Summer on Mirror Lake

by JoAnn Ross

  Which was why Gabe somehow found himself telling his brothers about passing out at Carter’s funeral. Wife number four, now the widow Kensington, had chosen an open-casket viewing, and when Gabe had stood looking down at that artificially waxen face, its manic energy gone, it occurred to him that his now dead friend and mentor could have been brought to the funeral home from the Times Square Madame Tussauds.

  That was when his heart started pounding against his ribs and vertigo had hit like a lightning bolt. That could have been you, a voice had pointed out over the wail and yelp of the ambulance.

  No way, he’d shot back. Since he’d had an oxygen mask stuck on his face at the time, the argument must have been in his head, but it sure as hell had felt real.

  Everyone dies, the nagging voice had said. There’s no escaping it.

  I’m not ready to go yet. He was only in his thirties. He still had a lot of living to do. Not that his life entailed much beyond work right now, but one of these days he was going to travel for trips that weren’t all spent inside conference rooms. Maybe he’d even have a family. Not the crazy dysfunctional one like Carter’s had been. But a real family. Like his mom and dad’s. Not that he’d been a fully functioning member of that one for the past few years.

  Despite his argument with the ER Doogie Howser, Gabe hadn’t gotten to where he was by being dumb. He knew that every body had its limits. Even iron man Burke found that out two years ago with a concussion that had benched him in the last game of the league playoffs, derailing what all the fans and oddsmakers had considered the New York Gotham Knights’ guarantee to make the Super Bowl.

  But it wasn’t too late. He figured that ER doc was more like Scrooge’s Ghost of Christmas Future. He hadn’t revealed what would happen. Only what could. Gabe was perfectly capable of changing his fate. All he had to do was make a plan. It wasn’t all that different from analyzing financial data.

  Which was why, the day after he’d arrived here, he’d started running a wooded trail along the lakeshore in the morning when the air was as still as the water. It might have been more like staggering at first, and any skinny freshman on his old high school track team would’ve lapped him, but the crisp, clean air was helping, and he was getting his stride back day by day. The thirty minutes of push-ups and crunches he’d done every morning back in Manhattan while watching the Asian markets had kept him looking fighting fit—which was more important than people might think in his profession—but apparently they hadn’t done much for his stamina.

  “Maybe I will ask Seth if I can borrow his boat.” Sailing a small craft involved pulling lines, maneuvering the rudder, moving from port to starboard to adjust the sails, all which provided a good workout, and he’d always enjoyed being out on the water. It also would check off that stress-reduction box Doogie had prescribed.

  Seth was so tied up with getting the remodel on his and Brianna’s carriage house completed before their August double wedding with Aiden and Jolene, he undoubtedly didn’t have a lot of extra time to go sailing. And as Quinn had pointed out, he had built his soon-to-be brother-in-law’s boat back in the day.

  “He’d lend it to you in a heartbeat,” Aiden said.

  That was true. Gabe considered that idea as he took another slice of pie from the box. Okay. Maybe he was eating the same way he had in Manhattan, but baby steps, right?

  Besides, along with three kinds of meat, the pizza had tomato sauce and mushrooms. Which counted as vegetables. And the organic mozzarella sourced from happy cows down in Oregon took care of the dairy part of the food triangle.

  “You don’t have to get crazy and start eating at Leaf,” he assured himself, so used to having only himself to converse with since returning home, he hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud.

  “Why the hell would you want to do that?” Aiden asked. “I mean, the mac and cheese is surprisingly good, for vegan, and I know that doc told you to watch your cholesterol, but didn’t some Greek say something about moderation being the best in all things? Or maybe it was in the Bible.”

  “Or Shakespeare.”

  Aiden shrugged. “Well, someone sure as hell said it. And it makes sense.”

  “Not going to get any argument from me.” Gabe took another bottle of the Good Vibrations from the six-pack he’d brought out.

  One problem with this rest and relaxation plan was that he’d apparently burned out his internal governor by the end of his first month at Columbia. He’d grown up accustomed to being the smartest guy in the room. With the possible exception of Quinn, but only because, being older, his brother had had more time to absorb information. But Gabe’s first semester in business school had knocked him on his ass. Suddenly he was competing with the best and the brightest the country—hell, the whole damn world—had to offer.

  Not willing to settle for second best, he’d kicked into high gear and his engine hadn’t stopped racing. Until he’d found himself on that wedding-cake-white ferry plowing through the waters of Puget Sound toward home.

  So now what? Although he hated admitting that his older brother always seemed to be right, since he didn’t have anywhere to go, or anything else to do, it wouldn’t hurt to go online and check out some boat plans. One thing he’d never been able to resist was a challenge—like that damn zip line—and building a faering could be one that would fill up all those days stretching out in front of him.

  Then, at the end of the summer, he could donate it to some local charity to auction off. Win-win.

  And if there was one thing Gabriel Mannion had always been once he’d hit Wall Street, it was a winner.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHELSEA HAD JUST ordered a skinny mocha Frappuccino without whipped cream, which admittedly didn’t make all that much difference calorie-wise with all the chocolate syrup blended into it, when Brianna came up behind her.

  “Small world,” she greeted Chelsea with a smile.

  “Small town,” Chelsea responded. “Aren’t you usually playing Julia Child to all your B and B guests this time of day?”

  “We had an unexpected cancellation.” Brianna browsed the case containing a plethora of doughnuts. “It seems that we have an open weekend.”

  “Oh.” Chelsea paid for her coffee, adding a generous tip, having worked as a barista in college. “I have some time if you want to sit down and catch up for ten or so minutes.”

  “That sounds great. Seth is in Boise. Someone bought an Italianate Victorian just to tear it down and build a modern box house on the lot. There’s a mantle and some other things he’s bidding on before the remains get carted off to be trashed.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “It is. Honeymoon Harbor and Port Townsend are two of the few places in the state where you can find Victorians on the market. Of course all the early wealthy Seattleites built ornate Victorian mansions, but after the Great Seattle Fire of 1889, as the city literally rebuilt from the ashes, Seth told me that the styles shifted toward Romanesque, Tudor and foursquare construction.” A table opened up in the corner, near the gift shop. “Why don’t you go grab that and I’ll order.”

  When a quartet of women Chelsea recognized as working at the Mannions’ family bank came in while Brianna was at the counter, she was glad she’d manage to claimed the last table. With both of them in their busy summer season, spare time was at a premium.

  “I couldn’t resist the lemon poppy seed, cream cheese muffin,” Brianna said as she arrived with her coffee. “Want to share?”

  “Devil get behind me,” Chelsea said on a laugh as she took the extra paper plate and napkin Brianna had brought to the table.

  “It’s no fun to sin alone.”

  “That would be true.”

  Brianna bit into the muffin, closed her eyes and held up a hand. “Sorry,” she said. “But I was having a moment. I wonder if the guys would give me the recipe.”

  “They undoubtedly wo
uld. You’re not really breakfast competition. So, what gives you this free time during the wedding high season?

  “Apparently the groom-to-be got drunk and banged the stripper at his bachelor party on the coast.”

  “Isn’t that a little cliché?”

  “I suppose. But making it a threesome with the cocktail waitress hired for the party may have pushed it over the top.”

  “Sounds as if the bride-to-be lucked out.”

  “I told her the same thing, but I’m not sure it helped. She was swinging between sobbing, cursing, screaming about how she was going to sue his ass for the cost of the wedding, including the hundred-dollar bottles of champagne, at least one of which she’d apparently opened before calling me, and finally deciding to fly to Maui for the honeymoon on her own. She sounded a bit tipsy by then.”

  “Still, it’s a good plan. Maybe Mr. Right will turn out to be a hot, tanned cabana boy.”

  “Given that she also mentioned revenge sex, I suspect she’ll be looking for Mr. Right Now,” Brianna said dryly.

  “I can’t say I blame her. With Seth out of town, I take it work has stopped on the gatehouse?” Chelsea licked some cream cheese frosting topped with finely grated lemon zest off her fingers and took another sip of her coffee.

  After the two of them had restored Herons Landing to its original glory, while modernizing it at the same time for her bed-and-breakfast, Brianna and Seth had moved into the gatehouse he’d been restoring for the past few months.

  “It’s getting closer to completion,” Brianna said. “The finish carpenters are creating a coffered ceiling in the master bedroom as we speak. We’re finally down to the kitchen, which I kept moving to the end of Seth’s list. I knew it was going to be horribly inconvenient, but thanks to takeout from every place in town, we’re surviving. We’re going to have a no-gifts-allowed housewarming party to show it off when it’s done. I hope you’ll come.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. Though I’m surprised you’re taking on throwing a party while running your B and B and planning a wedding.”

  “I took Herons Landing off the rental market the week before and the week of the wedding. Although it’s our busy season, I didn’t want to disrupt guests with preparations and quite honestly, I don’t want any guests getting in my way. As for multitasking, the wedding’s proving easy. It’s going to be super casual out at the farm with a reception barbecue. Desiree is baking the cakes and singing with Bastien, the flowers from Blue House Farm are ordered and I’ve rented a dance floor from a place in Port Angeles. Believe me, it’s a lot easier than planning a mid-six-figure, high-end formal wedding for two King Charles spaniels.”

  Chelsea almost spit out the drink she’d just taken. “That’s just...crazy.”

  “You should have been there. Looking back, I’m surprised I’d come to accept crazy stuff like that as part of the job. Once I got on the hospitality track, after dreaming of it all my life, I just kept moving forward, never looking anywhere but forward and upward.” She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “From what Quinn told me when I’d decided to buy Herons Landing, he’d been the same way with the law. I suspect that may be the place Gabe’s in. Did I tell you that he’s home from New York?”

  “You didn’t have to. It was up on the Facebook page minutes after he stepped off the ferry.” Gabriel Mannion was seven years older than Chelsea, so they’d never actually personally interacted. But it had been impossible not to notice all the Mannion boys when they came swaggering into town from the family Christmas tree farm, and she’d definitely agreed with all her girlfriends who’d declared Gabriel swoon-worthy going back to middle school.

  Although she hadn’t seen him since his return, he had been spotted at Cops and Coffee, where according to reports, he’d become even more of a hottie since moving to New York. She’d also heard that he’d been making money hand over fist and was undoubtedly the only one-percenter ever to come out of Honeymoon Harbor.

  He’d also become an angel investor for Jolene Wells, who, in the way of small-town degrees of separation, was currently engaged to Aiden Mannion. Which, she figured, was the reason he’d invested. If you couldn’t help family, what was the point in being rich? Jolene’s skin care line, which she’d begun while working as a Hollywood makeup artist, was wonderful, and certainly no investment risk on his part.

  And not only that, Jolene and Brianna were having a double wedding in August. Chelsea had already agreed to be an attendant, which would make it the second summer in a row she’d been a bridesmaid. Not that she was envious, but all the other brides seemed so happy in their marriages that there were admittedly times when she was sitting at home watching yet another couple find their happily-ever-afters on the Hallmark Channel that she wished some fairy godmother would show up with the perfect man for her.

  “Did you also hear that he’s spending the summer building a Viking boat in the boat school shop?”

  “An actual Viking ship? Like they raided with?”

  “Well, not nearly that big,” Brianna allowed. “But it’s going to look much the same.”

  “I recently acquired a Caldecott Medal–winning children’s book on northern myths. There were already collections in the library for older kids, but every age loves fairy tales. Thanks for letting me know. It’d tie in perfectly with our visit to the history museum.”

  She hadn’t even known Gabriel knew how to build wooden boats. Not that there was any reason to. All she knew was that, like all the Mannion brothers, he’d always been sex on a hot stick. She was, however, curious—not just about his Viking replica, but why the wealthiest man in Honeymoon Harbor would return to his hometown to build boats.

  “I wonder if he’d be willing to let the kids visit the boat shop and see it. I could weave in the history of the Vikings with stories of the Scandinavians settling here on the peninsula. And maybe throw in a myth or two.”

  “I thought you might be interested in that idea. But I have to warn you not to get your hopes up. And please don’t get your feelings hurt if he seems rude. He’s been a loner out at the lake, and extremely noncommunicative even with us. I have the feeling something significant happened in New York, but if anyone knows what it was, it’d be Quinn, and he’s not talking.”

  Everyone knew that Quinn Mannion held secrets as tightly as a priest hearing a confession at St. Peter the Fisherman’s church. Which was why he undoubtedly knew personal things about most people in Honeymoon Harbor.

  “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask,” she decided. “All he can do is say no, right?”

  “Right. And good luck. Quite honestly, I think it’d be as good for him as it would be fun for the kids.”

  The rest of her week was filled with meetings, including a budget report to the town council. Then this weekend she was driving down to Portland to attend an Oregon state library convention and talk about her reading adventurers. Then her first day back would obviously be busy. While Farrah was a wonderful librarian, the staff was so small, every loss of personnel mattered.

  There wasn’t an immediate hurry, she decided, taking out a pen to write a tentative date into her planner. She had enough to keep the kids busy for a few weeks once they got out of school, but she would make a point of dropping by the boat-building school to ask Gabriel to take part in the Summer Readers’ Adventure. If nothing else, a group of enthusiastic kids could bring anyone out of the doldrums.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GABE HAD CAVED, as Quinn had undoubtedly known he would. Two weeks after sharing that pizza with Aiden, he was hidden away in a back corner of the Honeymoon Harbor wooden boat–building school, running a piece of sustainable, plantation-grown, British-milled Okoume marine-grade hardwood through the table saw when the door opened, the sun backlighting a woman wearing a tidy black pencil skirt that ended at her knees, a sleeveless, pleated-front tuxedo shirt with the top two buttons open, and black flats.

 
Burnished brunette hair had been pulled up into a messy bun and, as she came closer, he watched her pupils widen behind her black-framed glasses to adjust to the shadows in the depth of the shop.

  “Hi,” she said, with a quick, wide smile. “I’m Chelsea Prescott. You probably don’t remember me.”

  He could lie to save her feelings. But knowing that he’d eventually be caught out on some miniscule, long-ago hometown detail, he opted for full-out honesty. “I don’t think—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, with an airy wave of her hand. “There’s no reason that you would. You’d already graduated high school when I started, and it wasn’t as if I was a social butterfly... I’m Honeymoon Harbor’s librarian.”

  “What happened to Mrs. Henderson?” A memory of having to spend a sunny summer Saturday dusting shelves to pay off his library fines flashed through his mind.

  “She retired. But she’s still on the library advisory board.”

  “I didn’t realize libraries had advisory boards.”

  “Many do.” Twin dimples appeared in her cheeks as she smiled. She was, as his grandfather Harper would say, cute as a button. Even as her naughty librarian glasses had him imagining unbuttoning a few more of those buttons, Gabe reminded himself that he didn’t do cute. “Though in our case, it’s admittedly more a group of volunteers I’ve dragged in to help. Mrs. Henderson checks in at least once a week to make sure I haven’t ruined the place.” She talked with her hands, which seemed to flutter around like meadow butterflies. “Not that I’d have it any other way. She always has helpful advice and has been a friend and mentor to me most of my life.”

  “That’s nice. For both of you.” From the day he’d applied to work at Harborstone, Carter Kensington had played the same role in Gabe’s life, although he guessed the elderly librarian’s mentoring had been a lot more staid and hadn’t included the excess of alcohol Carter’s had.