It was always so nice to be right about such things. Wade had gravitated toward her like a bee to a rose.
“I saw your aunt Berry at the ceremony,” Stef said. “That’s some hat she was wearing.”
“You know Berry.” He chuckled. “She likes to make an entrance.”
Stef smiled and waved at one of her neighbors.
“So I hear your business is going well,” Wade said.
“It’s ice cream.” She shrugged. “This is a tourist town now. How could I miss?”
“I hear it’s more than just ‘ice cream.’ Berry went on and on about how it’s her favorite place in town these days. She tells me you concoct some pretty fabulous flavors.”
“Well, yes, I do,” she said with no false modesty. “I work at it, though. I like the challenge of making things that no one else does. I like playing with flavors to—” She stopped. “Sorry. Ice cream is one of my favorite subjects. I was about to bore you straight into the ground.”
“Not at all. I feel the same way about the beer that we brew. I really enjoy making unique flavors, too.”
She watched his face to make sure he wasn’t teasing her.
“You flavor your beer?” She frowned. “I thought beer’s flavor was, well, beer.”
He smiled. “I think that might be true of most of the beers from the big breweries. But microbrewing, ah, that’s a whole ’nother story.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Think of the difference between the ice cream you make as opposed to buying prepackaged ice cream that’s made in bigger batches by one of the big commercial ice-cream makers that’s shipped to supermarkets all over the country.”
She nodded. She got it. She knew every ingredient that went into every one of her batches and where it came from. She knew she made a superior product. Milk and cream from organically raised cows, fruits and spices organically raised. No additives, no preservatives.
“You make a better product than, say, the beer you’re drinking here. Smaller batches, for starters.” She nodded in the direction of his glass.
“That’s right. And because I make it myself, I control what goes into it, so if I want a beer that has a hint of, say, ginger or some other spice or fruit or an herbal note, I can experiment until I hit on the right combination.”
“I do that, too.”
“I thought you might. I wandered past Scoop this afternoon, saw your sign, stopped in, but you weren’t there.”
“I was probably getting ready to come here. Stop in tomorrow, and I’ll give you a tasting. A little of this, a little of that.”
“That sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”
There was more banter and the greeting of old friends whom Wade hadn’t seen in a long time, lots of catching up, lots of reminiscing and laughter. When it was time to move into the ballroom for dinner, they wandered over to the table where the seating arrangements were displayed.
“Where are you sitting?” he asked.
“Table five.” She held up the little card with her name on it.
“So am I.”
“Really?”
“Well, I am now.” Wade grinned. “I just switched cards with Ricky Davis. He’ll never know the difference.”
He took her arm, his fingers light as a whisper, and together they found their table. Throughout dinner they laughed and talked, their heads close together, and after, when the band began to play, they danced. Every slow dance, ever closer, ever slower … their bodies melting together until Stef could hear his heart beating, feel his breath against her cheek and against her neck. Visions of a long, slow, sweet, and sexy night of total magic danced in her brain, and she was all but drunk with the thought of what the night still held for them. Everything was going exactly the way she’d always dreamed it would. It took all her willpower not to pinch her arm to make sure it wasn’t a dream.
Her body was so close to his that when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket, she could feel the vibration.
He held up the phone and looked at the number of the incoming call. Had it been her imagination, or had he blanched slightly? Whatever, he’d led her from the dance floor and back to her chair, and excused himself to take the call.
Must be business, she’d thought at the time, though what kind of business at almost midnight on a Saturday night …
And then he was back at her side, saying something like, “It’s time to leave.” She bit her bottom lip to conceal her smile, lest he realize how eager she was to get to her apartment and toss off the watercolor-silk dress that he’d admired, thinking, Wait till he sees what’s underneath.…
He grabbed her by the hand, and after making short but sweet congratulations and good-byes to the happy couple, he all but ran out of the inn. Steffie’s long legs hustled to keep up, and she was just about to ask, “Your car or mine?” when he pulled up abruptly at a gray sedan that was parked three cars away from her own.
“I’m sorry, but I have to leave,” he was saying as he unlocked the car with the remote. “I need to get to the airport.…”
He mumbled something about flying standby but she didn’t catch it.
“The airport?” Confused, she frowned. “Seriously? You’re leaving now?”
“Look, I didn’t want to say good-bye to you inside, but that phone call … something’s come up,” he said. “I’m really sorry. It was great to see you, Stef, great to catch up, and I wish I could stay. Maybe next time, when I’m in town …”
“Maybe not.” She backed away from him. When he took a step toward her, she took another back. “Hey, don’t let me keep you …”
“Stef …”
“No, don’t, Wade. Just go.”
She watched with disbelieving eyes as he got into the car and backed out of his parking space and sped off.
“Seriously?” she said aloud to the empty parking lot.
She growled and opened her driver’s-side door and angled in behind the wheel. She jammed the key into the ignition, put the car in reverse—and found cars blocking hers. She banged on her steering wheel, took a deep breath, and set off for the inn, seeking the blood of the idiots who’d thought it was okay to park behind her, feeling humiliated, frustrated, and more disappointed than she’d ever felt before.
You led me on and then you let me down. Had your chance and you blew it. I don’t know what you’ve got going on back in Texas that’s so hot and heavy that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, but you just missed out on what could have been the best night of your life and you don’t even know it.
It most certainly would have been the best night of hers, too … but that was something else he’d never know.
Diary ~
As much as I appreciate all the business the tourists bring to St. Dennis, I must admit that I do love it most when they leave and we townies have our little town by the Bay to ourselves again. Fall arrives and most of the summer people depart. Is any place more glorious in September than St. Dennis? The weather is perfect—what’s not to love about cool nights and warm sunny days?—and the colors of summer and autumn blend in the foliage, if only for a few weeks. Yes, yes, of course I know that October is just around the bend, and the days will grow shorter and cooler, and cool leads to cold … I wasn’t born yesterday. But I think that September just might be my favorite month of all—and not just because Daniel and I were married in September.
Dear me, that was so long ago … and he’s been gone now for …
Well, I digress …
My point being that I look forward every year to reclaiming the town, to the changes that come when the tourists leave. The hustle is gone from the sidewalks, and the lines from the restaurants, and St. Dennis—the St. Dennis I grew up in and have loved all my life—reverts almost to the way it was before it was “discovered.” Except, of course, for the day-trippers, but they arrive mostly on the weekends and are gone by Sunday afternoon. And I can’t in good conscience complain about them, because they keep our inn full and keep our busine
sses open all year round. They’re the reason we have the late-season sailboat races and fall festivals and special holiday events, which I have to admit I enjoy as much as the next person. The Christmas tour last year was just wonderful, and from what I hear, this year’s will be even bigger. Oh, my, but the sight of all those old houses up off Old St. Mary’s Church Square, decorated to the nines with wreaths and lights and … well, it was magic. And we all need a little magic in our lives, don’t we?
I know I’ve had my share of magic over the years … oh, yes, indeed, I have. ~
~ Grace ~
THAT’S it, right there, ace. The house where I spent my happiest years. Number Twelve River Road.” Wade MacGregor hoisted the squirming child onto his shoulders. Delighted to be released from the car seat where he’d spent way too much time over the past few days, the little boy kicked his feet in the air, wanting down more than he wanted up. “Hasn’t changed a whole heck of a lot since then.”
Wade studied the exterior of the house for a long moment. “Looks like there have been a few changes in some of the trim color there around the porch. Aunt Berry always likes to keep up with the latest trends. Must always be on the cutting edge, you know?”
He paused momentarily to stare at the fence that ran across the front of the property. He wondered when the fence had been installed, and why. No one had mentioned it in recent phone calls.
Then again, there were things he hadn’t mentioned, either.
“Let’s go check out the river. See the water?” Wade crossed the broad lawn to the wooden pier in long strides, fully aware that he was procrastinating. “Right down here is where I learned to fish and canoe and row and crab and do all kinds of fun things.”
He looked up into the face of the dark-haired cherub whose heels kicked gleefully into his chest.
“Yeah, I suspect you’ll be wanting to do those things one day, too. I’ll teach you whenever you’re ready,” Wade told him. “I promised your mama that I’d raise you the best I could. I can’t think of any better place for you to spend your summers than right here in St. Dennis, just like I did.”
A sleek boat passed by, kicking up some wake as it headed toward the mouth of the New River, where it met the Chesapeake Bay.
“Someday soon, we’ll go sailing out there. You’ll like that. We’ll have to get you a little life jacket first, though.” Wade thought for a moment. “Your mama loved the water. That’s one thing you’ll want to know about her when you get older. She loved to swim and water-ski and dive. Maybe one day you’ll want to do those things, too. She wanted to teach you herself, but that’s not going to happen now.” Wade swallowed the lump that threatened to close his throat. “I know you miss her, buddy. I miss her, too …”
Overhead a gull drifted, and attracted by something on the dock, dropped down onto one of the pilings to get a better look. It hopped to the deck, pecked at something solid for a moment, then took flight, the unexpected prize held in its beak. The bird changed direction, and angled back toward the Bay. Wade followed it with his eyes until it disappeared.
“Ring-billed gull,” Wade said aloud. “Not to be confused with the herring gull. Someday you’ll know the difference. Someday you’ll know all the shorebirds.”
Figuring he’d gotten about all he was going to get out of his efforts to put off the inevitable, he glanced over his shoulder at the house.
“Well, I guess it’s time to face the music.” He started back across the lawn. “You ready to meet your aunt Dallas and your cousin Cody and your great-great-aunt Berry?”
The back door opened and a golden retriever sped out, a fluffy white dog on its heels, both barking wildly at the intruders.
“Fleur!” A little boy of six or seven raced after the dogs. “Ally! Stop! Come back!”
The dogs continued to run toward Wade.
“See doggie!” The toddler demanded and struggled to get down. “Wanna see doggie!”
Wade stood stock-still, waiting to see just how close the dogs would come, if they’d continue to bark, and if they’d show signs of real aggression.
“Ally! Fleur!” The boy ran after them and caught up with them when they stopped about ten feet from Wade.
“Hi, Cody,” Wade said. “Do you remember me?”
Cody narrowed his eyes and searched Wade’s face momentarily before a smile appeared.
“You’re my uncle Wade,” he said. “You live in Texas.”
“Not anymore.” Wade gestured to the dogs, who had calmed down a little. “They don’t bite, do they?”
“Nah.” The boy shook his head. “They just act tough. Mom says they think they’re Dobermans or rottweilers or something.”
Wade laughed. “Where is your mom?”
“She’s in the house. She didn’t say you were coming today.” Cody pointed to Austin, who was trying to wiggle out of Wade’s grasp to get to the ground. “Who’s that?”
“Cody, this is Austin.” Wade lifted the toddler in an arc over his head and placed him on his feet on the grass. “He’s your cousin.”
“Hi, Austin.” Cody knelt down in front of Austin, who pointed a chubby finger at the dogs, who approached cautiously, wagging their tales. “Austin, this is Ally. She’s Aunt Berry’s dog. And this one”—he pointed to the white dog—“is Fleur. She’s mine.”
“Here, doggie!” Austin chortled as the golden retriever drew closer.
Cody glanced up at Wade. “My mom didn’t tell me I had a little cousin.”
“Your mom doesn’t know.”
“Boy, will she be surprised.” Cody commanded the dogs to sit, then led Austin to them.
“Boy, will she ever,” Wade muttered.
A woman started around the side of the house, her pale blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, her dark glasses obscuring half her face.
“Cody, who are you talking—” she began, then stopped in her tracks. “Wade?”
“Hey, Dallas.” Wade walked to meet his sister as she started toward him. “We were just on our way up to the house when Cody and his furry friends came out to greet us.”
“You stinker! You didn’t tell us you were coming home this week!” Dallas MacGregor wrapped her arms around him and hugged tightly. “You’re looking good, kiddo.”
“You’re looking even better.” Wade hugged her in return and spun her halfway around before setting her down. “St. Dennis agrees with you.”
“Why didn’t you let us know you were coming? And what’s with the trailer?” She pointed to the drive, where Wade’s Jeep sat with a trailer hooked up to the back. “You hauling your beer in there? Expanding your business to the Chesapeake?”
“Actually, I closed the business. I sold the equipment and the building.”
Dallas’s jaw dropped. When she recovered, she asked, “What happened? Your brewery was doing so well. All those awards you won … I thought you were really solid.”
“We were. It’s a long story, Dallas.”
Wade looked away. He’d been dreading this conversation for weeks. He’d been so proud of KenneMac, the brewery he’d started from scratch with his best friend from college. He’d hated closing it down, but hated the idea of selling it even more. The company name—that had been his and Robin’s. His brewing secrets had taken him years to perfect. KenneMac Brews had been the best part of his life for the past eight years. Giving it up was one thing. Selling it—allowing someone else to become KenneMac Brews—well, that just wasn’t going to happen.
But then again, even giving up the brewery wasn’t the worst thing that had happened over the past few months.
The back door opened and a woman of indeterminable age stepped out onto the porch.
“Dallas, who’s that you’re talking to? And what’s that thing parked in my driveway?” Hands on her hips, Beryl Eberle—once known internationally as screen star Beryl Townsend—paused, appearing to study the scene. “Is that Wade?”
“Yes, Aunt Berry. It’s me.” Wade’s smile was genuine. He adored his great
-aunt. She’d been the indulgent grandmother he hadn’t known and Auntie Mame all in one. He counted the years he’d lived with her as some of the best of his life.
She came down the porch steps, holding on, he noticed, to the railing all the way. She was always so spry, so clever and lively, he often forgot that she’d turned eighty-one on her last birthday and had another approaching. He quickened his step so that she wouldn’t have to walk across the entire yard to greet him.
“You are a sight for these old eyes, Wade MacGregor.” She hugged him fiercely. “How dare you stay away for so long.”
“What was I thinking?” He embraced her gently.
“I’ll be damned if I know.” She stood back and held him at arm’s length. “You look more and more like your father every year. And I don’t mind saying that Ned was the best-looking young man I ever—”
“Stop feeding his ego with that stuff,” Dallas admonished. “He’s already got a big head.”
“What is that thing in the driveway?” Berry asked again.
“It’s a trailer,” he explained. “Holds all my worldly goods.”
“Does this mean you’ve come home? That you’re staying?” Berry, clearly joyful at the very thought, grabbed Wade’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“I’m not staying, Aunt Berry,” he said softly. “I’m just passing through St. Dennis on my way to Connecticut. I’m going to be working for another brewery.”
“What happened to your brewery?” she demanded.
“We were just starting to talk about that, Berry,” Dallas told her.
“Well, he’s going to have to start from the beginning, because I want—” A squeal of laughter erupted from the lawn. “What on earth …?”
Berry’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a small child I see down there with Cody and the dogs?” She stretched out her arm, her thin finger pointing to the tangle of fur and human on the ground. “There. There’s a little boy. Where did that child come from?”
“Ah, Berry, actually, he’s mine.” Wade’s eyes glanced from his aunt’s startled face to his sister’s. “That’s Austin.”
Almost Home Page 2