The Story of Us: Sweetbriar Cove: Book 11

by Melody Grace

  Mackenzie went to help a customer while Natalie browsed. Up close, the patterns weren’t so idyllic as they seemed, with sea monsters attacking the ships, and were those . . . ?

  “Tiny drowning sailors,” Mackenzie announced cheerfully, returning. “The sirens lured them to their doom.”

  Clearly, there was more to her than met the eye.

  “I’ll take it,” Natalie said impulsively. The tiny sailors could drown in her cereal milk every morning and start her day with a smile.

  “A bold choice, I like it.”

  Mackenzie took the bowl to wrap, and Natalie remembered why she’d even come. “I nearly forgot, this is for you,” she said. She placed her final gift basket down on the front counter. “Just a few treats from the store to sample. I’m trying to get word out,” she explained, “so tell your friends, family, random strangers on the street. I’m not picky.”

  Mackenzie lit up. “Are you kidding? I’ll shout it from the rooftops if it gets me free candy!” She dug into the basket, making rapturous noises with every new discovery. Then she paused. “Hey, I don’t suppose you’d want to donate something like this for a charity raffle? We’re raising money to repaint the gazebo. Or maybe pay for the holiday parade?” Mac paused, then gave a shrug. “I never can keep these things straight. Either way, it’s a worthy cause.”

  “Sure, I’d love to,” Natalie said, flattered. “I could do another basket, or offer some classes . . .”

  “You mean, like how to make your own chocolate?” Mackenzie asked through a mouthful of truffle. “Because that would definitely start a bidding war, at least among every woman I know.”

  Natalie grinned. “Then sign me up.”

  Another customer came in, so Natalie said her goodbyes and headed back out—lighter this time, without her baskets weighing her down. Hopefully, the freebies would do the trick and put her on people’s radars in time for all that festive holiday gift-planning.

  She swung her shopping bag, strolling back the long way to enjoy the crisp November morning. People smiled and greeted her as she went, but Natalie still had to check behind her to see if they really meant to be talking to someone else.

  Nope. Just her.

  It was amazing how friendly people were here. Natalie was still getting used to it. She’d always been shy, slow to connect with people or become a part of a crowd. And these past few years . . . Well, her social circle had shrunk, people peeling off or fading out so gradually, Natalie hadn’t even noticed what was happening until she was sitting alone in the apartment, scrolling through her phone, desperate to hear a friendly voice. But there was nobody she could call, she realized. Nobody she could ask for help.

  Had Oliver planned it that way?

  Natalie let herself back into the shop, feeling a familiar glow of pride as she looked around the countertops and delicious displays. DeAnna would be proud of her if she saw her now. She’d been Natalie’s closest friend, juggling waitress gigs at local restaurants and catering events together until one night, DeAnna had a flash of inspiration. “You know we could cater better events at half the price,” she said as they passed out trays of bland crab puffs and wilted asparagus. Just like that, their business had been born.

  It was tough going at first, working out of the tiny kitchen at DeAnna’s apartment, racing all over town to hustle jobs, but over time they built a great reputation and client list—and Natalie’s handmade chocolates were the cherry on top of the dessert tray. They’d been making plans to expand, take on more servers, and even upgrade to a proper kitchen space . . .

  And then, of course, she’d met Oliver.

  Natalie felt a familiar flush of guilt and shame. What was DeAnna doing now? She wished for the hundredth time that their friendship had worked out differently. That she could have known that DeAnna was on her side and wasn’t the jealous, vindictive woman that Oliver had painted her to be.

  Because DeAnna saw through him, right from the start. And Natalie hadn’t listened.

  But why would she? Everybody else loved him, at least, that’s how it had seemed at the time. Her parents adored him: he was handsome and charming, with a high-flying job at a tech company, too. The first night she’d brought him home to their modest apartment for dinner, her mom had taken her aside and told her bluntly not to screw this up. “Men like that don’t come around often, especially for girls like you,” she’d said, fussing with Natalie’s hair. “Make sure you keep him happy, and he’ll take care of you.”

  That was what everybody said, that Natalie should be grateful she’d caught his eye. And she’d felt that way, too. She’d been a late bloomer, dorky and shy all through high school, so she wasn’t used to male attention—especially not from a man as worldly and sophisticated as Oliver. He’d studied at the best schools, traveled all over the world. He swept her off her feet, taking her to the best restaurants and surprising her with expensive gifts of clothing and jewelry. Natalie felt like a princess on his arm, important people fawning over them when those same people would barely look her in the eye when she catered their fancy parties. He didn’t care about her modest upbringing or how out of place she was in his world. He told her over and over how special she was. “They don’t see it, but I do,” he would say. “I’ve found a diamond in the rough.”

  Now, Natalie looked back at all those sugar-sweet compliments and saw the bitter edge he’d hidden beneath his words. Making it seem like he was the only one who cared about her.

  Making her believe that she’d be nothing without him.

  DeAnna hadn’t bought his act, not for a second. Natalie had been gushing about Oliver for months by the time the two of them finally met. She’d expected them to hit it off, but driving home from the restaurant, she’d asked him what he thought, and he’d only shrugged. “She seems nice enough, but I’d watch out, if I were you,” he’d said, kissing her hand. “Some women see everything as a competition. You don’t need that kind of negativity around.”

  Natalie tried to brush it off, but DeAnna wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about Oliver, either. She was worried that Natalie didn’t know enough about him; that she was falling too hard, too fast. “And what’s with all these new clothes he keeps buying for you?” she’d asked, noticing the crisp designer shopping bags crammed in Natalie’s room. “It’s like he’s trying to turn you into some kind of perfect little Stepford Wife.”

  Natalie hadn’t wanted to hear it at the time. She was in love, and nothing was going to stand in her way. Besides, hadn’t Oliver warned her that her friends would be jealous? They just wanted to ruin what she had because they didn’t want to see her happy.

  Well, let them be jealous. Oliver was the one who really cared about her. She didn’t need anybody but him.

  At least, that’s what she’d thought.

  Natalie gave a sigh. Just how wrong could one person be?

  Her phone buzzed, suddenly breaking through the silence of the empty shop and bringing her back to the present. She dug her handset out of her purse and checked the message.

  It was from Luke.

  The plans look simple enough to me. Want to talk more over dinner tonight?

  Natalie’s stomach skipped at the invitation. All at once, she remembered the look in his eyes as he stood right there in front of her, and that electric intimacy that shimmered in the air . . . She could wear that blue dress she liked, and maybe fix her hair up—

  No!

  She caught herself just in time. What was she thinking, planning a romantic date when she’d barely made it out of the wreckage of her last relationship? She was in no state to be meeting anyone new. Her heart still clenched to think of it.

  She still checked the locks on the door every night.

  No need for dinner, just come by the shop to discuss. Natalie tapped out a brisk reply, then held her breath.

  Sure thing. See you later this week. Luke’s answer came, and Natalie exhaled, relieved. Hopefully, he would get the hint and keep things friendly—and she would kee
p from falling into his arms again. Literally.

  Still, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret as she tucked her phone away. Maybe if they’d met a year from now . . . Maybe if she didn’t feel so raw . . .

  But there was no use wondering. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that she couldn’t change her past, she could only try to keep from making the same mistakes again. And that meant the only hot date she needed in her schedule was with a pan of caramel-chocolate crisp wafers.

  Natalie reached for a canister of sugar and got to work.

  4

  Luke rolled up the architectural plans he’d been working on. So, dinner was a bust. Natalie probably had plans already—or didn’t think that new shelving was exciting enough to make a date for. Either way, he was in no hurry. His schedule was wide open, and he had nothing but time.

  Which didn’t go down too well with his grandfather. “On an extended vacation, are you?” Earl asked pointedly when he found Luke catching the last of the sinking sun out on the porch that afternoon. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

  “Well, I already fixed the broken bannister and that death trap of a porch screen,” Luke replied, teasing. “But I can get started on refinishing the floors, if you don’t mind the smell of varnish?”

  Earl made a harrumphing sound. “At least your brother got himself out of the guesthouse soon enough. I don’t suppose you know how long you’re planning on staying?”

  “With hospitality like this, why would I ever leave?” Luke grinned back, and Earl finally broke into a smile.

  “You always were the mouthy one,” he said affectionately. “Supper?”

  “It’s too early for me, but I left a you sandwich in the fridge.”

  “Good boy.” Earl nodded and headed inside, pausing a moment to navigate the steepest step. Luke watched, mentally adding another task to his ongoing list of fix-its around the house.

  Earl was getting older these days, but of course, he wasn’t using his walking stick the way he should. The old man was stubborn like that, and he would never admit he needed help, so Luke was on a stealth mission to fix the place up without Earl realizing: getting rid of the rotting old railings, checking the gas lines and other safety hazards. His brother, Jackson, had done his part back when he was the official Kinsella brother in residence, but now it was Luke’s turn.

  And maybe he could give the place a fresh coat of paint, while he was at it . . .

  “So, your mother was right. You really have gotten yourself lost,” Earl said, rejoining him with his dinner plate and a couple of iced teas. He passed one to Luke and settled into the porch chair beside him as the sun sank behind the tree line.

  “I know exactly where I am,” Luke replied, taking a gulp. “It’s just not where she wants me to be, that’s all.”

  “Which is?”

  “In a three-piece suit, waiting at the end of the aisle in church.”

  Earl chuckled. “That sounds about right. She always did want you to get a move on with those grandbabies.”

  “Why me?” Luke protested. “She’s got four other kids to pester, too. Try Cassie, for a change. Or Aidan. He’s the oldest. Practically ancient.”

  “Yes, but he’s smart enough to duck her calls.”

  “Good point. I need to try that.” Luke grinned. “Next time she calls, just tell her I’m out, impregnating the good ladies of Sweetbriar Cove.”

  Earl laughed so hard, he spewed sweet tea all over the porch. “Oh, I’m trying that one, for sure.”

  “On second thought, don’t.” Luke changed his mind. “She’ll be in the cab to the airport before anyone can stop her.”

  “Good point.” Earl chuckled. “Still, that doesn’t mean you can just pitch here indefinitely,” he added, his voice turning serious. “Don’t you have a business to be getting back to? You can’t be seriously thinking about just letting it go after all your hard work.”

  Luke took another gulp. “You know, it hasn’t felt like my business for a while now,” he admitted. “Jess was the one who really pushed it. I just wanted to focus on the furniture.”

  They’d butted heads over it for years. Luke was happiest in his workshop, getting his hands dirty, but she’d said it was inefficient, having him work on just one piece at a time. Soon, she’d brought on a team of carpenters so they could reproduce all his work. “Look, soon you won’t even need to lift a finger. Just turn out the designs and deal with clients,” she’d said, smiling, like it was a good thing. “Even Picasso had his students actually do most of his paintings.”

  Luke wouldn’t exactly call himself Picasso, but he took pride in his work. And if a piece of furniture was going to have his name on it, then he would damn well have built the thing with his own two hands.

  “She’s welcome to the business,” he told his grandpa now, and meant it. “I prefer to keep things small, anyway. I have a pretty good nest egg put aside, plenty of clients who want to work with me again . . . Maybe I’ll find a workshop space here, set something up. I’ll be fine.”

  “You seem pretty confident about that.”

  Luke paused, feeling oddly content. “I guess I am. It’s hard to explain, but . . . I just know that leaving was the right thing to do. And everything else will figure itself out in time.”

  “Time . . .” Earl snorted. “Don’t take it for granted, or you’ll be running low before you realize.”

  “C’mon, you’ve got plenty of gas left in the tank yet,” Luke said, teasing. “Enough to whip your grandkids into shape, at least.”

  “And there I was, thinking my parenting days were done!”

  * * *

  Luke waited until Earl had settled in to watch TV, then headed into town. The local pub was charming and cozy and served a great steak and ale pie. He settled in beside the fire with dinner and a pint of beer and pulled out his design notebook. He hated to admit it, but his grandfather had a point. It was one thing feeling confident that everything would work out; it was another actually making the plans so it would.

  He began to make some sketches of a design he’d been thinking about, a rustic-style chair with leather and antique details. He had a couple of clients who loved the style and were always asking for new work. He could use old brass, maybe, as a contrast, or copper studs . . .

  “Luke Kinsella! I heard you were back in town.”

  Luke glanced up to find a familiar man making his way over, with sandy blonde hair and an outgoing smile. “Wes?” He did a double take. “What the hell, man? How long has it been?”

  “Too long.” Wes grinned, slapping him on the back. “But I guess all roads lead back here eventually.”

  “True enough.” Luke chuckled. He and Wes had been buddies back when they were kids, and he spent summers on the Cape. They’d kept in touch with the occasional drink when they found themselves in the same city, but things had drifted over the past few years. “This place hasn’t changed a bit,” he said, feeling nostalgic. “Remember we used to try and fool Mitch with those shoddy fake IDs?”

  Wes laughed. “He didn’t buy them for a second. I don’t blame him. You were a skinny little runt.”

  “Not too skinny to beat your ass,” Luke replied with a smile. “What are you up to these days? Clearly, you’re doing well for yourself.” Wes was dressed in designer-looking jeans and a button-down. City clothes.

  “I can’t complain.” Wes gave an easy shrug. “Some investing, a few startups . . . I actually just opened an office here in town. I was actually going to give you a call. I hear you’re the man to see about some custom furniture?”

  “I could be,” Luke said. “Anything particular in mind?”

  “Whatever will look good on the cover of Architectural Digest,” Wes replied, and Luke coughed out a laugh.

  “Still as modest as ever, huh?”

  “You know it.”

  Wes ordered them another round, and they caught up on careers and breakups and everything else that had happened since the last tim
e they had a beer. “How’s the family?” Wes asked. “What about that sister of yours? Still breaking hearts and taking names?”

  “I’ve stopped keeping track,” Luke replied, sighing. “Cassie has the worst taste in guys. I swear, she can walk into any room and make a beeline for the biggest asshole there. We used to be able to warn them off,” he added. “You know, pull the big brother routine, but now she’s wised up and keeps them well away from us.”

  Wes chuckled. “Times like this, I’m glad I’m an only child.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Luke gave a wry grin. “They have their moments. Occasionally.” He glanced around the room. It was a Friday night, but still the place was half empty, just a few couples hanging out by the bar and some of the old-timers in the corner. “What about you? This must be a change of pace after big-city life,” he said.

  Wes gave a shrug. “That scene gets old,” he said, drinking his beer. “Besides, it’s about time I settled down.”

  Luke arched an eyebrow. “Now who’s breaking hearts?” he said. “Better not let word get out or you’ll have the matchmakers of Sweetbriar Cove lined up at your door.”

  Wes smirked. “You know, that actually sounds pretty good to me. If they want to come present some prospects, I won’t have to lift a finger . . .”

  Luke shook his head, laughing. That was Wes, always talking a big game. “Talk to me when you’re getting mobbed by interfering grandmothers in the town square,” he advised. “Let’s see if you’re singing the same tune then.”

  “Hey, you’re a bachelor too these days,” Wes pointed out. “We should hit the town sometime. Winter is on the quiet side, but just wait until summer when the beach girls come around.”

  “I thought you were settling down?” Luke asked, smirking.

  Wes laughed. “Eventually. But if the right woman takes a while to show up? Well, a man’s got to keep himself busy somehow.”

  Luke smiled to himself. Maybe in another life he would be signing up to be Wes’s wingman; he’d certainly had his fun before meeting Jess. But now that he knew Natalie, the way she smiled, and that light in her eyes . . .