Blackberry Beach

by Irene Hannon

  “Seems like a worthwhile project.”

  “The board agreed the idea was worth exploring. As it happens, one of our older residents is moving in with his son and has offered his home to the organization at a discounted price. Tomorrow’s meeting is to discuss whether to accept his offer—and if so, hash out next steps.”

  She picked up the truffle she’d claimed earlier. “You should go.”

  “I know they’re hoping for a big turnout—but I already told Frank I was on the fence.”

  “Frank’s involved?”

  “Yes. He’s on the board.”

  “Admirable.”

  “He volunteers at the Pelican Point lighthouse too. That’s another local nonprofit.”

  “Impressive.” She examined the handcrafted candy. “What did he do before he became a barista?”

  Her manner was conversational, but unless he was mistaken, there was more to that question than mere chitchat.

  “Worked for the postal service. He retired five years ago, at fifty-eight. He and his wife dived into their bucket list, but she died suddenly two years later.”

  Stephanie’s features softened. “How sad.”

  “I agree. According to Frank, after he stumbled around in a daze for almost a year, he decided his wife would want him to carry on. He ended up selling his house in Coos Bay and moving here because he’d always loved this town. When he applied at the shop, he was honest about his lack of experience but said he’d enjoy interacting with customers and was willing to learn the business. I hired him on the spot. It was one of my best decisions.”

  “I could tell from our brief meeting he was the amiable sort.”

  “He’s more amiable with some than with others.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She waved off his comment. “Don’t be silly. You said yourself he likes people.”

  “I repeat . . . some more than others.”

  “Don’t get any ideas, Zach. You may be on the track to romance, but that train passed me by long ago.” She held up her truffle. “Let’s try your neighbor’s chocolates, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, she took a bite.

  He picked one up too. “Trains can come along at—”

  “Stop.” She held up her hand as an expression of pure bliss swept over her face. “Don’t ruin the moment. This is incredible. Wait till you taste it.”

  Zach studied the truffle he was holding. Professional as it appeared, it was just chocolate. How good could it be?

  He bit into it—and as the creamy confection dissolved in his mouth, the cause of his aunt’s rapture became apparent. The rich chocolate was infused with the essence of sun-warmed blackberries, both tastes bold but perfectly balanced and complementary.

  “Wow.”

  “I agree.” Stephanie reached for another piece. “I’ve had truffles from the finest purveyors in the world, and this tops them all.”

  Zach picked up another one too. “I’m not a chocolate connoisseur like you are, but this merits a ten in my book.”

  “Do you think Kat could be a chocolatier by profession?”

  “Why wouldn’t she tell us that?”

  “True.” Stephanie bit into her second piece. “But she should be.”

  “I won’t argue with that. These put my blackberry cobbler to shame.” Zach helped himself to another truffle. “At this rate, we’ll polish these off by tomorrow.”

  “You could ask about her candy-making expertise when you return the plate. Most people are more than willing to talk about a hobby they enjoy—and that could open the door to a deeper discussion.”

  “I was thinking along the same lines. Great minds and all that.” He motioned toward the truffle plate. “Finished?”

  “For tonight.” She checked her watch and attempted to restrain a yawn. “I know it’s early here, but I’m still on East Coast time. Would you mind if I call it a night?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I’ll help you clean up first.” She began stacking plates.

  He stopped her with a touch on the hand. “I’ll take care of this. Go ahead and turn in.”

  “Thank you. After tonight, I intend to pitch in with these sorts of chores—but I have to admit, the long day and the travel is catching up with me.” She stood.

  He rose too. “Sleep well.”

  “I intend to.” She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I think I’ll dream of blackberry truffles.”

  He watched her until she disappeared inside, then dropped back in his chair and gazed toward the trees that separated his property from the house next door. No light penetrated the sweeping boughs, but Kat was there. From everything she’d said, aside from her supply runs and beach walks, she was always there.

  Doing what—other than crafting exceptional truffles?

  Why did she keep to herself?

  What did she have to hide?

  Was someone, somewhere, missing her?

  Zach raked his fingers through his hair.

  None of those questions would be answered tonight.

  But Stephanie was right. Returning the plate gave him an excuse to see her again.

  And the fact that she’d ventured over here tonight was encouraging. It suggested she was beginning to find the wall she’d built confining.

  If he kept seeking opportunities to interact with her, it was possible that one of these days she’d realize she could trust him with whatever secrets she was guarding.

  He didn’t have forever, though. While she hadn’t confided the length of her stay, it was finite. One day, she’d leave—unless, as Stephanie had said, he gave her a reason to extend her stay.

  But was that wise?

  Sighing, he stood again and wandered over to the edge of the deck, hands in his pockets.

  Any sort of ongoing relationship would likely involve compromises on both sides . . . and he’d compromised too much already in his life.

  Which left him nowhere unless Kat was willing to make the lion’s share of concessions. Like uprooting herself from whatever life she’d temporarily left behind and moving to Hope Harbor.

  The odds of that happening were about as high as the odds of Charley’s taco stand ever going under due to lack of customers.

  A faint light flickered through the trees. Disappeared.

  Like Kat would do in the not-too-distant future, barring a change in the status quo.

  And that left him with one more question to contemplate on this peaceful, quiet evening.

  Should he continue trying to break through her wall—or would that only create more chaos for her and further disrupt his hard-won placid existence?

  8

  Was that a knock on her front door?

  Katherine yanked the bow tight on her sport shoe, grabbed her sunglasses, and vaulted to her feet.

  Who could have come calling?

  Was Zach paying her another visit? Perhaps to return the truffle plate from last night?

  But why would he bother to circle around to her front door? The back entry was much closer to the path.

  Another knock echoed through the house, this one louder.

  Her pulse accelerated.

  Calm down, Katherine. It’s probably another FedEx delivery.

  True.

  She took a deep breath.

  With all her chocolate-making equipment back in LA, ordering more had been her only option now that her appetite had been whetted for her favorite pastime. Doubling up on gear was an indulgence, as her conscience continued to remind her—but she didn’t allow herself many of those. She could afford to go a bit wild with her hard-earned, squirreled-away money once in a while.

  At a third, more forceful knock, she tiptoed toward the door and peeked through the peephole.

  Charley Lopez stood on the other side.

  Stomach flip-flopping, she scuttled back.

  Why had the man she’d most wanted to avoid come here? And how had he known where she was staying?

  Most important—if she ignored him, would he g
o away?

  “Katherine? Zach told me you were renting the Clark place, and I live a few houses north, above Blackberry Beach. I was on my way home from town and brought you lunch.” He spoke as if he knew she was standing on the other side of the door.

  Strange.

  But even more alarming?

  He’d called her Katherine.

  She sucked in a lungful of air.

  No one here was supposed to know her real name.

  Was he guessing that was the longer version of Kat—or had he seen through her disguise?

  No way to know for certain unless she talked to him.

  Slipping on her dark glasses, she returned to the door, flipped the lock, and swung it open.

  Trademark smile on display, Charley held up a brown paper sack in one hand and two bottles of water in the other. “I don’t usually deliver, but since you never came to claim your free tacos and I was passing by, I thought I’d drop off an order. I hope you haven’t eaten lunch already.”

  “No. Um . . . you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

  “It was no trouble. You’re on my route. As I said, we’re neighbors.”

  And hospitality demanded that you invite a gift-bearing neighbor inside.

  Besides, she had to find out what he knew and try to head any threat off at the pass.

  “Would you like to come in?” She eased back and motioned toward the foyer.

  “Thank you. My muse is calling, but I can spare a few minutes.” He passed her, waiting while she closed the door. “As I recall, the Clarks have a lovely deck. Would you like to eat out there?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “No. I was getting ready to go down to the beach, but I’m not on any schedule.”

  “Ah. The beauty of vacation—or a life that’s not burdened by too many commitments. After you.” He waved a hand for her to precede him.

  She complied, stopping at the back of the house to push open the sliding door.

  He followed her out and deposited the bag on the table. Instead of sitting, however, he ambled over to the edge of the deck and gave the scene spread before them a slow sweep.

  “It’s quite a view, isn’t it?” She remained by the table.

  “Indeed it is. A sunny day in Hope Harbor is a little preview of paradise.” After a few more moments, he pivoted back and indicated the bag. “Please eat or they’ll get cold.”

  She didn’t argue. The savory aroma had activated her salivary glands.

  As she slid into her chair and pulled out one of the bundles wrapped in white paper, Charley joined her. He sat across from her and uncapped a bottle of water as she dived into her first fish taco.

  “I believe congratulations are in order. Katherine Parker has achieved her dream.”

  The bite of taco lodged in her windpipe, and she began coughing.

  Charley handed the bottle to her.

  After several gulps, her hacking subsided and she removed her sunglasses. Wiped her watering eyes with a paper napkin.

  “Sorry. That wasn’t the best timing.” Charley leaned forward and locked gazes with her. “In case you’re concerned, your secret is safe with me.”

  Filling her lungs, she set the bottle on the table. “So you do remember me.”

  “Of course—but your disguise is quite effective. The name didn’t click into place until a few hours after we met at The Perfect Blend. I kept hoping you’d stop by the stand for a chat.”

  “I was afraid someone would recognize me.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. The change in hairstyle and color alone would throw most people off—including me. And I don’t fool easily.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “Go on, eat.”

  Sixty seconds ago, eating would have been impossible—but oddly, the churning in her stomach had subsided.

  She picked up her taco again and took another bite. “These are as wonderful as ever.”

  “The secret’s in my special seasoning and sauce.” He leaned back and sipped his water. “After we met, I kept up with your career. I had a feeling you were on the road to stardom.”

  “There have been a few potholes along the way.”

  “No journey is without them. But they’re no more than an aggravation if the destination is worthwhile.”

  He hadn’t couched his comment as a question, but he’d left her an opening if she wanted to talk.

  And she did. Charley had proven to be an excellent listener on her previous visit to Hope Harbor.

  “I’m beginning to question whether it is.”

  “Because of what happened to Jason?”

  She froze. “You know about that?”

  “As I said, I’ve been following your career.”

  “You don’t strike me as the type to read the Hollywood gossip magazines.”

  “There are other sources for information. More accurate information.”

  A wave of bitterness curdled through her. “Most people are happy to believe what those rags publish.”

  “Their issue, not yours. I imagine that incident is what brought you here.”

  “It was the catalyst.” She picked up a piece of avocado that had escaped from her taco. “But I also wanted space to think.”

  “Success wasn’t what you envisioned?”

  “Some parts, yes. Other parts, no.” She bit into her second taco.

  “Many things in life are a mixed blessing. The question is whether the good parts outweigh the bad. If they don’t?” He shrugged. “A course correction may be in order.”

  “It’s hard to do that midstream in a strong current.”

  “Yes, it is—but it can be done. Zach’s a perfect example of that.”

  Her ears perked up. Maybe Charley would offer her a few insights about her charming neighbor. “I know his coffee shop is a new business, but he hasn’t told me anything about what he used to do.”

  “It’s a story worth hearing—but it’s not mine to tell.”

  Her hopes for a few crumbs withered.

  As her seagull friends landed on the railing of the deck, Charley crossed an ankle over his knee. “Well, well, well. So this is where you two have been hanging out.”

  Katherine looked at the birds. Back at Charley. “You know them?”

  “We’re old acquaintances. Katherine, meet Floyd and Gladys.”

  Her lips twitched. “You name seagulls?”

  “These two are special. They met here in Hope Harbor.”

  She gave the birds another dubious once-over as she continued to chow down. They were all clones to her. “How do you tell one from another?”

  “Floyd has a nick on the right side of his beak and a black spot on his head—and he’s never without Gladys.”

  “If you say so.” She opened the third taco. “They’ve been hanging around ever since I got here—and they always follow me down to the beach.”

  “Interesting.” He swigged his water. “Any other regular visitors from the animal kingdom?”

  “No—although I often see a harbor seal on my trips to the beach.”

  “A silver-white fellow with a doleful face and permanent indigestion?”

  She chuckled at his description of the belching seal. “Yes. You know him too?”

  “Casper and I go way back.” He rose and walked over to the railing. The two seagulls scooted over to accommodate him but didn’t fly off, as they did if she got too close. “Have you spotted a dolphin too?”

  “No.” She continued to plow through the last taco. “I thought they stayed far offshore and hung around in pods.”

  “Most do. A few wander in closer on occasion, if they have a compelling motivation.” He scanned the ocean. “I see Casper down there, on the rocks.” He continued to survey the water. Stopped. “And there’s Trixie.”

  Katherine finished off the taco, wiped her hands on a napkin, and joined him at the railing. “Where?”

  “She’s bowing about a hundred feet off
shore at two o’clock.” He pointed.

  As she followed his finger, a dolphin leapt out of the water in a graceful arc once . . . twice . . . again, her sleek body glistening in the sun. “Ohhh. That’s beautiful!”

  “The gang’s all here.”

  At Charley’s soft comment, she shifted her attention to him. “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just comforting to be surrounded by friends.” He inspected the table. “I think the tacos were a hit. Sorry I didn’t supply dessert. I should have stopped at Sweet Dreams bakery and picked up a brownie for us to share.”

  “If you’re in the mood for chocolate, I have another idea. Give me a sec.” She hurried into the kitchen, put four blackberry truffles on a plate, and returned. “This should satisfy our sweet tooth. I made a batch for a . . . thank-you gift, and I had a few left over.”

  Charley remained standing but took one and bit into it. Chewed slowly. “Mmm. Another taste of heaven.” He popped the rest into his mouth. “It’s amazing how many small glimpses of paradise we can get here on earth if we take the time and make the effort to notice them.” He indicated a second truffle. “May I?”

  “Please.”

  He picked it up and started for the door. “I’ve delayed your beach walk long enough—and my muse is becoming impatient.”

  She trailed behind him through the house. “Thank you again for stopping by.”

  “My pleasure.” He exited, but paused on the porch. “I hope you’ll come to the truck for lunch soon. You won’t have to worry about being recognized. LA is a different world—and removed from Hope Harbor by far more than distance.”

  “People here do watch TV, though.”

  “Your disguise will hold. Trust me.”

  There was no way he could guarantee that—yet he spoke with such conviction it was impossible to doubt him.

  “I may venture out more often, now that we’ve talked. You were my biggest risk.”

  “Consider me a friend, not a risk. I won’t give you away. And do come to town. Hope Harbor has much to offer.” He pulled his Ducks cap out of his pocket and snugged it on. “See you soon.” With a jaunty salute, he strolled over to the ’57 silver Thunderbird he kept in mint condition. It didn’t seem a day older than it had six years ago.