Hannah reached up and tightened the elastic band holding her hair up in a ponytail. “You should have trusted me to be okay with knowing what was going on.”
A smile came to her lips. “Right back at you, kid.”
“Point taken,” Hannah said, the words rode on a little grin. “I’m going for a walk, Mom. I told Jeremy I’d stop by and let him know how I’m doing.”
“Have you had time to process your thoughts about Jeremy?”
Hannah shook her head, bunching her mouth sideways. “I’m too overwhelmed to really sort anything out. But, there’s something in here.” She placed a hand to her chest. “And it’s never really gone away. What that means, I guess time will tell.”
“Have you talked with Ian?”
“Yes.”
“How’s he doing?”
Hannah blew out a breath. “Truthfully, in one way he seems relieved, though mad as hell in another.”
“Mad?”
“Ian likes to call the shots.” She smiled ruefully. “Trust me; he’ll be the first one of us to recover.”
Hannah double-checked her ponytail before breezing out the door.
****
It was all in the timing and Benny had always sucked at that. He stood at the ancient stove, hovering over the small, dented pot, stirring the milk and grated coconut with a warped rubber spatula.
He hadn’t tried the recipe for more years than he could count. Hell, finding it shoved in that old box of his mother’s had been a feat of its own. He’d had plenty of time to abandon the spontaneous cockamamie idea, but no. Once he started to rummage through the cards and clippings, he couldn’t stop himself.
The dry ingredients were no problem. He was good with measurement. That’s how he lived too, he mused as he scooped flour into a tin cup. Exactitudes. Just what’s needed. No more, because more guaranteed a flop.
He sighed as he dumped the white powder into a glass bowl. He refilled the cup and dumped that measurement on top of the first, forming a powdery soft mound.
He grasped his old hand mixer. The outdated avocado-green tool was one of the few items that actually belonged to him. He sunk the beaters into the softened butter and pushed the “on” button. This was the tricky part, the one he’d never gotten right. Timing.
Timing is everything, his mother used to say. He thought of her in her floral dress. Her jet black hair tied up in a knot, hand at her hip, eyes locked on her project as she created another culinary masterpiece. Her timing had always been impeccable, only failing her once—she’d died too soon.
Benny liked making quick breads and muffins. He was good with the cookie recipes handed down from his mom, too. All had become second nature. But in those recipes were margins for error. He could make do with the ingredients of those concoctions and they always turned out pretty damned good. They were easy.
You’ve got to accept what you’re good at. That was his motto.
He thought of what he would be doing once the cake was out of the oven. He had to tell Sarah the news about the permits being issued, and yet he was reluctant to see her. He couldn’t look into those amber eyes right now knowing that he would soon be walking away.
He’d thought of calling her about the permits, but that was just chicken shit. He breathed in deeply, letting the air expend through his mouth. She deserved a face-to-face visit.
He concentrated, or tried to. He still had the frosting to finish. His mind consistently reverted to thoughts of Sarah—of looking into the eyes of the woman he’d managed to disappoint in record time. Disappointing women, he mused with a shake to his head, accept what you’re good at.
Later, with the cake cooling on racks, Benny knew he’d waited long enough. He changed his ingredient-soiled shirt, ran a comb through his hair, and splashed water on his face.
On his way to her inn Benny tried to practice his words. But, how do you tell a woman goodbye when you feel like this? He swore aloud. No more, he vowed. Done.
He reflected on the Key West brochure. He recalled his notion to retire there, maybe bake for a coffee shop, hell maybe even open a coffee shop.
That far away no one would know he used to be a cop. They wouldn’t know, or care, that he’d had a life before he’d stepped foot onto their shore. It would be so easy.
That had been before Sal convinced him to go in on the Ronan’s Harbor beach house partnership. That had been before Sarah Grayson.
His brother was an opportunistic scam artist and that’s just what Benny felt like as he pulled his car up in front of The Cornelia Inn. He closed his eyes. He could not erase the memory of last night.
He could still feel Sarah in his arms, the softness of her skin on his fingertips. If he’d had any sense he’d have left before it got to that—but he’d known it would happen, at least at some visceral place—and that had been his crime.
Benny rang the doorbell and waited. Even after variations of what he should say had rolled around in his mind time and again he didn’t know exactly what he would utter. The words lodged in his throat.
Sarah opened the door and stood staring at him. She was a vision in a dark green sweater, her hair wavy and soft. She bit her lip.
He felt a pang somewhere just at the glimpse of a tooth pressing down onto the softness of her pink lower lip. She’d nibbled his the night before, had whispered she liked his mouth.
“Hey there,” she said. A tentative smile formed on her lips, reaching her eyes. Those eyes.
“Hey there,” he echoed. He sounded hollow to his own ears, as if his entire chest cavity was empty, void of what belonged inside, a heart.
“Sarah, I’ve got some things to tell you,” he said.
****
A jolt shot through her. Just seeing Benny at her door did that to her now. At the sight of him, an image of their entwined bodies popped into her head and stole her breath.
But, there was something else, some unease. She felt it, and saw it in his dark eyes. She took a step from the threshold and stood beside him on the porch. She softly closed the door behind her.
“Hannah just got back from a walk. She’s inside. Can we talk out here?”
“Sure.”
She moved to the top step and sat down. Benny sat in place beside her. She didn’t look at him, but rather focused her eyes on a patch of dead grass that would need to be reseeded.
“I went to see John Reynolds,” he began. “I told him the whole story and he’s going to deal with the zoning guy for his involvement in Clyde Stone’s plan.”
“Good.” She turned to him. “Thank you.”
“And he’s revoking the complaints my brother and I filed. He’s going to put a rush on the permits. You shouldn’t have any trouble now, Sarah. It’s over.”
There was no joy in his eyes. She could feel that there was something more. Whatever that was, she was sure she didn’t want to hear it.
“Benny, the wedding’s off.”
“What?”
She explained while he silently listened, his eyes boring into hers.
“Whoa,” he said. “How’s Hannah?”
“She’s kind of shell-shocked at her own decision, I think.” Sarah shrugged a shoulder. “We all are.”
“Where does the kid with the opal play into this?”
“He’s a part of it,” Sarah said. “He was the eye-opener, I think. Will she wind up with Jeremy? Who knows? But, my daughter’s got plenty of time to figure it all out.”
“You’re a good mom,” he said. His voice was soft and it rang with something that sounded sad.
“Did you hear anything from the insurance company?”
“They were here earlier,” Sarah nodded. “The news is good, well kind of. Not sure what’s involved yet, but The Cornelia Inn is not going to need a wrecking ball any time soon. Turns out there is a lot of water damage, but it’s all fixable. You know, in time, that is.”
“Good news, then. And the cost? Did they say if it’ll be covered?”
She nodded her hea
d. “Yes, thankfully, my coverage qualifies the repairs. Minus the deductible, but I consider it a godsend.”
“So, what next?” Benny’s mouth turned into a lopsided grin. “Any clue how long before you’ll be back in business?”
She shook her head. She did not know the timetable for when her inn would be fully restored and ready for vacationers again. There was still a host of things she didn’t know, including the reason for Benny’s mood and the energy he projected.
She hoped silently that it had to do with regret for leaving Ronan’s Harbor, perhaps even a change of mind. But, somehow she knew it was not that. No. She dared not even hope.
“Sarah, I…” Benny rested his elbows on his knees as he stared straight out ahead of him as though he could see what he was about to say written on the row of hedges along the front of the property.
Sarah looked there too and saw only the greenery with a few tiny new growths sprouting up from last year’s trim. Sarah let her gaze fall to his profile as he continued to stare outward. Perhaps it was the future he looked for, searched for. She was in that club, too.
“Benny, whatever you’ve got to say…”
He turned to her. The pain in his countenance shot through her like a bullet.
“Last night was”—his Adam’s apple rose and then fell as he swallowed—”so nice, great really.”
Watching him trip over his words and struggle for them wrenched her. Her hand itched to reach for his. But, she didn’t move.
He shook his head as though trying to cast away an image in his mind. “But, I’m not sure it was the smartest thing, you know, for us to do.”
His eyes pleaded with her to say something, but she was beyond words. What does that mean? She wanted to shout it at him, but she had no breath, no voice. She waited.
“Believe me,” he said. His voice suddenly sounded more robust as if he was trying to convince her, or maybe himself, that he was right. “You don’t want me to be in your life. I’d make you miserable. It’s what I do.”
She couldn’t stop the tears from filling her eyes, but she’d be damned if she’d let them spill. She pressed her thumb and index finger against her lids and massaged away the evidence of her blasted vulnerability.
“I’m leaving,” he continued. “I’ve got to be out of the cottage by Memorial Day.”
“So you’ve said,” she managed.
“Trust me, Sarah; this is the right thing for you.”
Trust him? Ever since Benny Bendetto had crossed her path she should have known not to trust him. She knew that veering off that path had been her own stupidity. She couldn’t even blame him. But her heart crackled into tiny pieces anyway.
“Well,” she said after a deep breath. “I agree that your leaving is the right thing.” The tears refilled her eyes. “For both of us.”
His lips parted as though he were about to say more, but just as quickly they closed again. He gave one short nod and then stood. “I should go,” he said.
She stood too, on jelly-filled legs. She put a casual hand on the banister. “I’ve got to get back inside.” She motioned her head toward the front door. “Lots of details still to tackle.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Goodbye, Benny.” She turned away. She didn’t care how long it was until Memorial Day. She wouldn’t see him again.
She didn’t wait for his retreat, but strode on those wobbly legs as though walking an imaginary line painted across the floorboards. She closed the door and heard the latch click. At least she was the first to walk away.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Back at the cottage Benny broke off a piece of the cooled cake and popped it into his mouth.
He’d done it. He’d managed to replicate his mother’s recipe. But, he hadn’t bothered with the frosting. He’d lost the desire. He pitched the cake into the garbage and closed the lid.
He went into the living room and stared at the storage cartons still sitting in a line along the front wall. The packing tape had been torn free and he’d need to reapply new strips when he left.
He had a couple of drawers full of clothes, his toiletries, some of his other stuff he had taken out, but not a whole hell of a lot. He could be packed up in no time. There was no way in hell he could wait until the end of May. Not a chance. If he left now it would be as if he hadn’t even been to Ronan’s Harbor in the first place. Gone without a trace.
****
Sarah climbed the stairs to Gigi’s loft and rapped hard on the purple-painted door. When her friend answered, bright smile on her face, eyes expectant, Sarah blurted the question she had on her mind. “What time is it?”
“Did your watch battery die, honey?” Gigi asked as Sarah breezed in past her.
“No. I just need a witness,” Sarah said. She was out of breath, and for more reason than the trot it had taken for her to get here. It was the current state of her existence that sucked the air out of her.
“Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
Sarah plopped onto the couch.
“Obviously something’s up. You breathe, I’ll talk. Here’s what I already know. The wedding’s off. The inn’s not a knock-down but it needs some major help. You slept with the Rottweiler and it was—what adjective did you use?—oh, yes, it was awesome. Have I got it so far?”
“He’s gone.”
Gigi sat on the easy chair opposite Sarah. “What do you mean gone?”
“He’s leaving. Just going away.”
“But, what about his house?”
“It’s sold. New owners take over on June first.”
“And, what about you and him?”
Sarah snorted. “You mean me? There’s no me and him. And you know what? I’m fine. I really am.” Sarah caught herself pounding her fist on her chest as if she was trying to restart her stalled heart. “I’m more than fine. I’m relieved. I am. Glad even.”
“You don’t sound glad.”
“Well I am!” Sarah clapped her mouth shut after shouting. “I’m sorry, Gigi. I just think he’s a stupid ass. And, I’m glad to not be in the company of a man like him. I have enough things to worry about these days. Like what am I going to do to earn a living until I can resume business at the inn?”
Gigi blew out a big breath. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. So, wait, what time is it?” Sarah looked at her friend.
“It’s four-forty.”
“Good, nice easy number. Four-forty. I like it. Yes. Okay.”
Gigi scooted close and locked her gaze onto Sarah’s. “Honey, can I just remind you that I’m the screwball in this relationship? We can’t both be nuts.”
“This is the minute, the very second, that I start over. A, no more bullshit, and B, no more crap. I’m in charge of me and what happens. What do you have to drink around here?”
“White or red?”
“Red.”
Gigi left the room and returned quickly with two glasses of red wine. She handed one to Sarah then sat beside her.
Sarah held her glass up toward Gigi’s. “Let’s toast four-forty and my emancipation from the bonds of the last few months.”
“Wait.” Gigi lowered her glass. “Let me say something first. Sarah, I know how much you’ve had to deal with in a very condensed time. It’s been a lot of upheaval.”
“You think?”
“And…” Gigi said, ignoring Sarah’s snarky comment. “And, I’ve been your friend for a long time. The woman sitting here on my couch is not the Sarah I first met. You’re a totally new person.”
“You’re damned right I am.”
“But, that didn’t happen at four-forty today, honey. That happened the day you got that first letter. You know what? That letter may have delivered bad news, but it also delivered you to yourself.”
Sarah felt a lump form in her throat. She pulled air into her lungs. Her mouth was dry, the swallow was harsh. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Gigi touched her knee.
“You’ve taken all this c
raziness by the horns and have wrestled it to the ground. You’ve won every single battle, Sarah. That’s what’s awesome, pal. That.”
Gigi took Sarah’s hand into her own. “Benny’s the first, maybe the only, man that you’ve cared enough about to be mad at, disappointed over, given yourself to—despite the odds and the circumstances. If you really think it’s better that he’s gone, then I’ll toast that. But, if you’re lying to yourself, then do something besides check the time.”
“You’re wrong.” Sarah felt tears again come to her eyes. This time she left them alone. Let them freely spill in their own way and in their own time.
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are. About one thing, Gigi. You are wrong.”
“Oh yeah? About what?”
“You’re not the screwball in this relationship.”
“Okay,” Gigi said happily. She held up her glass. “Now we can toast.”
****
Benny dreaded Sal’s response when he told his brother the cottage would be empty until it closed with the new owner. But, that was tough shit. The fine captain had better know better than to argue the point.
For the first time in their lives, Benny was calling the shots. Sal sure as hell wouldn’t want his baby brother blowing any more whistles on this fiasco at this stage of the game; so he would like it that Benny was leaving, or he could lump it.
Benny sat on the indented cushion of the old sofa contemplating his next move. An image of Key West popped in his head. He saw himself driving over the long, water-flanked bridges as he approached the island. Could he really do it? Just up and go?
He sighed. Sure he could. Why not? He lived a nice uncluttered existence sans excess baggage. He’d have plenty of dough once the cottage closed. He closed his eyes. Far-fetched or not it was a sweet, uncomplicated plan.
He went into the kitchen for a beer, popped the cap, and took a long pull. His mind went back to where he did not want it to go—Sarah. It would be a long time before he’d forget the look in her eyes when he’d told her he was closing the door to any further relationship with her.
Even if it was for her benefit, and he knew damned well the day would come when she’d be glad for it, it still sucked to see that disappointment taking residence within the flecks of her amber eyes.
Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) Page 22