Blackberry Beach

by Irene Hannon

  Zach sat, put the water next to him, and opened his bag. “We finished your blackberry truffles yesterday. They were fantastic.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

  “Devoured is more like it.” He uncapped his water. “By the way, that piece of fudge cake is waiting for you at The Perfect Blend whenever you want to claim it—no strings attached and no repayment necessary. You can’t come to Hope Harbor and not sample Eleanor Cooper’s claim to fame.”

  She collected several pieces of purple cabbage that had spilled from her taco. “As a matter of fact, I almost came today—but I needed lunch more than cake.” Plus, she’d chickened out.

  “Yeah?” He dived into his first taco. “We could swing by for dessert after we finish here.”

  Her pulse picked up. “Aren’t you closed in the afternoon?”

  “Yes—but I have the keys. One of the perks of being the owner.” He shot her a grin.

  An intimate tea—or coffee—for two in his shuttered shop?

  A delicious tingle zipped through her.

  Get a grip, Katherine. Don’t put yourself at risk. Keep your distance.

  Excellent advice.

  She quashed the zing of attraction and nibbled at her second taco. “I don’t eat many sweets, as a rule.”

  “I remember—but I thought you made exceptions for special occasions.”

  The endearing dimple in his cheek was hard to resist. “What occasion would we be celebrating?”

  “National spumoni day.”

  A laugh bubbled up inside her. Spilled out. “Seriously?”

  “Scout’s honor.” He raised his hand.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m a font of useless information. Comes from having to find a new quote every day for the board in front of the store.”

  “I noticed that. It’s a clever idea.”

  “The rest of the town agrees with you. I’ve had people tell me they drive by just to read the quote. I started doing it for fun, but now I’m stuck because everyone expects it.”

  She poked a piece of jalapeño back into her taco, her mirth fading. “I know all about how expectations can turn something that was once fun into a chore.”

  He stopping eating and cocked his head at her.

  Too much information, Katherine.

  Calling up a smile, she redirected the conversation before he could ask any questions. “What does national spumoni day have to do with fudge cake?”

  He hesitated, as if he was considering whether to return to her previous comment. In the end, though, he followed her lead. “I don’t have spumoni, but the fudge cake is a worthy substitute. It isn’t in the same league as your truffles—not that I’d ever share that with Eleanor—but as chocolate cake goes, it can’t be beat. I happened to have two pieces left today.”

  The appeal of sharing dessert with this man in his cozy shop, where they’d have no interruptions, continued to mushroom.

  Stall, Katherine. Give yourself a few minutes to summon up the willpower to decline the invitation.

  “I appreciate the offer, but why don’t we wait until we’re done to decide? The tacos are filling.”

  “True—but I can always find room for dessert. Why don’t you tell me about making chocolate while we eat?”

  She slanted him a look. Was his interest genuine—or was he merely trying to keep the conversational ball in the air?

  “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t interested.” He answered as if he’d read her mind, his tone serious as he spoke around a mouthful of taco.

  “It’s a hobby.” She lifted her shoulders. “You like to cook, I like to make chocolate.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “A complementary skill set.”

  She had no idea what he meant by that—and she wasn’t about to ask.

  Instead, she gave him a brief primer on the basics of chocolate making.

  Other than asking a few astute questions, he listened without interrupting until she finished.

  “I’m impressed. The tempering step seems tricky.” He stuffed the wrapping from his last taco into the bag. “How did you learn all that stuff?”

  She washed down a bite of her second taco with a swig of water. “I’ve read a ton about it and taken a number of classes—both hands-on and online. Working with chocolate is actually quite challenging. Temperature, humidity, and a host of other variables can affect the outcome. I’ve watched hours of videos, practiced a lot, and signed up for a handful of seminars conducted by master chocolatiers during my work breaks. Those were amazing.”

  “I can tell. I can’t see much of your face behind those glasses, but energy is crackling off you, your voice is animated, and I have a feeling your eyes are lit up.” He smiled at her.

  Katherine processed Zach’s comment as she broke off a piece of fish and tossed it to the birds.

  He was right about her enthusiasm. Chocolate making tapped into her energy and creativity far more than acting did these days.

  Another worrisome reality to ponder later, in the quiet of Blackberry Beach.

  Floyd picked up the morsel of fish, used his beak to break it apart, and pushed half toward Gladys.

  Katherine did a double take. “That’s unusual. In the animal kingdom, it’s usually first come, first served.”

  “True—but seagulls mate for life. Maybe they take care of each other.”

  Like spouses did in a loving marriage.

  Her lips curved up. “Whatever the motivation, it’s sweet.”

  Zach downed the last of his water. “Speaking of sweet . . . did you save any room for fudge cake?”

  She wiped her hands on a paper napkin and inspected the third taco she hadn’t yet unwrapped. If she ate it, she’d be full—and have a perfect excuse to pass on Zach’s invitation.

  But despite the danger signal beeping in her subconscious, she wanted to spend another hour . . . or two . . . or several . . . in this man’s company—even if she’d have to ditch her concealing sunglasses in the shop.

  Zach had seen her without them, though. If he hadn’t recognized her by now, there wasn’t much risk in extending their impromptu lunch—especially in an empty coffee shop, where no one else would see her.

  And didn’t she deserve a few minutes of human companionship after the hermit-like existence she’d been living during most of her visit?

  You’re justifying, Katherine.

  Tuning out the silent warning, she wadded her napkin into a tight ball and took the plunge. “If I save this one for later”—she tapped the bundle—“I think I can manage a piece of cake.”

  “You won’t be sorry. I’ll put your leftovers in the fridge at The Perfect Blend while we have dessert.” He stood at once, as if he was afraid she’d have second thoughts and back out.

  Smart man.

  Doubts were already assailing her.

  But she didn’t have to stay long . . . and in the quiet of the coffee shop, with a few careful queries, perhaps she could find out the story behind Charley’s cryptic comment about how Zach had changed course midstream—and glean a few insights that could apply to her own situation.

  She tucked her last taco back in the bag and fell into step beside him, glancing at the white truck as they walked toward Dockside Drive.

  Charley gave her a thumbs-up.

  That was encouraging.

  Yet as Zach took her arm while they crossed the street, she hoped she didn’t live to rue this impromptu date with the man who’d been starring in her dreams since the day they’d met.

  “Welcome back to The Perfect Blend.” Zach twisted the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and eased aside to let Kat enter.

  She slipped past him but hovered near the threshold. As if she was thinking about bolting.

  He could relate.

  This detour for dessert might not be wise, for all the reasons he’d already identified—and Kat no doubt had a list of similar concerns.

  But they were here, and he owed her a piece of cake.
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br />   Relocking the door, he called up a smile. “Let me get the lights. Hang tight for a minute.”

  She waited while he crossed the room and flipped the switch, fingers crimping the top of the bag containing her remaining taco.

  Zach motioned toward a booth for two tucked into the back corner that would shield them from the view of curious passersby. “Why don’t you have a seat while I get the cake and put your taco on ice?”

  “Okay.” She met him halfway across the shop and handed over the bag.

  The top was damp.

  She was as uptight as he’d been during the weeks he’d been wrestling with the decision about whether to leave his old life behind.

  “Hey.” He gentled his tone and touched her shoulder. “I promise not to bite.”

  “Sorry.” She rubbed her palms down her leggings. “I’m a little spooked about venturing out in public.”

  She didn’t say why.

  He didn’t ask.

  “No one can see us back there.”

  “I realize that—and I appreciate it.”

  “I know you like skinny vanilla lattes, but may I recommend straight coffee with the cake? You don’t want to mask the flavor.”

  Forehead wrinkling, she scanned the equipment behind the counter. “Isn’t everything cleaned up and shut down?”

  “The commercial side is—but I keep a small French press in the back so I can get my java fix while I’m here working on the books in the office.”

  “In that case, straight coffee would be fine.”

  “Have a seat and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  As she wandered toward the booth, he ducked into the back room, stowed her taco in the fridge, and pulled out the cake. A quick zap in the microwave would bring the slices back to room temperature pronto.

  In five minutes, the coffee was brewed and their dessert was plated and ready to serve.

  After putting everything on a tray, he returned to the public area.

  Instead of hiding in the booth, as he’d expected, Kat was examining one of the poster-sized photos.

  She swung toward him as he entered, waving a hand over the gallery of close-up nature shots on the walls—the beak of a bird pecking through an egg, tips of daffodil leaves pushing through the snow, a tiny plant growing in the crack of a boulder and beating the odds of survival despite the adverse environment . . . and a half dozen others. “These are wonderful. I noticed them on my previous visits. They’re so . . . hope filled.”

  “That’s why I put them up. They add to the feel-good vibe of the shop.” He continued to their booth and unloaded the tray.

  She followed him over. “Did you take them?”

  “No.” He motioned her toward the bench seat, waited until she slid in, and claimed the opposite side. “My brother did.”

  “He’s a very talented photographer.” Kat’s inquisitive blue eyes studied him.

  “Yeah.” That response was sufficient—yet more tumbled out. “He was.”

  Zach frowned.

  Where had that come from?

  He didn’t talk about Josh with friends, let alone strangers. Rehashing the trauma stirred up too many painful memories.

  “Was?”

  Of course Kat would follow up on the past tense.

  He shifted in his seat.

  Now that she’d finally ditched her sunglasses, he almost wished she hadn’t. Under her empathetic gaze, it was harder to sidestep her question.

  Why not dole out a few facts?

  “He died three years ago.”

  Shock flattened her features. “I’m so sorry. Was it an accident?”

  “No.” He sipped his coffee, taking care not to scald his tongue. “He had pancreatic cancer. Since that tends to be an older person’s disease, it took longer than usual to diagnose his condition. But the survival rate is dismal anyway. He was gone in five months.” The last two words rasped, and he cleared his throat.

  Some of the color drained from her face. “I don’t know what to say . . . except how tragic and awful that had to be—for him and your family.”

  “It was. It is.” He swallowed. “He was only twenty-nine—two years younger than me.”

  She moved her cake aside, folded her hands on the table, and leaned closer, radiating compassion. “Would you tell me about him?”

  Stomach clenching, he took another slug of coffee and forced himself to keep breathing.

  No one had ever asked him to talk about Josh. The few people he’d spoken to about his brother had respected his back-off signals and dropped the subject after expressing their condolences.

  Why hadn’t Kat?

  Except . . . maybe he hadn’t sent those signals to her. Instead, his manner may have invited discussion.

  If so, it hadn’t been a conscious decision.

  But why not follow through? Tell her a bit more. Bottling up all the hurt wasn’t helping him heal. And talking about Josh, sharing the qualities that had made him special, could also help keep his brother’s memory alive.

  It was worth a try.

  Besides, if he got cold feet midstream, he could always shut down.

  As the silence lengthened, Kat edged back a hair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to barge into personal territory—but the images captivated me, and I was curious about the man who created them.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t talk about Josh often, but tell me what you’d like to know.”

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second . . . then picked up her mug. “Was photography his business or a hobby?”

  “Hobby. He used the images to illustrate a weekly blog he wrote. But he was beginning to submit his work for publication and he’d had a few strong nibbles.”

  “I have to believe he could have built a career doing this.”

  “I do too—although I think he was content to keep it as a hobby. He always said there’s a certain purity about things you do solely for love. Once money enters the picture, the complexion changes.”

  A shadow flitted across her face. “Have you found that to be true with The Perfect Blend?”

  “No . . . but I had a comfortable financial cushion going in. This business was never about money.”

  “I can see where that would make a difference.” She sipped her coffee. “What did your brother do for a living?”

  “Freelance web work. He had enough clients to put food on the table and keep a roof over his head, and he was content with that. Josh never wanted to be part of the rat race or claw his way to the top of the corporate world. His priority was people, travel, photography, writing—and space to breathe.”

  “Seems like a healthy attitude to me.”

  “Looking back, I agree—but at the time we clashed philosophically. Neither I nor my dad could understand why he lacked ambition in the traditional sense. In fact, he and my dad had a serious falling-out over it.”

  As that admission slipped out, he throttled a groan. That was another can of worms he hadn’t intended to open.

  What was with his sudden case of motormouth?

  Twin furrows appeared on Kat’s brow. “Did they mend their rift?”

  A logical question—and he owed her an answer, after introducing the subject.

  “Yes—but Dad never did understand how Josh could be content living a bare-bones existence instead of using his engineering degree to earn a decent income. He was supersmart and aced all his college courses, but his heart was never in engineering. The degree was a concession to Dad. He had a different vision for his life—and after graduation he had the courage to pursue it.”

  “Despite family opposition and pressure.”

  “Yes.”

  “That took guts.”

  “Yes, it did.” As he’d later learned firsthand.

  “Were the two of you close?”

  “As close as two brothers on different tracks can be.”

  “Yet you went rogue too.”

  “Yes—but it took me much longer to see the light. In the beginning, I
was as driven as my dad. After college, I joined an investment firm in Chicago, where I discovered I had a knack for brokering mergers and acquisitions. I was on the fast track and successful beyond my wildest dreams by the age of thirty.”

  “Wow.” She leaned back in the booth, cradling her mug in her hands. “A coffee shop in Hope Harbor is one-eighty from that world of movers and shakers.”

  “True—but the changes have all been positive. Josh had always encouraged me to slow down and smell the roses, but I brushed him off . . . until he died. That was a game changer.”

  “Death can definitely alter your perspective.” Her soft comment was filled with angst and heartache.

  There was a story there—and he wanted to hear it.

  But pushing would be a mistake. All he could do was share his own history and hope she’d reciprocate.

  “After he died, I read his blog. Looked through his photos. Both were a reflection of what he’d always believed—that beauty and hope can be found everywhere, even in the smallest places people tend to overlook. He noticed—and appreciated—everything.” Zach stared into the dark depths of his coffee. “In hindsight, it almost seems as if he sensed his time here was limited and was determined to suck every drop of joy from every single moment.”

  Her features softened. “Not a bad philosophy, no matter how long your life.”

  “I agree. That’s why I decided to leave the fast track behind and pursue my dream of running a coffee shop somewhere near the ocean. I did my homework, worked at a small coffee chain to learn the business from the ground up, and opened The Perfect Blend.”

  The corners of her lips tipped up. “Now I see the deeper meaning behind the name. You’ve found a life that gives you a perfect balance between work and leisure.”

  “Bingo.”

  “How did you end up in Hope Harbor?”

  “Josh lived in Oregon, and several years ago he suggested we meet here for a short vacation after I finished a business trip in San Francisco. Three days in, I got called back to Chicago to handle an emergency. But I had fond memories of this place and came back to check it out when I was trying to decide where to relocate. It didn’t take me long to realize how special Hope Harbor is.”