by Irene Hannon
Whipping up fancy candies wasn’t going to solve her problems or help her reach any important decisions, but it was guaranteed to clear her mind of static and calm her.
And maybe, as she dipped and smoothed and rolled, a few of the elusive answers she’d been seeking would come to her.
It couldn’t hurt to add prayer to the mix either.
After all, where better for an appeal for divine guidance to produce results than in a town named Hope Harbor?
“You sure you don’t mind closing up alone today?” Zach handed Frank the bag of coffee a waiting customer wanted ground.
“Not at all. We’re in the home stretch, and the last couple of hours on Mondays are always quiet, as I recall from last time I switched shifts with Bren. You hear from your aunt yet?”
“No.” Zach checked his watch. “She was supposed to call from North Bend after the flight from San Francisco landed, before she drove down. That should have been an hour and a half ago.”
“She could have been delayed in San Francisco. The fog can wreak havoc with airline schedules.”
“Yeah—and I’ve been too busy to get an update on her flight status.” He pulled out his cell. “If you could handle the customers for a few minutes, I’ll—”
The door opened, and Aunt Stephanie swept in, beaming a smile his direction as she held out her arms. “My favorite nephew!”
Grinning, he returned the phone to his pocket, circled the counter, and pulled her into a hug. “My favorite aunt.”
“Also your only one—but let’s not quibble over details.” She returned his squeeze, then eased back to give him an assessing scan—and an approving nod. “Your new life agrees with you.”
“Yes, it does. And retirement agrees with you.” He gave her a once-over too. His aunt had always been trim and fashionable, and that hadn’t changed. Though dressed casually in form-fitting jeans and a wrap top, she exuded class and sophistication—along with her usual energy and enthusiasm. “Welcome to Hope Harbor.”
“Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”
“Why didn’t you call from the airport?”
“I decided it would be more fun to surprise you at your shop.” She gave the space an appreciative sweep. “I like this. It’s cozy and welcoming.”
“That’s what I was after. As long as you’re here, why don’t you sit for a few minutes and have a drink and a snack—unless you’re too tired from the trip.”
She waved his comment aside. “I’m used to traveling across multiple time zones in a day. Try flying from New York to Tokyo if you want to see jet lag. Atlanta to Oregon is a piece of cake. Food and drink would be most welcome after the cross-country airline fare—or should I say, lack of fare?”
“I feature snacks and desserts here, so a hearty meal will have to wait. But see if anything in the case tickles your fancy.” He led her over to the glass display unit.
She leaned closer to peruse the offerings. “Mmm. My taste buds are already tingling. Tell me about everything.”
“The packaged snacks are fair-trade sourced.” He indicated the selection. “Everything else is local. Cranberry nut cake and scones from Harbor Point Cranberries, lavender shortbread from Bayview Lavender Farm and Tearoom, and Eleanor Cooper’s famous fudge cake. She’s ninety-three, bakes the cakes for me in the Grace Christian Church fellowship hall kitchen, and donates all the proceeds to Helping Hands, a local charity sponsored by our two churches.”
Stephanie straightened up. “Fudge cake, no contest. I can’t resist chocolate—or the opportunity to support a worthwhile cause. The other offerings sound yummy too, though. I’ll have to sample them all while I’m here.”
“That can be arranged. What would you like to drink?”
“Do you have a house specialty—or a customer favorite?”
“The café viennois is popular. And we also have café de olla. You won’t find either at any of the popular chains. The viennois is—”
She held up a hand. “From France—light espresso, whipped cream, and chocolate powder. The Mexican coffee is made with cinnamon and piloncillo—that would be raw dark sugar for the uninitiated.”
“The lady knows her coffee.” Frank joined them and offered Stephanie a smile.
A dimple appeared in her cheek. “As a coffee lover, I’ve tried brews all over the world. After decades of sipping from Rio to Rome to Riyadh, I’ve become somewhat of an aficionado.” She extended her hand. “Stephanie Garrett.”
“Frank Simmons. I’m one of the baristas here.” The man gave his palm a quick swipe on his jeans and held it out. “A pleasure.”
“Likewise.”
The clasp lasted a bit longer than protocol demanded, and Zach inspected them.
A slight flush had tinted his aunt’s cheeks, and Frank was grinning as if he’d won the lottery.
Zach’s mouth quirked at the interesting vibes wafting from the pair.
As the handshake continued, he cleared his throat. “Sorry. I should have taken care of the introductions.”
“We managed.” Frank released his aunt’s hand—but not her gaze. “Welcome to Hope Harbor.”
“Thank you. I expect I’ll have a wonderful visit.”
“We’ll see to that.”
We?
Zach studied Frank. If the man was thirty or forty years younger, he’d peg that look as serious interest—and attraction.
But wasn’t the immediate zing phenomenon reserved for the younger crowd?
“I appreciate that.”
At his aunt’s response, he transferred his attention to her—and picked up the same spark in her irises.
Similar to the one that had momentarily flashed in Kat’s on the beach as they’d shaken hands.
If this kept up, Hope Harbor was going to be in the midst of an electrical storm.
“So . . . Aunt Stephanie, what’s your pleasure?”
The flush on her cheeks deepened as she continued to fixate on Frank.
“Aunt Stephanie?”
She blinked and broke eye contact with his right-hand man. “Yes?”
“What would you like to drink?”
“Oh. Um . . . whatever you think goes best with the fudge cake.”
“I’d keep it simple and stick with an Americano. A flavored drink could affect the taste of the cake.”
“Sold.”
“Find a seat and I’ll bring everything over.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” She angled back toward Frank. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure was all mine.”
She acknowledged his comment with a nod and strolled across the shop.
“You want me to cut the cake?” Frank continued to watch his aunt.
“Sure.” Zach went about preparing the Americano, keeping tabs on the other barista . . . who, in turn, was keeping tabs on Stephanie.
It appeared the ember of attraction could burst into flame at any age.
Wouldn’t it be a kick if Frank and his aunt connected?
But a relationship between them had about as much chance of developing into anything serious as the one between him and Kat. In both cases, the woman involved was only a visitor to Hope Harbor, and as far as he knew, neither had any intention of uprooting herself.
He finished the Americano and took the plate and fork from Frank. “Thanks.”
“You have any idea how long your aunt is staying?” Frank’s tone was nonchalant as he swiped a rag over the spotless counter.
“No. I don’t think she has a definite timetable in mind. I know she bought an open-ended return ticket. Now that she’s retired, she doesn’t have to adhere to any fixed schedule.”
“You think she’ll be stopping by here on a regular basis during her stay?” He leaned down to scrub at a stain Zach couldn’t see, giving the task more attention than it deserved.
“I expect so. You heard her—she loves coffee, and this is the only game in town. She’ll try to pay, but if you wait on her, tell her you’ve been instructed th
at her drinks and food are on the house—boss’s orders.”
“Is she going to be okay with that?”
“No. From what I know about Aunt Stephanie, she’s not the type to accept favors or preferential treatment.”
“An admirable trait.”
“Unless it morphs to stubbornness.”
Frank ran out of counter to scrub and straightened up, folding the cloth into a neat square. “How come you’ve never talked much about her?”
“We haven’t stayed in close touch.”
“That’s a pity.” He flicked her another glance. “She strikes me as a woman worth getting to know.”
“I don’t think she’d object to making a few friends while she’s here, if you have the inclination.”
“I’ll have to consider that.” He tucked the cloth under the counter. “On a different subject—are you attending the Helping Hands meeting tomorrow night about the foster home?”
“That was my plan, but it depends on how Aunt Stephanie settles in. I hate to leave her alone on her first full day in town.”
“I can bring you up to speed if you can’t attend, but a large turnout would be helpful. Personally, I think it’s a fine idea if all the hurdles can be overcome. The concept of keeping foster children from the same family together, in a more permanent home environment, has a lot of merit. So much of what we become later in life is influenced by our youthful experiences of home. I’d like to think the town will throw its full support behind this.”
“I would too. The steering committee has been doing a ton of legwork to generate support. I’ll try to be there.”
“You want me to carry any of that over to the table?” Frank tipped his head toward the cake and coffee.
“I can manage. And thanks again for closing up today. We’ll be taking off after my aunt finishes her snack.”
The door opened, admitting an older couple with two teens in tow. Zach greeted them as he circled the counter and wove through the tables toward Stephanie, who’d chosen the same corner spot Kat had selected on her second visit.
He set the cake and coffee in front of her and claimed the empty chair. “Enjoy.”
“No worries on that score. Chocolate and coffee are an excellent pairing.” She picked up her fork and used the edge to cut off a piece of cake.
“How was your visit with Dad?”
“Too fast—and he was preoccupied with his case. We had a few significant conversations . . . but if you’re wondering whether we discussed the rift, the answer is no. I mentioned I was flying here from Atlanta, but he didn’t comment other than to wish me a pleasant trip.”
“That’s more or less what I expected.” Despite his assurance to Kat that he didn’t let the repercussions from his decision to pursue a different course affect him, his father’s lack of interest in his life remained a canker on his otherwise placid existence.
Stephanie forked another bite of cake. “If you want my opinion, I think he’s lonely.”
“He has no one to blame for that but himself.”
“That may be true—but overtures can come from either direction.”
“I tried, Aunt Stephanie.”
“That was a while back. People change. I have. Three, four years ago, if someone had asked me whether I was lonely, I’d have denied it. But that night in Paris on my birthday, I’d have given anything to have someone to share it with. Mind you, I didn’t dwell on it or wallow in self-pity. I long ago accepted that the parade had passed me by in the romance department.”
Subtle though it was, Zach caught the look she darted toward Frank.
“Maybe not. Aren’t you the one who told me not less than a week ago that miracles happen?”
“Touché.” Lips curving, she continued to eat her cake and transitioned to less serious subjects.
Twenty minutes later, as they prepared to leave, his aunt touched his arm halfway to the front door. “Give me a minute.”
She detoured to the counter.
Her exchange with Frank was too muted to hear, but as it ended and Stephanie turned to rejoin him, both were smiling.
And the slight flush was back on his aunt’s cheeks.
He pulled open the door and moved aside to let her exit, assessing his barista.
Frank was always upbeat, but in the past half hour he’d gone from cheerful to chipper. As if someone had given him a shot of effervescence.
From behind the counter, Frank winked at him.
Geez.
Between him and Bren, the romance meter in the coffee shop was going to zoom off the charts.
Too bad Kat had decided to boycott this place. If she showed up, maybe a bit of the buoyant, fizzy ambiance would rub off on her. Soften up that hard shell she’d wrapped herself in.
Because absent that sort of catalyst, should any new romance be in the cards, it seemed slated to happen among the older set.
And for a thirtysomething guy who couldn’t connect with the woman next door even after baking her blackberry cobbler, that was pretty darn depressing.
6
This could be another mistake.
A big one.
Bigger than her second trip to The Perfect Blend.
Pulse picking up, Katherine halted at the edge of the trees that separated her property from Zach’s.
For heaven’s sake, Katherine—just do it!
Despite the dictate from her subconscious that had brought her this far after a forty-eight-hour debate over the pros and cons of such a visit, she held her ground and crimped her fingers around the rim of the plate containing a dozen blackberry truffles.
For someone who professed to want privacy and was determined to remain incognito, initiating contact with the man next door didn’t make sense.
Except . . . the two seagulls who liked to loiter in her yard and follow her to the beach weren’t much company—and being around someone who seemed to have his act together, who respected her back-off signals when their conversation moved onto shaky ground, was appealing.
As was the man himself.
Who could have guessed that a hot—and available—guy like Zach would live on the adjacent property?
She tugged down the loose tunic that was flapping in the breeze over her leggings, trying to rein in her nervousness.
If she followed the prods of her subconscious, she’d be stepping into a danger zone. While Zach hadn’t recognized her the other day as they’d indulged in cobbler, her luck could run out if he got another close-up gander.
But her sunglasses hid most of her face, and the rest of her disguise was solid. A new hairstyle and color, along with the absence of her usual theatrical makeup, gave her a whole different look. Even an avid fan would have difficulty recognizing her—especially out of context.
Maybe the risk of being unmasked was lower than she feared.
Besides, she didn’t have to linger during the delivery. She could hand off the treat at the door and beat a hasty retreat. A few minutes in Zach’s presence to absorb a tiny bit of his warmth and calm would be sufficient.
She straightened her spine.
Yes. A quick visit was worth the gamble.
Forcing her feet to carry her forward, she continued toward his house, following the short path through the small grove of trees.
As she emerged, she paused to examine Zach’s home.
It was smaller than her rental unit, as he’d indicated, but attractive and welcoming. Constructed of redwood and stone, with several rooflines at various angles and large expanses of glass, it fit the image of coastal contemporary architecture to a T. Unlike her property, there was no manicured lawn. The structure was nestled into the landscape, as if it was a natural outgrowth of the terrain. The sea view wasn’t quite as expansive from here either, thanks to an abundance of trees, but the house felt private and cozy.
It was a perfect complement to the man who lived here.
She continued forward . . . but stopped again at a movement in her peripheral vision.
A
slender woman dressed in jeans and a sweater rose from a chair tucked into a shadowed corner of the deck.
Kat clutched the plate tighter, remaining as still as the deer that froze at the slightest hint of danger back in Nebraska. If she retreated, the woman would notice her. If she stayed where she was, it was possible Zach’s guest would go inside.
Guest.
Her spirits tanked.
While he’d intimated there was no one special in his life, that didn’t mean he never dated. A guy like him would have no difficulty securing a companion for dinner . . . and perhaps more.
Man, this was awkward.
Neither he—nor his date—would be thrilled by the appearance of a gift-toting single neighbor in the middle of their tryst . . . or whatever it was.
If only the earth would open and swallow her up.
Since that wasn’t going to happen, all she could do was hope the woman angled away so she could—
Drat!
Zach’s lady friend emerged from the shadows and walked toward the railing at the back of the deck.
Any second now she’d notice—
Wait.
Kat squinted at the woman as she strolled through the late afternoon light. Despite her slender build, youthful aura, and chic russet hair, she was too old to be Zach’s date—unless he was into May-December romances.
Not likely, if the electricity that had sparked between them during their previous encounters was any indication.
It wasn’t his mother either. Zach had said she’d died eight years ago.
So who was—
The woman turned toward her, as if she’d sensed someone was nearby. “Hello!” Smiling, she lifted a hand in welcome and ambled over to the edge of the deck.
Busted.
Short of following the flee-and-vanish example of the mole crabs that populated Blackberry Beach, Katherine had no choice but to return the greeting.
“Hi.” She forced her stiff legs to carry her forward. “I’m renting the vacation house next door. Sorry to interrupt. I didn’t know Zach had company.”
“No apology necessary. And I’m not company. I’m family.” She extended her hand and descended the two steps from the deck. “Stephanie Garrett. Zach’s aunt. I arrived this afternoon.”