Love by Design: A Heartswell Harbour Romance

by Mavis Williams

  “Are you making a blond joke?” he smiled.

  “Auntie thinks it’s your dad.” She ignored the warm flutter in her belly when he smiled at her like that. “She says he has been so charming and gallant in the few times they have been together that he must be completely smitten, and he’s too shy to come out and profess his love. Hence the flowers.”

  “Bernard Proxly, closet Romeo.” Hudson grinned.

  “The note on the new bouquet of flowers asked her to meet him on Friday at noon at the Lighthouse,” she said.

  “Dad always has lunch on Friday at noon at the Lighthouse.” Hudson frowned. “That doesn’t seem particularly romantic, but...”

  “What?”

  “It is very Bernard, isn’t it?” He propped himself up on his elbow. “Fitting a tryst with Auntie into his already strictly planned schedule.”

  “Ew. Don’t ever use the word tryst and Auntie in the same sentence, ever again.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Affair? Liaison? Hook up?”

  “Ew, ew, ew!” She threw a pillow at him.

  “This could be magic, you know.” Hudson smiled, lying back down. “Prox and Auntie get it on, and you and I are set free to work without constant supervision and laundry interventions.”

  Robin smiled, tucking her feet under her. She hated to admit it, and she pushed the thought down as quickly as it arose, but she would love to have some quality unsupervised time with Hudson.

  “Work,” she said quickly. “Alone time. That’s the goal, right.”

  Chapter 28

  Rosalee got out of her car and stood in the parking lot. She looked at the entrance to the Lighthouse and patted her hair. She had been a flutter of nerves all morning and now here she was, scared to go in and meet her new beau. She had consulted with Harold’s photograph before leaving the house, and she was convinced she had his blessing.

  “Carpe diem,” she whispered, still not moving toward the café doors.

  She had read somewhere that when one faced a challenging situation it helped to engage in positive self talk, and something called a power stance. It was something about stepping into your power or some sort of new age foolishness like that, but here she was, hesitating in the parking lot and feeling very much out of her power, thank you very much.

  “You can do this, Rosalee.” Her eyes were glued to the Lighthouse. The doors were painted a bright yellow, sunny and warm against the red of the tower itself. The outdoor patio was full of people enjoying their lunch in the warm sunshine. Had Bernard planned for them to eat outdoors? He hadn’t mentioned needing a sweater. She reached into her back seat and brought out her light cardigan, pleased with herself for thinking to bring it in the first place. “One must always be prepared for whatever one may encounter when one is engaging in a romantic rendezvous.”

  She patted her hair again. She had that one wayward curl that defied retention. She put her purse on the roof of her car and slipped on her cardigan.

  “Rosalee,” she said firmly. “You are engaging in a romantic rendezvous. You shall be both witty and delightful. And appealing.”

  She swallowed and took off her cardigan.

  “Witty and delightful,” she repeated.

  She hadn’t felt the need to be either witty or delightful since her darling Harold had passed on so many years ago. She had never allowed herself to wallow in grief. Indeed, she congratulated herself on her consistent good spirits and unrelenting positive attitude. Why, just the other day Mrs. Crawley had told her she was indefatigable, and she had chosen to take it as a compliment, such was the strength of her positivity.

  Yet here she was, about to meet a man who was obviously smitten with her. What had she done to incite such passion? Obviously, her fashion sense and impeccable manners were attractive, but in all the years since Harold left, she had never had even a hint of an admirer. And she knew she wasn’t as spry as she once was. This was all simply quite unsettling.

  But terribly exciting.

  Rosalee had decided, several years ago when she was first fitted with hearing aids, that she would simply refuse to acquiesce to the vagaries of age. She moisturized, she walked daily, she kept her mind sharp with crosswords and challenging crochet patterns. Why, hadn’t Mrs. Crawley recently commended her on the fabulous christening gown she’d made completely out of rosettes, for the newest great grandbaby? She had. Indeed. And of course, there was her utter dedication to Robin and Izzy. If attempting to help her darling great-niece to embrace homemaking wouldn’t keep her young, nothing would.

  She put her cardigan back on.

  “You are an exemplary citizen,” she said, not sure what it was she was supposed to say that would qualify as ‘positive self-talk’, but she was pleased with the surge of self-confidence that came with the words. “Your tuna casserole is second to none.”

  She glanced around her, smiling.

  She braced her feet solidly on the ground and put her hands on her hips. The gentle breeze off the ocean lifted the tail of her cardigan off her back, and her wayward curl flowed off her forehead.

  “Your whites are white,” she said firmly. “And your creases are perfect.”

  She nodded to herself, gathered her purse off the top of her car and strode purposefully toward lunch and her destiny.

  Mr. Proxly had no idea what he was getting himself into, she smiled.

  “Bring it on,” she said as she walked through the bright yellow doors.

  Her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the subtle lighting of the Lighthouse café. She stood inside the door, placing her hands on her hips again as she scanned the room. She quite enjoyed this power stance. She felt like taking up space, being assertive in her witty delightfulness.

  “Can I seat you, Ma’am?” The waitress smiled at her, looking like a newborn foal with her jaunty pony-tail and smooth skin.

  “Oh no thank you, my dear,” Rosalee whispered, leaning her head close to the young woman who smiled bemusedly at her. “I’m having a romantic fling,” she said. “And I believe he has already booked us a table. It will probably be in the most romantic corner. There might be flowers.”

  The waitress cocked her head like a friendly puppy and nodded as if clandestine meetings were the norm for her day. “How exciting,” she said.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Rosalee put her hand on the young woman’s arm. “I’m positively invigorated by the possibility.”

  The young woman blinked and Rosalee reminded herself that young people operated with a smaller vocabulary. “I’m... pumped,” she amended.

  She was rewarded by a wide grin and a knowing smile. “I wish my boyfriend would get me flowers,” the young woman said. “I’m lucky if he answers my texts.”

  “Have you tried ironing his shirts, dear? A man is often a sucker for a well-done shirt. You may be surprised at the results.” Rosalee raised her eyebrows and the waitress giggled.

  Witty and appealing.

  “Oh look,” she whispered, turning the girl toward a table at the back of the room. “There he is, my very own secret admirer.”

  Bernard Proxly sat quietly reading the newspaper at a small table. He looked very handsome in his suit, with his spectacles perched under his bushy eyebrows. She would wait, she thought, until they had several dates before broaching the subject of trimming the wild tufts of eyebrow hair. It might seem too familiar on the first date.

  “Good luck.” The young lady squeezed her hand, and Rosalee made her way toward Bernard’s table. She stood directly beside him for a few seconds, but he seemed engrossed in his newspaper. She folded her hands patiently.

  He was doing the crossword.

  “I see you are keeping your brain agile,” she said, and he reared back in surprise, clutching his glasses with one hand. “They say crosswords fight the onset of Alzheimer’s, and my dear friend, Mrs. Crawley, is a champion of the battle against dementia. She does three a day.”

  “Mrs. Martin,” he stuttered, collecting himself and smiling warmly at her
. “What a lovely surprise.”

  “Oh, you tease.” She giggled, swatting at his shoulder with her hand. “Surprise, indeed.”

  He looked at her. She looked at him.

  He’s overwhelmed. I must remember to mention the power of positive self-talk to calm excited nerves. Perhaps after the entree.

  “Won’t you sit down?” He frowned but rose to pull out a chair. “I’m just waiting for...”

  “Oh, isn’t this lovely?” She sat delicately on the chair as he sat across from her. He glanced quickly at the door, then back at his crossword. “I can wait while you finish your crossword?” she offered. “I used to help my Harold with them, and he always said I was frightfully good and it annoyed him to no end when I would solve them before he could.”

  Mr. Proxly smiled at her, laying the paper on his plate.

  “Go ahead, ask me one?” She reached over and patted his arm. Part of being appealing to a lawyer, she was certain, was proving your brain worked.

  “I have never seen you here for Friday luncheon, Mrs. Martin,” he began.

  “Oh Bernard, come now. Surely, we can be on a first name basis? Considering the status of our relationship?” She looked at him coyly, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as he stared at her. He really was discombobulated. It was entirely endearing.

  “Our relationship?”

  “It’s quite all right, my dear,” she said. “I guessed it was you from the very first moment. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull the wool over Rosalee Martin’s eyes, yes sir.”

  She tittered gaily, hoping to set him at ease. He seemed very tightly wound and she knew how damaging stress could be to one’s blood pressure. She looked for the tell-tale flush of red, but he seemed quite pale.

  He stood up suddenly, walking around the table and pulling out another chair.

  “My dear Mrs. Davies,” he said. “So very glad to see you.”

  Rosalee blinked.

  “Rosalee, how lovely.” Mrs. Davies, utterly refined and poised in a lilac skirt and blouse, with a mint green silk scarf at her neck, sat down and extended a hand. Rosalee took it in hers and smiled weakly.

  How embarrassing. Poor Mrs. Davies doesn’t realize she is interrupting our date, but then again, he probably didn’t tell her. Keeping his intentions secret until he knew for certain that I shared his interest.

  She smiled knowingly at Bernard.

  “Have you come to join our Friday lunch meeting?” Mrs. Davies delicately placed her napkin on her lap, looking from Bernard to Rosalee expectantly. “We usually just discuss boring old business details, although I try to convince Bernard to leave the office behind for a few minutes out of his day at least.”

  Bernard smiled at Mrs. Davies like she was the answer to his prayers and Rosalee felt every inch an idiot.

  Business lunch?

  “Do you—meet for lunch often?” she asked.

  “Every Friday,” Bernard said quickly. “Like clockwork.”

  “I see.” She smiled, a quiver in her stomach blooming quickly into indigestion. She glanced around the room, seeing no other single men sitting alone. “Well then, I’ll leave you to it, won’t I?”

  “Please stay, Rosalee,” Mrs. Davies said, her face welcoming and curious. “We would so enjoy your company.”

  “No, no,” she blustered. “I’m meeting someone. Else. Somewhere else. Not here, apparently.”

  She stood up, swinging her purse over her shoulder and nodding tightly at Bernard.

  “Ta ra.” She waggled her fingers at them both, then turned and marched across the room before they could beg her to stay.

  She strode through the doors and down the steps, almost running into a small stocky man with his foot on the first step.

  “Mel!” she cried, swallowing the lump in her throat and blinking fiercely. “What a surprise.”

  She rallied herself, as one must when one is called upon to behave in a social manner. Correct manners and deportment at all times, those were the rules she lived by.

  “I’m a bit late—” he began.

  “Oh, I suppose you have a luncheon date?” She smiled. He had such an effusive head of hair, it twitched and swirled wildly in the breeze. He smiled at her with such warmth and the twinkle of merry eyes that she felt instantly better.

  I have obviously been mistaken in the identity of my admirer. This isn’t a failure, far from it. This just amplifies the excitement of the game.

  “Isn’t that why you’re—?” he began.

  “I must be off,” she said, touching his arm and being surprised at how firm his bicep felt under her hand. He was surprisingly handsome, she thought, for a man his age. Like a mushroom one might find in the woods which on closer inspection is actually unique and charming. His lunch date was a fortunate woman. “I hope your date goes well.”

  She trotted off toward her car, brimming with possibility.

  “What is it the young people say?” she asked herself as she drove away. “Plenty of fish in the sea, or something?”

  She smiled to herself, catching a glimpse of Mel in her rear view, still standing on the steps of the Lighthouse watching her drive away.

  She didn’t actually care for Mr. Proxly’s eyebrows anyway.

  Personal grooming was terribly important.

  Chapter 29

  “I read it on an online dating site.” Rosalee smoothed a hand towel onto the kitchen table where Izzy was coloring. “It said that older women, like myself—now dear I know. I don’t look my age, and lucky for you our line of women age gracefully which you can thank me for when you reach your dotage, but—what was I saying?”

  Robin sat down beside Izzy, running her fingers over the delicate roses embroidered on the towel in gentle shades of rose and lilac. “You were explaining why you have made these towels, and I am choosing to completely ignore the fact that you were on an online dating site.”

  “It was very informative.”

  “I don’t think I want to know.”

  “Robin dear, you really must loosen up,” Auntie said. “There is no point in living under a rock. Having a secret admirer has done wonders for my sense of adventure. I really think you should try to get one.”

  “A secret admirer?” she asked. “I don’t think you can order one of those online.”

  “But you can find a man, although I do admit it’s a little cheesy for my liking.”

  “Mine too. Can we end this discussion, please?” Robin covered Izzy’s ears with her hands and raised her eyebrows at Auntie. “These towels are lovely Auntie, the roses are so detailed.”

  “Ah yes.” Rosalee collected herself and reached into her bag. “I need to get out more if I am going to snag a man.”

  Robin choked on her coffee.

  “Auntie, I had no idea you wanted to snag a man,” she said. “Didn’t you say you were over it, once you realized Mr. Proxly wasn’t your secret admirer?”

  “That was last week, Robin.” Auntie rolled her eyes.

  “You said “If I can’t have my Bernard, then I don’t want anyone”. I am quoting you, directly.” Robin smiled. Auntie flapped her hand as if swatting away flies.

  “One should not be held to account for something one says in a moment of passion.” Auntie blushed slightly. “I have decided to make myself available to the chance of an encounter with my secret admirer. That’s what the article on the internet said. Once must make oneself available.”

  “What does that have to do with towels?”

  “Well, there I was, making myself available.” Auntie spread her arms wide as if embracing the universe. “I was out walking. I imagine that if one is to be available, one must present oneself in public and what better way than walking on the fair streets of our lovely town?”

  Robin nodded. One had to work quite hard if one was to keep up with Auntie’s leaping logic.

  “I was wearing my cream-colored cardigan and leaf green skirt,” she said. “I believe I was quite fetching.”

&n
bsp; “I’m sure you were.”

  “Don’t laugh at me, young lady,” she said. “You would do well to pay stricter attention to your own fashion choices, you know.”

  Rosalee waved her fingers at Robin. Her nails were mint green with a speck of gold in the middle of each one.

  “Pretty,” Izzy said.

  “I happened to walk past Mad Maddie’s Spa.” Auntie smiled like she had swallowed a canary. “And one thing led to another.”

  She admired her nails as Robin blinked slowly, remembering the imposing woman from the Century Club. Mad Maddie, the angriest manicurist in town.

  Auntie pulled out a black salon cape, swirling it around her like a matador before laying it over the table, covering Izzy’s coloring book. Roses and twining vines decorated the edge of the cape, delicately embroidered with an edge of lace along the hem. Looking closely, she could see delicate lettering running through the floral design.

  “Mad Maddie’s Spa.” She read. “Auntie, this is amazing.”

  “‘Mazing,” Izzy chirped, running her fingers over the flowers. “Can we glitter it?”

  “What a marvelous idea, Isabella,” Auntie gasped. “A hint of sparkling thread, woven into the flowers. Brilliant!”

  “And you tatted the lace, didn’t you? You’re a marvel, Auntie.”

  “Maddie, the dear, has such boring linens.” Auntie shook her head at the folly. “Everything is black; her towels, her cloths, her capes. I merely made a few suggestions and she allowed me to take these home so I could show her what I meant when I said she needed some light in her branding.”

  Robin stared at her. “Branding?”

  “Yes dear, it’s a business thing. I read about it online.”

  “Wow.”

  “I think the flowers are a definite improvement, don’t you? Such a small thing, but it makes a world of difference.”

  “It does.” Robin smiled. “Auntie, you could totally create a little business for yourself doing this type of work.”

  “Well, I haven’t finished my story yet, have I?”

  “Is this the snagging a man part, because I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”