by Gina Ardito
So it was entirely possible I’d fixated on Sam because he’d actually been nice to me. A new routine for both of us.
Or could there be another reason? My stomach somersaulted as my mind traveled a new road.
The day Nia had been in that car accident, when I ran into Sam before I drove to her house, he’d hit me with another of his jibes. What’s the problem, Paige? Can’t stand to see someone else get all the attention? Do you always have to one-up your sister?
Did I? Is that why I now kept noticing how attractive Sam was? Because I knew how much Nia liked him and I wanted him for myself? No. That was stupid. Nia and I never really competed with each other. We never had to. Daddy—and even Mom when she was still with us—always treated us as separate people, but showered us with the same amount of love and attention.
So why on earth did I find myself being drawn into the Sam Dillon Fan Club? Maybe it was because I wanted to understand Nia’s attraction? Yes. That made sense. I was simply finding reasons to like Sam to make my sister happy. Hadn’t I promised to give him a chance? Noting his kindness, his sense of humor, and the rich honey color of his eyes was clearly my subconscious way of complying with that promise.
Feeling much better in both my knees and my heart, I left the water and grabbed my footgear. I walked barefoot over the smooth rocks to where Sam waited, but not because I was in too much of a rush to get back to him to put my shoes and socks on. My legs and feet were still pretty wet, and the walk would give them a chance to dry.
I managed to get to the roadside, and there he stood, concern etched in his forehead. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Better. That’s for sure. Thanks.” I sat down on the curb and slipped my socks onto my slightly damp feet, then pushed into my shoes. The air around us crackled, and I struggled to say something lighthearted to short-circuit the electricity. “I hope you brought your wallet. You’re buying the beer.”
His expression eased to that devastating smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Excellent.” My knees protested a bit when I straddled my bike yet again, but I forced myself to move forward. From the moment I’d run into Sam at the crest of that hill, this ride had evolved into some kind of chess match. And I didn’t intend to lose. “Ready?”
“You bet.”
“Then let’s do it.” I rolled into the street’s bike path and pedaled toward Coffield’s Wharf.
Ten minutes later, we parked our bikes on the racks at the edge of the walkway, and Sam produced a lock from the leather satchel behind his seat. Snaking the flexible red tube through both our front tires, he clicked the pieces together, then spun the combination dial. Once the bikes were secure, he strode back to the satchel and pulled out a black leather wallet. Waving it toward me, he said, “All set. Let’s go.”
There was something nice about a man who was so well prepared. Particularly since I hadn’t thought to bring water, sunscreen, a bike lock, or money. We strolled up the wooden walkway to the first row of gray clapboard buildings where the souvenir gift shops hawked their wares.
I stopped in front of the large display window of a shop called Captain Christmas, where delicate glass holiday ornaments gleamed beneath the mid-morning sun. Among the trinkets were several glass globes filled with beach sand and tiny multi-colored shells. Did Nia know about this place? Not that Captain Christmas’s mass-produced junk could compete with my sister’s handblown art. Still…
I frowned.
“Your sister’s stuff is much better.”
“OhmyGod!” I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Sam’s voice so close to my ear.
“Sorry,” he said from beside me and took a step back, leaving another half-inch of space between us. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
While I waited for my heart to return to its normal rhythm, I nodded then pointed to the storefront. “Has Nia seen this place?”
Sam shrugged. “I guess. Larry’s had this store for a couple of years now. I’d imagine they’ve run into each other once or twice.” He cocked his head at me. “You’re angry?”
Yes. But how did he know that? “No,” I lied. “Of course not.”
“Yeah, you are. You get these little sparks in your eyes when you’re angry. God knows I’ve seen that look enough times over the years to recognize what it means.”
I sighed. Naturally, he knew my expressions too well by now. “It’s just…it’s not right. Like you said, Nia’s stuff is much nicer, and because it’s not created by slave labor in some overseas sweatshop, it’s a lot more expensive too. This guy could run her out of business.”
Sam took my hand in his. “Why don’t you let Nia worry about that? Come on. Let’s go grab an early lunch at The Pier.”
Lunch? I pulled up short. Was this a date? I mean, normally, I’d let a guy know exactly where he stood with me by insisting we split the check evenly. But I didn’t have any money to do that at the moment. And I couldn’t turn him down altogether. I had invited him on this trek, after all. Besides, he’d been so sweet when I’d fallen off my bike. I was enjoying the new Sam Dillon. Sam Dillon, nice guy. I really didn’t want to see the return of Sam Dillon, arrogant jerk.
His fingers squeezed mine, drawing my attention to him. “Paige. You’re overthinking this. For once, do something spontaneous. Just relax and say yes. Okay?”
I inhaled deeply. “Okay. I mean, ‘yes.’”
“Great.” That smile reappeared, and I swear the sun shone brighter just to compete with his brilliance.
His hand still enclosing mine, he led me to the order window of The Pier Clambar. Two teenage boys stood behind the counter, triangular paper hats covering their dark hair. The aromas of garlic, fried fish, and French fries cloaked the sea air.
“Hey, Chief Dillon,” one of the teens greeted him with a head jerk sort of nod. “What can I get you today?”
Sam turned to me. “What would you like?”
I glanced up at the menu chalkboard mounted on the wall above the boy’s head. When did all their prices get so…pricey? No way would I allow Sam to blow that much money on a casual lunch after a casual bike ride. He might think I owed him something spectacular—like a kidney. “Umm,” I hesitated. “Maybe just a diet cola?”
One of Sam’s eyebrows arched. “Un-unh. Not good enough. I owe you a beer, to begin with. And I wouldn’t be a responsible public officer if I allowed you to drink alcohol without something hearty in your stomach. So unless you want me to order for you, you’d better revise that diet cola nonsense.”
I opted for a fried clam strip basket with French fries. Somehow I’d find a way to pay him back. Maybe I could take a mortgage on my house.
Sam ordered the same. “And a pitcher of beer,” he added to the boy.
I nearly choked. “A pitcher?”
“Bike riding’s thirsty work.” He nudged a gentle elbow into my ribs.
He must have noticed the dubious look on my face because he chuckled, a sound I had never before heard from him. At least, not like this. In the past, he’d laughed at me with derision or sarcasm. But this time, the sound came out more indulgent, warmer.
“Relax, Paige. The pitchers equal about a glass and a half for each of us. If you don’t want to drink all of it, you don’t have to. But you did insist that I buy the beer. After lunch, we can walk around a bit—give you a chance to work off the alcohol and prepare those damaged knees of yours for the bike ride back.” He led me to an empty white plastic picnic table shaded by an open navy and white-striped market umbrella. A few other early morning lunch patrons sat chatting and eating. A dozen seagulls squawked as they picked their way across the red flagstones, waiting for someone to drop a tasty tidbit.
Not once during this entire exchange did Sam release my hand. That alone got my guard up. The rest of the day’s interactions just added to my suspicions. “Umm…” I began as I sat in one of the plastic chairs. “I’m going to regret asking, and I apologize in advance if I offend you, but why are you
being so nice to me all of a sudden?”
He shook his head slowly, his smile still dazzling. “Don’t get it yet, do you, Paige?”
Nia. My sister’s name flashed into my head like a bolt of lightning. Of course he was charming me, trying to win me over so he could date Nia without any roadblocks. He probably considered me the Mount Vesuvius of roadblocks: impassable and liable to spew without warning.
Okay, I’d play. “Yeah, I think I do get it.”
The boy from the counter brought over a small plastic pitcher filled with icy beer and two clear plastic party cups. “Enjoy. Food’ll be out in five minutes.”
Once the teen left us alone, Sam expertly poured beer into the two cups, creating a thin head of creamy foam on top of the golden pilsner. He handed me one of the beers, and when I took it, he lifted the other toward me. “To new beginnings.”
“New beginnings,” I repeated and tapped my cup against his.
~~~~
Nia
I wasn’t off the hook with the roses once I’d set Briana to work. In fact, every person who came into the store, employee or customer, remarked about them. This renewed Briana’s speculation, and she began collecting opinions from everyone.
Did I have a boyfriend? And if so, who? Why did I keep him a secret? Was he married? Hideously deformed? Or just some loser I was embarrassed to be seen with?
When there were no customers in the store, Briana and Andrew spent the downtime one-upping each other on the flower-giver’s identity. The theories ran from Quasimodo to Mr. Needham, our seventy-plus-year-old high school principal, who made the Crypt Keeper look like Ryan Gosling.
I finally stowed the roses in the back room to gain some peace. Aidan had included a card with the bouquet. On the tiny white cardboard rectangle with “I’m Sorry” in fancy blue script, he’d added a personal message.
Nia,
I hate knowing my harshness offended you. I truly didn’t mean what I said. Truce? Please?
A.
As apologies go, it wasn’t exactly a sonnet. But in all fairness, the size of the florist cards didn’t allow room for more than two sentences—unless the message was printed in a five-point font on a PC, cut out, and taped to the wee bit of cardboard. Still, the last thing I wanted was to give my employees more gas for their rumor motor so I had surreptitiously removed the card, with its teeny envelope, and stowed it in my pocket. Once or twice during the day, I’d suddenly remember it was there, and I’d reach into my apron to run a finger over the edges. The memory of Aidan Coffield standing in my shop, waiting for me to agree to a date, made my head swell.
When Paige appeared to pick me up, Andrew immediately moved from stock boy into chief interrogator mode. “Hey, Paige. Who’s the new boyfriend?”
If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn my sister blushed. Her lashes fluttered, shielding her wide eyes, and she looked around, her expression almost panicked. “Huh?”
Iggy jerked a thumb at me. “Nia got flowers today,” he told Paige. “Roses. Won’t tell us who they’re from.”
“Really?” Paige’s scattered focus honed in on me.
“It’s no big deal,” I insisted for probably the thousandth time of the day. “They’re from a client I’m doing a project for.”
“Client?” Paige persisted. “What client?”
“No one you know,” I replied with a shrug. “Just some guy. He liked my grape lamps and ordered a few. The flowers were just his way of saying thank you.”
“Where are they?” Paige asked. “Can I see them? What did the card say?”
“No card,” Iggy announced with the fervor of a prosecuting attorney grilling the defendant.
“No card?” My sister’s eyes narrowed at me, gleaming with speculation. “Then how do you know who sent them?”
I reached a hand into my pocket to trace the edge of the tiny envelope yet again. “He dropped them off this morning right after I opened the store. What’s the big deal? Enough already.”
Paige let the topic go then and there, but I knew we weren’t finished with the discussion. Sure enough, as soon as we sat alone in the car, she zeroed in for the kill. “So?” she said as she pulled her seatbelt across her chest. “Who’s the guy?”
“It’s not like that,” I insisted as firmly as I could. I’d transferred the card from my apron pocket to my purse, and I glanced down at the car floor to be certain no telltale pink glow emanated from its hiding place. “He’s just a really nice, old guy with old-fashioned values.”
I tried picturing Ogden Coffield as a reference point, but couldn’t envision that austere, stony-faced Mr. Potato Head as the kind to send roses to a potential contractor.
“Awww…” Paige cooed. “I’ll bet the old coot’s sweet on you.”
“Maybe.” I rolled down the car window, allowing the breeze to cool the sudden burn in my cheeks.
“Nia’s got a boyfriend,” my sister sing-songed. “Nia’s got a boyfriend.”
“Knock it off,” I grumbled and glared at her. “What did you do today?”
She wriggled in the seat, peeling her thighs from the hot leather. “What do you mean?”
“You had the day off,” I reminded her. “Did you do anything special?”
“Oh, not really. I took a bike ride to Coffield’s Wharf.”
Did I detect some caginess in her response? I realized she was driving, but she hadn’t taken her focus off the road since the topic switched from my flower-giver to her day. Or did my guilty conscience color my insight? “You had a nice day for a ride.”
“Yeah.” A long pause, then she added in a tighter voice, “And you’ll never guess who I ran into.”
“Who?”
“Sam.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Oh, Nia, stop.” She clucked her tongue. “You’ll be happy to know we were both on our best behavior. He rode with me for a while, and we had lunch at The Pier.”
Paige? And Sam? Well, this was encouraging. “And…?”
“And nothing. We shared some fried clams and a beer or two. It’s not like we started making out or anything. Jeez, Nia, what do you want from me?”
“Nothing.” Her quick mood change left me no doubt how she really felt, but I guessed she wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
“We made a fragile peace with each other. He actually got me to laugh a couple of times, and I kept a civil tongue the whole afternoon. Satisfied?”
No doubt about it. I’d ruffled Paige’s feathers. I bit back an indulgent smile and returned my attention to the scenery outside the SUV. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be satisfied?”
Chapter 12
Paige
Sunday morning, I woke up on time to get Nia to work, which was no small feat. I’d spent a good part of the night awake, with the ingredients of a delicious plan bubbling in my head.
Once I had my sister trapped in the car with me, I set Operation Matchmaker into action. “Hey, I was thinking,” I began, feigning spur-of-the-moment inspiration. “How about we have a barbecue at my house tonight? Nothing big. Just you, me, a friend or two, a bottle of wine, and some grilled marinated mako. I noticed yesterday that shark steaks are on sale at the fish market at Coffield’s Wharf.”
I’d assumed Nia, scrolling through messages on her BlackBerry, was too distracted to pay much attention to my invitation. But boy was I wrong!
Her head snapped up so fast, she risked a case of whiplash. “What’d you say about the Coffields?”
“Nothing. I said the fish store at Coffield’s Wharf had mako steaks on sale. So what do you say? You in?”
Distraction dulled her expression, and she returned her attention to her BlackBerry. “Yeah, sure,” she said half-heartedly. “Sounds nice.”
Purrrrfect. All I needed was a lukewarm agreement. “Great,” I exclaimed. “Leave the details to me. You just go to work, have a good day, and when I pick you up later, we can go straight to my house.”
“You don’t have to pick me up today, remember?”
Nia said, still focused on the day’s schedule she routinely plugged into her phone. “The rental agent is dropping off a car this morning so I won’t be inconveniencing you anymore.”
Right. I had forgotten that detail. Even better, though, for my plan so I wasn’t about to argue. “Okay, then, after work, come straight to my house. Sound good?”
Her gaze never left the BlackBerry as she said, “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever.”
Laughter bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed hard, which initiated a coughing fit. Once again, Nia’s head jerked up. “You okay?”
Too incapacitated to speak, I nodded.
“Here.” She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a bottle of water. “Drink something.”
With my eyes tearing and my throat raw, I took the bottle and uncapped it. The second we stopped at a red light, I swigged the icy liquid until I’d regained control of my voice. “Thanks.”
The traffic light switched to green, and I dropped the bottle in the cup holder in my console as I hit the gas. When I reached the Nature’s Bounty parking lot minutes later, Nia climbed out of my Cherokee, still engrossed in her phone.
“Be at my house by six sharp,” I called after her. “Tonight’s gonna be great. You’ll see.”
“Uh-huh,” she repeated, walking toward the shop’s back door.
I waited half a heartbeat after she entered before putting the Jeep in drive and shooting out of there. I had lots of plans to make. First, a call to the Snug Harbor Police station. I’d looked up the main switchboard number in the phone book and programmed it into my cell this morning.
Turning off Main Street, I ordered my dash-installed mobile phone system to “Call Sam Work.”
The digital voice replied from my radio speaker, “Dialing Sam Work.”