by Dawn Tomasko
"Now this is cool. Nantucket Camera Shop,” he stopped at the store next to Murray's.
The switch back to tour guide mode cleared her head. "The first floor is a bookstore and upstairs is the camera shop. You can find photos and maps there. They come framed or unframed. I'd like to put a map of the island over the fireplace at the cottage."
Gabriel stepped closer to examine such a map in the store's front window. "What kind do you like?"
The selection seemed endless. "I like the older maps,” she pointed to a map in a muted sage color with slate gray markings.
He nodded in agreement. "Good choice. With the right color mat and frame, it would look perfect over the fireplace. Beats the heck out of the harpoon, doesn’t it?"
Sara snickered. "Thanks for taking it down, by the way. I won't miss it.” After they had walked a bit more, they turned right. "The restaurant's right over there,” she pointed to a gray shingled building built on the corner junction of two streets. In front of the door, a blue awning covered part of the walkway, and flowers lined the path in a riot of color.
"There are tons of flowers in the yards and businesses."
"They're a huge part of the landscape. I love flowers and plants here, especially hydrangeas and giant hosta. Too bad I missed the Daffodil Festival. I wasn't here yet. There’s a big parade, people driving antique cars, and more daffodils than you’ve ever seen. At the end of the parade, everyone has tailgate parties.”
They walked into the main restaurant, and the waitress brought them through to sit them in a corner, away from most of the other patrons. "Hey guys, how's it going? I'm Carrie, your waitress tonight. Can I take your drink order?”
"Pinot Grigio, please,” Sara replied, folded her hands on the table and looked to Gabriel.
"What do you have for beer?” he wanted to know.
"Most commercial brands, unless you want island made. We carry Cisco Brewers. Sankaty Light Lager, Whale's Tale Pale, Captain Swain's Extra Stout and the Grey Lady."
Gabriel solicited Sara's advice, but she only shrugged. "I don't drink beer.”
"I'll try the Lager.” After the waitress had left, he fingered his cloth napkin. "There must be a history behind the names of the beers."
Sara nodded. "Sankaty Lager is named for Sankaty Head Lighthouse. It's out in 'Sconset. We'll go there. It's been moved back from the original site because of cliff erosion. Quite a project. There are names of people who inhabited the island long ago, and their ancestors still live here today. Swain, Coffin, Silva, Macy. The Nantucket Macy family is the same as Macy's in New York City."
"No kidding? A cool fact I never knew after all the time I spent working there.” Their drinks arrived, and Gabriel took a deep pull on his beer. "Now this hits the spot after a long day. So give me a little history on these folks."
"They were shipbuilders, merchants, whaling captains, owners of candle making factories. Nantucket was the largest whaling port in the world for a time. Lots of profit in it until it came to an end."
His long, tanned fingers picked at a corner of the label on the beer bottle. She imagined those strong, capable hands on her skin. Any woman he touched would benefit from his skill. His hands were clean, with neatly trimmed nails, long fingers, tanned and well-formed. "It doesn't seem like it's changed much since those days."
"That's the idea.” The wine tasted refreshing and crisp. "No franchises or chains allowed. There are strict guidelines on how buildings, streets, stores and the island can be maintained and developed."
With a nod, he told her, "I've learned quite a bit about the rules and building codes for jobs I've done so far. With no fast food chains, it's a good thing I'm not a fan of it."
The waitress returned to take their food order. Gabe left it to her. "Everything looks great. I like all seafood. Sara, why don't you order since you must have favorites?"
"If you’re sure,” she turned to their waitress. "We'll start with littleneck clams from the raw bar, quahog chowder, two house salads and two one-and-a-half-pound lobster dinners."
"Coming up,” Carrie chimed, scribbled in her pad and left to place their order.
"Lobster works for you?"
"Love it."
"You haven't had clams, scallops or lobster until you've had them on Nantucket. I won't eat them anywhere else.” She wiped her sweaty palms down the front of her skirt. It was one thing to work with someone, and quite another to sit across a table from him, having his full attention. If she wanted to have space or a break, she wasn’t going to get it.
He grinned, tipped his head and took a swig of his beer. His throat worked when he swallowed, and her mouth went dry. What would his sun bronzed skin taste like if she pressed her mouth there? "You’re very discriminating, aren’t you?"
"Absolutely. When you see how clean and pure the shellfish is, taste the cold salty liquor, you'll never go back. Back home, the roe is dark and muddy, but on the island, the lobster is clean. We're thirty miles at sea here, so the seafood is pure. None of the sewage spills you see in Long Island Sound."
His smile twisted into a grimace. "Sewage spills? You've got to be kidding. I've eaten shellfish from Connecticut and the Sound."
"People do it all the time, but me? Nope.” She waved her glass of wine. "After storms, they shut clamming down for a couple of weeks before they open back up. What do you think happens to the contamination? The clams filter it out. Same thing goes with the lobster. They're bottom feeders. The way I see it, once it's there it's always there."
"I feel a little sick,” he admitted, a put a hand on his flat stomach. "I've eaten clams from the Sound many times."
At the unsettled look on his face, she had to laugh. "Don't worry, you're safe here."
"Gary and Charlotte had me over for dinner. We ate steamers. Gary did an excellent job with them.” He watched her for a moment. "Are you from the Long Island area?"
Sara unfolded her napkin and put the silverware on the table. "Connecticut."
"So am I,” he replied. "My family lives close to the City line because our business is in New York. After college, my father appointed me president. After many years, I left and have been working in corroboration with my friend Sam in restoration and general carpentry for over a year now. The company’s primary facility is in Connecticut. Leads came in, and he asked me to do some work here."
"What kind of business is your family in?"
The clams and chowder arrived. "Look at this chowder. Big chunks of potato, plenty of clams.” Gabriel took his time answering. Did he not want to talk about his family? Sara could understand that, certainly. After a taste, and complimenting the chef's talent, he answered her question. "My father and brother are in investment banking."
"Wow, there’s a big difference between banking and restoration work. Oh, wait,” her brows rose up in surprise. “You’re Donovan Enterprises?” After his curt nod, she said, "I've heard of your family, your company. Who hasn’t? What made you leave?” Sara spooned up chowder.
Silent for long moments, Gabriel peppered his chowder and dropped in a package of oyster crackers. "I rolled with it for years, but it wasn't what I wanted. Growing up, I sort of knew it deep down. I achieved a level of success a lot of people would be happy with, but it didn't satisfy me."
Since he seemed open to talking about it, she pressed for more. "Why did you do it if you didn't want to?"
Quiet for a few moments, he swirled a spoon through his chowder. The only noise was the clang of the spoon in the bowl, and low conversation of other diners. "My father expected it. The Donovan family values tradition. I didn't want to disappoint him. Our company does a great deal of charity work, something I believe in and enjoy being part of."
How very interesting. Gabriel Donovan. "How did the family handle your decision to leave?"
"Mom handled it fine, but my Dad, not so much,” he gave a dry laugh. “Actually, he flipped out, which didn't surprise me. Mom helped, and it took a while, but he's a good man and loves his famil
y. He wants me to be happy even if my goals don't align with his."
"Sometimes, it's easier to keep things status quo. You have to make a huge shift, but it's necessary.” For Bree's sake, she'd been reluctant to leave David in spite of her strong desire to do so. The marriage was little more than coexistence since its inception, but she knew it going in. At first, the situation worked them both of them, but all of it changed. Then after Bree left for college, David returned home for good, and the situation escalated. "What about your brother?"
Gabriel's face darkened, his expression turned brittle. Oh, boy, she’d touched a nerve and while Sara found herself very intrigued by his story, she didn’t want to cause him discomfort by invading his privacy.
“Gabriel,” Sara held up a hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. You don't have to answer."
"Sore subject,” he told her, his voice taut and strained. He ran the pad of his thumb along the edge of a knife. "We don't see eye to eye on some issues, one in particular. Now that he's taken my place, he's happier. On the upside, I love working for Sam. We did some high-end jobs in Westport, Greenwich, and Fairfield. Sam doesn't have the time to come here to follow up on leads for new projects. But he had roots here and wanted me to check it out. The response has been amazing, and I have more work than I expected.” Gabriel picked up a raw clam and slid it into his mouth. "These are amazing."
"I knew you'd like them. So the beach house is one of many projects this summer?"
His features relaxed into a grin. "Yeah, I’m happy to say so. On my most recent job, I refinished a chestnut staircase in a house at the edge of Town. Before that I did some work in St. Mary's Church and Charlotte's given me several leads that all resulted in contracts."
Picking up her wine glass, she took a long sip. "Sounds like you're good at what you do."
Confidence oozed from him, but she didn’t find it unattractive. Gabriel knew who he was, and Sara would like to gain that kind of confidence for herself. After years of her mother’s caustic parenting, she’d fought for and savored every morsel of success in her life.
"Wait until you see the porch done. I have special plans for the design.” Gabe pulled another clam from its shell. "Delicious.” He used his napkin and then polished off his beer. "What about you? You're a nurse, right? Do you consider nursing your passion?"
"My passion,” she thought, rolled the word around in her head. "For years, I thought being a mother was my passion, and it still is. I ran a home daycare for a few years to be with my daughter Brianna. My ex-husband David is career military and was seldom home for most of our marriage. For a time, I worked as a teacher's aide in a pre-school, then made the decision to go to nursing school when my daughter started fifth grade."
After a long sip of wine, she looked into his eyes. "Nursing is rewarding. You meet people, tend their needs, respond to their families, and do your best to help them. They're thankful and working with patients made me realize a large percentage of the population is good at heart."
"You didn’t think so before?"
"Well.” After a pause to think, she continued. "Let's say it changed some preconceived ideas I had. Some nurses I worked with have been in the game for twenty years and still find the energy to do it with enthusiasm. I do like to take care of people. My family, friends, patients. But it requires energy, often massive amounts. In the end, the job required more than I had left in me."
Gabriel pondered her words. "I don't know if all people feel the way you do. In my experience, in whatever field you’re in, some people go through the motions and others put it all out there. I think you put everything you are into everything you do."
A frown gathered between her eyes. How could he know such a thing about her? What he’d said was true of her parenting and career, but as for her marriage? Sara failed in a big way, and knew for a fact she did not put everything she had into their relationship. Far from it.
"I suppose I do, with most things. But I burned out hard and quick. I only lasted five years after graduation. What should have been a lifelong career became impossible. I spread myself too thin."
"Did your marriage suffer for it?” Gabriel's voice conveyed no judgment, but a genuine curiosity. She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. "Sorry, that was a very personal question."
The questions continued, more personal by the minute. Gabriel only meant to be friendly, conversational but to her, the questions hit sore spots. They made it harder to maintain her distance, her privacy.
“You don’t have to answer, Sara. I’m sorry.”
Sara cleared her throat. "No, it's okay. David wasn't around long enough for me to answer that."
"You kept your home base rather than move from place to place."
Sara didn't hear any censure in his voice. She nodded. "Yes. It seemed the best thing to do. Mostly for Brianna but I have to admit, for me, too."
Finished with his chowder, he set the bowl on the side of the table for the waitress. "Was it the best thing to do?"
The beat of her heart increased until she felt it throb in her chest. This was the heart of endless arguments and accusations from David. So many phone calls, emails, screaming matches about her failure as a wife. Her unwillingness to restructure her life to make her husband happy was a sticking point even now. She huffed out a breath. "I don't know. I'll never know."
"I bet you made a good daycare provider. What made you quit preschool?"
"I potty trained enough kids to last a lifetime,” she said feelingly.
"Makes sense.” He leaned forward on his elbows, interested. "Then what happened? How old is your daughter?"
"Brianna's eighteen. I recently left my job in the ER."
"You worked as an ER nurse?” His blue eyes widened at her nod. "Bet you've seen some pretty wild stuff."
"You have no idea.” Reluctant to elaborate, she back to talking about her daughter. "Brianna is in her freshman year at college up in Boston."
"What's her major?"
"She’s majoring in forensic science with a minor in criminal justice. She wants to work for the FBI."
Dark brows rose at her answer. "Whoa. You must be proud of her. Those are serious career ambitions. It's a gift to know what you want at such a young age."
If only she’d known what she wanted at Brianna’s age. Life could have taken a thousand different directions. Would she have been happier? She’d like to believe so. "Yes, it is. Would you like to see a picture of her?” Sara opened her purse to show him a picture of Bree.
"I'd love to.” He studied the picture carefully, over at Sara and back again. "God, she's gorgeous. She looks a lot like her Mom."
Did he think her gorgeous? She fidgeted in her seat, restless at the soft huskiness of his voice and his steady gaze. "She—she is beautiful. Thank you."
"It's the truth. Does she look like your ex-husband, too?”
“Yes, but more in mannerisms than appearance.”
“Charlotte tells me you recently divorced.” He handed the picture back.
"Three months ago, but the marriage ended long before it became official,” she replied quietly and busied herself with placing the picture back in her wallet. Gabriel returned to her least favorite topic. Things were getting too close to the bone. "The marriage lasted eighteen years."
"That's a long time." The tone of his voice let her know Gabriel didn’t take it lightly.
Her gaze flew up to his. "He—David—went straight into the Marines from high school. Career military. We both knew it's what he wanted, was meant to do. Like you, he followed family tradition, and like Brianna, he knew what he wanted. By the time he went to boot camp, I was already pregnant with Bree."
His hand moved closer to hers on the stark white tablecloth. "That must have been difficult for you, a young mother and a baby, alone. From what I know from friends of mine, in spite of the support from other spouses, it's not easy. The time alone, moving the family."
"Yes, exactly why I chose not to move around. I stayed i
n Connecticut to keep a stable home life for our daughter. When she was little he didn’t make a fuss. When he asked me to go with him, I wouldn’t go. We spent many late nights arguing on the phone about it after I’d put Bree to bed. Once he realized I’d never change my mind, he resented it bitterly.”
Gabriel inclined his head. "You were alone more often than not."
Sara brought her chin up. "I didn't mind. You must think me selfish. That I should have stayed with my husband and kept the family together, no matter what."
"No,” he spoke in a soft tone. "I'd never make a judgment like that. I can't imagine how it is. A good friend of mine is a marine. Works great for their family, they're thriving. We all need to do what makes us happy. Look how many years it took me to decide to leave Donovan Enterprises. But for me,” he touched his hand to his chest, "if I do find someone to spend my life with, I want my woman right next to me every day and night."
His woman. To some, it might sound archaic, primal even, but she liked the way it sounded. What did it feel like to be someone's woman? To be extraordinary enough that the other person wanted you there all the time. To want them there all the time, instead of looking forward to the next leave? The concept was utterly different from the empty exchanges she and David experienced together. What a mess she'd made.
"I know what you must be thinking. I'm an unevolved caveman, a Cro-Magnon. But if I love someone, I want to be near them. I'm as much hers as she is mine. Now, to be honest, I’ve never experienced that type of relationship, but it’s what my parents have."
Did he realize he spoke her deepest desires, the unquenched thirst of her parched heart? Could his desires mirror hers so closely? Even if so, it would take more than she knew how to give. To her dread, her hands started to shake, and cold chills raced over her skin. "Gabe, I'm sorry, but I can't talk about this right now. I can't—"
"I'm sorry,” he put in quickly, his brows drawn together in a frown. "Sara, I didn't mean to get too personal. We don't know each other well. Damn, I should have been more sensitive."
Sara gulped her wine, waited for the effects of the wine to blur the sharp edge of anxiety. In her haste, she nearly spilled the wine. "It's okay, it's just…there's still so much to deal with."