by Tracy Brogan
“Thanks. I hope you still feel that way at the end of the summer when all her good first impression manners have worn away and you’ve tripped over her shoes a thousand times.”
“I’m certain I’ll still feel that way. You’re doing a good job with her, and I know it hasn’t been easy.”
Emily leaned forward over the kitchen table, toward her grandmother. “Thanks for saying that, Gigi. It means a lot to me. And thanks times infinity for loaning me the ten grand I needed to make repairs on that flip house in San Antonio. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Gigi said, patting her hand.
Emily cast a glance at the doorway to be certain Chloe was gone before turning back to her grandmother. “Speaking of not mentioning it, please don’t forget Chloe doesn’t know anything about any of this. She has no idea we’re in so deep. You haven’t told anyone on the island, right?”
Gigi straightened her spine, looking slightly miffed. “Of course I haven’t told anyone. I’ve kept all the details of our arrangement to myself, just as you asked me to.”
Emily’s gratitude was tempered by a hefty dose of realism. She knew the score. Gigi was keeping her secret simply because it gave her leverage. The old bird was not above a little emotional extortion. Apparently she wasn’t above taking hostages, either, because the only way she’d agreed to the $10,000 loan was if Emily and Chloe spent the summer with her on Trillium Bay. If Emily’s instincts were correct, and she was certain they were, her grandmother had thrown in the cottage renovation just to make their deal more palatable, a little less like charity. Either way, Emily was deeply grateful and intended to pay Gigi back every single dime just as soon as that disastrous flip house in San Antonio sold.
Gigi patted her helmet of gray curls. “You know I’m not one to judge, but how exactly did you find yourself in this spot, anyway?”
Not one to judge? Emily nearly chuckled at that. Gigi was very much one to judge, but then again, so was everyone on this island. It was a favorite pastime, ranking right in between gossiping and eavesdropping. Nonetheless, this time the question was valid. For ten thousand bucks, Gigi deserved an honest answer.
“I trusted Jewel instead of trusting my own gut, I guess.”
Jewel was Emily’s friend, housemate, and more recently, her house-flipping business partner. “About four months ago, she found a house listed way under market value. I was suspicious, but Jewel said she’d had the place inspected. What she failed to tell me was that she used a new guy instead of the one we normally work with, and this new guy was a bottom-feeding crook. I’m not sure he even looked in the attic or the basement, but by the time we figured out just how much work the place really needed, we were stuck with it. I know Jewel feels terrible, and there’s not much point in being angry. She didn’t do it on purpose—plus now she’s as broke as I am.” Emily picked up the pitcher sitting on the table and poured herself more lemonade.
“Jewel always sounded a little flaky to me. How long are you planning to live with her? I thought that was going to be a temporary thing.” Gigi helped herself to some lemonade, too, then pulled a pint of gin from one of the cupboards and added a liberal splash to her jelly jar. Emily pushed her jar forward to let Gigi put a little shot in hers, too. She was going to see her father in a few hours. This gin was medicinal.
“She’s not flaky. Just a little, well, sometimes she gets too excited and doesn’t think things through.” That was true enough, but Emily could hardly call her out on that since she had a propensity to do the same thing. “Living together was going to be temporary, just a place to stay until I got back on my feet after the divorce, but Jewel has a nice house in a good school district for Chloe. It’s a good deal for us both because with me paying her rent, she’s been able to fix it up. It takes some of the pressure off from being a single parent, too.” That was definitely true. Jewel had been Emily’s only support throughout her divorce, and she was wonderful to Chloe, too. “I do realize now, though, we shouldn’t have both sunk all of our savings into that one flip. It was a mistake.”
Gigi crossed her skinny legs, the nylon of her track pants giving a little swish. “What about that deadbeat, Nick? Has he gotten any better? Does he help out at all?” A frown had formed on Gigi’s face. She never had liked Nick. No one had, except for Emily. Speaking of getting too excited and not thinking things through.
“Nick is currently back living with his parents in Dallas, which is, of course, all my fault.”
“How is that your fault?” The ice clinked in Gigi’s glass as she took a drink.
Emily smoothed a wrinkle out of the tablecloth beneath her hands. “Because, according to his mother, I ruined his life by agreeing to marry him when he was too young to understand the consequences. Then I ruined it even more by letting him father a child before he was mature enough to handle it. Apparently I also ruined his ability to pass the bar exam, because in spite of my supporting him all through law school, he has failed it repeatedly. He hasn’t called Chloe in months.”
Gigi’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Well, shame on him. How does Chloe feel about that?”
This was one of those topics that filled Emily with guilt and agitation and no place to direct it because she’d tried and tried and tried to fix this for Chloe, and she just couldn’t. She couldn’t make Nick be interested in his daughter any more than she’d been able to make his parents be interested.
“She handles it well enough, I guess. She doesn’t know any different because even though we got divorced when she was four, Nick wasn’t around much before that either. And her comparison is me and Dad. You know I don’t have that great of a track record with him. Sorry. I know he’s your son and all, but he hasn’t exactly begged me to come home, and the two times I’ve come back since Chloe was born, he’s been pretty aloof.”
“I think you remind him of Mary.” Gigi peered over at her, as if to gauge a reaction.
“My mother? You think I remind him of her?” Of all the things Emily expected Gigi to say, that was last on the list.
“You look like her. God knows you have the same rebellious streak. I could be talking out of my ass here, of course. It’s not as if Harlan ever confides anything to me. I’m his mother, but not one day of his life did he ever seem to need me. Even so, you do favor her, and I think that rattles him.”
Emily’s chest felt simultaneously hollow and full. If what Gigi said was true, it was both a compliment and a curse.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re talking out of your ass, Gigi, but whatever. I’ve tried to make amends for my side of things. Every time we’re on the phone and I try to bring up the past, he starts talking about the weather. Maybe one of these days he’ll come around. In the meantime, I am excited for Chloe to get to know all of her cousins. I want her to have a really wonderful summer.”
“Me too,” Gigi said, smiling again. “I think that can be arranged. We’ll make sure of it.”
Chapter 4
Ryan Taggert had overslept this morning. He never overslept, but this morning he had, and he knew why. Because the hotel mattress was rock-hard, the room was stuffy and smelled slightly of bleach and old tobacco, and let’s face it, he could not stop thinking about the secret lacy stuff hiding underneath Emily Chambers’s blouse. What. The. Hell? Sure, she was attractive, and they’d had some nice conversation during the taxi ride from the airport. Her daughter had fallen asleep, so Emily had whispered, making everything she said seem slightly naughty, especially when she told him about a few of her youthful escapades, but that didn’t explain why his subconscious had done the horizontal mambo with her all night long. He wasn’t some pimply, hormonal teenager staring at a poster over his bed. He was grown-ass man. Too old to let some harmless flirting turn into a distraction and ruin his night’s sleep.
Now he was grouchy and pissed because not only had he overslept, but he’d missed the early ferry, which meant he’d also missed seeing her in person. And the
fact that he was frustrated by not seeing her in person only aggravated him further. Seriously. What the actual hell?
Thankfully, the boat ride to Wenniway Island was uneventful and blissfully short, the breeze off the lake was refreshing and served to wake him up more efficiently than the twenty-ounce coffee he had in his hand, and now he was walking down Main Street on Trillium Bay looking for the restaurant where his father wanted to meet. Emily Chambers and her lacy secrets were tucked into the back of his mind so he could instead focus on the Victorian architectural details of each storefront and restaurant. His tastes ran more toward the sleek and contemporary. He liked clean, uncluttered lines, but he could see why people found this place charming. Every detail seemed accounted for, right down to the wrought iron streetlamps and the constant echo of horses’ hooves. Of course, he would be bored inside of an hour, but if you were interested in just enjoying the quaint view of the lake and wandering aimlessly through artsy boutiques and antique shops, then this would be just the place.
The pervasive aroma of fudge was overwhelming, and Ryan stopped in front of a candy store to peer through the huge window, taking a minute to watch a man in a tall chef’s hat and a white apron use a long-handled wooden spatula to shape a pool of chocolate decadence into slabs. His mouth watered even though he didn’t particularly like fudge. People pedaled by on bikes, cruising around the horse-drawn carriages filled with smiling tourists. Yep. He nodded to himself. The place was cute. He wasn’t a huge fan of cute, but again, for a weekend getaway, Trillium Bay wasn’t half bad.
He started walking again, at last spotting the sign his father had described over the phone. It was shaped like a pig, just like his dad had said, and it read Link & Patty’s Breakfast Buffet in thick block letters. And wow. Just like his dad had said, the place was pink. Ryan had never been to a pink restaurant before, but his dad had assured him the food was good. He sure as hell hoped so. It was the only thing that could make up for the color. Plus, Ryan was ravenous. He’d never made it down to the hotel bar last night, so the last thing he’d eaten was pretzels at the Wawatam airport. No wonder he was grouchy. He was running on fumes, and seeing all that fudge had kicked his appetite into overdrive.
He maneuvered across the busy street, dodging families with strollers, around a row of parked bicycles, and opened an unadorned screen door that led into the tiny waiting area of the restaurant. The place was crowded and too warm, but the smell of bacon and waffles nearly doubled him over.
A plump woman well into her fifties with purple-hued hair and thick eyeglasses greeted him from behind a pink podium.
“Well, hiya, cutie pie. I’ve never seen you before. Welcome to Link and Patty’s. I’m Patty.”
He hadn’t been called cutie pie since he was a little kid, and how the woman could even get a good enough look at him through those Coke-bottle lenses was a mystery, but he smiled at her nonetheless. “Thanks. I’m supposed to meet someone here.”
The wattage of her cheeky smile doubled. “Your father? Are you meeting your father? Are you little Tag Junior?”
Ryan was taken aback by her familiarity—and her correct assumption. “Um, yes. Sort of. Not the junior part, but the . . . the little Tag part. I guess.”
Everyone called his father Tag. Sometimes even Ryan and his brothers called him Tag, but Ryan was surprised that this random hostess at an equally random restaurant would know any of that. He looked back at her, and his empty gut twisted with a terrifying thought. Oh please do not let this woman be the bimbo after his father. If they ever got married, he couldn’t possibly handle Thanksgiving dinner staring into her magnified eyes. It would be like staring at her through a fishbowl.
She moved from behind the pink-lacquered podium, patted his arm with a sticky hand, and grabbed a couple of plastic-coated menus with her other hand. “Well, it sure is good to meet you, Little Tag. Why, you could have just slapped Jack with a flapjack when my husband, Link, told me Tag’s son was coming to visit. We just think the world of your father. What a wonderful man.”
Relief. Okay, so she wasn’t the bimbo. That was good, but how the hell did she know his dad so well? And wait a minute . . . her husband, Link? Link and Patty were actual people? Go figure.
“Your father isn’t here yet,” Patty said, bustling toward the back corner of the room, hitting a chair with each swing of her bulky backside. “But you just come on over to his favorite booth and I’ll get you some coffee. You do want coffee, don’t you?”
His father had a favorite booth? “What? Oh, coffee? Yes, please.” Clearly he needed some. That twenty ounces from the ferry was not going to get him through this morning. She’d better bring the pot.
He sat down and looked around, summing up the place with just two words. Pink pigs. They were everywhere. Painted on the walls, in picture frames, covering the menu. Some looked like real pigs, and others were more cartoon in nature. A few had wings. The door handles on the restroom were pink pig noses. Even the salt and pepper shakers on his table were two little pigs, one wearing an apron, the other wearing a chef’s hat. Clearly the theme here . . . was pigs. Link and Patty’s. It made sense. Sort of.
His father walked in just seconds later, standing tall and looking fit and tan. He smiled when his gaze landed on Ryan.
“Hey, Dad!” He stood up and they embraced, thumping each other on the back.
“Good to see you, son. Glad you finally made it!”
“Me too. It was quite the adventure trying to get here.”
“Sounds like it. I wish you’d called me last night. I could have had one of the guys fly over and pick you up.”
“One of the guys?” They sat back down in the booth, and Patty waved at Tag from the counter.
Tag waved back. “Yeah, there’s a nice little airport on the island. I’ve actually been taking flight lessons, but I’m not certified to fly alone yet.”
Ryan had picked up a menu but set it back down. “You’re learning to fly a plane? Isn’t that a little risky for a guy your age?” It seemed risky to Ryan. Tag wasn’t old, per se. He was only fifty-nine, but that still seemed to be a little too old to be learning new things. Especially things that could crash.
His dad didn’t seem to appreciate his concern. “Uh, I’m pretty sure a guy my age can do just about anything a guy your age can do, other than read small print, and yes, I’m taking flight lessons. I wholeheartedly recommend them. The truth is, I might even buy my own plane since . . . well, since I plan to spend more time here.”
A fast glance across the pig-colored table told Ryan his dad was serious. “Spend more time here? Bryce told me you had another project you were looking into. Can this tiny island really support two jobs for the company?”
Taggert Property Management was hailed as a premier corporation in the hospitality industry, handling everything from initial construction and design of multi-unit condominiums and hotels, to remodeling, rebranding, streamlining reservation systems, and even market studies to analyze if a location was a wise investment. They didn’t typically take on projects with less than fifty units, but for some reason, his father had contracted with the owner of a modest twelve-room hotel on the shore of Trillium Bay who wanted a simple upgrade to the interiors. The job wouldn’t turn much of a profit, and neither Ryan nor his two brothers understood their father’s attachment to this particular project. They hadn’t argued with him, though. He’d been pretty glum since their mother died last year, and this job was the first one he’d seemed enthusiastic about in a very long time.
“Tell you what, son. Let’s eat first,” said his dad. “We’ve got all day to talk about business.”
And that was another thing. It wasn’t like his father to talk about anything but business. Nonetheless, Ryan found himself nodding like a bobblehead. “Yes. Food. I’m legit starving.”
“What?” Tag crooked an eyebrow.
“What?” Ryan looked up from the menu lying on the table. “Oh, nothing. That’s just teen-speak for seriously hungry. N
ever mind. I take it you’ve been here a few times. What’s good?”
Tag pushed the menu to the edge of the table without even reading it and picked up his coffee. “You have to try the pancake buckets. Best pancakes you’ve ever had. And they’re circles. Smartest trick ever.”
Ryan gave him the side eye. “Aren’t all pancakes circles?”
Tag laughed, and Ryan couldn’t help but think he looked ten years younger. Maybe it was the tan? Or maybe it was just that he hadn’t heard him laugh in a while.
“I mean rings, I guess. Like doughnuts. It’s a stack of pancakes with a hole in the center for you to fill up with syrup. Like a bucket. Funny, right? And brilliant?” Now his father was nodding with a what will they think of next kind of smile.
“Hmm, clever.”
They ordered pancake buckets, eggs, bacon, and hash browns because Ryan’s hunger was, as he’d said, legit. Patty kept their coffee cups full as he told his dad about the old, not remotely helpful dude at the Wawatam airport. They talked about a few random friends and family members back home in California. The food came, and as they ate, Tag seemed to dance around Ryan’s questions whenever the topic of the island projects came up, but he was determined to get to the bottom of things.
“So tell me, Dad,” Ryan said one more time, “why exactly did you need me to come out here for two months? I’ve looked at the portfolio for this job, and you could have handled it yourself while riding a unicycle blindfolded. Now you’re being evasive about this other job. I’m getting all kinds of mixed signals from Bryce, and quite frankly, we’re all feeling a little confused.”
Tag wiped his mouth with a napkin, then wadded it up to toss on his plate. “I’m not trying to be evasive, son. It’s just I have some things going on that I haven’t been ready to talk about.”
“Well, I’m here now to work, so eventually you’re going to have to give me some details, and this seems like as good of a time as any, doesn’t it? What’s this other project Bryce mentioned?”