Plunk! She jumped as a basket of food dropped on the table in front of her. The memory fled as quickly as she had from Huck on prom night.
He sat across from her and wasted no time digging into his meal. The vibrant red of the steamed lobster shell made her regret turning down his offer. She concentrated on the roaring waves slamming into the cliff below instead of her growling stomach.
Huck took a sip of his soda and ran a napkin over his lips. “So how’ya been, Arianne?”
Making small talk before he cut her throat. Nice tactic. “Fine. You?”
“Good. Been real busy.” He tugged his long sleeves up to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms. A result of his southern DNA, she was sure.
For the next ten minutes, in between bites of juicy lobster meat, he filled her in on his wonderful life since high school. It was just what she wanted to hear. Felt like old times.
“What do you do now?” Arianne tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and scolded herself for carrying a grudge over something that happened so long ago. People change. She had.
He finished his bite and rested his elbows on the table, his perfect lips shiny with butter. “I’m a beekeeper. Run my own honey farm in Summerville.”
Made sense. He’d always been able to charm anything into doing his bidding.
“What about you? I mean, I know you run a bridal shop, but I heard you’d left Pine Bay for good.”
Ah, her favorite tale. One with such a happy ending she read it to herself before bed every night. She plucked a French fry from his basket and popped it in her mouth. “I did.”
“College?”
“Harvard Medical School.”
His brows shot upward. “Wow. I always pictured you at a place like that. But you’re a— What brought you back here?”
She glanced at her clasped hands. On the way over, she’d chewed her thumbnail down to the nub. “Got married. Dropped out. Divorced.” This was the part where everyone always remained silent, waiting for the details, which Huck would not get. “It just didn’t work out.”
She seized another fry.
His expression grew serious, and he watched her chew. “Sorry to hear that.”
Arianne nodded. Not as sorry as she was.
He slurped the last of his soda through the straw and pushed his remaining fries toward her. He leaned in, elbows on the table. “About the building…”
Here it comes. She snatched another fry.
“I don’t know what you had worked out with my uncle, but between the taxes and insurance, I can’t afford to let you to stay there rent free. I’m sorry, Arianne.”
She lengthened her spine, raised her chin. “How much do you want in rent?”
“The market says it’s worth a thousand dollars a month.”
Her lids widened until she felt her eyes bulge. She’d be lucky to cover a quarter of that amount. “Outrageous!”
Huck shrugged. “Let’s work something out, then. I can lower the rent to seven hundred and you can make the repairs yourself as needed—with my approval, of course. Or, if you can swing a thousand, I’ll take the extra three hundred and put it toward repairs, then you can purchase the building with a loan, and I’ll deduct the repair costs from the price. That’s a steal considerin’ you live there, too. What’d’ya say?”
Arianne opened her mouth, but no sound escaped. She closed it, blinking back tears. She couldn’t afford either option. “I can’t.”
Huck looked away. “Buy it on contract? Balloon payments?”
She couldn’t do anything other than what she was already doing. “No.”
Huck dropped his head and let out a breath. “Then I can’t help you.”
Bile burned her throat. “What do you plan to do with it?”
“Turn it into something the town needs. A bait and tackle shop. Offer sporting goods supplies, kayaks, fishing nets, et cetera.”
She studied his face, waiting for a grin. His mouth didn’t budge.
Arianne tilted her chin and leaned closer. Anger burned her cheeks. She knew it wasn’t fair to expect him to let her stay for free, but a roof over her daughter’s head was more important than fishing poles. They were about to become homeless. “You think Pine Bay needs a bait and tackle shop?”
He frowned at her harsh tone, his old quarterback scowl coming out to play. “No less than a store dedicated to marital bliss, where, once the honeymoon’s over, the happy couple runs to the nearest courthouse for a divorce.”
A slap across the face would’ve hurt less.
Huck cleared his throat and glanced down at his wadded up napkin. “Sorry. I wasn’t referring to…I didn’t mean you, just…”
And there was that melody that played through all her disappointments. In came the percussion section, only this time it was in her head, the beat in her temples so violent, she could feel her pulse.
He stroked his forehead. “It’s a bad location for a bridal shop, anyway. Why don’t I help you relocate?”
Did the buffoon still need a math tutor? If she couldn’t afford rent, she couldn’t afford to relocate. She’d never find a place cheaper than what he offered. “I can’t do that either.”
Huck’s patience was waning as fast as her future. “If it helps, you can continue to rent the apartment upstairs for, I dunno, let’s say two-fifty a month until you find another place.”
“I…” She swallowed. “Thank you.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face and blew out a loud breath. “Sorry I can’t do more.”
Reaching into his back pocket, he produced a folded document. The contract she’d signed with Martin. She skimmed the pages, skipping the legal jargon. Thirty days to vacate the shop.
Thirty days? The ramifications of this news hit her like a speeding train. She’d have to liquidate, practically give away her inventory, since she didn’t have room in her shoebox apartment for storage. Find a way to pay off her creditors, her student loans. Let go of the last piece of herself she swore she’d make successful after Adam left. Prove her father wrong. Give it all up for what? To become a school janitor or a gas station attendant? She was a bridal consultant!
She tried to steady her voice, but her emotions betrayed her. “Please, Huck. I helped you out once, remember? Twelve years ago, when you begged me to tutor you so you could graduate. I had better things to do back then, but I took pity on you so you wouldn’t be left behind, so you could better yourself. And you never came through with your end of the deal.”
He seemed to consider it for three whole seconds then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m sorry, Arianne. For then and now.”
She stood from the bench. “That’s it?”
He rose and palmed her cheek, eyes intense, full of something she couldn’t decipher. At the moment, she didn’t care. She was sick of things never working out for her. And how badly she wanted to fall into his arms right now.
Arianne jerked away and ran to her car.
All worker bees are female and specialize in a number of different tasks, such as foraging, caring for the queen, cleaning the hive, and converting pollen and nectar into honey.
4
That went as badly as he’d expected.
After Arianne disappeared into the parking lot, and the feel of her soft skin disappeared from his fingertips, Huck pitched his drink and uneaten fries in the trashcan, along with the pink camouflage Band-Aids he had stashed in back pocket, calling himself all kinds of idiot. Though he’d never shopped for anything pink in his life, that’s what the kid wanted. And he’d promised her the day she fell that he’d bring them next time he saw her so she’d stop crying.
Female tears were bad enough, but when they came from something so small, it was torture.
He jogged down the steps to his Harley. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Arianne again, but that pleading look in her eyes, the one that said she could see past the guy he was to the man he could be, had scared the spit out of him. Imagine him spooked by a five-foot boo
kworm. He’d helped birth calves bigger than she was.
He wasn’t the man Arianne wanted him to be, plain and simple. Sure, the building was paid for, and he had a decent cushion in his savings account, but the taxes were a killer and he didn’t have any obligation to support her financially. Plus, he refused to get too involved with a woman who had a kid. Arianne could stay in the apartment until she made other arrangements. She was smart. She’d get by.
He threw his leg over the seat and straddled his Harley, shoving away the guilt.
“Huck?”
The pubescent voice came from Matt, a thirteen-year-old giant from the Downeast Big Brother program. Husky jeans hung from the boy’s skinny frame, paired with a faded sweatshirt that needed a good scrubbin’. How many times had he told that boy to wear a belt?
“Hey, buddy.” Huck offered his fist and Matt bumped it. “What are you up to?”
Matt hiked up his pants with one hand and pointed to an older couple behind him with the other. “My grandparents are visiting from Ohio. Grandpa taught me how to change the oil in Mom’s car today, and since I did such a good job, he’s buying me dinner.”
That explained the grease stains. “That’s an important thing to learn.”
Huck introduced himself to Matt’s grandparents, Doreen and Ben.
“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Doreen said, patting Matt’s shoulder. “Thanks for volunteering. We’re so glad to learn that both his grades and attitude have improved.”
Heat rushed into Huck’s neck. He was the furthest thing from a father figure, but he could at least be Matt’s friend. “He’s a good kid.”
“Are we still on for Monday’s game?” Matt’s pants started to slip, and he hoisted them up by the belt loops.
“You better show up with a belt.”
“Yes, sir. Prepare to get creamed.”
“You’re crazy.”
Matt’s changing voice hit a high note. “I’ve mopped the floor with you the last four games.”
OK, so basketball wasn’t his thing. “Dream on, midget. Big Brother rules state I have to let you win.”
Was he really trash talking with a teenager?
Matt stood taller. “How about a wager?”
“Depends. What’cha offerin’?”
Fuzz on the kid’s upper lip shifted as Matt twisted his lips. “If I win, you let me ride your Harley.”
Please. “If you win, I’ll let you sit on my Harley.”
“What?”
Huck shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Good. If I win, you do the dishes for your mom for a week.”
“A week?” Matt groaned. “Deal. You won’t win anyway.”
After helping the kid off his ego, Huck left them to their dinner and drove south to Bar Harbor. The thirty-minute drive was just long enough to haunt him with images of Arianne in his arms, those red lips—he couldn’t get past the red lips—smiling at him, her eyes trusting him for once. And that cute way she dropped the R’s when she spoke.
Even in her wallflower, tutoring days he’d had a thing for her. Still did. Something about her gentle nature, her quiet strength told him if a man was willing to let her, she’d make him her whole world. That was intimidating to a guy like him.
He turned at the light and squeezed into a small space between two parked cars. The Crabby Tavern, more restaurant than bar, was wedged between Whitley’s Bookstore and Moby’s Attic, an antique store that sold nautical items.
Uncle Marty had frequented the tavern for years. Being friends with the owner, his passing had earned him a memorial on their menu—Marty’s Monster Burger. A half pound beef patty with all the fixin’s, fried pickles, and a side of heart attack. Huck didn’t have room for any more food, but he’d promised Don, the owner and chef, he’d stop by soon to see the picture of Uncle Marty that they’d put on the Wall of Fame.
He removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair. It wasn’t right the old man was gone. Huck officially had no family.
The blue door of Whitley’s Bookstore opened, and a brunette in skin-tight pants and high heels stepped onto the sidewalk empty-handed. Huck relaxed against the seat, one palm gripping the handlebar, the other resting on his thigh. She had his full attention.
Her head gave a double-take when she spotted him. Her dark eyes, almost black, drank him in. Her lazy smile told him she liked what she saw. He motioned her over with a nod. She stopped next to his bike and introduced herself. Giada.
An exotic scent clung to her olive skin.
Her low-cut blouse teased him.
Gorgeous.
They talked for a while, and Huck wasn’t a bit surprised when she agreed to a ride. They always did.
He gripped the helmet and placed it on her head. His thumb brushed her soft chin as he secured the strap. Swinging her leg over the bike, she scooted close and wrapped her arms around his waist.
The Crabby Tavern could wait. Huck started the engine and revved the motor. The beast trembled beneath them. He backed out and snaked through town, opening full throttle when they reached the highway. Giada tightened her hold.
If he’d learned one thing from his string of stepfathers, it was this: the best way to forget one woman was to move on with the next.
~*~
Lights danced on the water. The full moon illuminated the entire night sky. Piano music floated through the air, weaving among the low hum of dialogue. Silverware clinked against fine china. Arianne hadn’t been treated to a dinner this nice in…well, ever. She should be relishing this moment. But she wasn’t.
Travis offered his arm, and Arianne hooked her fingers around it, noting the feathery touch of his expensive dress shirt. The silver hue brought out the gray threads around his ears. He smiled down at her as they followed the hostess to their table, the lines around his eyes deepening. He looked handsome.
She forced a smile, regretting her three-inch heels as she did her best not to walk like a duck. She hadn’t inherited her mother’s gracefulness.
Travis pulled out a mauve chair and slid it beneath her with perfect timing. They’d gone out a few times now. She liked him, but he wasn’t the one. Then again, what did she know? Her ex-husband was the one and that time-bomb had exploded in her face.
The smell of melted butter and warm herbs filled the dining room. Everything on the menu looked delicious—and expensive. Would anyone actually pay that much for stuffed flounder?
After they ordered, Travis slid his hand across the cream tablecloth and folded it around hers. “You look ravishing tonight.”
She glanced down at the red dress Missy had insisted she borrow. Arianne was still surprised it fit, though it was a little shorter and fit snugger around her hips than she liked. “Thank you. You look dashing yourself.”
He asked about her day, concern knotting his brows. Apparently her acting skills needed work. She answered but omitted her eviction notice. She shook every time she thought about Huck Anderson. Once again, he’d killed her dream, making her feel the fool. She was. His touch was so warm and electrifying she’d almost given into it. Weak, stupid woman.
Travis listened intently as she answered his questions, joining the conversation instead of nodding with a blank stare like most men. In the flickering candlelight, she welcomed his rendition of what he called “a boring week.” She craved boredom. The drama that had become her life was exhausting.
Travis told a really bad physiatrist joke, and she chuckled, even though she didn’t find it funny. He laughed until his face turned purple, deepening laugh lines that didn’t fully disappear with his smile. He might be older than she preferred, but he was stable, secure. Everything she wanted and needed. The smooth-talking, gorgeous types who promised adventure only left her heartbroken.
Could she make Travis be the one? She studied him closely. There was something about him that nagged at her. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
The waitress brought th
eir meals. Travis worked on his stuffed flounder, while Arianne picked at her shrimp linguine the way Emma did with broccoli. The pasta tasted divine, but every time she thought about Huck, which was every five seconds, her appetite vanished. No matter how romantic this date was, she couldn’t unwind her brain from around her dilemma.
Chin up, Arianne. Things can only get better from here.
“Don’t you like your meal?” The skin on Travis’s forehead wrinkled.
Arianne smiled. “It’s delicious, just very filling.”
Thirty minutes later, the waitress left with their plates, promising to return with the leftovers. Arianne was wiping her mouth when a forty-something blonde in a fitted, sapphire dress approached their table. The woman’s pulse ticked between her skeletal collarbones, and her thinning hands trembled as she glared at Travis.
His face drained of color. “Patricia.”
The woman pursed her lips. “A patient emergency, huh?”
He fumbled for words. Pasta worked its way back up Arianne’s throat. She didn’t like where this was going.
The woman scowled at Arianne. “Exactly how long have you been seeing my husband?”
Arianne’s heart lurched. Husband? That couldn’t be right. She’d never date a married man. Wouldn’t even flirt with one.
She glanced at Travis, waiting for him to introduce the woman as one of his mental patients who’d escaped the psych ward. When he didn’t say a word, but answered with an embarrassed look laced with regret, she knew.
Boy, she could really pick ‘em.
An eerie laugh filled Arianne’s ears for minutes before she realized it was coming from her. Why was she laughing? This wasn’t funny. Something had possessed her, and if she didn’t laugh, she’d spontaneously combust in the middle of this restaurant.
Was this what it was like to go insane?
Travis and his wife watched her episode, mouths agape. Arianne needed to leave before Travis whipped out his license and had her committed. Arianne rose from her chair and turned to go.
How to Charm a Beekeeper's Heart Page 3