by Lacey Baker
Heaven smiled and was laughing when she walked into the dining room. Until she saw Preston.
Of the two of them she was definitely the early bird, so she’d been up and downstairs long before him. Around midday she’d seen him in passing. He was carrying boxes into the restaurant and she was heading outside to walk the dogs. There was a shared smile that went along with the companionable silence. They weren’t going to talk about her running off last night, or what she’d almost admitted to him. Or what she’d seen in his eyes.
Now wasn’t going to be much different, she could tell. Besides, they weren’t alone; discussing their feelings for each other or how far they planned to take this relationship wasn’t an option.
“You sit here,” Michelle told her happily. “Have you ever had steamed crabs before, Heaven?”
“No,” Heaven answered as she took her seat. “I’ve had crab cakes, but not actual crabs. I noticed how good they smelled at the other crab feast.”
“Well, these are hot out of the pot. Walt caught us as we were walking down the pier and asked us to deliver them,” Nikki said.
Quinn held the crate and dumped the contents in the center of the table, which had been covered with layers of newspaper. Steam rose from a mountain of crabs much bigger than her hand and caked with what she knew was an Old Bay–based seasoning mixture. Her mouth actually watered at the sight and she lifted her glass to allow Preston to fill it with lemonade.
“They’re better with ice-cold water, or a beer,” he said. “But I figured you’d prefer lemonade.”
“You figured correctly,” was her reply.
Ten minutes later all the Cantrells were around the table and Preston was showing her how to crack open a crab, clean out its guts, and get to the succulent meat. She’d closed her eyes in a state of complete bliss at her first taste and happily went about cracking and cleaning another crab for herself.
“So what’s the deal with The Marina?” Michelle asked, looking directly at Preston.
He, like the rest of them, was chewing, and he looked up from his crabs to reply when he finished.
“It’s almost completed. They’ve already started taking limited reservations,” he told her.
“What he’s not saying is that they’re big competition,” Savannah added, and earned a quick glare from both Preston and Quinn.
“They’re bigger, Savannah,” Quinn said slowly. “Not better.”
“He’s right, they are bigger,” Nikki chimed in. “Huge if I quote my mother and her friends. The women’s auxiliary was invited out yesterday morning for a tour. She said the gardens are lovely, but the food was a little bland.”
“See, the food’s not good,” Parker spoke up. “Everyone in town knows where to find the best food.”
“Yeah, but we only have seven rooms to rent. One that can accommodate four people, the others only two,” Savannah continued to make her point. “We don’t have a pool or a spa on the premises and we’re all the way down here tucked in a corner.”
“Are you trying to get us to sell? Because I thought we went over this before. We’re not selling the B and B,” Michelle said adamantly.
“She already knows we’re not selling,” Quinn said in an equally determined tone.
“I think she’s just pointing out the obvious. Isn’t that right, Savannah?” Preston asked.
Heaven paused because as she’d been listening to the discussion she’d wondered what Preston’s position was in all this. For as much as he claimed his life was in Baltimore, Preston was still here in Sweetland, and he was always going around the B&B talking about improvements or marketing strategies. While he hadn’t shared any of this with her personally—which earned another strike in their relationship column—Heaven had overheard him a few times talking to his brothers. In his voice at those times she’d heard pride and determination. He wanted the B&B to succeed; he wanted his family to do well. That alone told her a lot about the man he was.
“Right,” Savannah agreed with a nod. “If we’re going to compete, then we’ve got to get in the game.”
Preston winked at his younger sister. “I completely agree.”
“What did you have in mind?” Michelle asked Preston as if Savannah’s words still didn’t count.
“I think we should add a spa,” Savannah offered, because she really loved pushing Michelle’s buttons. “Women want to come someplace where they can relax. Waking up and walking down the stairs to enjoy a luxurious spa day would be the ultimate.”
“There’s a guy from New York who just moved down here about a month ago. Nobody knows why. Anyway, he just signed a lease for that old building down on Elm, used to be the fish market,” Michelle told them all with a nod like they should remember the place. “He’s opening a day spa there.”
“A man’s opening a day spa?” Raine asked after choosing not to participate in the conversation up until this point.
Heaven noted that Raine did that a lot. She listened much more than she talked, observed more than she contributed, and longed to do more all around. Heaven saw her as kindred spirit; she’d had that feeling herself for years.
“He went to one of those schools where they teach you how to rub on people,” Mr. Sylvester said, entering the room. “Y’all think just ’cause a man’s asleep he can’t smell steamed crabs.”
Without a word Quinn got up and pulled a chair over to the table for Mr. Sylvester. Michelle poured him a glass of water and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead.
“You need your rest, Mr. Sylvester. Savannah says you’ve been walking the floors in the middle of the night,” Michelle said as she moved back to her seat.
“A man should walk the floors as long as his legs say he can,” he told them, reaching for a crab at the same time. “Now, that other man, his name’s Rice or Price or something like that. He went to one of them fancy schools and was making a lot of money on Wall Street. Then he caught his pretty little wife in their big expensive bed with his coworker who’d happened to go to that same fancy school with him. That’s why he’s in Sweetland,” he told them while he opened his crab and yanked at the guts like they were irritating him somehow.
“Wow, Sweetland’s becoming a refuge of sorts,” Heaven couldn’t help but add.
“It’s the sun,” Mr. Sylvester said to her. He was pointing the half of his crab he’d broken, and seasonings went flying in Quinn’s direction. “The sun and the water and the sea air, all that cleanses your mind, makes you see what’s important. You can’t see none of that in the big city with all those tall buildings and loudness. Can’t even hear yourself think in those places.”
Heaven nodded because she remembered those feelings.
“So I’ve been talking to Parker and Quinn about maybe visiting some of the local vendors and striking up some type of agreement with them. Like a partnership of sorts. Say, for instance, I talk to this Rice or Price person and work out a package that can be linked to our Relax and Play Getaway package. We get the room booking and another local business gets a booking as well. Gramma was all about the community. I think it makes sense that we keep that going, keep that part of her alive.”
Michelle sat back in her chair and stared at Preston. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Preston. A wonderful way to keep Gramma alive.”
Preston looked at his sister, then quickly looked away. His grandmother’s passing, as well as his sister not telling him sooner about her condition, was still a very sore point with him. They had broached this subject briefly, at which time he’d made it perfectly clear to Heaven that it wasn’t something he liked talking about.
“Drew suggested designing centerpieces for the restaurant on a weekly basis. Each one could have a Blossoms card on it, and each time someone sits down to eat they’ll think they might need some fresh flowers or at the very least be notified of where they can go should the need arise,” Raine added.
“That’s a good idea, right, Parker?” Quinn asked.
Parker looked ove
r to him with a frown, then at Preston who tried to hide his own smile. Heaven had no idea what that exchange meant but considered Drew a really nice woman. She’d definitely visit her shop again, as the thought of keeping fresh flowers in her own home seemed like an excellent idea.
“I think we should do this,” Michelle said, adding her own smile. “We should work on partnering with the local businesses. We’ll need to make it legal, though, so everybody’s liabilities and rights are covered. You can do that, right?” she asked Preston.
He nodded. “I can do that.”
“How soon?” Raine asked.
“Well, Nikki and I want to take a look at our marketing budget before Preston solidifies any contracts. Whatever we decide to do will have to be properly publicized,” Quinn added.
“We need a website,” Parker said. “Preston’s good with computers. He can do that.”
“I thought you were good with computers?” Heaven asked, remembering Parker working on his laptop.
Parker shook his head. “I’m good at keying stuff into a database to find the info I need. And ordering from Netflix,” he told her with a wicked grin. “Preston designed his firm’s site.”
“Really? I didn’t know that, Preston. You have a great site. Professional and informative,” Raine said.
Heaven remained quiet because she hadn’t known that, either. Funny, there seemed to be a lot she didn’t know about Preston Cantrell.
“Then he’ll make one up for the inn,” Mr. Sylvester said before licking seasonings off his fingers. “Everybody needs to pitch in around here. It’s a family business and we want to attract more families to come down and share with us. You can do something, too,” he said to Heaven.
“Me? No, I’m into chemistry, not marketing or running a B and B,” she insisted.
“But you know people, don’t you?” Mr. Sylvester continued. “You could get some of your friends to take their vacations down here, instead of spending gobs of money on those fancy-schmancy islands and stuff. And you like to travel or you wouldn’t have ended up here. Seems to me you could take the advertising right to some of those big business folk.”
Preston was shaking his head as if this entire line of conversation was out of the question. “She’s not an advertising executive. She works in a lab making medications.”
Mr. Sylvester looked at Preston pointedly. “As I heard, she makes medications for sick people. Well, she has to sell those medications once she makes them, right? So she knows how to sell stuff.”
“Actually,” Heaven put in, “Larengetics has an advertising department. I only have to sell my ideas and research to the board of directors to secure funding.” She hoped that clarified her position a little better, even though she wasn’t really sure why she wanted to clarify it since she wasn’t sure she still had a job with the company.
“Bingo! She can sell stuff,” Mr. Sylvester said triumphantly, then cracked open another crab.
“It doesn’t matter what she can sell. She lives in Boston,” Preston stated firmly.
Too firmly to Heaven’s way of thinking.
“Not for long she doesn’t,” Savannah added with her own little smile.
When Preston looked at Heaven in surprise, then to his sister, then back to Heaven again, she didn’t know what to say. Which really didn’t matter, because Savannah took it upon herself to fill in the blanks for everyone.
“Oh, yeah, Michelle, we need to know who sells real estate in Sweetland. Heaven’s going to stay, so she needs to find her own house. You know she and Coco can’t stay in the Sunshine Room forever. Can they, Preston?”
* * *
The day of the Bay Soiree came a lot sooner than Heaven had anticipated. All day Friday had been spent with Savannah, Michelle, and Ethel Dansbury, the real estate agent Michelle had called as soon as they’d finished eating crabs Thursday evening. She’d looked at several properties but had determined that the majority of them had been too big.
Sweetland consisted of mainly Victorian-style houses with sprawling lawns and dramatic turrets and stained-glass windows. They were lovely, even the one at the very end of Duncan Road just before it turned off onto Route 33. That house had looked a little run-down with its peeling pea-green paint and mud-colored shutters hanging from most of the windows. The landscape needed lots of work, as witnessed by the overgrown shrubs and too-high grass. The front gate of rusted iron stood locked. When Heaven inquired about the house’s less-than-stellar presentation, Ethel had informed her that it was known as the old Gallagher place and had been on the market for more than three years. She’d driven past the house so fast Heaven wouldn’t have been able to see any more of it even if she wanted to. Still she’d looked through the back window of the car trying to get another glance at the property that for some reason she’d been intrigued by.
When the house was completely out of view Ethel had pulled the car over to the side of the road. She’d looked back at Heaven and said, “You don’t want that house, it’s H-A-U-N-T-E-D.”
And she had spelled haunted as if there had been someone in the car she didn’t want to overhear, or as if it would have more impact on Heaven that way.
Savannah had laughed and Michelle only shook her head, which meant there probably wasn’t a whole lot of truth to the old haunted-house cliché. Then again, Heaven hadn’t turned back around to get another view of the place, either.
When they’d returned to the inn it was late, so late that after Michelle had dropped them off at the inn, Savannah and Heaven had only gone into the kitchen for a drink, then both retired to their rooms.
Last night after the crabs and the meeting when Savannah had told her little secret, she’d seen the look of absolute surprise on Preston’s face and had wanted to say something. He’d looked around the room as if to say, I didn’t know, either; then when his gaze fell back to her it was replaced by a slight look of agitation. After the crabs Preston had washed up and said he was going into town to start hustling those deals. When she’d asked to go along, he quickly told her no. Friday morning she’d awakened in her bed alone.
Friday night had been a repeat of the same.
So this evening as she’d showered and slipped into the ivory-colored gown she’d purchased on their shopping trip, she’d tried valiantly not to think of him at all. Glittering jewel-encrusted cap sleeves were the highlight of this fitted gown to Heaven, and after she was completely dressed she stood in the bathroom continuously looking at them.
Sure, she’d worn gowns before, and more expensive ones at that. In her closet at home there were dresses from Vera Wang, Calvin Klein, Dolce & Gabbana, and more. Shoes that had cost hundreds of dollars as well as diamond necklaces, ruby earrings, sapphire bracelets—she had more baubles than one woman she be allowed. And the really sad part was that she’d never worn any of it more than the one event it was purchased for. On so many occasions she’d looked into that closet and sighed with the waste. Selling everything inside would go a long way for a nonprofit foundation such as LovingLabs, the adoption firm she’d used to obtain Coco.
Smoothing her hands down her dress once more, she thought that might be an idea she would have to work on, once she found a house in Sweetland. Because she was staying here, whether or not her parents, or Preston, for that matter, agreed with her.
* * *
There had been a last-minute change of plans. A very last-minute one that still had Preston’s temples throbbing. The location of the Bay Soiree had been changed from the city hall to The Marina. Sweetland’s most reliable—and sorely outdated—method of quick communication, the infamous phone tree, had been activated to let everyone know.
Michelle had come into the dining room to tell him.
“You know you should think about renting some office space here in town,” she’d said upon entering.
“I have an office,” had been his reply. To say he was in a sour mood might have been an understatement.
“You have an office in Baltimore, a place you h
aven’t been back to in just about a month now.”
“I went back for the trial,” he said without looking up from his computer.
“Which was in the beginning of June for just about two weeks. Today is July seventh and you’re still here. And every time I come into this dining room lately, you’re in here with papers spread all over the table and that computer opened. So forgive me for stating the obvious—you should get an office here in Sweetland.”
She’d taken a seat across the table from him, folding her arms so they rested in front of her. Preston stopped what he was doing to sit back and look at her. She looked like Gramma. Not like their mother or their father, but just like Mary Janet Cantrell, at a younger age of course. But Michelle’s milk-chocolate complexion, ebony hair, and high cheekbones were a mirror image of the woman who’d raised them. Hell, she even sat like Gramma, staring across the table at him with that I’m-right-and-you’re-wrong-all-the-time look.
“I don’t need an office in Sweetland because I don’t live in Sweetland.”
“I can’t tell,” was her quick reply.
“You obviously can’t tell a lot of things. For starters, that our grandmother was sick and possibly dying,” he told her with anger still bitter in his throat.
Michelle sat back with a little sigh.
“When are you going to let that go? I did not hide anything from you and the others. If I had known she was sick, I would have flown to every state to bring all of you back here for her, but she didn’t tell me. And I’m sorry if I was too busy running this inn to follow her around town visiting her doctors and ask what was going on,” she stated evenly.
That wasn’t the answer Preston wanted. It didn’t make him feel any better about not knowing his grandmother had been sick, and it sure as hell wasn’t doing anything for the mood he was currently nursing. “You were here with her, you should have taken care of her,” he spat.
Michelle only nodded. “Right. I should have stopped my life, the life I’d already dedicated to my family, to make her tell me something she didn’t want to reveal. Or better yet, I should have stuck to her side waiting on her hand and foot so that the moment she coughed I would have been there to offer her a glass of water.”