Blackberry Beach

by Irene Hannon

  Except the spark in his eyes whenever their gazes met implied his motive for staying today went far beyond mere politeness.

  “The owner must have had a bunch of pictures on the walls.” Frank propped his hands on his hips and scanned the pockmarked surface. “And whoever took them off wasn’t any too careful. Look at all the rough edges.”

  “Yep. They’ll have to be sanded first.” Stephanie picked up a sanding block. “What’ll it be—sanding or filling?”

  “Do you have a preference?”

  “I’ve done both.”

  “Why don’t I sand?”

  She handed over the block. “Have at it.”

  He dived in as she opened the spackle and picked up a putty knife.

  There was ample opportunity to talk in the quiet bedroom, as Frank had indicated—but all at once he seemed tongue-tied.

  Not a problem.

  After years of cultivating clients and running meetings, keeping the conversational ball in the air was a no-brainer.

  Rule number one—ask open-ended questions.

  “Tell me why you’re here today. I assume board members don’t get hands-on with every program the organization sponsors.”

  Frank picked up a paper towel and wiped drywall dust off the first hole he’d sanded. “No, but I do try to get involved in most of the larger projects we take on.”

  “This appears to be a big one.”

  “It is. Maybe the most ambitious in the organization’s history. When Adam Stone brought the idea forward, the board had serious concerns. Not about the merits of his proposal or the need for a place like Hope House, but the start-up costs were significant. There are also a number of other challenges—including reams of government red tape to maneuver through in order to be accepted for the foster system.”

  “Yet Helping Hands pursued it.” She used her putty knife to work spackle into the hole he’d sanded.

  “Yes. You caught the end of the process, at the town meeting. After that, the board voted to proceed—but a few members do have reservations.”

  “What camp are you in?”

  “Full speed ahead.” He wiped off the drywall dust on the second hole and moved on.

  Stephanie smoothed out her patch with the edge of the putty knife and followed him down the wall. “Any special reason you’re so gung ho?”

  “I like kids—and some can benefit from a leg up to help them overcome the bad stuff they’ve experienced. I volunteered with the Big Brother program for years, and I saw firsthand the negative results of a shoddy upbringing. Giving children from dysfunctional backgrounds a stable, loving home environment through Hope House is a wonderful addition to the Helping Hands program.”

  “It certainly fits with the altruistic nature of the organization.”

  “Yes, it does—but I have to admit I also have a bit of a selfish motivation for getting involved.”

  She angled toward him. While she and Frank were recent acquaintances, she’d seen nothing to indicate he had a selfish bone in his body.

  “Now you have me intrigued. What could possibly be in this project for you?”

  He shot her a quick, sheepish grin. “A chance to play grandpa.” He went back to sanding. “Whoever we get as houseparents may come with real grandparents for the kids, but I figure no child can have enough older folks in their life who like to dote on them.”

  “So you intend to make a personal investment in the project.” Not surprising for someone who’d volunteered as a Big Brother.

  Her heart warmed a few more degrees toward the man beside her.

  “Yes. It’s not like having my own grandkids, but you don’t have to be related by blood to have an impact on a young person’s life. And seeing the world through the eyes of a child helps you appreciate things you’ve come to take for granted—and keeps you young.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Not that she’d had any experience with children herself. Nor had she let herself think much about them after she decided to devote herself to her career instead of trying to juggle a family and a job.

  What was the point?

  That train had passed her by, as she’d told her nephew.

  As if he’d tuned in to her thoughts, Frank spoke again. “If I’m being too personal, just tell me to mind my own business—but I’m curious about why you never married and had a family.”

  She took extra pains as she smoothed out the spackle with the putty knife, blending it in to the surrounding wall until the edges were seamless. “I didn’t think I could do justice to both my career and a family. I had my sights set on an executive position, and that’s where I chose to focus all my energy. If I’d had a husband and children, I’d have spent my life being pulled two directions and feeling I wasn’t giving either all they deserved.”

  “These days, many women have both.”

  “But they either don’t rise as high in the ranks as they could have because they’re distracted by other obligations, or they delegate many of their parental duties to a nanny who becomes a surrogate mother. I believe in giving 100 percent to anything I undertake.”

  “Admirable.” He leaned closer to the wall and picked off a flaking piece of drywall. “And I hear what you’re saying. Jo Ann felt the same. She didn’t have a high-level job like yours, but she always planned to cut her hours back after we had kids. A moot point, as it turned out.”

  “Did you ever think about adopting?”

  “Yes. But we kept trying to have a child until we were in our forties, and then Jo Ann began to have a few health issues. The adoption process can be long, and she was afraid that by the time we got a child, she wouldn’t have the energy to raise him or her. So I’ll settle for being an adopted grandfather. Despite this silver hair, I have a superabundance of energy.”

  “I noticed.” The man bristled with it.

  That was one attribute they had in common. She was brimming with vitality too, and looking forward to many more lively, productive years.

  It was too bad they wouldn’t include visiting children and spoiling grandchildren—but she’d made her peace with her choice long ago.

  Nevertheless, for the first time in decades, she couldn’t help wondering what might have lain beyond the door she’d firmly closed.

  “You okay?” Frank glanced her direction.

  She called up a perky smile and tackled the next hole. “Fine.” But a change of topics was in order. “By the way, I think you would have enjoyed the national parks presentation. The photos were spectacular, and the speaker’s stories about his adventures taking them were entertaining.”

  Although she kept her attention fixed on the wall, in her peripheral vision she saw him give her a surreptitious perusal.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the event he’d declined to attend, but why not chat about a subject he was interested in—and one far less personal than their previous line of discussion?

  “You went?”

  “Of course. I thought it would be fascinating, and it was.”

  “I didn’t think that topic would be your cup of tea.”

  Ah.

  He thought she’d chosen the lecture for his benefit.

  Only partially true.

  “I’m trying to broaden my horizons now that I’m retired. And after hearing you talk about your vacations to national parks, I realized there’s a whole world out there I’ve never experienced. The presentation whetted my appetite to see a number of those places in person.”

  He went back to work without responding.

  But a couple of minutes later, when she peeked over at him, there were faint furrows on his brow. As if he was surprised she’d have any interest in outdoor activities.

  In truth, her Atlanta upbringing hadn’t given her much exposure to the natural world. Nor had her corporate treks taken her anywhere but large metropolitan areas. She’d always been a city girl through and through.

  Yet smaller towns—like Hope Harbor—had much to recommend them, as she was discoverin
g.

  And from the photos she’d seen during the presentation, nature had as much beauty to offer as any of the art museums she’d visited on her global travels.

  While the back-to-nature leisure pursuits Frank and his wife had enjoyed had never been on her radar, if she was committed to expanding her horizons, why not include them?

  There wasn’t much opportunity to do that in New York City, but she could go see the places that had caught her eye.

  However . . . it would be much more fun to go with someone. Especially someone who already knew how to navigate that world.

  She checked out Frank again as she scooped more spackle from the container.

  He could be a candidate for that role—if she was willing to alter her retirement plans, give up the lifestyle she’d envisioned.

  Was she?

  Too soon to say.

  And how would she ever find the answer to that question unless she got to know him better?

  But that wouldn’t happen if he kept turning down her invitations.

  Give the man a break, Stephanie. He may see no point in getting involved with a woman who’ll soon be leaving. If he thought you were willing to hang around awhile—and consider a permanent move—the outcome could be different.

  Hard to refute that argument.

  Still . . . it would be safer to remain friends.

  Yet she’d played it safe in her personal life for more than forty years.

  Could it be time to listen to her heart—and entertain the notion of altering the retirement plans she’d assumed were locked in stone?

  A critical question.

  One she needed to work hard to answer before she wore out her welcome with Zach and found herself winging away from Hope Harbor and back to the East Coast.

  Today had not played out as he’d expected.

  Frank flipped the single piece of salmon destined to be his Wednesday dinner, closed the lid on the small grill, and ambled over to the edge of the patio.

  The house he’d purchased in Hope Harbor might be modest, but the view was world-class. From this last dwelling on the short block that dead-ended at the sea, he could take in the mouth of the river to the south, rocky Little Gull Island offshore to the west, and to the north, Pelican Point light on the soaring headland.

  Breathtaking didn’t begin to do the scene justice.

  If he wanted a view like this at a fancy hotel, he’d pay megabucks.

  Fancy hotel.

  Like the kind Stephanie would have frequented during her career.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and followed the progress of a pelican overhead, its orange beak a splash of brightness against a low-hanging white cloud.

  Stephanie.

  He sighed and wandered back to the grill.

  Turning down her invitation should have sent a definitive signal that he wasn’t interested in a dating relationship.

  And the message had apparently been received. She hadn’t done anything today to imply she intended to try again. Her manner had been amiable, nothing more.

  He was the one who was suddenly having second thoughts about drawing the line at friendship.

  Spatula in hand, he opened the grill lid and turned the fish again. Almost ready. Time to get the baked potato out of the oven and nuke his veggies while the entrée finished cooking.

  Back inside, he went about those chores by rote while his mind churned with weightier matters.

  Namely, Stephanie Garrett, and how she fit into his life.

  No.

  The question was whether she should fit into his life.

  Trouble was, the image he’d formed of her early on kept crumbling.

  Today was no exception. Seeing her in work attire, hair mussed, fingernail polish chipped, wielding saws and crown molding and putty knives like a pro . . . that had been a shock.

  She’d also gone to the national parks lecture without him—proving she truly had been interested in the topic.

  He picked up his plate, returned to the patio, and transferred his salmon from the grill to the crockery. Once seated at his table for two, he said a short blessing and began to eat.

  In general, he enjoyed the view over the water.

  Today, the empty chair got in the way.

  And the fresh salmon he always relished lacked its usual flavor.

  Or was it his life that lacked flavor?

  Sure, he had a job he enjoyed at The Perfect Blend, and chatting with the regular customers gave him social interaction—as did his volunteer gig at the lighthouse. Plus, his work with Helping Hands fed his soul.

  But after thirty-seven years of marriage, it was hard to come home at night to an empty house—and a solo dinner.

  That, however, wasn’t sufficient justification to get involved with someone.

  Except . . . it was more than that with Stephanie.

  A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

  From the get-go, she’d made him feel young again. Revved his engines. Added a spark to his days.

  Young love was a distant speck in his rearview mirror, but near as he could recall, this was exactly how he’d felt when he’d fallen for Jo Ann.

  So what was he supposed to do about it?

  Mouth flattening, he put a pat of butter on his baked potato. Watched it melt.

  Moving to New York wasn’t an option. Heck, he’d feel like Crocodile Dundee—if anyone even remembered that old movie.

  And a woman with a long-term lease wasn’t likely to uproot herself without any guarantees, even if she felt the zing as much as he did.

  He poked at his salmon . . . then dropped his fork onto the table and sat back in his chair as two seagulls wheeled overhead.

  What a dilemma.

  If he did want to test the waters, it would be up to him to initiate it. Stephanie had made the first overture, and she didn’t strike him as a woman who’d push once she got a negative response. On an interpersonal level anyway.

  Was it worth having a conversation with her about his dilemma? He’d been wrong on so many fronts—could he be wrong about her willingness to embrace a lifestyle far removed from New York?

  Was there any harm in asking?

  The two seagulls landed at the edge of his patio, cuddled up together, and stared at him.

  Wanting a handout, no doubt.

  He broke off a piece of salmon and tossed it to them.

  They each took half—but they didn’t fly away after they ate. Nor did they pester him for more.

  Strange behavior for gulls, which could be annoyingly persistent.

  He forced himself to eat a few bites of his meal.

  Having a talk with Stephanie wasn’t a bad idea. With her business background, she’d be used to frank discussions.

  But that didn’t solve his other issue—how to reconcile his growing feelings for Stephanie with his love for Jo Ann.

  The forkful of potato he’d just swallowed stuck in his throat, and he fumbled for his glass. Took a sip of water.

  Was it disloyal to think about another woman in romantic terms?

  Would Jo Ann be upset?

  Yet finding a new partner wouldn’t diminish anything they’d shared. No one would ever take his wife’s place in his heart.

  He pushed more food around on his plate and lifted his face to the heavens.

  Lord, I could use a little direction here. I want to do what’s right—but I feel like I’m at an intersection without signs. Please show me which road to take.

  At a raucous cackle, he shifted his attention to the gulls.

  They ruffled their feathers, nudged each other, and in perfect harmony took flight. Within seconds they’d disappeared from view in the direction of the harbor.

  Not the most talkative dinner companions—but sociable.

  He went back to eating. Most of the food had grown cold, but it didn’t matter. His mind wasn’t on his meal anymore.

  It was on whether to let what seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity slip through his fingers—
or grasp this unexpected gift, which had the potential to radically alter the solitary years ahead that he’d come to accept as his lot.

  18

  Woo-hoo!

  Katherine pressed the end button, tossed her phone on the couch in her rental house, and exited onto the deck.

  A lungful of the fresh, invigorating air sent energy and optimism coursing through her on this last Saturday of August.

  Or—more likely—her upbeat attitude was the result of the accolades her truffles were receiving.

  According to Jeannette at the lavender farm, today’s patrons had raved over the samples she’d dropped off yesterday—and the woman had asked for more for next weekend.

  That meant they had to be good.

  Kind as the tearoom owner appeared to be, she ran a business—and she wouldn’t serve her guests anything that wasn’t stellar. All of the offerings on the three-tiered stand last weekend had been top-notch.

  On top of that, Stephanie had passed on the complimentary comments she’d overheard at Hope House during a break on Wednesday. From what she’d picked up, many of the volunteers had been trying to figure out who donated the truffles—and not a morsel had remained on the tray Zach retrieved for her.

  Maybe she did have a knack for chocolate-making—at a higher-than-hobbyist level.

  A cloud scuttled across the sun, and as the light dimmed she glanced toward the house next door, hidden behind the towering coniferous trees.

  It would be fun to share this happy news with Zach—but he’d been laying low since the day they’d stripped wallpaper together. He hadn’t even been at The Perfect Blend when she’d stopped for a latte yesterday on her drive back from the lavender farm, and the female barista with the multicolored hair hadn’t explained his absence.

  Had he gone to Atlanta?

  But if he had, wouldn’t he have told her?

  Why would he, Katherine? It’s not as if you two are anything more than neighbors.

  Sad—but true.

  Well . . . not sad, really. It was a mutual choice to stay at arm’s length—except for that brief kiss on the beach.

  The cavalcade of sensations aroused by that meeting of the lips swept over her again, and she gripped the railing to steady herself.

  Zach Garrett definitely knew how to kiss. Better than most of the so-called heartthrobs with whom she’d shared an onscreen clinch.