by Olivia Miles
***
“So I have to ask,” Sarah said as she took a spot beside Chris on the shore and untied her gym shoes. She wiggled her toes into the sand, happy to have some fresh air on her face. They were making progress on the house, but they still had a long way to go, and truth be told, she was exhausted. She’d spent the better part of the morning helping Chris beat the rugs. They’d considered getting rid of them until they saw how much darker the floorboards were under them. “Did you have lunch plans with someone else?”
He frowned as he handed her a sandwich wrapped in the waxy paper that Angie’s was known for. “I don’t know anyone else in this town. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you have two sandwiches here,” she pointed out.
He laughed. “I planned ahead. Figured I’d be stuck here for dinner, too.”
The man had given her his dinner. If that wasn’t a romantic gesture, she didn’t know what was.
Except it wasn’t romantic, she told herself firmly. He was just apologizing to her the best way he knew how. He was being…nice, she realized.
She smiled to herself. Nice was good.
“You just might be stuck here for dinner with the amount of work we still have left to do.” She unwrapped the paper to discover a turkey sandwich underneath. She took a hearty bite, nearly groaning at the taste. “Sorry,” she said, sliding him a glance. “I’m not really used to so much physical exertion this early in the day.”
And she wasn’t used to cramming a sandwich into her mouth in as big of bites as she could physically handle, especially not in front of a decent-looking guy. More than decent, actually. But then, this one wasn’t an option. Made things very straight forward from the get-go.
She wiped the crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand, wondering if Chris was looking at her in astonishment. But considering that he was doing the same, he probably could have eaten both of these sandwiches for his lunch. Heck, she probably could have.
“So you spent all these summers here and you never got to know anyone?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I stayed around the house mostly. Fishing. Playing in the yard. There was plenty to do.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
“Only child,” he said with a twinge of regret in his tone.
She gave him a little smile. “Me too. I don’t mind it so much. Except when my parents get a little too curious about my personal life. That’s why I decided to move here. I’ve been here for over a year now. It suits me. I’ve made a lot of really good friends and, well, they feel like family. Plus, my grandmother’s here, but I think I mentioned that.”
And she was rambling. She tended to do this when she was nervous, or there was a potential for silence, or, in this case, she didn’t exactly trust herself not to mess up and accidentally stir up the wife again. She needed to beat some rugs. Dust some sconces. Keep her head low.
Mentioning her grandmother made her think of the conversation with Esther last night. The music from the band could be heard three miles down the shoreline, she’d said. What a wedding that must have been.
“I used to wish my parents would take an interest in my personal life.” Chris gave her a little grin that made her heart speed up.
For no good reason, she reminded herself.
“They shipped me off to boarding school as a kid. I spent my summers here. In some ways I was closer to Marty than I’ve ever been to my own father.”
“You must miss him,” she said, hoping that she wasn’t hedging into dangerous territory, but he just gave a little shrug and smiled out over the water.
“I do. I wish I had visited more in the past few years but, well, life got busy.” He peeled off more of the wax paper, took a big bite of his sandwich. “Work,” he clarified after he’d swallowed.
“Which is?”
“I’m a financial planner. Which is part of the reason I know what a money pit an estate like this is,” he added wryly.
Sarah took a smaller bite this time, trying to make sense of his mixed messages. Her heart sank when she thought of him giving away those photos of Marty as a young man, all the still frames that had captured his life. What bothered him so much about them that he wouldn’t be willing to keep them? Hannah, being a photographer, would be horrified at the mere thought of it. And Sarah knew firsthand just how much her Grandma Esther loved looking at old photographs. As she slipped further into Alzheimer’s, sometimes those photos were the only things that could spark her memory.
Well, it was really none of her business. All that should matter to her was seeing that this house was in good enough order that Hannah’s wedding guests wouldn’t get bitten by a spider or hit in the head by a loose stone falling from the house.
“It’s easy to get caught up with everyday life,” she sympathized. “I try to visit my grandmother every Wednesday night, but some weeks, that’s not possible.”
“I’ve been told I work too much.” He jutted his lip, considering this. “Maybe I do.”
“You like what you do then?”
“I don’t mind it,” he said. “Ironically, I ended up doing exactly what my father wanted me to do, even though I always said I’d never be like him. I wanted to be just like Marty instead.”
“Do you still?” she asked, but he shook his head firmly.
“No,” he said gruffly. His jaw set.
“It’s funny how things work out,” she commented, hoping to keep her tone light. But her stomach fluttered with nerves when she considered the fate of her own career. There was no guarantee that she was going to win over Chloe again—not after losing a client—but at least she could be certain that she had done everything she could. “So, I take it you need to get back to Boston soon then? For work?”
“Technically I could work from wherever I want,” Chris said. “My clients are spread out. I work from a home office. Family business.”
“Ah.” She frowned as she peeled back the paper of her sandwich. “So you could keep the house without impacting your career. You could live here. Have your lunch out here every day. Work in Marty’s library…”
He laughed out loud. “That’s a very nice fantasy. The place is a tear down, or it should be.”
She couldn’t deny that it was a work in progress. “Still, it seems like a shame to sell it.”
“The upkeep alone would be outrageous. Believe me, I know from my clients just how much it costs to heat something that big. And those lead-paned windows don’t offer the same kind of insulation as newer windows, either.”
“I guess it’s the romantic in me. Inheriting a seaside mansion. Discovering hidden treasure. Exploring every nook. Waking up to the sound of the waves crashing in the distance.” She smiled wistfully at such a thought. “You could set up a home office right above the garage in that carriage house.”
Chris was shaking his head. He’d already polished off the sandwich and picked up an apple. “Nope. You might see the romance in it, but I see the reality.”
“I guess we balance each other out then,” she said, and then, realizing that she’d probably gone a little too far with that comment, felt her cheeks burn. “I mean, I just—”
“Oh, I know exactly what you meant. That photographer who came by said the exact same thing.”
Sarah frowned. There weren’t many photographers in town. “Was her name Hannah?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Hannah.”
“She’s the one who will be getting married here,” Sarah said, feeling a sense of warmth at the notion.
Chris frowned at her. “She didn’t say anything. She actually said how much she wished she could get married here.”
“That’s because I haven’t told her yet,” Sarah explained.
He gave her a funny look. “Well, shouldn’t she know?”
“She will. I just…Well, after what happened yesterday morning, it’s sort of a good thing that I didn’t tell her right away.”
He looked down at the sand then up at her, his gaze deep, so intense
she almost looked away. “I’m a man of my word.”
She nodded. She wanted to believe that. Her heart told her that she could. There was something so earnest in his eyes, in the depth of his stare. But her head… “I don’t trust people easily.” Or maybe she was too trusting. She’d been called naïve before. But that was the old Sarah. The new Sarah knew that she couldn’t go giving her heart away to every idea of love that came along.
No good ever came from it before.
“That makes two of us,” he said wryly, shoving the apple core into the bakery bag. “So we’re not opposites after all.” His mouth crooked into a grin and Sarah felt her heart begin to beat a little quicker.
Something told her that she and Chris had a lot in common. And that they’d get along just fine. Or that they might have done. In another time. Another place.
She grinned to herself. So much for the romantic. She was turning into a realist. Just like the man sitting beside her.
***
He hadn’t been out here on the beach since he’d been back to the house. And he hadn’t been back to the house since Jenna had died. Seeing that photo yesterday had stirred things up. The memories of the days here on this very beach, especially the last one, which had started out so perfectly, the sun shining and warm, the breeze light and cool. He hadn’t thought he could come out here again, sit on the sand, stare out over the water, face the one thing he tried not to think about, ever. But being here, with Sarah…it was easier than he’d expected.
“I enjoyed this,” he admitted. “I’ve been a little stressed since I came back to town.”
“You really don’t like it here, do you?” She was looking at him like he was crazy, and something told him that maybe he was. After all, what wasn’t there to like about Oyster Bay, this house, this rocky shoreline with the waves crashing and the gulls soaring?
“It’s a nice town,” he said. “And it’s a nice house. But I—”
She shook her head. “I know, I know. You don’t want the upkeep. You raise a good point, you do.”
“It’s more than that,” he admitted, surprised to hear the words said aloud. He could have said nothing, bagged the rest of their lunch and headed back up to the house. But he didn’t want to go back, not yet, and not because the mere thought of all that dust was enough to make his eyes burn. He was calm out here. And Sarah…she was easy to talk to. Open. Honest. It was refreshing.
He remembered what she had said, that day in town. That’s how people were here in Oyster Bay. They sure weren’t that way back in Boston. Or maybe they were and he hadn’t given them a chance to show it.
Sarah had just been more persistent. She’d worn him down. He was happy she had.
“The truth of the matter is, much as I loved Marty, I don’t want to end up like him, you know? At least, not anymore.”
She winced, and the honesty in her eyes told him that she did know, that she understood, even if she hadn’t known Marty personally.
“He was alone, in this big old house. I know he looked forward to my visits. It’s one of the reasons I feel so guilty, I suppose.” There were other reasons, of course, but he didn’t want to get into them now. Couldn’t get into them, really. Ever.
“My grandmother vaguely knew him,” Sarah said, giving him a funny look. “She said a lot of women in town were interested in him.”
Chris considered this. Marty never seemed to have an interest in moving on with his life. He’d been alone for as long as Chris had known him. “Maybe so. I’m not even sure he knew that. Not sure it would have changed who he was.” Chris shook his head, thinking of Marty alone at his big piano, a drink at his side. “He got set in his ways. Maybe he even liked being alone.”
Maybe Chris eventually would too. Maybe there was hope for him yet, he thought.
“Maybe,” Sarah said. She stood up and brushed the sand from her jeans. “But I’d hate to think of anyone choosing to be alone. Although, I’ve sort of done that myself lately.”
Well, this was interesting. He perked up, happy to have the conversation shifted off his own issues. “Bad breakup?”
She considered this for a moment. “Guess it’s just easier to be alone sometimes. But the more I think about it, maybe it’s not the best choice.”
He considered this. She had a point. Not that he could admit it. Not even to himself. The easier path was sometimes the better one. Self-preservation and all that.
He looked up at her, blinking into the sun. Her tank top pushed against her stomach in the breeze. Her hair had been freed from its ponytail and now hung loosely at her shoulders. The sun was bright, shining down on them with all its intensity of the midafternoon, but the intensity of its glow seemed to catch the light in her eyes and the rosiness of her cheeks. He suddenly had the feeling that this had all been a very bad idea.
“Well, I guess we should get back to it,” he said, hearing the reluctance in his tone, and not just because he loathed the thought of entering that house again, or picking up another cleaning rag, or unearthing another photo like the one Sarah had found, the one that was now tucked in the bottom of his suitcase at the hotel, in its album, where he didn’t have to think about it.
The truth was that he was having a nice time, here, on the shore of all places. And he wasn’t quite ready to get back to reality just yet.
Chapter Ten
“You know what we should do,” Sarah said as she shook out the towel and folded it in half. “We should have a painting party.”
“A painting party?” He didn’t look very convinced.
“You know, spruce the place up a bit. Patch up some of the window frames and rough spots on the doors. The conservatory would be gorgeous in a warm butter yellow, and I can just picture that front parlor in a dusty rose.”
“Rose? As in pink?” His expression evolved from shock to one of knowing. “You’re thinking of the wedding!”
“I am not,” she said primly as she gathered up the last of their sandwich wrappers. “I told you that this wedding was going to be held outside.”
“And if it rains?”
“A tent, of course,” she said. Still, she couldn’t quite look him in the eye, and he held up a finger, grinning with satisfaction.
“A-ha!” he said. “You are thinking of that wedding. You’re thinking of what you could use the house for.”
She stopped walking, sighing in exasperation. “And is it such a bad idea, really? The house is vacant. No one lives there. You don’t know how long it will take to sell. It could be put to use. Maybe the house was meant to be something other than a personal residence. If you don’t enjoy it, at least give other people in Oyster Bay the chance to.”
Chris shook his head. “I told you, I’m selling the place. And I’m not going to change my mind on that.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding, but she was fairly certain that he could tell she didn’t believe him. And why should she? This house held a lot of memories for Chris. It was part of his family history. It belonged with him.
But again, that wasn’t her business, was it?
“Look, you want to sell it, and the best way to do that is to make it look its best. A fresh coat of paint wouldn’t hurt anything. It would actually help.”
“We don’t have enough time,” he said. “Besides, I’m not painting the front room pink.”
“Dusty rose,” she said, but even she couldn’t fight off a smile. “And we can find the time if we work through the night. What about a warm apricot?”
“Warm apricot?” He looked equally horrified and confused. “What even is that?”
She thought about it for a minute. “Not quite peach. Not quite blush.”
He stood, rooted in the sand, staring at her with an amused glint in his eye. Still, he hadn’t shut her down. Yet. “So, in other words, pink.”
She shrugged. “Call it what you will, but I never used that word.”
She turned and walked back toward the house, and then, turned around. “How about this?
Whoever makes it to the house first gets their choice of color.”
“But I never even agreed to paint.”
Perhaps not, but he would. It would help the house sell. And until then, it would only make Hannah’s wedding that much prettier because of course some of the guests would find a way to linger inside the house, and wouldn’t Hannah and the bridal party want to use this space before the ceremony?
She sprinted through the sand at full speed, which wasn’t saying much considering she’d been the worst kid on the track team two years in a row and had only joined to have an excuse to spend time with Justin Sloane, a junior with a steady girlfriend. In other words, a waste of her emotions. When she reached the path to the lawn, she took the steps two at a time, her thighs feeling like they might give out. She’d gotten a head start, but not by much, and Chris pushed past her at a speed she knew she couldn’t top, but that didn’t stop her from trying.
Wishing she’d tied on her gym shoes first instead of clutching them to her chest, she gave a gallant effort right up until the point that Chris slapped the handle of the door to the kitchen and grinned triumphantly.
She reached the terrace and stood, panting, her heart pounding from both apprehension and the exercise. She really needed to make more time for the gym. And, considering that she no longer had to go extra slowly on the treadmill lest she break a sweat while she roved her eye around the room looking for an eligible man, she would be in better shape in no time. She might even enter next fall’s Turkey Trot. Chloe entered every year. But then, Chloe was regimented that way.
“I win,” Chris declared, and damn it, he wasn’t even out of breath. She curled her lip. She should have known better than to suggest a race. The man was clearly in shape, likely hit the gym a few times a week. His lean muscles were proof of it. Not that she was looking.
“Just hear me out,” she said, but her words came out in gasps, and she sputtered on a cough. She composed herself, ignoring the gleam in his eye, and said, “Sorry. I’m uh, not much of a runner.”
“So I’ve noticed,” he commented. He was looking at her with curiosity. “So why offer up the challenge?”