by V. K. Sykes
And she couldn’t help feeling flattered that he’d likely come to see her, although that idea also made her nervous as hell.
Client, remember? Nothing more.
After she closed her set and while the crowd was still applauding, she made her way toward his table. She was so captured by his dark, intent gaze as he watched her approach that she almost tripped over one of the ancient, half-rusted buoys that were a colorful part of the bar’s seafaring décor. She barely managed to catch herself and not fall down on the beer-sticky floor.
Yuck. Real smooth, girl. Oh well, not that it mattered. She was definitely not trying to impress Ry Griffin.
“Ry, this is a surprise,” she said with her friendliest smile. “It’s nice to see you here.”
He pulled out the chair next to him, obviously going for the dark, sexy, and silent routine. It worked, as the annoying flutters in her belly made perfectly clear.
Maisie McCutcheon, one of the waitresses, hurried over and asked if she wanted her usual. Claire said yes.
“I don’t get paid, but drinks are on the house,” she said to Ry, once Maisie hustled off to the bar.
“You should get paid. You’re good. Really good.”
Though he still hadn’t smiled, Claire’s insides glowed from his gruff praise. “Thank you. My voice is okay, but I play guitar like I’m wearing oven mitts.”
Her little joke finally pulled a hint of a smile from his hard mouth. “I doubt people are paying much attention to the guitar when they’re listening to that voice of yours.” His gaze tracked over her again, taking its time. “Or watching such a pretty woman.”
Wow. She was too young for hot flashes, but it felt like she might be having one anyway.
“I could certainly use some guitar lessons.” She mentally winced when her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Know anybody around here who can really play?”
He coughed out a chuckle. “Nope. Absolutely no one.”
“Really? Well, I do. Some mysterious dude who wowed everybody at Derek and Jane’s wedding reception last week. Ring any bells?”
“Oh, him. He wasn’t all that great. Plus, I’ve heard he doesn’t do lessons.”
She rested her arms on the table, still curious to know what he truly thought about his musical talent. And, seriously, how great would it be if she could convince Ry to give her guitar lessons? The guy was a much better guitarist than the two people in town who taught the instrument. He could help her take her playing to a whole new level.
“Really? Why not? I bet he’d be great,” she said, warming to the idea.
He shrugged but didn’t say no.
“We could always barter,” she ventured. “You give me some lessons, I give you some free home checks.” She wracked her brains, trying to think of something else that might tempt him.
He rolled his eyes. “Nice try.” He took a long pull of his beer just as Maisie arrived with a bottle of Shipyard Ale for her.
Argh.
Claire took a quick drink to cover her growing sense of embarrassment. What the heck was wrong with her? It was like being near him scrambled her brains—or at least her common sense. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” she said. Again. “It was a dumb idea anyway. You’ve got better things to do. Besides, you’re helping me out with the festival, which is incredibly generous of you.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I don’t want to do it because I’m not a teacher. Actually, I think I might mess you up more than help you if I tried to give you lessons.” He cracked a slight smile. “You don’t need that.”
She smiled back, grateful that he’d eased the tension. And, strictly speaking, he had yet to give her a definitive no.
“I doubt that anybody could mess up my playing more than it already is.” Then a brilliant idea somehow flashed into her head. “Hey, what if I trained Stanley for you in return for a few lessons? I’d be really happy to do that.”
Ry didn’t say anything, just giving her the dark, sexy, and silent inspection that he did so well.
“That way we could both benefit, right?” she coaxed. “Just a couple of lessons each, and then we could decide if we want to keep going. No big commitment at all.”
“Hmm. Stanley does seem to be locked in a battle of wills with me. And he sure took to you.”
Jackpot. “He obviously senses I’m a whiz with dogs.”
“But I’d really rather just pay you to train Stanley.”
She scrunched up her nose. “I totally understand. I just thought…you know…it could be friends helping friends.”
“Friends helping friends, huh?” The tone of his voice suggested that was something of a foreign concept.
She took a leisurely sip of beer, trying her best to appear casual. “Just easy breezy, you know? No big deal. Just everyday hanging out kind of stuff.”
He studied her for a few seconds, and then shook his head. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
She almost choked. “Really? Thanks, I guess.” No one had ever called her that before. He made it sound kind of cool.
Ry blew out an exasperated breath. “Okay, you win. I guess we can give it a try.”
Again, wow. “That’s awesome. Thank you. I’ll make time whenever you’re available. It’s totally up to you.”
“I guess we could start next week, after I get back from New York.”
That would be in three days. He’d booked her from his departure tomorrow morning until his return on Sunday evening. “Sure. Whenever works for you.”
“It would obviously make sense to train Stanley at my place,” he said slowly, perhaps thinking through the logistics. “But we could do the guitar lesson at yours, if you want. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable there.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Her enthusiasm took a hit a few seconds later when he abruptly shifted forward, his intensity dialing up as he stared at her with eyes narrowed to slits. Now what was wrong?
“Look, Claire, I have to ask you something.”
Oh, oh. “Uh, okay.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that my place had once been your family home?”
It was like a vacuum cleaner hose had just sucked her mouth dry. Fumbling, she reached for her beer. How had he found out?
Carter, of course. Her old friend was always looking out for her, even when she didn’t need it.
“It’s not something I wanted you to be concerned about,” she said. “I thought it might make you uncomfortable.”
He scoffed. “Was that before or after I told you I was going to tear it down?”
Her stomach lurched, but she forced a calm reply. “That wasn’t really a surprise. It’s what people who buy on Promise Island generally do. They want the land and the view, not creaky old houses not even up to code.”
“But you’re not too happy about it, right?”
Well, she wasn’t going to lie. “I’m sure you can understand why not. Wouldn’t it bother you to see the house where you grew up flattened like a pancake?”
“Hell, no. Not one bit. It’s just a house.”
That answer suggested his childhood had been less than happy. But that was definitely none of her business. “You must think I’m completely irrational for caring one way or another about that house after all these years.”
He looked as if he expected her to say something more. But she didn’t know what else could make him understand what the old place meant to her.
And why did it even matter at this point? He could do whatever he wanted with the property, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
She made a show of looking at her watch. “I’d better get back up on stage.” She pushed her chair back and rose. “I’ll see you at the festival committee meeting, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Claire managed a weak smile and a wave as she made good her escape.
Chapter 6
Her easel perched close to the edge of the rocky cliff, Claire had pain
ted this tranquil seaside scene dozens of times. It was her favorite view from her family’s old property. Brides Bay glittered in the brilliant afternoon sunshine, its gentle waters lapping the long, pebbly strip of beach far below her. Diving and soaring through a cloudless sky, seagulls wheeled across the Spy Hill lobster wharf in the distance, their insistent squawks carrying easily across the half-mile distance. It was all so very familiar, yet everything in her life had changed radically since her childhood.
As a young painter, she’d focused on getting the colors and the shading just right, endlessly experimenting with her technique and channeling everything she’d learned in her Saturday lessons. Now, with years of experience and prestigious art school training behind her, she still struggled—not with technique but with translating her emotions onto the canvas. Art was about what you felt about your subject, not just what you saw.
And what was she feeling today? She glanced around, taking in the dignified if shabby old house and listening to the buzz of the saws coming over from the garage construction. As much as she might like to turn back the clock, she couldn’t. She couldn’t even freeze this pleasant moment. Soon enough, her house would be gone and something gigantic and ultramodern would rise up in its place, looking down its haughty architectural nose at little Spy Hill across the bay.
If that was progress, then she’d like to kick progress in the ass.
“Hey there, Georgia O’Keefe.”
Claire turned to see Meg tramping across the lawn in a white Brides Bay Concierges T-shirt, navy shorts, and white Keds. Her carrot-red hair was pulled back into its usual working ponytail, and she carried a folder that would contain the final contract for Ry to sign. Meg handled almost all the paperwork for their partnership.
“Hey, come on over and take a look at the view,” Claire said.
Meg didn’t halt until she stood right at the edge of the cliff. Then she peered out like an explorer, one hand shading her eyes. “This is awesome. Probably the best view on the whole island.”
“I always thought so.” There weren’t many properties Claire hadn’t explored on Promise Island. As kids, she and her sister had roamed free all across Promise, knowing the few neighbors they had in those days didn’t mind. They weren’t privacy nuts like some of the current owners, people who cocooned themselves inside their mansions with gates and walls and sophisticated security systems.
She sighed and put down her brush. “I thought I’d feel a lot less attached to it over time, but I think I miss it even more now.”
Meg took a couple of steps away from the rocky slope. “You said your mom was going to drop by?”
Mom hadn’t been to the property since their family moved out, even though Bert Budd had told her years ago that she was welcome to do so. She’d always said it would be too painful to visit. But lately she’d expressed a desire to see the old place one more time before the house came down. Claire had texted Ry, who was still away, to ask his permission. He’d quickly texted back a brief reply, saying that of course her mother was welcome to visit. It was the only contact they’d had since their interesting if somewhat tense chat at the Dory.
“I hope she does. This place was such a huge part of our lives, and she adored the view.”
“When I was a kid, I totally envied you guys living up here on these cliffs.”
“I know. But not because we were rich, that’s for sure.”
“No, the island wasn’t all fancy-pants back then. Nothing like it is now, anyway.” The daughter of a boatyard laborer, Meg had grown up in a tiny cottage in Maryfield, the poorest of the three towns on Brides Bay. She had no siblings.
“Why don’t we go inside and grab a cool drink?” Claire said. “You can leave the contract on the counter for Ry to go over and sign.”
They crossed the lawn and went through the house into the kitchen. There, she filled two glasses with cool, sweet-tasting well water. “Grandpa Maddox was a smart man to buy this property and settle here. Too bad neither he nor my dad is around to see how prices have climbed into the stratosphere.”
“They’d be blown away. Geez, Derek’s house is like something out of Disney World.” Then Meg gave her a mock stern look. “Don’t you think it’s time you came clean about what happened the other night at the Dory? I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about Ry in front of the others, but it’s just me now. You know, your best friend forever, Meg Reilly?”
Claire flapped a hand. “Oh, it was really no big deal. We just talked about how my family used to own the house.”
“Wow, you did? Exactly how did that little subject come up?”
“Because our friend Carter went and shot off his big mouth. Ry started to grill me about why it bugged me that he was going to tear it down.”
“And?”
She grimaced. “I beat a hasty retreat back to the stage.”
“Ouch. And then he took off before you finished.”
She sighed and set her glass down on the counter. “I think he’s a little mad at me. That’s why I want to do something special to welcome him home tonight. I’m going to text him in a few minutes to say I absolutely insist on doing a little grocery shopping for him, since there’s almost no food in the house. Then I’ll bring over some wine, light some candles, and maybe even build a fire. That’ll be a lot more welcoming for him than coming home to a cold, empty house.”
Meg frowned. “I get the groceries part, since we do that for all our clients. But I have to say that the rest of it almost sounds like you’re out to seduce him. Not that I could blame you if you were. I’m sure half the women in town have been fantasizing about doing Ry Griffin.”
Claire’s heart skipped a beat thinking about Ry and seduction. Okay, several beats.
“Seduce him? Oh sure, because that’s exactly what I would need in my life right now. Not.”
Talk about risky—and mega-stupid.
“Still, the guy is frigging hot,” Meg said.
“I just want to bring a little warmth and comfort into his life,” Claire said, ignoring Meg’s all too accurate assessment. “Just take a look around this place.”
Meg glanced around both the drab kitchen and the dining room across the hall that barely looked lived in. “It could definitely use a woman’s touch.”
“More like a complete makeover. I could turn this place into something special, but I’ll never get the chance. Not unless Ry decides he hates it here. And even then I’d have to win the lottery to be able to afford it.”
Meg grimaced with sympathy. “I wish I could disagree, but...”
“It’s okay,” Claire said lamely.
“It wouldn’t surprise me all that much if he packed up and left soon enough,” Meg said. “Brides Bay is probably going to bore the crap out of him.”
“Oh, come on, we’re not that bad.”
“You know what I mean. He came from Manhattan, after all. Guys like Derek are only here part-time and never stay very long, so it works for them. But Ry’s planning to actually live here, right? Unless he really does want to play hermit, I suspect we could see a for sale sign go up within a year.”
Claire had to admit to having had some of the same thoughts. Part of her wanted Ry to put the house up for sale, while another part already hated the idea that he might leave. “I’m sure he’s going to go ahead with building a new house here soon, though maybe I’ll be able to pretty this one up a bit before he brings in the bulldozer. I’d sure love so see the old place looking homey again before…well, before I have to let it go forever.”
When she heard a car pull up in the drive, she hurried to the kitchen window.
Mom.
Her mother got out of her ten-year-old Ford Focus and turned a slow circle in place, shading her eyes as she gazed around the property. When she faced the site of the new garage, she stopped turning and leveled a fierce stare.
Claire went out to meet her. “Mom, I’m so glad you decided to come.”
Her mother kissed her cheek. “Just for
a few minutes, sweetheart. I have to get back to work soon.”
For the past year, her mom had worked as a waitress at Chloe’s Diner. As always on workdays, she wore her unofficial uniform of black T-shirt and black cotton pants. Slim and still pretty at fifty-four, her mother had no shortage of suitors in her social life—one that was considerably more active than Claire’s. But Amelia Maddox always insisted that she had absolutely no intention of ever remarrying. She’d said dozens of times that while she’d be furious at her husband until the day she died and probably even after that, Ben Maddox had been the love of her life. All she truly wanted now were as many grandchildren as possible. Unfortunately, both her daughters were failing her miserably on that score so far. Katie was married to a good man, a Boston restaurant owner, but they were career-focused and not anxious to start a family. Claire, on the other hand, wanted kids someday but could barely remember the last time she’d had a date.
“Hello, Mrs. Maddox,” Meg said, hugging her.
“My gosh, you had nothing better to do today too, Meg?” Mom said wryly.
Meg grinned. “I brought over some business stuff, although I was happy for the chance to take in the view too. Claire’s told me so much about it over the years. And she wasn’t exaggerating—it truly is amazing. I could just die for it.”
When Mom’s features went blank, Meg’s face got almost as red as her hair. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Maddox. That was a dumb choice of—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mom said, waving her off. “My daughter’s the one obsessed with this old place, not me.”
Well, that didn’t tickle.
It was true that Claire was way more nostalgic than her mother about the home they’d both loved so much. Still, she bet Mom’s insides were twisting up right now too.
“Girls, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go down to the bluffs by myself,” her mother said.