Blackberry Beach

by Irene Hannon

  “I am—thanks in large part to my father. He was an early proponent of equal opportunity in the workplace and believed women had been given short shrift in many industries—including mine. From day one, he pushed me to excel and break barriers. He also encouraged my brother, but he always felt it was tougher for women to get noticed and rise in the ranks.”

  Katherine spread lemon curd on a scone. “To tell you the truth . . . you don’t strike me as the type to make major life choices in order to please someone else.”

  “Love is a powerful motivator.” Stephanie dropped a sugar cube into her tea and stirred the hot liquid to dissolve it. “And I loved and respected my father. But I could have switched careers after he died. The truth is, I always had a hankering to change course, like Zach did. The creative fields were a passion of mine—writing in particular. Between you and me, I have a couple of fiction manuscripts under my bed, gathering dust.”

  “Why didn’t you pursue that?”

  “In the beginning, I didn’t have the time or energy to juggle two careers—and as I began rising in the ranks, I enjoyed my success. I’d learned to live with the parts of the job I didn’t like . . . and I’d been bitten by the ambition bug. I wasn’t doing it for my father anymore. I was doing it for myself. It was all-consuming, but I liked the challenge of making my mark in a male-dominated industry.” A brief shadow passed over her features. “You can put up with major inconveniences and disruptions . . . and give up a lot . . . if you’re satisfied with what you’ve accomplished at the end of the day.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  She shrugged. “Too soon to tell—but I don’t think I will. It was a fascinating chapter of my life, but I’m looking forward to turning the page. To savoring experiences I always had to squeeze in before. Enjoying a theatrical performance or dinner out without being interrupted by urgent calls or texts. Sleeping late if I want to. Answering to no one but myself. Getting reacquainted with my brother and nephew. Broadening my horizons.”

  “How are you ladies doing?” Jeannette stopped beside the table and refilled their teacups.

  “Wonderful.” Stephanie answered for both of them. “This lavender shortbread is divine.” She lifted the delicate, heart-shaped cookie.

  “Thank you. That’s our signature item—although I use lavender in many of the treats you sampled. I’d like to add another chocolate item, but I haven’t yet found the perfect recipe.”

  “Speaking of chocolate—Kat makes the most exquisite truffles. She gave Zach and me a sample from a batch she made with the berries she picked at Blackberry Beach. They were incredible.”

  Katherine’s cheeks warmed. “It’s nothing more than a hobby. I’m no expert.”

  “Ha.” Stephanie arched an eyebrow. “I’ve sampled candy from the best chocolatiers in the world, and those truffles were worldclass.”

  Jeannette shifted toward her. “Have you ever used lavender in truffles?”

  “No—but it’s an intriguing idea.”

  “A treat like that would be a wonderful addition to my sweet tier, but I have no talent with candy. I’ve tried, but I never get the temperature right. My end product doesn’t have the glossy finish of fine chocolates.”

  “Chocolate is tricky. It takes a while to master tempering.” Katherine sipped her tea. “You know, now that you’ve mentioned using lavender in candy, I’m going to have to research that. Maybe give it a try.”

  “We have a cranberry farm in town too. There are all kinds of local ingredients for fantastic chocolates.” Jeannette acknowledged a summons from a nearby table with a lift of her hand. “I’ll tell you what. Before you leave, let me cut you a bouquet of fresh lavender as inspiration—and I’d love to taste the results if you come up with a recipe you like.”

  The woman moved off, but already Katherine was mentally sifting through her stockpile of recipes. Nothing with lavender popped up—but there were loads of sources for ideas. And there was nothing wrong with developing her own recipe. She wasn’t a master chocolatier, but after all the classes and experimenting she’d done, she ought to be able to tap into her knowledge to create a lavender truffle.

  “I agree with Jeannette. A handcrafted piece of chocolate would be a perfect addition to her array of sweets.” Stephanie picked up an elaborate miniature pastry and examined it. “Not that I’m complaining about the offerings on this tray. Every bite has been delicious. Zach has no idea what he missed—in terms of both the food and the company.”

  “Thank you.” Katherine selected a tiny cranberry tart. “May I ask you one other question?”

  “Fire away.”

  “If you had decided to change career midcourse—after your father died—would you have felt guilty?”

  Stephanie tilted her head, cup poised halfway to her mouth. “I’ve never thought much about that.” She set the cup back down as she considered the question. “I don’t know that I’d have felt guilty, as long as I went on to another career that fulfilled me. But after investing so much of myself in my job, I suspect I would always have wondered if I could have reached my goal of being a vice president.”

  “So you’re not sorry you stuck with it.”

  “No. To be honest, achieving that ambition was freeing. Once I’d proven to myself I could do it, I could have walked away satisfied if I’d wanted to.”

  From there, the conversation moved on to general topics, and by the time Katherine left an hour later with a sheaf of lavender in hand, a friendship had been forged. Two, based on Jeannette’s parting comment that she hoped to be sampling a lavender truffle soon.

  The fog had moved in while they enjoyed their tea, and as Stephanie left her at her car with an invitation to drop in at Zach’s anytime, the light rain intensified.

  She climbed behind the wheel, waved to her hostess, and set the lavender on the seat beside her.

  It perfumed the car during the drive back to her house, the sweet scent both soothing and invigorating.

  Or perhaps the energy coursing through her had more to do with a sense that the decisions she faced weren’t as difficult as she’d imagined. That with prayer, reflection, and conversations like the one she’d had today—plus her exchanges with Zach and Charley—clarity would come.

  Just not on Simon’s timetable.

  And therein lay the problem.

  She drew in a lungful of the fragrant scent, trying to corral the insidious stress that was creeping back.

  Constant worry wasn’t going to accelerate her decision process. In fact, it could be counterproductive, tying her up in knots instead of smoothing the tangles from her mind. She needed to chill.

  Despite Simon’s hurried, drama-filled visit on Friday, he’d confirmed she had until September 14 to decide about the movie deal . . . and in the meantime, he was taking her content concerns forward.

  That gave her three more weeks of breathing space.

  And no matter how hard he pushed, she was taking every day of those weeks.

  Because if she made a hasty decision that turned out to be wrong, she could end up regretting it for the rest of her life.

  15

  His father was contacting him?

  Zach jolted to a stop in the woods between his house and Katherine’s. Stared at his cell.

  The number wasn’t one he’d called in the past few years, but it was engraved in his memory.

  He should answer—but after such a long gap in communication, it would be difficult to talk to his dad without significant mental prep.

  Too bad Katherine hadn’t responded to his knock on this late Sunday afternoon so he could return her plate and give her Charley’s packet of change in person instead of leaving them on the deck. If he’d been with her, he wouldn’t have paid any attention to the vibrating summons in his pocket.

  As the phone continued to pulsate, he weighed it in his hand.

  Ignoring the call was an option.

  But what if, by some miracle, his father had experienced a change of heart and wanted
to rebuild the bridge between them?

  After all, what else could have prompted this out-of-the-blue call?

  A wisp of hope spiraled up inside him—a reminder that despite his claim to the contrary during his conversation with Katherine, the negative fallout from his choice to walk away from his former life did still bother him. At a deep, elemental level he rarely acknowledged.

  Could his dad have come to the same conclusion? Did he miss their former weekly phone calls? Was he hoping to rectify the situation?

  Moving under the sheltering branches of a spruce tree, he took a steadying breath and pushed the talk button.

  “Hello, Dad.”

  Silence.

  He waited.

  More silence.

  Frowning, he clenched the fingers of his free hand. “Dad? Is that you?”

  “Yes. Sorry. I intended to phone your aunt. I must have pressed the wrong name.”

  The call was a mistake. The elder Garrett hadn’t reached out to him.

  His spirits tanked.

  And he had no one to blame but himself.

  Letting that tiny surge of hope brighten his day had been foolish. If his dad hadn’t softened in two and a half years, there wasn’t much chance he ever would.

  He squared his shoulders, struggling to maintain a neutral tone. “She went to tea and may have her phone off. I’ll tell her you called after she gets back.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” His father’s voice was stiff. Formal.

  But there was also a tremor in it.

  Because he was annoyed he’d called his son by mistake—or was there another explanation?

  In the past, Richard Garrett—deemed the courtroom sphinx by his colleagues—had never let anything disrupt his inscrutable, in-control demeanor on . . . or off . . . the job.

  “Is everything okay?” The question was out before Zach could stop it.

  “Fine.” His father’s stiffness morphed to scorn. “How’s the little coffee shop doing?”

  Zach bristled at the demeaning inflection.

  Don’t let him rile you, Garrett. It’s not worth it.

  He inhaled the fresh scent of the spruce and directed his gaze toward the calming expanse of open sea. “Also fine.”

  “Are you ready to ditch your hobby yet and return to the real world? Get back to your business career?”

  He mashed his lips together and counted to five.

  “This is my business, Dad. I’m in for the long haul.”

  A disgusted snort came over the line. “I’ll never understand what got into you two boys. First Joshua, now you. Wasting all that education on nothing careers. I didn’t send you to college to be a barista.”

  Zach held on to his temper. Barely. “Most of my college expenses were covered by scholarships, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “There were other costs I picked up. For both of you. When your brother veered off track, I thought at least you’d amount to something. You were on the road to a partnership. How could you throw away success?”

  That hurt.

  “I didn’t. I found it elsewhere. But I suppose we all define success differently.” It took every ounce of his self-control to pull off a measured delivery. “I discovered a better life. And I have Josh to thank for it.”

  “He didn’t do you any favor.”

  “He did me a tremendous favor—but I’m sorry it took his death to help me see the light.”

  “I don’t want to discuss your brother.”

  “In that case, I’ll leave it at this. Moving out here, following my dream, has been the best decision I ever made. I have a balanced life in a beautiful place and time for the important things—which have nothing to do with ambition and power plays and clawing your way to the top, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “Don’t lecture me.”

  “I’m stating a fact.”

  In the background, a ping sounded. “My dinner’s ready. I have nothing else to say.”

  “Neither do I. I’ll tell Aunt Stephanie you called.”

  No response.

  Just a dead line indicating his father had hung up.

  For several seconds, Zach remained frozen in place, fingers trembling, legs unsteady.

  Why couldn’t his father try to understand that choosing a different path than he had didn’t mean his sons were ungrateful, lazy, irresponsible slackers?

  It was a question without an answer.

  And after tonight’s conversation, it seemed unlikely the elder Garrett’s attitude would ever change.

  Exhaling, he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  He had to let it go. Get over it. Kill the tiny ember of hope that continued to flicker deep inside.

  Except for his relationship with his dad, his life was perfect.

  Well, almost perfect.

  Finding a special woman to share it with would seal the deal—and there was a much higher probability of that happening than reaching a reconciliation with his father.

  Even if the only potential partner who’d caught his eye in Hope Harbor didn’t appear interested in playing a starring role in his life.

  Katherine signed the thank-you card, slid it into the envelope, and sealed the flap.

  Pen poised, she started to address it.

  Stopped after writing Stephanie’s first name.

  What was the point of mailing a card to the house next door? Why not drop it off? Hadn’t Stephanie invited her to stop in anytime?

  Besides, hand delivering it gives you an excuse to see Zach.

  “Oh, shut up.” She quashed the smart-aleck in her head and slid off the stool at the kitchen island.

  If Zach was there, fine. If he wasn’t, that was also fine. Any company would do after the past two and a half solitary days of candy-making. Afternoon tea with Stephanie on Sunday and her chat with Zach on the beach last Friday felt like a lifetime ago. She’d put a hefty dent in the new supply of chocolate that had arrived bright and early Monday morning, but much as she enjoyed her hobby, a little human interaction would be welcome.

  She circled the island . . . hesitated on the threshold of the living room . . . and detoured to the master bath, stopping in front of the full-length mirror to survey her attire.

  Leggings with a hole in the knee and a too-big button-down shirt sporting a chocolate stain, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, weren’t exactly a go-visiting outfit.

  On the other hand, dressing to impress could be a mistake. After the kiss she and Zach had shared, sending any signals that implied she wanted to pick up where they’d left off would be reckless. Her situation was too up in the air.

  The chemistry between them was already potent, and getting up close and personal again could set off reactions neither of them were ready to deal with.

  So if she followed through on delivering the note in person, she’d go as she was—and she wouldn’t add any lipstick or mascara either.

  But there was no rush to traipse next door. As long as Stephanie’s rental car was visible through the trees, the woman would be available for a chat.

  Why not spend a few minutes reviewing her lavender truffle notes and fine-tuning her scribbled, much-modified recipe? She was getting closer to a satisfactory outcome, but a bit more experimentation and tweaking were needed.

  If she was still tempted to go visiting in half an hour, she’d consider it again.

  And if she chickened out, it would cost her nothing but a postage stamp.

  “Aunt Stephanie?” Zach pushed through the door from the garage into the kitchen, dropping his keys on the counter as he called out to his houseguest.

  “In here.”

  He continued to the threshold of the living room. “Sorry again about being late. Thanks to the crumb brigade that stopped in near closing, cleanup took longer than usual. I love our kiddie customers, but they tend to leave a mess in their wake.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She waved his apology aside. “My days of having every second of my life bo
oked—or overbooked—are gone forever, thank the Lord.”

  “Give me five minutes to change into old clothes and I’ll be with you.”

  “Don’t rush on my account. My book will keep me entertained.” She held up the new Irene Hannon suspense novel she was reading.

  Despite her reassurance, he hustled. Being at Hope House by two, as he’d promised, wasn’t going to happen—but they ought to be able to get there by two thirty.

  In three minutes flat, after exchanging his work clothes for worn jeans and a paint-splattered T-shirt, he rejoined her.

  “Wow.” She set her book down and gave him a once-over. “What did you do, shift into warp speed?”

  “Close. Listen—are you certain you’re up for this? From the quick walk-through I did Sunday afternoon, we’re going to have to put a ton of muscle into stripping wallpaper and drywall prep before we can paint. I know you’ve done your share of rehabbing and remodeling, but I hate to put you to work on your vacation.” He snagged his keys off the kitchen counter.

  “It will give me much-needed exercise—and be far more interesting than visiting a gym.” She stood . . . but stayed in place.

  Odd vibes began wafting toward him, and his pulse picked up.

  What was going on?

  Propping a shoulder against the doorframe, he folded his arms. “Why do I get the feeling you have something you want to tell me?”

  She offered him a smile that appeared forced. “Because you’re a smart, intuitive man?”

  “A person would have to be totally oblivious to miss the sudden tension in the air. What’s up?”

  Faint furrows creased her brow. “I don’t know if I should tell you this or not.”

  He tightened his grip on the keys.

  Whatever she had to say concerned his dad.

  He knew that as surely as he knew his father would be furious to learn they were having this conversation. The Garrett patriarch did not like his personal business discussed behind his back.

  “After that teaser, you can’t not tell me.” He managed to maintain a conversational manner. Even inject a teasing note. “Unless you want to be pestered for the rest of your visit.”