A Misty Harbor Wedding

by Marcia Evanick

  Sierra took a sip of wine and smiled at him across the rim of the glass. “Haven’t you ever been in Claire’s?”

  “I walk past it a couple times a week.” He’d seen the mannequins in the window wearing different outfits. None of them ever looked like Sierra did tonight. He would have noticed.

  “In other words, you’ve never been inside.” Sierra shook her head and opened her menu. “It’s a wonderful shop, quite surprising in many ways.”

  He opened his menu and was happy to see they still carried a great selection of steaks. “Will you be wearing it to Norah’s wedding?” He could foresee a truly miserable day if she was. Every male above the age of puberty would be drooling after her. Ned was going to be a bit upset when his best man started punching out some of the wedding guests.

  Sierra looked up from the menu. “I’m not going to the wedding, Matt.”

  “Why not?” He snapped the menu closed. He already knew what he wanted.

  “Ummm . . .” Sierra looked hesitant. “I wasn’t invited.”

  “Of course you’re invited.” Why would she think she wasn’t invited? Hell, if it weren’t for Sierra, Norah and Ned would be saying their vows by a half-dead shrub, and the guests would be slicing off chunks of six-foot-long hoagies bought at Roy’s in Bangor and drinking beer from a cooler.

  Sierra shook her head. “I didn’t receive an invitation.”

  Matt stared at her for a moment and then started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Sierra glanced around to see if they were attracting any attention.

  “Sierra, no one received an actual invitation. There wasn’t time to have them made and then mailed.”

  “So what did Norah and Ned do, call everyone?”

  “The out-of-town relatives and friends, yes.” He didn’t see what the problem was. “Word of mouth spread it to everyone in town.”

  “So the three hundred guests everyone has been telling me about is, what, an estimate? No one RSVPed?” she asked, horrified.

  “There was nothing to RSVP to, and three hundred is a pretty good estimate, in my opinion. Ned’s a very likable guy. Everyone will want to be there.” He reached across the table and covered one of her hands with his. “I would very much like to officially invite you and Austin to come to the wedding, as my date and guest.”

  Sierra looked at him. “First off, what’s wrong with Norah? Isn’t she likable?”

  “Norah’s very likable.” He chuckled. “But she and her mother just moved here in June. I know a few of her coworkers at the newspaper are coming.” He trailed a fingertip across Sierra’s wrist.

  “What happens if more than three hundred people show up? Or less?” Sierra turned over her hand and lightly teased the palm of his hand with one of her fingers.

  “We’ll make room for them somehow, and if there’s food left over, the Methodist church knows which families in town could use it the most and will make sure it’s delivered.”

  “It’s that simple?” Sierra looked unconvinced.

  “It’s that simple. I’ve been to other spur-of-the-moment weddings, Sierra. It all works out.” He captured her wayward finger because it was driving him nuts. “Relax, and tell me Austin and you will be coming with me.” That way if someone tried hitting on her, he’d be in the right to bash some heads. The outfit she was wearing was going to cause a heart attack, and it just might be his.

  “I would love to come with you, Matt.” Her eyes glittered with secrets. “But Austin won’t be here.”

  “Why not? Where’s he going?” Sierra and Austin were inseparable. This was the first time Matt and Sierra had been out alone together.

  “Jake is flying into Boston for business on Wednesday morning. Jake’s sister lives in Boston, so he invited us down so he could spend a few days with his son. I think it’s important that Jake and Austin spend the time together, but they don’t need me. So I’m staying right here in Misty Harbor.”

  “How’s Austin getting there?”

  “I’m meeting Jake halfway, along Interstate 95 on Wednesday afternoon. Then I’ll meet him there again Sunday afternoon to pick Austin back up.” There were secrets in Sierra’s eyes that were teasing him, tempting him.

  “It’s all worked out?” Four nights Sierra would be alone in the Alberts’ home. Somewhere outside on the patio a band started to play a slow, soft melody, perfect for dancing under the stars. It was a real shame his hormones had already started to dance to some fiery Latin beat.

  Sierra looked at Matt and knew exactly what he was thinking. The same thing she was: Wednesday couldn’t get here soon enough. “Oh, just so you know, I won’t be wearing this to Ned and Norah’s wedding.” She had no idea why he had asked, but it had seemed important to him.

  “Why not? It’s gorgeous and you look fantastic in it.”

  “Matt”—she tried not to roll her eyes—“I’m wearing it tonight.”

  “So?”

  She did roll her eyes this time. “Forget it. It’s a woman thing,” she said as their waiter approached their table. Men were so clueless about certain things.

  After the waiter left with their order, she glanced around the room in wonder. She had seen shabbier five-star hotels. From what she had been able to see of Cliffside Manor, it had been painstakingly restored. “I thought you said you were a carpenter.”

  “I am.” Matt looked amused.

  “Carpenters build houses and bookcases, things like that.” She had seen and met many carpenters over the years. They had come in many shapes and sizes, but not a one of them had looked like Matt. She would have remembered.

  “I can build a house, and I have built my fair share of bookcases.” Matt smiled. “I specialize in restoration. It matches my love of history and my obsession for detail.”

  “Brain with the brawn?” She liked that in a guy. She’d never dated a carpenter before or any other guy who made his living with his hands. Her dates tended to be businessmen, smart, savvy men who got their brawn from a gym. She doubted very much that was where Matt got his.

  Matt chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It was meant as one.” She glanced around the room. “Exactly how much of this room did you do?”

  “The entire window wall. A previous owner had lined the whole wall with patio doors but was smart enough to save the original windows in the carriage house. I restored the old windows and replaced them exactly how they were originally.” Matt nodded across the room where a massive fireplace took up half the wall. “The interior of the fireplace had to be completely redone, but thankfully the marble mantle was in great shape. I replaced a couple of rotten floorboards, and sanded and revarnished this room and three others.”

  “What about the crown molding?” Sierra stared up at the ceiling. The intricate molding had to be ten inches wide and hand carved.

  “I only had to duplicate an eight-foot section. From the rest I stripped off eight layers of paint before giving it a fresh white coat.”

  She twisted and turned in her seat as she studied every foot of the crown molding. She couldn’t spot the new piece. “I’m impressed.” The red and gold silk wall covering looked elegant and old. “Tell me you hung the wallpaper.” If he said yes, she’d offer him a job with the Randall Corporation and pay him a fortune. It would be worth every penny.

  “Afraid I can’t take credit for that one. There’s a company in Bangor that specializes in walls. They did the plastering and hung the silk. I prefer to work with wood, and sometimes stone, brick, or slate.”

  “With all this talent”—her arm swept the room—“why stay here in Misty Harbor? Why not move to a big city? I have a feeling work this good is in great demand and you would be able to practically name your price.” She didn’t have a feeling about it; she knew. She had negotiated with craftsmen before. A good craftsman was worth his weight in gold. Matthew Porter wasn’t a carpenter, he was a craftsman.

  “Misty Harbor is my home, Sierra. It’s where my heart is.�
�� Matt’s gaze held sincerity. “It’s where my dream is.”

  “What’s your dream, Matt?” What did a man like Matt dream about? She had a feeling his dream didn’t concern making money or retiring at fifty.

  “Living in Misty Harbor’s lighthouse.” Matt watched her closely, waiting for a reaction.

  She blinked. “Where?”

  “The lighthouse where I saw you and Austin that first morning. It’s been my dream since I was eight years old to live in it.”

  “You want to live in a lighthouse? There’s not enough room inside, is there?” She was confused. Didn’t a woman named Millicent Wyndham own the lighthouse?

  Matt chuckled. “When I was eight, it didn’t matter. Now that I’m older, I agree. That’s why I want to build a replica of the original lighthouse keeper’s house that at one time was right next to it. It was struck by lightning and burned to the ground before it could be saved.”

  “When was this?” She hadn’t even known there had been a house at one time.

  “In 1940. For my twenty-fifth birthday my brothers and parents went around town and got every old picture of the place they could lay their hands on. It turned out to be only three old black and whites. Between them and what passed for blueprints back when it was originally built, which Ned had found for me, I can build a replica with all the modern conveniences—like indoor plumbing.”

  “Indoor plumbing is good.” Her heart sank. Matt wanted the lighthouse. The same lighthouse that the Randall Corporation would be incorporating into its newest hotel, set right on the coast of Maine. Twenty acres of prime real estate was about to go onto the market, and her father was seriously thinking about buying it. That was why she was in Misty Harbor.

  She and Austin had been sent here by her father to scope out the town and the surrounding area. Millicent Wyndham, the woman who owned the property now, wasn’t too sure that a hundred-room, high-end hotel would be in the town’s best interest. From what her father told her, Ms. Wyndham was the town’s matriarch, and what she said went. One of Sierra’s jobs was to find out if Ms. Wyndham was telling the truth about the town or she was trying to jack up the price by playing hardball.

  “So when do you start building?” she asked. Her mind was whirling with all kinds of possibilities. Could Matt really outbid the Randall Corporation? Seemed unlikely, but she had learned a long time ago never to judge a book by its cover.

  “I don’t.” Matt moved his glass of wine out of the waiter’s way as he set their plates down in front of them. “Thank you.”

  She mustered up a smile for the young man. “Thank you. It looks delicious.” When he left, she asked Matt, “Why not?”

  “Millicent, the woman who owns the property now, gave me the heads-up a couple weeks ago. A fancy hotel chain has contacted her, expressing its desire to buy the lighthouse and the twenty acres it sits on.”

  She cringed. Hotel chain!? Holiday Inn was a hotel chain. Randall Hotels were individually built with the finest materials to fit into the surrounding area. Her father considered the words “hotel chain” blasphemy.

  Matt cut into his steak with a little more force than necessary. “There is no way I can compete financially with that kind of money.”

  “So your dream is gone?” She’d never considered that by building and running hotels, her father could be hurting people. That she could be hurting people. She didn’t want to kill Matt’s or anyone else’s dream.

  “No.” Matt grinned. “Not yet. Nothing has been signed and until I see bulldozers up there digging a foundation, I will continue to consider the lighthouse up for grabs.”

  “Well, that’s good.” Until you find out who I am, and then you’ll hate me. With that depressing thought, she looked at her meal and suddenly lost her appetite.

  Matt held Sierra close and slowly swayed to the music. He wasn’t really dancing; Sierra didn’t seem to be in the mood. An older couple was kicking up the dance floor and having a ball. Or to be more accurate, they were kicking up the slate patio of Cliffside Manor. It had taken him a couple tries to talk Sierra into dancing. Something seemed to be bothering her.

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Are you feeling okay?”

  She nestled closer. “I feel fine, Matt.”

  “You’re not cold?” The breeze blowing in off the ocean was on the chilly side, and the outfit she was wearing left her arms bare.

  Sierra’s cheek was pressed against his collarbone. “In your arms? How could I be cold?”

  “I like the sound of that.” Matt held her closer and turned so his back was to the wind. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it. Sierra had been her normal talkative self before dinner, but afterward she had barely said a word. “You miss Austin, don’t you?” He’d finally figured it out.

  “I always miss Austin when he’s not with me.”

  He relaxed. It wasn’t him. “Are you ready to go get Austin?”

  “Yes.” Sierra glanced up and smiled.

  He brushed his thumb over the curve of her lip. “Next time just tell me you miss him.” His mouth brushed the same path as his thumb. Since neither of their cell phones had rung during dinner, he knew Austin was fine and was probably handling the separation better than his mother. “I kind of miss the little guy myself.”

  “Thank you. It’s just that he’s never gone over to a friend’s house before.”

  Matt shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it across her shoulders. “What are you going to do when he stays for sleepovers at his friends’?”

  “He’s only four.” Sierra huddled in the jacket and frowned up at him.

  “Tyler, Hunter, and Morgan do it all the time. They sleep over at each other’s houses, my parents, Ned’s, and last month I had the three of them at my place for a night.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?” They started walking along a well-lit path that took them around the side of Cliffside Manor and toward the parking lot.

  “Because you’re family. Austin has only spent the night with me, or his father, or with Rosemary, his nanny.”

  “Hasn’t he ever spent the night with your father?” Matt’s father spoiled the kids every chance he got. Even Jill’s and Kay’s parents took them overnight.

  Sierra laughed. “The last time Austin spent more than five minutes alone with my father, he was trying to teach him who was on which denomination of money, and which was more valuable.”

  “How old was Austin?” He held her elbow as the path became uneven.

  “Two.” Sierra rolled her eyes as they reached her rental SUV.

  He had no idea what to say about that one. Sierra’s father sounded a little uptight to him. “My father can make a quarter magically appear from his ear.”

  Sierra leaned against the car and laughed. “That’s what families are supposed to have, sleepovers and magic quarters.”

  He crowded her close. “Families come in all shapes and sizes, Sierra. They are all different.” He couldn’t imagine being an only child, with no brothers to pound on once in a while. No brothers to lean on. “Large families have their drawbacks, magic quarters and all.”

  Her smile tugged at his heart. “I imagine they do.”

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  “Three times, but who’s counting?” Sierra’s arms wrapped around his neck.

  “Your smile is breathtaking.” He bent his head and captured her mouth.

  Sierra stood on her toes and melted into his arms. His jacket slipped from her shoulders, but it was a long time before either of them noticed.

  Juliet stood at the rail of the boat and felt the cold sea spray against her face. She had taken Gordon’s advice and worn a windbreaker and a sweatshirt underneath. Even in August, it was darn cold out on the ocean. It was even colder barreling across the waves as if a tidal wave was about to overtake them and send them all into the abyss.

  She didn’t have to worry about drowning, though. She was frozen solid. She
would float like an iceberg.

  Juliet cringed at the sound of the poor screaming engine. The engine backfired, and a billow of black smoke filled the air behind them. Lawrence Blake was a maniac behind the wheel, or whatever was being used to steer the boat. Her hand gripped the rail tighter as they hit another wave.

  “Bend your knees a little, and they will act as shock absorbers. Don’t lock them.” Steven Blake joined her at the front railing.

  She managed a small smile and wondered how he knew her knees were locked in terror beneath her jeans. She didn’t want to become an iceberg. “Does your uncle usually go this fast?”

  “Believe it or not, he’s actually going slower than normal.”

  She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses and hoped he couldn’t see. Lawrence was his uncle, after all. “How can you tell?”

  “I asked him to, plus it’s our last run of the day. There’s no hurry now.” Steve leaned against the metal rail and faced the back of the boat. “I’m glad you finally decided to come. I was beginning to think I would have to go looking for you.”

  “It’s only Tuesday.” Juliet told herself she was only imagining Steve singling her out, but she had a feeling she was lying to herself. Steve did seem interested in her. Amazing. “You only gave me the ticket on Thursday.”

  “Ah, you were playing hard to get?” Steve looked intrigued by the possibility.

  She laughed. She’d never played hard to get in her life; she wouldn’t know how. “What I was playing was shopkeeper, designer, and janitor.”

  “I heard that Gordon’s shop is now a smoke-free bookstore, with just a little area designated for tobacco products.” Steven chuckled at the idea. “How did you talk him into that one? The place usually reeks like the bottom of an ashtray.”

  “I didn’t talk him into anything. Gordon made up his own mind and hung the NO SMOKING signs himself.” No one had been more stunned than she, when she had walked into the shop on Friday and saw the orange and black signs.