He pulled away and sucked in a breath, then said, “You’re staying right here with me tonight.” He moved his delicious, powerful mouth to her neck, and Eloise leaned her head back and held onto his shoulders as he kissed her.
He growled and lifted her onto the counter behind her, and she whispered, “Your kids.” Aaron brought his head up. Their eyes met, and Eloise giggled as he smiled, the look in his eyes absolute perfection.
He was hungry for her, and Eloise couldn’t wait until Billie and Grace went to bed.
“Dad,” Billie said, and Aaron spun around. Eloise slipped off the counter, turned back to the sink, and ran her hand through her hair in one fluid motion.
“Yeah?” Aaron left the kitchen in a hurry as Billie asked him about going to get ice cream with Addie and Brandon the following night.
Hours later, she felt cherished under his touch, and he whispered, “Eloise?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
She stilled, and when he kissed her this time, it was a whole new type of kiss that reminded Eloise of a slow, summer evening, where nothing could be rushed and there was nothing to do but make love to a beautiful man.
Chapter Eleven
Kelli tugged at the bottom of her blouse, her nerves like a tangible being in front of her. They sounded like the beating of insect wings inside her head, and she hoped she’d hear the secretary call her name when it was her turn to interview for the teacher’s aide position.
Robin had gotten Parker registered for school last week, and he’d gone to his first day that morning. She’d been looking for a job since the dinnervention, as the cove had beach yoga studios that were sitting empty. She didn’t want to wait for the business license and then start drumming up her own business.
She just needed a job, and she needed one face. She’d already had a couple of other interviews, which meant she’d missed the Wednesday lunch with Robin, Alice, Eloise last week, and she’d told Eloise she couldn’t come help with the inn that day because of this interview.
She really wanted to help her friend with the Cliffside Inn, and she’d been up there once for about an hour to help Eloise hang the curtains in the caretaker’s suite.
But she really needed a job, and Eloise had said to take care of herself first. Kelli was trying to do that, despite the number of times Julian had called since she’d left New Jersey.
Apparently, he’d thought she’d only been kidding. He’d been surprised when she hadn’t returned last weekend so Parker could start fourth grade at the elementary school he’d been attending since kindergarten.
She’d asked him if he was going to break-up with Tiffany, and when he’d said no, she’d said, “Then I’m staying in Five Island Cove. That is not a lifestyle I’m interested in, Julian.”
“You’re giving up on us,” he’d said.
Those words had ignited an anger in her that still burned even now, days later. She was not the one who’d gone out and found someone else to love. Julian had dictated everything in their marriage from the very first day they’d said I-do, and Kelli hadn’t had any power over her own life in far too long.
“Kelli Watkins?” the secretary called, and Kelli pushed her thoughts away. They only poisoned her mind and heart, and that was the last thing she needed right now.
She put a smile on her face, stood, and shouldered her purse. “Good morning,” she said to the woman, though she’d checked in with her twenty minutes ago.
“Dr. Pratt is ready for you.” She led Kelli through the door and down a short hall to the principal’s office. Everything in the junior high felt clinical. There were no posters like she’d seen in the elementary school. Even the people seemed more serious, and Kelli wiped the smile from her face as she entered the office.
Dr. Pratt was a tall woman, easily a size ten, and Kelli connected to her immediately because she wasn’t rail-thin. “Good morning,” the woman said, though she didn’t stand or really look at Kelli at all.
“Kelli Watkins for the English attendant,” the secretary said, placing a paper on Dr. Pratt’s desk.
“Thank you, Barb.” Dr. Pratt finally looked away from her computer and picked up the paper. “Sorry,” she said. “Excuse my distraction; I’m dealing with a representative from the school board, and I have to watch for his email.”
She looked at Kelli then, her face brightening with a smile. “You grew up on Five Island Cove?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kelli said. “Bell Island. My mother still lives there.”
“You’ve been teaching yoga for nine years.”
“Yes,” Kelli said. “In New Jersey.”
Dr. Pratt didn’t ask her what brought her back to Five Island Cove, and a measure of relief tore through Kelli. She did ask about college, and why she wanted to work at the junior high.
Kelli hadn’t been to college, and she glossed over that part of her history quickly. “Honestly,” she said. “I have a nine-year-old son in fourth grade that I’m bringing to Diamond Island every morning. I’d like to find a job here with similar hours to his school schedule, so I don’t have to ask my mother to watch him.” Or anyone else. “And you had several jobs open. I can do any of them, Dr. Pratt. I learn fast, and I’m smart, even if I didn’t go to college.”
She forced herself to stop talking. But she wanted the woman to know she was serious about the job. Her first couple of interviews hadn’t gone well, because she’d spent too long talking about her weaknesses and not her strengths. Alice had told her last night to say she was smart and could learn, “because you are, Kelli, and you can. Lead with what’s amazing about you.”
Dr. Pratt smiled and nodded. “Of that, I have no doubt, Kelli. And you don’t have to call me ma’am.” She glanced at her computer again, sighed, and stood. “I think you’d be amazing in our CCHE class, if you’re game to do something besides English.”
“I’m game,” Kelli said, standing too. “What’s CCHE?”
“Computers, Career, and Home Economics,” Dr. Pratt said. “The teacher does four or five units; one on coding, one on cooking and foods, one on personality testing for careers, one on personal finances and family. Things like that.”
Kelli could probably learn a lot in a class like that, and she wasn’t in junior high. “Sure,” she said.
“The teacher is Mrs. Hewes, and she’s got a lot going on.” Dr. Pratt led Kelli down a hall, made some turns, went up some stairs, and down another hall. Kelli wouldn’t be able to get out of the building without a map, despite having attended the school thirty-plus years ago.
“Hyedi,” Dr. Pratt said, upon opening the door. An elderly woman set a cookie sheet down on the mock kitchen counter and turned toward the door. All the students did too, and Kelli suddenly felt so out of place in her pencil skirt and blouse—the nicest clothes she owned. She’d bought them with her credit card three days ago, because up until now, her work wardrobe had consisted of tight leggings, sports bras, and tank tops.
She tried to smile, but she wasn’t quite sure she pulled it off.
“This is Miss Watkins,” Dr. Pratt said. “She’s going to shadow you for a class period or two and see if she’d like to be your assistant this year.” She beamed from Mrs. Hewes and back to Kelli, nodded, and started to step past Kelli again. “Good luck, Miss Watkins. Come find me before you leave and let me know if you still want the job.”
She’d taken one step through the door when Kelli came to her senses. “Wait,” she said, interrupting Mrs. Hewes, who’d gone on with her lesson. She held up her hand in apology and ducked out into the hall with Dr. Pratt.
“Come find you?”
“If you want the job, it’s yours,” Dr. Pratt said. “But you really should sit through a class period or two to see what you’ll be dealing with.”
Kelli swallowed and nodded. “Okay.” She squared her shoulders as she faced the door again. Dr. Pratt’s heels clicked down the hall away from her as Kelli reached for the door handle.
She
needed a job. She’d take it without attending a couple of classes, because no one else was calling. How hard could CCHE be?
She opened the door and stepped back inside to find the students had gotten up from the chairs facing the demo kitchen and were now grouped together in their own kitchens.
As Kelli stood there, Mrs. Hewes hobbled over to her and said, “They’re making oatmeal chocolate chip cookies today,” in a high-pitched, feeble voice. “We just go around and make sure they don’t light anything on fire.”
Kelli looked at her with alarm pulling through her. The older woman didn’t seem to be joking, and a boy called, “Mrs. H, we’ve got a problem here,” and off the lady bustled to see what it was.
Kelli went with her, because she might as well see what she was dealing with before she accepted the job.
“It was insane,” Kelli said later that night. She smiled and shook her head as Alice opened a bagged salad. Her daughter, Ginny, had put together a pot of pasta with shrimp and crawfish, and a moment later, she said, “Let’s eat.”
“Baking soda everywhere,” Kelli continued. “One girl managed to light paper towels on fire when she tried to use them as oven mitts.” Kelli picked up a plate and held it out for Ginny to serve her. She smiled at the girl. “Thanks, Ginny.”
“When I took Foods,” she said. “There was this boy in my class who literally lit everything on fire.”
“You’re kidding.”
“The teacher put him on making lemonade once, and he managed to char a lemon to—he said—add depth of flavor.” She giggled and shook her head. “He was hopeless in the kitchen.”
“So a lot like me,” Alice said with a smile. She put down the tongs she’d been using to serve herself some salad. “I can open a bag of salad though, so that’s something.”
“David probably would’ve left it on the stove and melted the plastic bag,” Ginny said, serving her twin brother.
“Some boys do it on purpose,” Charlie said. “They’re idiots.”
“Oh, because you’re so mature?” Ginny asked.
“I know enough to do really well in stuff like Foods,” he said with a smile.
“Why’s that?” Alice asked, a slightly narrowed squint on her eyes.
“Because,” Charlie said, taking a very small tong-full of salad. “That’s where the girls decide if you’re worth dating or not.”
Ginny burst out laughing, and Alice rolled her eyes.
“What?” Charlie asked, smiling too. “I’m not stupid. Girls are so judgmental, and they all want a guy who can cook.” He shrugged. “I didn’t make the rules. I just try to play by them when it comes to the ladies.”
“Okay, never say ladies again,” Ginny said.
“Okay, never hold Robbie’s hand again,” Charlie shot back, glancing from Ginny to Alice.
Kelli enjoyed the banter as she put some pasta on Parker’s plate and helped him get some salad too. She watched Alice shoot Charlie a look that said stop it, and she noticed the way Ginny clammed right up.
So there was something going on with a boy named Robbie. Kelli did not envy Alice—or anyone with teenagers. She’d take her quiet eight-year-old any day of the week, that was for sure.
The five of them sat down to dinner, and Kelli looked at Alice and her twins. “Thanks for having us,” she said.
“Sure,” Alice said.
“The Internet guy is coming tomorrow,” Kelli said. “Then we’ll be out of your hair.” The truth was, she hadn’t invaded Alice’s family since moving into the beach house last week. But she didn’t have the Internet yet, and she needed to do some heavy research that required more than what she could do on her phone.
After dinner, she sent Parker out to the pool with Ginny and Charlie, and Alice said she could go into the office and use the computer for as long as she wanted.
Kelli didn’t want Alice to think she wasn’t welcome to sit with her, but she didn’t invite her in.
“I have a case I need to review,” Alice said. “I’ll be in my front office.” She glided away, turning right and heading toward the foyer, where her giant “front office” stood.
Kelli’s whole house—which did not have even one home office, let alone two—could’ve fit in Alice’s kitchen, dining room, and living room.
She hadn’t had any of her friends over yet, because she was still treading water and trying to keep her head above the tide. She would eventually, though with just the three of them, plus Kelli and Parker, and the house would be full. If Robin and Alice brought their children, and Eloise brought Aaron and his girls, they wouldn’t fit at all.
Kelli supposed that was what the beachfront was for. They could easily set up tables and chairs out there—if she owned any tables and chairs.
She closed the door behind her and woke the computer. If anyone came in, they’d be able to see what she was looking at on the giant screen. She thought Alice had done that on purpose, so she could walk in and see what her teenagers were doing at any moment on the computer.
Kelli felt more exposed than she’d like, but she’d taken the ferry here and interrupted Alice’s dinner with her twins for a very specific purpose.
She’d done some rudimentary searches on Zach Watkins and as many variations of the name that she could think of. Zachary. Zackary. Zach and Zack. She’d even taken the K off, and then the C out.
On her phone, she hadn’t been able to find anything linking any version of his name to her father’s name. She’d seen the birth certificate he’d produced a few months ago, but she hadn’t kept it. She hadn’t even made a copy of it.
Aaron Sherman had seen it too, as had Kelli’s friends, but she hadn’t asked any of them what they remembered about it.
She knew her father’s name had been left off of it, and Zach had claimed that his mother had only told him who his biological father was, because she was now in a nursing home in Maine.
Kelli pulled a small notebook out of her purse and got to work. She needed to figure out who Zach really was, where he’d really come from, and what to do about him.
She hadn’t pressed charges or filed a complaint against him, so Aaron had kept him until he was sober, and then he’d released him. As far as she knew, he was right back in that apartment above the Chinese restaurant.
Kelli hadn’t tried to contact him again; he hadn’t tried to call or text her. He’d stayed away from her mother.
“You should let this go,” she told herself. Something nagged in the back of her mind, and she needed to know what his end game was. She needed to protect her mother, herself, and her son.
She put in the search terms to find the art curators at galleries in Maine and started combing through them. A lot of the nicer places had full-color photographs, and several listed their previous curators of larger collections.
She got lost in the art for several minutes, finally pulling herself away from the Dead Sea Scrolls at a coastal museum, and the watercolor butterfly collection at a gallery on the border of Maine and Canada. She reminded herself what she was doing—and that she was almost out of time.
Zach had found out about the Glassworks somehow. She leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to remember everything about him, as well as everything they’d ever talked about.
His mother was getting older. She was in a nursing home. His aunt had given him the letters from their father from the house. He’d been an art curator and loved to sculpt.
She switched gears and put in her father’s name along with the word Zach.
Pictures always came up at the top of the search, and for the most part, Kelli had ignored those whenever she did Internet searches. She wasn’t interested in images or videos—until she saw her father’s smiling face.
She froze, her heart pounding like a tribal drum. It boomed in her ears, and she physically felt it vibrating through her body.
Her father had left Five Island Cove before his death, and he’d done a lot of things off-island before that. He’d been commissioned for
big glass pieces in New York City and the White House.
She’d seen a couple of the photos before, because her father had been so proud of his appearance at the White House, and when she clicked on the one of Guy Watkins and the President of the United States, she could feel her father’s pride coming right through the screen.
He’d told her that story so many times, and she wondered what he’d seen in these pictures after he’d lost everything in the cove.
“After Joel Shields ruined him,” Kelli said, her voice full of bitterness. As quickly as it had come, it fled, and Kelli clicked away from the picture she’d seen many times.
She clicked on the word images and let them load. There were plenty she hadn’t seen, including several of her father hiding his face as he got into cars or holding a newspaper over his head to shield himself from the cameras as he went through a doorway and into a brick building somewhere, in some city.
The headlines hadn’t been kind to him, that was for sure, and now that Kelli knew more about what had really happened with his business and the Glassworks, she wondered what he’d felt during those last years of his life.
If it had happened to her, she’d want the world to know that nothing they’d thought was really true. Yet she saw no attempts by her father to set the record straight. None whatsoever.
She scrolled down, scanning the pictures. They started to be about other Guy’s and other Watkins’s and maybe even other Zach’s.
Then her eye caught on a photograph with three people she recognized.
A younger version of her father.
Zach Watkins—almost exactly as Kelli could picture him in her mind.
Rueben Shields—Kristen’s son, who now lived in the cove with his wife and ran the lighthouse.
Kelli sucked in a breath, but other than that, she couldn’t move. Her mind raced.
She needed to print this picture, and she managed to right-click on it and send it to Alice’s printer.
Then she clicked on the picture to get the article open. The headline read Local architect partners with renowned artist and art student.
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