by Olivia Miles
“It does,” Sarah admitted. “In theory.” And the truth was that he was single, of the right age, and not hard on the eye. And he was the gatekeeper to the flower garden and terrace with the sweeping view of the sea, large enough to hold a large tent, should the weather decide to not cooperate.
“So you’ll give him another chance?” Melanie asked hopefully.
Sarah went back to her project. She’d give him another chance, all right, but not in the way that Melanie intended. She’d win him over, ensure that he let them rent out the space for Hannah’s wedding.
After all, her love life may have no future, but her career sure as heck had to have one.
Chapter Five
Room service at the Oyster Bay Hotel was one of the only perks that Chris saw to staying in this town another week. This morning he’d gone for the Belgian waffle with a side of eggs, bacon, and hash browns, something that Jenna would have frowned over, something that still made him feel guilty as he scraped the plate, taking in one last bite. But then, a decadent breakfast wasn’t the only thing to feel bad about when it came to Jenna.
He stepped away from the table near the window, where sun filtered through the drapes, eager to get a start on his day nearly as much as he dreaded the thought of returning to that old house. He’d made some progress over the weekend, but not enough, and the truth was that he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to get it all done in time for an estate sale this weekend. By five o’clock yesterday, when the dust in the air was so thick that his eyes were burning and he saw little, if any, actual change to the naked eye, he considered calling on Janice to help him out. But that wouldn’t be fair. After all, Janice had been getting on in years the last time he’d visited. He couldn’t in good conscience put her to work now, not when she was probably enjoying a much earned retirement.
No, Crestview Manor was his problem and his alone. But it had been a burden long before now.
He checked his watch, cursing that he’d wasted time over something as leisurely as breakfast, when he’d hoped to get an early start. But the food would help him to power through, and the delay, well, he didn’t need a shrink to tell him that he was procrastinating, putting off another day in that house, alone with nothing but the memories.
With his laptop in hand, he opened the door to the hall and made his way to the elevator bank. The hotel seemed quiet; most people had probably cleared out last night, after a relaxing weekend getaway. Oyster Bay wasn’t exactly a destination for businessmen throughout the week. Hoping that this was the case, he made his way to the business center in the lobby of the hotel, happy to see that the computer docking stations were empty. In no time, he was able to print a few dozen copies of the flyers he’d created to advertise this weekend’s estate sale. Jeff had left a message yesterday when Chris was knee-deep in cobwebs, saying that he’d already listed the house on the MLS and would send a photographer over early this week to take some shots of the house for the listing.
It was a warm morning, the kind of morning that made Chris want to play hooky, from work, from the tasks at hand, and escape for a bit. But relaxation had never quite been his thing, and besides, he couldn’t afford to waste another week tending to this old house when he had a real job to get back to. A real life to get back to—sort of, he thought, forcing himself down the street.
Technically, he was allowed a vacation. Technically, he could afford a vacation. He worked for himself. His set his own schedule. His clients would understand one week off, surely.
But he didn’t like to relax. Didn’t like to slow down. It was better to keep busy. Keep moving. One foot in front of the other.
His first stop was a café named Angie’s that he hoped had a bulletin board he could use. Sure enough, he had barely crossed the threshold into the vestibule when he was greeted with a crowded board advertising everything from knitting classes to babysitters. He found a spare tack and placed his sign front and center.
“You know, you’re covering that volunteer sign-up sheet for the summer festival,” a voice behind him said.
He turned, prepared to stake his claim, after all, his sheet was barely covering one inch of the corner of any other poster, and he was hardly the first offender, but his defenses came down when he caught the eye of the woman who had shown up at his door yesterday morning. She was holding a paper cup of coffee, and she was smiling at him.
“Oh. Well.” He flicked his eyes back to the board and then returned them to her. She was pretty. Prettier than he’d remembered, with blonde hair and a perky smile, and it had been one of his first impressions of her yesterday, along with complete irritation at being interrupted. “Just the corner. I mean, I could move it.”
She grinned wider. Her blue eyes seemed to gleam. It was then that he realized she was having fun with him. “It’s fine. Besides, that sign-up sheet is at least a month old. Someone just forgot to take it down. Angie gets busy, and Leah is always at the counter, and neither of them wants to upset anyone by taking down their postings, so unless the people who tack up these items come along and remove them, well, they tend to remain.”
Geez, she was chatty. He cleared his throat. “Good to know.”
Her coffee smelled good, and he hoped to push past her into the café, grab one of his own before he moved on to the next spot on Main Street. But the woman moved forward, peering at the sign, her shoulder brushing his as she got a better look at the fine print.
He froze, wondering if she would move away, or if he should, but he found himself easing into the sensation, standing there, so close he could feel the rise and fall of her breath and smell her perfume. Something sweet. Inviting.
Or maybe it was just something being baked in the café’s kitchen.
Right. He did back away this time. Just an inch.
Her gaze was sharp on his. “An estate sale, huh?” She sipped her coffee, waiting for him to respond. “Clearing out some of the items in the house?”
“I have no need for any of that stuff,” he said a little gruffly. Most of the items in the house were old, antiques, dating back to when his grandparents had lived there, and his grandfather’s parents before that. Marty loved the old stuff. He appreciated it. He liked to hold onto the past.
Chris felt his jaw pulse.
“There’s an antiques shop down the street,” the woman offered. She took another sip of her coffee, eyeing him over the rim of her paper cup.“I bet they could give you a quote. There’s probably a lot of value in some of those old pieces.”
She raised a good point, but top dollar wasn’t what he was after. Still, he’d be sure to stop into the shop she had mentioned, to let them know about the sale. They might be a good customer next weekend, or tell a few collectors about it, too. He’d love nothing more than to clear the place out before he left town and never have to think about it again.
“Thanks, I’ll stop in, but I’m more interested in clearing everything out quickly.”
The woman nodded, but didn’t seem to take the hint. “So you’re putting the house up for sale then?”
He shrugged. He wasn’t sure what Marty intended him to do with the property, and that unsettled him. He told himself that Marty had no one else to leave it to. But when he thought of it like that, he felt the weight of pressure on his shoulders that he had to do right by it. Marty knew that if he left it to Chris’s father, he would just turn around and sell it. Did he expect something different from Chris? Or did he just assume that Chris should have some say, after all the time he’d spent there?
“It’s a little big for just one person,” he said finally, which was true, very true, or so he liked to tell himself. After all, Marty had lived there alone for years.
“Well.” She cleared her throat. Her cheeks seemed to have gone a little pink. “You know, if you walk a few blocks down Main to the offices of the Oyster Bay Gazette, you may be able to take out an ad in the paper.” Perhaps sensing his hesitation, she added, “They have an online version that gets a lot of traffic from
neighboring communities.”
He had to admit that this was yet another good idea on her part. “Thanks,” he said, genuinely appreciating it. “I think I’ll do that.”
“Tell them I sent you,” she said. Then, because his expression must have revealed his confusion, she added, “Sarah Preston. I used to work there.”
Sarah. Now he remembered. Remembered something else too.
“You used to work there before becoming a wedding planner?” He arched a brow. If she was hoping to change his mind about the wedding she wanted to host on the property, she was wasting her time.
“Technically I work for Bayside Brides,” she said. “We’re a bridal salon but we’re branching into event planning, too.”
Hence the reason she was looking for a venue for an upcoming wedding. He saw this as his cue to exit.
Sarah, it seemed, had other ideas.
“I’m actually headed your way,” she informed him. “Bayside Brides is across the street and down a ways. I can walk with you.”
He couldn’t mask his discomfort with this, even though he knew he was overreacting. He’d grown too used to being alone in recent years, slowly drifting away from friends, finding excuses to avoid social interactions. Heck, he didn’t even have to go into an office. He worked from his home, and the fact that his clients were located all across the country meant that he could technically work from anywhere. But he had a routine that worked. He woke at six, went for a five-mile run, came home, showered, dressed, and brought his one and only mug of coffee into the room he’d set up with a large desk and two oversized computer screens. He emerged for lunch, and then again for dinner. Lunch was usually something microwaveable. Dinner was take-out or delivery. He didn’t have any pets. He only knew the names of a few of the neighbors in his building, and even then, he’d wished he didn’t. Stan, the sweet, older man who lived across the hall, was forever trying to set Chris up with his granddaughter. Poor Stan didn’t know the half of it, and Chris certainly didn’t feel like sharing.
He was thirty-three years old. People saw him as a bachelor, someone who might be shy about committing, or even reluctant. They had no idea that he was a widower. That he had committed. Been there, done that.
No looking back. Just forward.
“Lead the way,” he said, forcing a grin that he didn’t feel. His expression felt tight, unnatural, but if Sarah noticed, she didn’t let on. She was just being friendly, welcoming, even, and really, what was so wrong with that?
This was a small town. This was probably normal around here. Talking to people. Interacting with people.
No wonder Marty had been a recluse. It was probably the only way to ensure any privacy in this town.
***
Sarah didn’t realize she was smiling until Melanie pointed it out. The bells were still clanging, and the door to the shop had barely closed behind her, and Melanie was standing behind the counter, looking at her with keen interest that told Sarah that she must have been watching more than Sarah just walking through the door. No doubt she had also caught her walking up to the door with a man. A good-looking man. Of the right age.
He did have a nice smile, she thought. There was a slight dimple in his left cheek. It was endearing, and it made him seem almost approachable. But not quite. He was guarded, and his defenses were up. They wouldn’t easily come down, she feared, but she’d still try. In the professional sense.
“Don’t you look happy!” Melanie remarked.
Sarah could only shake her head. “Don’t go reading into things.” After all, right up until she had run into the Foster heir at Angie’s, she had all but lost her breakfast, so great were her nerves at the thought of today’s looming Monday meeting, and the ominous suggestion that Chloe had made over the weekend that they would be discussing her professional indiscretion today.
Was it too much to hope that Chloe may have forgotten?
“So was that him?” Melanie waggled her eyebrows as she closed the jewelry display case.
“The nephew of Marty Foster? Yes.” Chris Foster. He’d finally revealed his name on their brief walk, and only because she’d asked. He wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type. Not exactly sending out vibes of any sort of interest, in any shape or form.
“Seemed like you two were getting along just fine today,” Melanie said airily.
Sarah set her hands on her hips and gave her friend a long look. “Why are you so determined to see me give this guy a chance?” Really! Of all people! Melanie shouldn’t be too encouraged by his outward appearance. Sarah wasn’t. Not entirely, at least.
She shook her head as she made her way to the storage room to hang up her bag, but Melanie stopped her before she could push through the door. “Chloe is in there,” she warned. “With Hannah.”
Sarah frowned. Chloe never let clients into the storage room! Sure, it was bright, with crisp white shelving and a long table in the center that doubled as a work space. The walls were two shades lighter than the blue in the storefront. But there was a kitchenette. There was a bulletin board with memos tacked to it in a less than organized fashion. There was a houseplant that had seen better days.
“You didn’t tell her about me trying to convince the Foster nephew to let us use Crestview for the wedding, did you?” She chewed her thumb worriedly. The last thing she needed was to be giving false hope on top of everything else, or have Chloe thinking that she was overstepping.
But to her relief, Melanie shook her head. “No. I didn’t think it was my place.”
“Good.” Sarah nodded, breathing only a little easier. “If you talk to Kelly today, can you ask her not to say anything either? I don’t think that he’s going to come around, and I’d hate to lift Hannah’s spirits just have them come crashing down again.” After all, she knew that feeling all too well.
“Certainly.” Melanie gave a perfunctory nod of agreement. “I’m sure Kelly will agree.”
That was one potential problem solved, at least. “So we aren’t having our Monday meeting then?” They used to be later, over lunch, but with how busy they were lately, Chloe had pushed them up into the morning. Now, she wondered if Chloe might find they were too busy to have a weekly meeting at all. She noted the hope in her voice, which was quickly shot down again when Melanie shook her head.
“Hannah came in early, before work. It makes sense for us to use the time that the retail shop isn’t open for our other services. I think Chloe will touch on that more in the meeting.”
The meeting. Why did one word make her stomach heave?
“Chloe wants to start using the storage room space for meetings,” Melanie said. “She said it was easier than going over things here on the sofa and chairs. She stayed late last night sprucing things up.”
Sarah had to agree that this was probably a better use for the space. It was a large room, and there was a table where they could spread out their ideas.
Happy for the delay, Sarah waited until Melanie walked over to the dressing rooms before she settled into the seat at the counter and checked on the status of all their outstanding orders, so she would have something useful to report when the meeting started.
When that was finished, she went through the inventory, making notes for anything that needed to be reordered. They kept a few things in stock at all times, available for immediate purchase, while other items in the shop were samples. She started with the shoes. Even though most of these had to be ordered in specific sizes, they also liked to keep at least four sizes of each style on hand. She checked on the strappy kitten heels, available in pearl, white, champagne, and gold. She jotted a note to herself on her clipboard that they were low on size seven.
The door to the back room opened as Sarah moved toward the veils, trying not to think about Jane Merrik and how badly she had messed up on Friday.
“The Harper House Inn is a beautiful location,” Chloe was saying, even though her tone seemed strained. “That view!”
Hannah pulled a face. She sighed, clearly disa
ppointed. “I know. It’s just that both Bridget and Margo were married there. And it’s their home more than mine. And it’s just not what I wanted. I know it will be lovely, but I’d wanted something more of my own.”
Sarah fluffed a few of the veils. They had plenty in stock, and those orders were usually custom anymore. Lots of brides wanted a specific clip or length or trim. There was no way they could keep enough options on hand to please everyone.
“It will be your own,” Chloe said, tapping her clipboard. “I promise.”
Hannah gave a resigned wave to Sarah and said good-bye to Melanie as she left the shop. Chloe’s shoulders seemed to visibly sag as she stared out the window onto Main Street.
“Should we start our meeting now?” Melanie came out from the dressing rooms, where she’d set out a few dresses for the afternoon clients on the schedule, and glanced over at Sarah, who now felt positively sick with nerves. Chloe was already in a bad mood. This certainly didn’t bode well for the meeting.
“I see no reason to delay it,” Chloe said, leading them back through the open door to the room which had indeed been spruced up overnight. In the center of the table was a row of three small flower arrangements in varying shades of pink, a larger one had been set up on the long shelf against the wall, which used to house overstuffed folders of purchase orders and invoices and which now held lovely baskets and a row of wedding books with candy-colored spines.
The kitchenette had been cleaned up. There was now water and coffee at the ready, for clients, Sarah gathered. And the bulletin board was now covered with inspirational seasonal photos of centerpieces, wedding invitations, and cake displays.
“This is gorgeous!” Sarah marveled. She couldn’t help it; she felt excited. When she had come on board at Bayside Brides, this was exactly the type of opportunity she had been seeking. The chance to put her creative visions to work, to see them come to life.