d utter these words to you, Jocelyn Bloom: You’re late.”
“Client crisis.”
“We were forced to window-shop at the overpriced hotel stores.” Zoe tugged Ashley closer. “And decided you might have to buy us all one of those adorable bikinis in different colors.”
Jocelyn hugged them all, an extra squeeze for Ashley. “I just might do that after lunch. Ashley, you’re a doll to give up your day and hang out with us.”
“It’s cool,” Ashley said, her eyes dancing with youthful happiness. Had Jocelyn’s eyes ever danced at that age, she wondered idly. No. Not once. Not ever. Which was why she had to stand her ground and stay off the south end of Mimosa Key.
“I’m really having fun,” Ashley added.
“Mom’s ignoring our texts while she makes out with the smokin’-hot architect boy,” Zoe added. “So we can do whatever we want, including buy skimpy bikinis. Right, Ash?”
The light in Ashley’s eyes dimmed. “She’s not making out with him.”
“A figure of speech,” Zoe assured her, leaning behind Ashley to share a secret look with Jocelyn. “She almost did last night,” she mouthed.
As they crossed the lobby to the terrace restaurant, Ashley fell a few steps behind, reading her phone.
“C’mon, Ash,” Jocelyn prodded, waiting for her.
Ashley quickly covered her phone.
“I’m not going to read your texts,” Jocelyn teased.
“I know, but it’s private.”
“A boy?” Jocelyn asked in a whisper.
Color burst on her cheeks. “No.”
Her tone was indignant enough for Jocelyn to let it ride. They followed a maitre d’ to a window table with a perfect view of the pool and beach. As soon as they were settled in with iced tea and sodas, Tessa gestured toward the vista.
“I could get used to this,” she said. “It beats planting organic gardens in Sri Lanka.”
“You love planting,” Jocelyn said.
“Not in Sri Lanka.”
Out of the corner of her eye Jocelyn noticed Ashley pulling out her phone, but she kept her focus on Tessa. “I thought you loved globe-trotting.”
Tessa lifted a shoulder. “My ex-husband loved it more than I did.”
Next to Zoe, Ashley flicked her finger across the screen and Tessa reached over and put her hand on the phone. “Hey, no texting at the table,” she chided.
“I’m not texting,” Ashley shot back.
“Then no e-mail at the table.”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “E-mail is so last century, Aunt Tessa.”
“Then no doing whatever the heck you’re doing. It’s rude.”
“Facebooking. Sorry.”
Just the thought of what would have happened to her if she’d used that tone at the table put an ache in Jocelyn’s stomach. “Let her go, Tess. It’s no big deal.”
“But she’s right, Ash,” Zoe chimed in. “Cell phones are not cool at the table. Especially in zee Ritz-Carlton, dahling.”
Instead of joining the joke Ashley narrowed her eyes at Zoe. “I’m not your daughter.”
Whoa. Something inside Jocelyn twisted. Instantly, she put a gentle hand on Ashley’s arm. “But you’re our goddaughter, honey, and we don’t see you that often. So what do you think of your mom’s idea for a B and B?”
Ashley shrugged, obviously unhappy about putting down the phone. “’It’s cool if she really does it. She’s been talking about it forever.”
“This time is different,” Tessa said. “I think she can really make it happen.”
Ashley’s phone vibrated and she sneaked a peek, then let out a soft cry. “Oh, he wrote back.”
He. Tessa started to say something, but Jocelyn shook her head quickly, sensing that they had to let go of this one.
“So, have you ever stayed at this hotel, Ashley?” she asked. “Maybe you could spend a night here at the hotel with me sometime. Maybe you all could.”
That earned her a big, bright smile. “That’d be cool.”
“Perfect timing, too,” Zoe said. “We could give Lacey a night alone to play with Clay.” She grinned. “He’ll be putty in her hands. Hah! I’m so punny.”
Ashley’s tell-all expression shifted right back to the other side of the pendulum. “That’s just gross, Aunt Zoe. The guy’s not much older than me.”
“Oh, yes he is,” Tessa corrected. “I’m guessing thirty, which makes him perfectly acceptable as a builder, architect, contractor, and anything else your mother wants.”
Ashley squished up her face. “She doesn’t date.”
“So you’ve said.” Zoe pulled her straw out of her iced tea and tapped it, then used it to point at Ashley. “And that might be half her problem.”
“She doesn’t have a problem.” Ashley sneaked a peek at the phone.
“You have an issue with her dating, Ash?” Tessa asked.
“No, no, of course not.”
“You don’t sound too convincing,” Zoe prodded. “She’s gone out with a few guys. Did you not like any of them?”
She shrugged. “Nobody was right for her.”
“Maybe she ought to be the one to decide that,” Jocelyn suggested.
“Well, what if my dad wanted to get back with her?”
The question silenced all of them. Jocelyn knew that Lacey did her best not to paint a negative picture of the absentee father, and it sure wasn’t her place, or any of their places, to hit Ashley with the truth. Her dad was a thrill-seeking, adrenaline-junkie, trust-funded, part-time cook. He wasn’t ever getting “back” with Lacey.
But Jocelyn took a deep breath and went for a technique that worked with some of the more stubborn clients who hired her as a life coach. “Ashley, do you really think that’s possible?”
“Of course I do. They don’t… hate each other. They’re not divorced; they never even got married.” Her voice rose, along with a little color on her cheeks. “Things happen like that, you know.”
“In books and movies,” Tessa said. “Not so much in real life.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Jocelyn agreed, sensing that Ashley was harboring some serious delusions. “There’s a lot of water under that bridge.”
“And then he burned that bridge,” Tessa added.
“After he bungee jumped off it.” Zoe grinned at their surprised f
aces. “You know I’m right.”
But every ray of light disappeared from Ashley’s face as teenage frustration pulled at her brows. “None of you know what you’re talking about.”
“Actually,” Jocelyn replied, keeping her voice calm. “We do know what we’re talking about, Ashley. But you know what? That’s not what’s important. What matters is that your mom is happy, right?”
“Well, some creepy guy with a tattoo isn’t going to make her happy.”
“You told me you thought he was cute,” Zoe said.
“And your mom thinks he might be the right architect for her project,” Tessa added. “You do know how important this dream is to her, Ashley, don’t you?”
“She ought to be building a house,” Ashley muttered.
“Excuse me?” Tessa leaned closer.
“I said she ought to be building a place for us to live, not for people to come and have us wait on them.”
Is that how she viewed her mother’s plans? “Honey, you’re not going to wait on them, and I’m sure you’ll have a place to live.”
“Really? In a bedroom in some inn where strangers are walking around in their bathrobes?” Her voice hitched a little. “Isn’t it bad enough I’ve lived in a dump up in Barefoot Bay for all these years while my friends are, like, normal? And now…” She shook her head, fighting to control her emotions.
“I hate to break the news to you,” Jocelyn said. “But some of those so-called normal people aren’t nearly as happy as you are. They don’t all have moms who dote on them.”
“But they have dads.”
“Oh, honey, sometimes no father is better than—” The words trapped in her throat and she felt all eyes boring through her. Jesus. Now what? “Than a father who—”
Ashley’s phone rang with a rap tune. “I have a text.”
Thank God.
“It’s Mom.” She tapped the phone, letting her hair fall over her face to cover her expression.
They all looked at each other, this time with well-deserved guilt. They’d ganged up on her. While Ashley read, the salads were served, giving the three women a chance to exchange a silent agreement to lay off and give Ashley space.
Meet Me in Barefoot Bay Page 6
