As Beautiful as the Bay

by Serenity Woods

  “I’m sure he can,” Ginger said. “The issue is that he doesn’t want to run the bakery the way his family has been doing it for two centuries, and George knows it. I don’t think Sam wants to commit himself to taking out a huge loan that’s going to take years to pay off when his heart isn’t in it.”

  “I didn’t realize,” Sandi said. “I thought he loved it there. He always seems so happy-go-lucky.”

  “Mac’s noticed that he isn’t happy,” Fred advised. She gave Ginger an apologetic look. “I didn’t want to say anything because it seemed unfair when I knew the two of you had started seeing each other.”

  “It’s all right,” Ginger said softly. “I know how he feels. I know he misses working on the cruise liners, and I’m sure he’s been thinking about going back.”

  “It’s not you,” Mac told her hastily. “He’s crazy about you.”

  She smiled, even though she felt like bawling like a toddler. “Aw, thank you. I don’t think it’s me—I think, if anything, I’m just muddying the waters. I’m pretty sure that before I arrived at Blue Penguin Bay, Sam was thinking about leaving. He’s very loyal to his father, and he wouldn’t want to change the bakery if it meant upsetting him. It wouldn’t surprise me if Sam’s been thinking about getting someone in to run the place the way his father wants it, while he goes back to the cruise liner. He wouldn’t have to suffer his dad’s displeasure if it wasn’t staring him in the face.”

  “And what about you?” Sandi asked. “We’ve not had much chance to talk about what’s been going on. I know he’s been staying with you. Is it serious?”

  Ginger’s face grew warm. “I don’t know. It’s only been a week, so I suppose not.”

  “I think we all know that time is not a factor in how strongly you feel about a person,” Fred said wryly.

  Ginger shrugged. “I tried to keep him at arm’s length because I was worried I wasn’t ready to date again, but he didn’t give up, which is what won me over in the end. He hasn’t dated anyone else since I arrived in New Zealand, as far as I know. I think he... you know... likes me.”

  “So is it just a fling?” Sandi wanted to know.

  Ginger looked out, into the night. “I don’t know if what we have is enough to keep him here. I don’t want him to stay just for me if he’s not happy at the bakery. In the end, he’ll grow tired of the place, and he’ll end up resenting me for being the reason he didn’t leave. It’s too soon for us to make demands on each other. I wish I’d gone out with him the first time he asked me. It was stupid to wait so long.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Fred put her arm around her sister and hugged her. “You weren’t to know this would happen. You needed time to get to know him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, sweetie. As Mac says, he’s crazy about you. I’m sure it will all work out in the end.”

  “Maybe.” Ginger wasn’t so sure. She was tired and dispirited, and upset by the argument between Sam and his father. As much as she liked George, and she understood his connection with the history of his business, it wasn’t fair of him to refuse to let Sam make his mark there. He would be able to turn it into something magnificent, she just knew it. She’d seen the light in his eyes when he’d talked about some of the desserts he’d made on board the ship. If only George would let him spread his wings, she knew he’d be earning tons of awards for the bakery.

  “I’d better check on George,” she said. “He looked tired. I’ll try to get him to go to bed, and then I’ll ring Sam and see if he wants to talk.”

  She left the room and walked back down to the dining room. How she wished she had a fairy godmother who could wave a magic wand and make everything all right. But she had no way of pleasing everyone. Her heart went out to Sam as she thought about George’s cruel words that evening. He’d implied that Sam had taken over the bakery against his wishes, which was so unfair, when he was obviously in no condition to continue working. No wonder Sam had had such a struggle over the past few years. His father had a strong character, and he wasn’t going to give way easily, although maybe this disaster would be enough to make him see that it was the best time to make changes.

  She opened the door and walked up to the old man. “Okay, love,” she said as kindly as she could. “Why don’t you go to bed now?”

  George remained slumped in his chair, though. His face was gray, and a sheen of sweat covered his skin. He met her eyes, and his own were filled with fear.

  “George?” She inhaled sharply. “What’s up?”

  “There’s something wrong with my eye...” he said. To her alarm, his words were slurred, and her panic only grew when he pressed a hand to his temple and said, “Ahhh, my head!”

  Holy fuck. Was he having a stroke? She forced her mind back to the first aid training she’d had back in London. What was the mnemonic for a stroke—F.A.S.T., wasn’t it? What was F? Face drooping, that was it. She dropped to her haunches beside him and looked up at his face.

  “Give me a smile, George,” she said. He forced his mouth up, but it was uneven, the right side of his face sagging as if it were made of melted plastic.

  A—that was for arms. “Lift your arms,” she told him. He did so, but his right arm drifted downward. S—well, his speech had definitely slurred, hadn’t it? “Say after me,” she instructed him, “The sky is blue.”

  “The sssky ssss blwww...”

  “All right, darling.” She rubbed his arm gently. “I think you’re having another stroke.” T—that was for Time to telephone. “I’m going to call the emergency services, okay? I’ll get the others in to be with you.” She ran to the door and yelled, “Fred! Mac!”

  They came running along the corridor, Sandi at their heels. “What is it?” Mac asked.

  “I think George is having a stroke.” She pulled the phone out of her pocket. “I’m going to call for an ambulance.” Shit, it wasn’t 9-9-9 in New Zealand like it was in the U.K. Was it 9-1-1? No, that was America.

  “1-1-1,” Mac reminded her as he walked past her to George.

  Ginger nodded, swallowing hard, and dialed the number. With a pounding heart, she waited for the operator to answer, her eyes filling with tears as she watched the others going over to comfort the old man. Oh, poor Sam. After everything that had happened...

  Please, please, please let George be okay, she begged whomever happened to be listening, whether it was God, her guardian angel, or one of her parents. She loved the old guy, and she’d be devastated if anything happened to him.

  Her brain worked furiously as she gave her details to the operator. She couldn’t help it—it whirred away of its own accord.

  If his father wasn’t here, it left the way open for Sam to make changes to the bakery.

  But it also meant he had no ties here. He’d be able to leave without looking back, because she couldn’t believe that what they had was enough to keep him.

  With the operator promising an ambulance would be there within five minutes, she hung up. The others were with George, Mac talking to him in a low, comforting voice while Fred loosened his clothing and Sandi patted his hand.

  Walking out into the kitchen, she dialed Sam’s number. Please let him answer. Please don’t let it go to answer phone.

  It took nearly eight rings, but he did answer.

  “Hey.” His voice was soft. “Ginger, I know you mean well, but I need some time to—”

  Her throat tightened at the sound of his voice. “Sam, it’s your dad.”

  He stopped abruptly. “What?”

  “I think he’s having another stroke. I’ve rung for the ambulance. They’re going to be around five minutes.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the bakery. I’ll come straight back up.”

  “Drive carefully.”

  “I will.” He paused for a second, and she could hear his breathing as he walked back to his car. “Ginger?”

  “Yes?”

  He hesitated. “Nothing.” He hung up.

 
She slid the phone back into her pocket and pressed her fingers to her mouth. A tear ran down her cheek.

  SAM ARRIVED JUST BEFORE the paramedics. After checking George’s vitals, they loaded him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. Sam went with them, promising to meet the others at the local hospital at Kawakawa.

  “Want me to drive?” Mac asked Ginger. “I’ve only had one glass of wine.”

  “I don’t expect you all to come...” she said feebly.

  “Of course we’re coming,” Fred told her matter-of-factly. “Come on, Sandi. Quickly.”

  Within minutes, they were all in the car and heading south for Kawakawa.

  “It must have been the shock,” Ginger said as they headed out of town.

  “And having had a stroke before...” Fred swallowed hard, and Ginger saw Mac take her hand. “Poor George.”

  “Poor Sam,” Sandi whispered, taking Ginger’s hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Not really.” Ginger was struggling to contain her emotion. “I hope nothing happens to him.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Sandi said, but it was a platitude, and they both knew it.

  The journey to Kawakawa seemed interminable. There were roadworks in several places, and the ambulance was soon far ahead of them, its blue lights flashing as it wound its way between the traffic.

  By the time they arrived at the hospital, Ginger was trembling with shock and nerves. Mac pulled up in front and let them out, and went off to park. She ran into the foyer, into the bright, harsh lighting, and up to the desk. The receptionist directed her along the corridor to the waiting area for the emergency room.

  As she ran in, she saw a doctor in a white coat standing talking to Sam. As soon as she saw his face, she knew.

  She slowed and stopped a few feet away. He saw her, and met her eyes. His face had gone white, and his eyes were full of sadness.

  “He stopped breathing in the ambulance,” he said, his voice breaking. “He was dead when we arrived, and they couldn’t resuscitate him.”

  She bit her bottom lip so hard that she tasted blood. This wasn’t about her—she had to be there for Sam. But she couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “I’m so sorry,” she squeaked.

  He held his arms open, and she walked into them and rested her cheek on his chest.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sam spent the next week in a daze. He never realized there was so much to do when a person died—organizing the funeral, contacting friends and family to let them know, informing the bank and other companies, stopping benefits.

  And then suddenly one evening he’d done all there was to do, and it struck him—he was all alone, free of all duty and responsibilities. Just like he’d wanted.

  He sat in his father’s armchair, listening to every creak of the house, every rattle, tired and dispirited, and let his thoughts wander.

  In the hospital, he’d hugged Ginger until the others had arrived. On hearing the news, the girls had cried, and Mac had gotten choked up as he’d exchanged a hug with him.

  Sam had remained dry-eyed, numb with shock. He’d signed the forms where the doctor had indicated, and then they’d taken him home. He’d travelled the twenty minutes or so in the passenger seat of the car with the girls in the back, only half-listening to their muted conversation as he’d stared out of the window into the darkness.

  They’d offered their help with the funeral arrangements, and Sam had promised to tell them if he needed anything, knowing that he wouldn’t. He loved them all as if they were family, but he’d felt an urge to distance himself, to be alone. When they’d arrived back at the vineyard, he’d refused their offer to come in for a drink. Ginger had walked him out to his car, and gently asked him whether he’d like to come back to her place. He’d kissed her on the cheek and told her that he’d rather be on his own, and then he’d left.

  Since then, he hadn’t seen her. She’d called several times, but he’d been short and polite, telling her that he was busy and he’d get back to her. To her credit, she’d agreed without a fuss and had told him to call her if he needed anything at all. He hadn’t.

  And now it was the night before his father’s funeral, and here he was, sitting alone in the house, the silence so loud he felt like putting his hands over his ears to shut it out.

  There was so much to think about, so many decisions to make, and yet he couldn’t get his brain to work. Everything went around in his head like horses on a carousel—the bakery, the cruise liner, his father, Ginger, round and round and round until he felt dizzy with it.

  What was he going to do?

  He’d visited his father in the chapel of rest, a small part of him wondering whether he’d receive some sort of answer there, a revelation that would guide him in the days to come. But there had been nothing except sadness and silence.

  He sat there as the sun set, watching the shadows creep across the carpet. Part of him knew it was pointless to try to come to any decisions. He was grieving, he told himself, and his emotions were riding high. He needed to give himself time. Maybe then a path would become clear.

  But he hated being in this limbo land. He was tired of being on the ride—he wanted to get off.

  He wanted to be happy. He loved Blue Penguin Bay, but he felt stifled, constricted. He owed it to his father to rebuild the bakery, to settle down, get married, and have kids, so he could hand down the family business to his own son or daughter. But the thought depressed him.

  Oddly, it wasn’t the settling down part in itself he couldn’t face. He leaned his head on the back of the armchair and closed his eyes, picturing Ginger. It was possible she wouldn’t be interested in going steady, but he didn’t think that was the case. She liked him, and he was sure she wanted more. If he offered, he was certain she’d want to go steady and, given time, maybe even get married and have kids. The thought didn’t scare him. In fact, the notion of being married was strangely attractive. He’d put a ring on her finger, and every guy she met would know she belonged to him. That was kinda nice.

  The thought of having kids didn’t scare him either. He could picture himself in a sunny kitchen, teaching a child to make muffins the same way his own father had taught him all those years ago.

  But when he envisaged himself in the rebuilt bakery, making the same loaves, the same muffins and sandwiches, over and over again until the day he died... Sam’s heart sank, and it was everything he could do not to get up, open the door, and run until he hit the sea. He missed his job on the ship so much. Every day, he’d challenged himself to make something different, spending hours creating intricate pastries and cakes to please the guests who were going to come into the patisserie. Every day had felt like a challenge, and there were always new passengers boarding, and different people coming in to eat. Here, in Blue Penguin Bay, he knew all the faces. It was same old, same old, day in, day out.

  He’d felt fulfilled working on the ship, and yet equally, he’d known he couldn’t do it forever. It was like being in the Forces, he supposed—someday, the war ends and you have to go home. He had to accept that part of his life was over, and it was time he settled down. All wanderers had to eventually.

  He dug his fingers into the arms of the chair. He had a bitter taste in his mouth that wouldn’t go away. He should be grieving for his father and mourning his passing, not thinking about himself, and not blaming his dad for everything that had gone wrong. But he couldn’t move past his resentment. If only his dad hadn’t been so stuck in the past... if only Ian hadn’t died... if only George had told Sam about the letter from the council...

  “Why?” he whispered furiously into the air. “Why did you have to leave me like this?”

  The doorbell rang.

  His heart leapt, and it took a moment for him to realize that it wasn’t his father giving him a sign. Someone was at the door. Probably a neighbor, or someone else from the town. There had been a constant supply of visitors over the past few days, everyone wanting to tell him how sad they we
re that George had passed away, and what a wonderful man he was.

  He rose slowly, went to the front door, and opened it.

  It was Ginger.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Sam leaned his head on the doorjamb. His house was shrouded in darkness, but Ginger shone like a light in the evening dusk. She wore a black coat and the usual black trousers she wore to work, but her blonde hair glowed like a halo around her head, and her youth and beauty radiated from her. She looked like an angel.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “If you want me to go, I’ll go,” she whispered. “But I was worried about you. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, although he wasn’t.

  She glanced past him into the house, and he knew she was registering that there were no lights on, no fire lit. “Have you eaten?” she asked.

  “I had a sandwich at lunch.” He hadn’t felt like cooking dinner just for himself.

  “Want me to knock something up for you? Some pasta, or a steak? I don’t mind.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “A drink then?” she asked hopefully.

  He shook his head.

  Her forehead creased. “Do you want me to come in? I know you’ve wanted to be on your own, but I don’t like the thought of you being alone tonight. We don’t have to talk. We can just sit and read, or watch TV, whatever you want.”

  “I don’t want to watch TV.”

  She swallowed. “You want me to go?”

  His gaze fell to her mouth, to her full bottom lip. He shook his head.

  Her eyes widened. “Then...”

  He held out his hand. She put hers into it, and he pulled her toward him. He turned her so her back was against the door, and he slid a hand to cup her face. She was so fucking beautiful. She only complicated matters. So why did it feel as if everything was going to be all right whenever she was there?

  Lowering his head, he touched his lips to hers and closed his eyes. He felt her inhale, and she rested her hands on his chest, but she didn’t push him away. Her lips parted, and he brushed his tongue into her mouth, his body hardening as she returned the kiss, lifting her arms around his neck. She tasted of chocolate, rich and sweet, and he kissed her hungrily, smoothing his hands up her body and arms until he caught her hands in his. Lifting them, interlinking their fingers, he held them above her head, feeling her body stretching beneath his, her back arching, her breasts pressing against his chest.