That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1)

by Sara LaFontain

“Cara,” he assures her, hoping she can hear the truth in his voice. “I love this island, and I do want to be a part of it. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I deserve this job. Give me a chance and I promise I will show you. Please, tell your uncle I can do this.”

  She looks at him, unblinking, and he finally manages to meet her eyes, her unexpectedly and incredibly deep gold-flecked eyes. The contact is almost physical, and something powerful, some kind of an understanding passes between them. It throws him off balance, leaving him both unsettled and strangely energized.

  After a moment, she appears to make a decision. “I’ll talk to him. But you hold up your end of the bargain. Get yourself together.”

  He is still shaken from the unexpectedness of that strange connection, but he nods. “I will. I swear.” He means it too. He will do anything to be able to come back here, to this peaceful place, where he can cook whatever he wants in a clean and well-stocked kitchen. It’s his dream life, and he will prove he is worthy of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Whispering Pines, June 2013

  Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:

  Thank you, thank you, thank you! I know you told me you make jewelry, and I know you showed me pictures, but I had no idea how exquisite it would be. I love the bracelet! I’m wearing it right now, and every time I look down at my wrist, it brings a smile to my face. Best birthday present ever! I also love the T-shirt. Cara was like, ‘Oh my god, is that the same dirty old shirt he wore all through Southeast Asia?’ and I was like, ‘Ummm, yes, but he washed it, and I’m going to sleep in it every night.’ It makes me feel closer to you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  Oh, and I was briefly really impressed at your timing. I mean, you managed to send a gift that arrived exactly on my birthday? My parents can’t even do that, and we live in the same time zone. But when I said something to Cara about it she got this weird expression on her face, and so I made her tell me the whole story. She said you contacted her weeks ago with the tracking number, and the gift actually arrived last week.

  She told me she and Sato had been watching online, and on delivery day, Sato went down to his wife’s bakery and waited for Donna, the mail carrier. He told Donna he wanted to accept the inn’s mail down there, and she refused to give it to him, even though she knows him. So he explained he needed to intercept my present and promised he would give it back to her to deliver to the inn on my actual birthday, and she said legally, she couldn’t do that. Federal law or something. So he rather annoyingly followed her on her whole route, and the second she set foot on the inn’s property, he asked if he could have the mail. She wouldn’t give it to him until they were on the front porch. So then he hid the package outside, brought in the rest of the stuff, and told me he just ran into Donna and here’s today’s mail.

  Then Sato got distracted by a maintenance issue, and while he was dealing with that, a guest found the hidden package and turned it over to Tyrell, because I (luckily) happened to be away from the desk and he was covering for me. That’s when Cara came in, super upset, and told Ty that Sato lost a special present sent to me from my Italian lover, and Ty pulled the box out and gave it to her. He was about one minute from giving it to me because he didn’t know about the hide-the-mail scheme. So Cara stuffed it down her shirt and ran out the door and went to the bakery. But by then, the bakery was closed, and Margaux wasn’t home, so Cara went all over the village looking for her, finally tracking her down at the pizza place.

  So Margaux and Sato had my present, and they were holding on to it so it could be delivered on the right day. When my birthday came around, Margaux was supposed to give the box to Donna and have her bring it (I guess Donna agreed and decided it wasn’t violating federal law to return a ‘found’ package to the addressee—I suspect cookies may have influenced her decision). But Margaux’s been kind of hormonal and forgetful lately, and she forgot. She did eventually remember and called the inn. Paddy answered, and then he got Sam (because Sam is in pretty good shape and can run fast enough) and sent him sprinting the half mile to the village to get the package, and then Sam had to hurry back and intercept Donna. Somehow, he did it, catching her right before she got to our driveway, and so Donna brought the mail into the desk and gave it . . . to Tyrell.

  See, the hole in their plan was that Paddy offers staff a paid day off on our birthdays. And nobody thought about that because this year I’m the only one with a summer birthday, so I’m the only one who gets to take advantage of it. So I wasn’t even there for the delivery, and Cara could have just had Tyrell hide my gift in his room or something without all the drama.

  Anyway, thank you. I love you, and I love my beautiful new bracelet!

  Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:

  Yes, the rest of my birthday was fabulous. Paddy got me a cake from Margaux’s bakery. It was delicious, but I think I would have preferred if it didn’t say, ‘You’re 29, Ha Ha Ha’ on top. Sammy made some honey caramel ice-cream to go with it, proving he’s not totally useless. It was some damn good ice-cream.

  Tyrell gave me a headband that he knit himself. Yes, he knits. Apparently, he picked it up while recuperating from the loss of his leg. He was stuck in bed or a wheelchair for a long time (had to wait for some other injuries to heal before he could even get crutches, much less a prosthesis) and so he took up knitting and actually got really into it. He says it’s a useful form of meditation and he can teach me, but I think I’ll pass.

  I’m going to tell you something you shouldn’t mention to Cara. I was a little disappointed in the present she gave me. It’s a framed picture of you and me on our trip. Don’t get me wrong, I love the pic. I didn’t notice when she took it. We’re sitting in a little beach café with the ocean in the background and we’re holding hands and laughing (and of course you’re wearing my new nightshirt). The reason I was disappointed was not the content, but the fact that she gave me a photo. I was kind of hoping for a sketch of you. She’s amazingly talented at drawing people. She sees things others don’t and she draws how people look on the inside (personality, not guts). I really wanted to see her impression of you, but she’s still on her art hiatus, I guess. It’s a shame.

  Anyway, Cara and I ate my birthday dinner together at the inn in the dining room. Very fancy. Then afterward we went down to my favorite bar and had a couple of drinks with our local friends. Sato even came out, and he rarely does (his wife wakes up at 3:00 a.m. to start baking, so their bedtime is super early). Tim the bartender covered my tab, and he never lets me drink for free. Somehow, he must have known it was my birthday. Maybe Ty told him, or maybe he just noticed that I was wearing a sparkly pink boa and a glittery tiara with ‘29’ on it, and he made a lucky guess. Who knows?

  It was a wonderful celebration, but it would have been more wonderful if you could have been there. I miss you. I miss you every day.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Excerpt from The Inn at Whispering Pines blog:

  Every year people ask for suggestions: What is there to do on Whispering Pines Island? How do I make the most out of my vacation experience? Let me help you out with that. I’m interviewing some of our long-term staffers over the next couple of weeks, because believe me, they know this island and they make full use of their time off. I’m starting with our talented chef, Samuel Vervaine.

  Me: “Sammy, if you had a day off on our lovely island, what would you do? What would be your perfect day?”

  Sam: “My perfect day? Well, I assume I’m staying here at the Inn at Whispering Pines, hopefully in the Lovers’ Roost, our nicest room. My girlfriend and I would wake up early—”

  Me: “Girlfriend? Who is this girlfriend? And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

  Sam: “Amy, you asked about my perfect day. If it’s a perfect day, then I have a girlfriend. This is my fantasy, so stop interrupting and stop making that face at me.”

  Me: Important takeaway from this: Ladies, Sam is straight and single.

  Sam (clea
ring his throat): “So . . . we’d wake up early and head down to breakfast. I guess I’m not the one running the omelet station on this day, but I’d probably hop back there and make our eggs anyway. After breakfast, we would walk into town and rent some kayaks from Matteo at Cap’n Rentals and pick up some pastries to go at Margaux’s Corner Bakery and Coffee Shoppe. We’d paddle out to Windworn Pines Island, hike around a bit, have a small picnic, and then come back. We’d go out for a late lunch, either Chicago-style pizza at Antonio’s, or fish and chips from Harbor Snax, depending on what we’re craving.”

  Me: “That sounds lovely, though you should also consider the Village Diner. Have you had their burgers? But anyway, where to after lunch?”

  Sam: “We’d walk around and explore all the art galleries and shops. I’d probably buy my girlfriend some unique jewelry . . .”

  Me: (OMG LADIES WHY IS THIS MAN SINGLE????)

  Sam: “. . . Afterwards, we’d be tired, so back to the inn, where we’d schedule an in-room couple’s massage from Ladli and Jay. I suppose we could have gone to their spa, Holistic Haven, but since they’re willing to come to the inn, we’d take advantage of that service.”

  Me: “Sorry, I have to interrupt you here. Sam, this is a PG-rated website. Please, no post-massage, pre-dinner plans.”

  Sam (clearing his throat again): “Dinner, of course, is at the inn. Ordinarily, I’d be cooking the delicious prix fixe meal, but since this is my day off and I wholly trust my amazing kitchen staff, I’d be there just as a diner and wouldn’t even peek in to check on them

  Me: (Ha! Every single member of Sam’s entire staff assures me this is a lie. Sam would probably insist that he and his date eat in the kitchen so he could supervise during his romantic meal.)

  Sam: “After dinner, we’d take a box of wine out to the hot tub and look at the stars. Amy, I said box. I know the policies on glass in the pool areas, so stop looking at me like that. If it’s a clear night, maybe we’d hike out to Paddy’s telescope platform later for one of his stargazing talks. Then, well, back to the room, and you said you didn’t want to hear about that.”

  Me: So there you have it folks, a perfect day, lots of fun island activities and dining experiences. And, of course, now that we all know Sam is single and has this romantic day planned, we’re going to have to form a line. Behind me, please.

  “How much of this is true?” Cara asked after reading over Amy’s latest blog post.

  Amy peeked out from the door of the staff office. “Does it matter? It’s all marketing,” she replied. “It’s part of my employee interview series. Ty’s will run in two weeks, right before PrideFest, and I’ll include a sexy photo of him, if I can get him to take his shirt off. Sato’s going to talk about family friendly stuff and the Fourth of July. I’m taking the new dad angle on that one. You’re last. You’re going to talk about Gallery Row before the big art festival in August.”

  “But are you actually conducting interviews?” Cara’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. Did Sam really say any of this? Really? This was so different than anything she would have expected from a man whose normal day consisted of work-gym-nap-work-drink-sleep. She always thought of him as more practical than romantic, so she couldn’t quite imagine him planning anything like this, though it did make for a nice fantasy.

  Just then the subject of the blogpost walked through the lobby and came around to go into the staff office.

  “Amy, get off the computer. I gotta check a recipe issue,” Sam said, but then he stopped, looking at Cara’s screen. “Hey, is that my interview?”

  Cara felt his hand on her shoulder as he leaned in to read the post. His face was so near to hers she could see the tiniest smudge of white flour on his cheek. She fought the urge to wipe it off. She tried not to stare at his lips and the adorable way he moved them as he read. It wasn’t fair, having him so close, not after reading about this perfect date. She inhaled deeply, trying to clear her mind, but it didn’t help. The smell of fresh herbs combined with the warmth of his hand triggered a surge of something running through her body. Desire, maybe? No, she couldn’t allow that. Like he always said, they were just friends. There was no attraction left, at least not on his part.

  She told herself to stop thinking about him, even though he was right there, right there touching her. Stop thinking about his face next to her, so kissably close. Stop imagining kayaking out to one of the other islands, stop imagining holding his hand in an art gallery, and especially stop trying to picture what he would look like rising from a massage table and removing the sheet . . . Stop it, Cara! Just stop it!

  “This . . . is not exactly what I said,” he told Amy.

  Amy gave one of her dramatic sighs. “You said, and I quote, ‘Amy, I don’t care. Go kayaking, have some pizza, do the art gallery thing. Whatever. Write something about that.’ So I did. I made you sound awesome, by the way. You should be thanking me. You might get laid from a post like this. Really.”

  He laughed. “Okay, fine. Thanks for making me sound awesome. I actually wouldn’t mind spending a day like that with the right woman.”

  Was it Cara’s imagination, or did Sam’s fingers tighten on her shoulder as he said that? He stood up abruptly, taking his hand away, but the heat from his palm still lingered.

  She skimmed through the post again, wondering why Amy would write something so flattering about someone she didn’t even particularly like. A sneaking suspicion arose, and she clicked over to the inn calendar to verify it. “Amy, did you happen to check this week’s reservations before you posted this?”

  Amy grinned maliciously. “Of course I did. I told you, I know marketing.”

  “Excellent timing,” Cara grinned back. Poor Sam. Amy must still be mad at him about Phil’s funeral. She did tend to hold a grudge.

  “Wait, what’s the timing? What’s so funny?” Sam called out. He had gone into the office but was evidently listening.

  “Isn’t there a staff meeting today? I guess you’ll find out,” Amy said, with an innocent expression on her face.

  Cara laughed to herself. Sam should have known better than to get on Amy’s bad side.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sam hit the gym in the village for his usual workout, but he lost track of time and ended up late to the biweekly all-staff meeting. He tried to slip in the back unobtrusively, but everyone turned around when he entered, and most of them laughed. “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing, Sam,” Cara said from the front of the room. “We were just talking about Amy’s recent blog post, and the schedule this week, and I mentioned that many of our rooms are booked for the annual Gabby Gals Mother and Daughter Weekend. For some reason, everyone thought of you.”

  Sam’s stomach immediately dropped. It was the one weekend he dreaded most. The Gabby Gals were a group of women who had met in college some decades ago and now planned a yearly get together with each other and their offspring. They showed up every year for a loud, boisterous reunion, where they became cheerfully intoxicated and way too sociable for Sam’s comfort.

  “Now for those of you who are new this season,” Cara continued, “especially those new gentlemen, you may experience an unexpected level of guest friendliness.”

  “In other words, hide your packages,” someone up front—possibly one of the prep cooks—muttered loudly.

  “We do not condone that sort of misbehavior, and I talked to the organizers about it again this year,” Paddy announced. “But yes, be on the lookout for wandering hands.”

  “Excuse me, I have a question,” Tyrell spoke up. “Why was everyone laughing about Sam? Fill me in on the joke.” He looked to the back of the room. “Sorry, roomie. I need to know.”

  “It’s like this, Ty.” Cara tossed her hair and changed her voice to a falsetto. “Oh, Chef Sam, your arms are so strong from whipping all that cream. What else can you whip?”

  Then Yadira, the grandmotherly woman who oversaw the housekeeping department jumped in. “Oh, Chef Sam, instead of a plat
e, I want to eat my meal off your abs.”

  Another one from Dina, who up until that very moment had been Sam’s favorite waitress. “Oh my goodness, Chef Sam, this sausage is so amazing! Do you have a bigger one I can put in my mouth?”

  “Okay, okay you’ve made your point.” Sam’s face was so red he felt hot. “This is the worst weekend of the summer. They harass the hell out of me every year. It’s awful. And just a note to all my restaurant staff—anyone that makes a joke about it is volunteering to clean all the grease traps after dinner service tonight.”

  “Oh, Chef Sam, I’ve got a grease trap for you,” Amy yelled, and shrugged when he glared at her. “What? I don’t work for you. You can’t make me do anything.”

  “I’d call it the best weekend,” corrected Francisco, who was one of Sam’s line cooks. “I don’t mind the attention. Buncha drunk ladies. They all come from money too. Nothing wrong with a little sugar-mama action.”

  “Let me remind you then, of my no-consorting-with-guests policy,” Paddy said. “Come on, people. These ladies come to relax, blow off some steam, and maybe blow . . . sorry, I was caught up in the moment and was about to get inappropriate. Listen, if any of their behavior makes anyone uncomfortable, report it to me. I’ll do what I can. You know I don’t tolerate harassment of my staff.”

  After the meeting was finally over, Sam made his way to Cara. “So the timing on that blog post? I’m guessing Amy’s mad at me about something. Is this because I wouldn’t make my wait staff sing happy birthday to her last week? Anyway, the jokes on her. I’m taking the weekend off. It’s a family emergency. I just heard about it, I swear. In fact, I need to go right now and buy my plane ticket to anywhere but here.”