by Jenny Hale
Summer at Oyster Bay
A heart-warming summer romance
Jenny Hale
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Letter from Jenny
Summer by the Sea
Also by Jenny Hale
Acknowledgments
Copyright
One
How ironic that Emily was going to be planning weddings at the prestigious Water’s Edge Inn, when she’d just said “no” to her boyfriend’s proposal in front of two hundred of her friends and family.
Just three days later, her car full of her things, Emily had driven the hour and a half back to Clearwater from her apartment in the city, locking her door for the last time and slipping the key under the mat, never to return. Her ex-boyfriend, Brad, had conveniently been absent the entire time she’d packed and when she’d left. He hadn’t told her where he was, but she guessed that he didn’t want to see her. She’d spent ages trying to write him an apology that really expressed how awful she felt, and finally left what still didn’t feel like enough explanation on the kitchen counter where they’d always left each other notes and reminders.
She ran her fingers through her long, brown hair, dabbed on some lip-gloss, and got out of her car. Water’s Edge Inn wasn’t just any inn; it was an enormous expanse of real estate, the biggest in the area. Growing up, she’d seen the inn through the woods of her house, but she’d never set foot on the premises. It engulfed the entire edge of a peninsula, its white clapboard siding fanning out in wings across the estate. It had its own marina and golf course.
The inn staff was in a frenzy. Barely eight o’clock, there was a line of people she’d never seen before expecting room keys; the grounds men were awaiting special orders; a food delivery was outside and, while unloading loaves of bread, the driver was lingering impatiently for signatures; painters were touching up trim and doorways; and a million other smartly dressed bellboys, cleaners, and crew were feverishly buzzing around.
“Welcome to Water’s Edge Inn,” Libby, Emily’s new boss and old friend, said with a grin as she approached the counter. Libby’s normally free-falling, golden hair was pinned back into a perfect up-do, her great sense of style showing in her navy pencil skirt, fitted crisscross button-up shirt, and teardrop earrings. She’d hired Emily as an events coordinator right there in the street downtown in Richmond after the catastrophe of a dinner proposal, the solitaire diamond ring still encircling the red roses on the table inside. Libby had been trying for a while to entice Emily to leave her coordinator position at the pub she’d brought to popularity in Richmond. Emily could work at the inn and return to her childhood home to get away from the disaster she’d created.
“There are so many out-of-towners,” Emily said, her thoughts coming out almost by accident. “I saw lots of unfamiliar license plates on the way into town.”
“It’s full of out-of-towners. They’re everywhere these days…”
It seemed that news of the inn had spread out of the state, which was something new, and it didn’t sit well with Emily. She liked her small town and didn’t want to see it become commercialized like other nearby beach towns.
“I’m so sorry to bring you on the team right now, but Charles Peterson’s coming to stay at the inn, and we’re in a bit of a rush to get everything ready for him.” Libby made a face. “He’s the new owner and we have to impress him.”
“Tell me what to do.”
“Since we don’t have a lot of time, I’d like you to be on call for Mr. Peterson’s requests. I’ll train you in between, and then once he leaves, we’ll go over your position. Did you see his photo in the paper? He’s single…”
Emily’s shoulders slumped in mental exhaustion. “Libby…”
“Sorry. That was insensitive of me.”
She didn’t want to talk about Brad or the attractiveness of Charles Peterson. She just wanted to keep her head down, go to work, and come home.
Libby rubbed her lips together as she was thinking, what little red lipstick she’d worn now gone. “He’s asked for a few things to be in his suite when he arrives,” she said, signing for the food delivery, her eyes on Emily the whole time. “Could I give you the corporate card and have you pick the items up?”
“Absolutely.”
“Perfect. When you get back, you can take them to his suite—The Concord Suite. He’ll be here in about an hour. Thank you for not running away at the sight of all this,” she said, her eyes now a little manic. Libby reached under the desk, unlocked the cabinet and retrieved the corporate credit card and keys to the suite. “Here’s his hotel rider. Just do the best you can.” She slid the list and the card across the counter.
“Got it,” Emily said, looking down at Charles Peterson’s requests: three bottles of champagne, a case of sparkling water, moisturizing soap, all-natural sunscreen—sun-proof twenty—and lip balm; set televisions to weather channel, room temperature at sixty-eight degrees.
She slipped her sunglasses on and headed out into the sunshine. Turning toward the wind, Emily watched the sun reflecting off the surface of the water, the salty smell in the air taking her back to all the days she’d spent in this town as a child, the bay offering a childhood full of barefoot, sandy memories. But she didn’t have time to think about those things. She got into her car and headed straight for the small string of boutiques near the inn.
The Beach Boutique was just the spot to get the soap, sunscreen, and lip balm. And knowing Francine, the owner, Emily felt pretty good about the quality of the products. She pulled up at the front of the store and got out of her car. With the list in her hand, she walked past the brightly painted crab pots and decorative mailbox flags and into the shop. The ceiling was covered in wind chimes, the walls draped in summer fabrics and patterns—collectible beach bags, sarongs, and swimwear. It was a tiny shop, with all the floor displays extremely close to one another. Emily turned sideways to inch past a spinning display of beach-themed refrigerator magnets and walked over to the beauty section. It was just like it had always been.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Francine said in her southern drawl from over the top of her reading glasses. “I haven’t seen you since you ran off to the city! How’s your grandmother?”
“Hi, Francine.” Emily slipped off her sunglasses to get a better look at her. Francine had aged considerably since Emily had seen her last, but then again, the sun could do that to a person, and she was still heavyset, her love of cooking overpowering her multitude of weight-loss plans. “She’s fine, thank you,” Emily said with a grin. Francine gossiped about everyone, and she never seemed to have a solidly nice thing to say, but Emily liked her. She was always true to herself.
“That’s good to hear! Let me know if you need anything.”
“Just these, please.” Emily pulled the items off the shelf and set them on the counter.
“Going swimming?” Francine asked, pushing her glasses closer to
her eyes to view the sunscreen Emily had chosen. “It’s a glorious day for swimming! I’ll bet the beaches are warm and breezy in all this sunshine.”
“I’m working, actually. I got a job at Water’s Edge. I’m buying items for the inn.” She waved the corporate card.
“Oh! How nice. I didn’t realize you were back permanently!” Francine swiped the credit card, set it on the counter, and held the bag of items out toward Emily.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m working with Libby now. I’ll be heading over to the market next to get champagne for the new boss,” she said, raising her eyebrows in excitement. It was good to have something to take her mind off her breakup.
“Best of luck to ya.” With a flourish, Francine ripped off the receipt and slid it across the counter toward Emily, holding it flat with her fingers. Emily pulled a pen from the cup beside the register and signed her name just as the bells on the door jingled. Both ladies turned around.
“Lord have mercy,” Francine said under her breath as they both looked at the handsome man who’d entered. He had dark hair cut short, his face was perfectly shaven, his clothes casual but clearly expensive. “May I help you?” Francine called over Emily’s head.
“Yes, I’m looking for a unique gift for a woman,” the man said, making his way past the beach figurines and hand-painted wine and margarita glasses.
“Well, let me see if I can help you with that.” Francine came around the corner of the counter and peered at him over her glasses. She slipped them off and let them dangle from a beaded cord. “How old is this woman?”
“Probably somewhere between thirty and forty.”
“That’s a range. Know her well, do ya?” she said with a smirk and Emily coughed to keep herself from laughing. She always laughed when she was uncomfortable and Francine was not one to sugarcoat things. Perhaps she should intervene, although she really didn’t have time.
“The woman works for me,” he said in a very direct way.
“Maybe I can help. I fall into that age range,” Emily said, feeling her pulse quicken when his dark blue eyes landed on her. “I’d love to have a few of those margarita glasses. They’re nice.”
“Mmm,” he said, pondering the suggestion. “I don’t know if she drinks margaritas.”
Emily looked around the store. “Okay. How about, um…” She pointed to the beaded jewelry in a case on the counter. “How about a nice necklace?”
“Jewelry might be a bit personal.”
She tried to look at him, but every time she did, the intensity of his gaze and his good looks made her oddly nervous, so she focused on the items in front of her. Francine had disappeared into the storeroom, probably calling her gram to tell her that her granddaughter was picking up strange men in the shop.
“What about this?” She held up a box of seashell napkin rings.
“I’m awful at buying gifts.” His face gave away the fact that the napkin rings hadn’t hit the mark either. “Never mind,” he said with a smile that made Emily’s hands jittery right there on the spot. “I’ll figure something out.”
She nodded, slowly turning away from him and heading toward the door. She didn’t want to be rude, but she still had to get the rest of the items on the list, and she was losing time.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he said from behind her.
She turned around. “It’s Emily.”
He smiled again. “Thank you for your help, Emily,” he said.
She smiled and then hurried out to her car.
In an attempt to burn off her nervous energy, Emily put the windows down and cranked up the radio. It had been quite a while since she’d been back in town, and things had certainly changed.
Growing up in the small coastal town, Emily had always known everyone. When they were young, Emily and Libby had spent a lot of time together, having gone to the same white country church on the hill every Sunday that their parents had attended as kids. They’d been able to walk to the string of specialty shops in town after the service without a care in the world—buying sodas and ice cream—because they’d known everyone. Libby was from the nearby town of White Stone, and Emily lived in Clearwater, named after the two rivers that bordered it from the north and the south, with the bay to the east. Both towns were on the sparkling Chesapeake Bay, their streets dotted with grand country houses and hundred-year-old trees. The girls would run through the sprawling green yards, holding their ice cream cones, the sunlight flickering between the leaves of the trees, creating shade on the bricked sidewalks. All the small towns in this area were strung together by a handful of winding roads, making one flow into another and bringing the people of each town together—nearly everybody knew each other.
Emily arrived at the grocery store, threw the car into park, and ran inside.
There was one checkout open. One. Emily grabbed a shopping basket as she passed at least six more unfamiliar people in line.
She stopped along the wall of wines and walked to the end where she knew they always kept the champagne. A pang of sadness swelled in her throat as she remembered buying a bottle with Brad when she’d brought him to meet Gram and Papa for the first time. They’d been celebrating the fact that she was going to move into his apartment in Richmond. Now she’d left that whole life behind her. She’d left her friends, her job, and everything she’d had for the past three years. With a deep breath, she focused on the labels in front of her.
Opting for the top shelf selection, she grabbed a bottle and put it in her basket, then hurried over to get a case of sparkling water. Looking at her watch, she still had about twenty minutes. She rounded the corner. There was a long line still at the register. Things were different here. Life was slower. She had twenty minutes, she told herself. Everything was just fine.
But by the time she’d waited for an elderly lady with a cart full of groceries, who’d wanted to inspect the price of each item as the clerk rang it up and then hand-write a check conceivably slower than anyone could ever write, Emily was starting to worry about getting back on time.
When the clerk finally rang her up, Emily opened her wallet and, to her horror, found she couldn’t see the corporate credit card. She rummaged around in her handbag, her heart now pounding.
OhmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyGod… What have I done with it? Her first day on the job and she’d lost the corporate credit card! Then she remembered, Francine hadn’t given it back to her because they’d been distracted by the man who’d come in to the shop. The man who was now looking down at her…
“Lost something?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to breathe.
“Perhaps…” He held the card up between his two fingers. “This?” He handed it to the clerk who was gawking at him as if she were star-struck. The clerk took it slowly and swiped it through the machine.
He glanced down to the items on the checkout counter. When he made eye contact again, she thought she saw compassion flicker across his face. Could he tell how mortified she was? “You have good taste in champagne,” he said, a small grin playing on his lips.
“How did you get that card?” she asked, ignoring his comment. Had Francine just given the Water’s Edge corporate credit card to a complete stranger who offered to track her down?
“Well, once I convinced your friend, Francine, that I own Water’s Edge Inn, she let me have it,” he said, signing the receipt, his eyes still on her. He took the bag and card from the clerk and thanked her. Then he began walking toward the door.
Emily shuffled up behind him, feeling nauseous. “I’m so sorry,” she said. He opened the door and allowed her to exit, the sunshine nearly blinding her. She slipped on her sunglasses. “You came in to Francine’s and distracted me.”
He turned and faced her, a curious look in his eyes. “Well, if you’re going to do the shopping with our card, perhaps you’d better try harder not to get distracted,” he said, his expression not quite as harsh as his words. “Why isn’t Libby doing the buying anyway? She’s the manager that I hired.”
He began walking again and she followed.
“Libby asked me to go. It’s my first day—” Emily stopped talking. She didn’t want to get Libby in trouble, and she didn’t want to lead the conversation to the mayhem at the inn as they prepared for his visit.
“Are you the new events coordinator?”
“Yes.” She felt about two feet tall. “So, you’re Charles Peterson? It’s nice to meet you.” She offered a weak smile.
“Good to meet you,” he said, stopping at a startlingly blue BMW. It looked out of place among the other cars in the lot. The headlights blinked as he unlocked the doors from his pocket. He handed her the credit card. “Think you can keep track of this between here and the inn?” he asked jokingly, but it didn’t stop the guilt that she felt for leaving it at Francine’s. She really had to work on clearing her head. She was a better businesswoman than this.
Emily nodded, at a loss for words. This was not how she’d wanted to greet the boss upon their first meeting. But the good news was that the day could only go up from there. Right?
Two
Emily hauled her bags past Papa’s old Buick, which still sat in the driveway, and up the staircase of the farmhouse at Oyster Bay. Her papa had told her once that the name of the house and surrounding grounds had originated because that particular area of the bay was chock-full of oysters.
Emily was exhausted from work, having spent the rest of the day learning the tasks associated with the job. The commotion in the lobby had finally calmed down by the time she’d returned to the inn, although she’d felt more frazzled than when she’d left. Charles hadn’t come back. He’d spent the day touring marinas and wining and dining various community members, she’d heard.
The sun was still high despite the fact that it was after five o’clock. When she planted her feet on the peeling painted boards of the long front porch where she’d played as a child, she noticed the aging wicker furniture sitting against the whitewashed siding, and the streak of sun, coming in at a slant on the faded pots of geraniums. This house appeared so big for just her grandmother now that she was all alone, and from the looks of the porch, it seemed as though it might have become a burden. Even with the deteriorating exterior, being there was like a warm hug to Emily. She loved this house. It was full of so many memories.