He shook his head, refusing to make eye contact with her. “That still won’t endear you to Arlo.” Matt dropped his hands to his hips and then looked her up and down, a distasteful curl to his lips. “He hates people going out to his place unless they’re family or directly connected to the farm, and then it’s better if you go through his manager. Prefers the quiet life.” He walked over to the door, rested a hand on the frame and looked back at her, his gaze cool. “If you go upsetting my brother, you’ll have the whole family to contend with. And let me assure you, Hilary French, ex chef at Scooped in Seattle and food blogger to the stars, it won’t be pretty because there are a lot of us on this island.”
He walked away, leaving her lost for words. Hilary bit her lip, walked over to the window and stared out at the view that moments ago had thrilled her. The ferry that had brought her over was loading up with passengers before heading back to Seattle and she was sorely tempted to race after it. But she’d come for a reason and wouldn’t be put off by implied threats of family mayhem or discord. She was tougher than that. She was. Never give up—her favorite saying of late. Losing her restaurant had taught her how to be strong, to grow a thick skin, and to move forward even when her heart wasn’t in it.
Flicking open her briefcase, Hilary pulled out her computer and powered it up. Time to research the Hope family now that she knew the name of the owner of Hope Island Shellfish Farm.
* * *
Arlo Hope judged the tide and pulled on his rubber boots. As he was yesterday, and probably would be for the next week, he was going to be ankle deep in low tide mud, cleaning out rocks and old shells to make his new clam beds. The work was hard and boring but he liked it. The solitude gave him time to think, time to reflect on where his business was going and what he could do to improve it in the future. Now that he’d made the decision to expand, anxiety had a foothold in his thoughts no matter how many times he’d admonished himself for worrying unnecessarily. You can do this, Arlo. You know you can. Your product is top notch.
“You sure you don’t want me and Sam to help you, Arlo? Get the job done quicker and then we can all seed together.”
Arlo glanced up at Bryce and shook his head. His manager had other work to do, but he appreciated the offer. “Nope. You guys do the oysters. I’m good doing this alone. Besides, I have Bear to help me.” The shaggy, retriever-cross dog looked up at the sound of his name. “When it comes time for doing the seed and the netting, you can give me a hand though.”
“Right-o, then. If you’re sure. Worst job on the farm if you ask me.” Bryce headed off down the front lawn to the jetty where young Sam was already hoisting out the new crane Arlo had installed over the winter. The totes of oysters weighed upward of fifty pounds and with the way the business was growing, it made sense to reduce the manual labor part of the process where possible.
Solitude was his friend. “Come on, Bear. Let’s get to work before the tide turns.” Arlo passed by the maintenance shed and grabbed a rake. Yesterday he’d mapped out three new beds around the first bend in the sheltered cove for the Manila clams. Their sales had improved over the last couple of years, and he wanted to make sure they had enough to meet their projected income based on the last couple of years, which could be tricky to predict considering the clams took three years to grow to a marketable size.
It didn’t take long before Arlo was in his own little bubble working alone, just how he liked it.
Chapter 2
Since Matt had refused to tell her where the shellfish farm was, Hilary got directions from the information center, along with a warning to expect a cool reception. She thanked them and drove toward the far end of the island where she’d been assured she’d find what she was looking for.
The morning sun peeked through the trees and lay in dappled spots on the winding road as she drove. Such a nice change from the hustle and bustle of Seattle. She might have to keep Hope Island in mind for a getaway when she felt burnout stalking her. Hilary knew it would. She could work her butt off for weeks with little sleep and then it would come crashing down around her. Try as she might, slowing down had never been on her radar. That was the price she had to pay for failing.
She slowed when she came to a high point and looked over the ocean. Up here, she could imagine her life was perfect and not the mess it had been since she lost her restaurant. It seemed hard to believe all that had happened in the last eighteen months. Her meteoric rise to fame, her very public battle with her backer, and the loss of her dream. As far as she could see, her integrity went with the restaurant. Nobody liked their name dragged through the mud and hers had been dragged through, pulled back and ripped through again with an extra dunking just to make sure she was well and truly covered.
All because Lester, her backer and business partner, decided he wanted to make a quick buck and she was stupid enough not to see it coming. Stop torturing yourself, Hilary. It won’t change a thing.
She continued on her way, a quick glance at the dashboard clock telling her the day was getting away and she was still fifteen minutes from the farm. After a few more twists in the road, a small nondescript sign on a fence post announced her destination. Hope Island Shellfish Farm. Est. 1987.
Pine trees shaded the driveway. Hilary drove through a cool forest, reciting her script in her head. Since her target was so elusive, she didn’t think she was going to have much time to lure him in, and she wanted to give the best first impression she could. The restaurants on her client list would love to deal with this farm. When she thought back to the first taste, she remembered how lost she’d been.
The trees thinned and rustic buildings came into view. She came to two large wooden barns first. Their doors were closed so Hilary couldn’t see inside, which was too bad. Once she got a deal with the elusive Arlo Hope, she could always ask for a guided tour. It would help when it came time to blog about their product to know everything she could about the business.
Hilary kept driving and came across a two-story log home and another building to one side before the long pier came into view. Two men worked at the end of the wooden structure, using a crane to haul bulky cages from the water. If she wasn’t mistaken, those were oysters they were bringing up.
Her heartbeat raced and the excitement almost became too much. She was this close to where the oysters were grown and the words rolled over in her head. “Hello. I’m Hilary French and I run French’s Culinary Procurements. I’m here to offer you a unique business opportunity that you don’t want to turn down. I represent some of the best restaurants in the country and they’re interested in dealing directly with me to secure your incredible oysters.”
She parked her car near a picnic table and got out, grabbing a welcome package she’d put together before leaving Seattle. The glossy brochure with photos from the best restaurants was sure to be a major draw to this small business owner, as were the reviews from top chefs regarding her services. So far, it had worked well and her list of happy clientele was growing fast. Seafood like this farm produced was always going to be a feather in her cap.
She breathed in the sea air and all but skipped down the pier toward the workers. As she got near the end, the two men looked up and saw her. One came forward, holding up a hand, halting her before she could reach the machine.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“Hello, Mr. Hope. My name is Hilary…
“Wrong man. My name is Bryce Farley and I’m the manager here. What can I do for you?” He pulled off his gloves and jammed them in his pocket while staring at her with cool eyes.
“I’m here to see Mr. Hope.” This guy didn’t look friendly. But she’d been warned.
“Not possible, ma’am. He doesn’t see people; that job falls to me. What was it you were after?” He stared, not even breaking into a smile of greeting.
“I’ve come from Seattle to see Mr. Hope. I did email him and left messages on his answering machine. It’s something I need to discuss with him.” Two could play this game. If
he was going to play hardball, so would she.
“As I said, ma’am, Mr. Hope does not see people. That job falls to me. Now if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’ve got work to do.”
He started to walk toward her, as if hoping she’d retreat. Not going to happen. Hilary stood her ground, her chin raised. “I’ll only take up ten minutes of his time. I can assure you that it will be worth his while.” She held a breath. This was no time to lose her composure after coming all this way. Hilary pulled herself together and gave Bryce a megawatt smile before she continued. “I had the pleasure of sampling the farm’s oysters at a little bar in Seattle and I know that the restaurants I represent would love to have access to this product. I’m here to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
“I guess if he didn’t reply to your calls or emails, then he already did. Now”—he stepped closer—“I’m asking you to leave. This farm is private property and I have work to do.”
* * *
Arlo threw the driftwood log Bear had dropped at his feet. The big, playful beast rushed into the chilly waters and swam out to snatch it before turning back toward the shore. So far this morning, he’d almost managed to clear one of the spaces he’d staked out. A pile of rocks and old shells were set off to one side, leaving a clear patch for the new bed. Another rake over tomorrow should make it clean enough to spread the seed before they laid the matting and staked it down. Then he would go onto the next one.
It was a long and laborious job—probably the hardest on the farm—but one he loved regardless. Starting a new bed of clams gave him a sense of pride nothing else could come close to. The hint of possibilities continued to grow in his mind, despite the prickles of doubt. One of the reasons he liked working alone was because he could think better when he was by himself. So far, sales had gone well; rarely were they left with unsold produce, but the thought of having unsold surplus did cross his mind.
It was the perfect job for Arlo, and when the old man had retired and moved to the city to be closer to his daughter, he’d offered Arlo the business. With his family backing him, Arlo decided to buy the farm. It needed to be upgraded and dragged into the twenty-first century, but with help from his father to make a business plan and a savvy bank manager, the farm was now paying for itself.
A car door slammed, catching his attention. He stood up and listened, but instead of quiet, he heard an engine start up and the car drive off. He relaxed. Bryce must have dealt with whoever it was. People were few and far between out here. Those who did arrive were usually there by accident. Once they realized where they were, they often asked if they could buy oysters straight from the farm, but he wasn’t interested. That would mean more work for him and contact with the public. If word got out, he couldn’t take it back. He didn’t need them overrunning his own little piece of paradise, nor did he have the time or staff to pander to the sightseers who flocked to the island most of the year.
“Bear, let’s go home.” His stomach rumbled. What he’d give for a chicken and mayo sandwich after putting in so much effort. Between the ocean and the manual work, his appetite never needed much encouragement. Thank goodness Aunt Gigi dropped in more often than not, even if she was checking on him. Family—the only people he didn’t mind showing up unannounced.
He met Bryce near the oyster beds as he walked back along the beach. “Who was that?”
Bryce jumped down off the pier and walked with him. “A lady from the mainland. Said she’s been trying to get a hold of you.” He held out a card and gave it to Arlo. “She’s staying at Matt’s place and wants to talk to you about distributing your produce through a business she has something to do with. Seems you’ve made some fans and they want to sign you to a deal to supply direct to the restaurants she promotes.”
Arlo took the card and looked at it before sliding it into the top pocket of his shirt. “Thanks. You told her I wasn’t interested, right?” It was expansion, but it wasn’t the kind he was interested in because it would mean change and people, something he didn’t want to tackle.
“Sure did.” They walked together up the lawn to where Sam was already sitting at the picnic table, his packed lunch in front of him. He handed the crust of his sandwich to Bear, who wolfed it down. It was a standing arrangement between man and dog. “Don’t think she’s going to listen though. Seemed a bit put out that you wouldn’t be interested in doing a deal.”
“She’ll get over it.” Arlo walked up to the house and kicked off his muddy boots by the door. In socks, he walked into the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot before taking his chicken out of the refrigerator. He called out to the guys. “Coffee?”
Sam shook his head and held up a soda and Bryce gave him a thumbs up. Arlo took two mugs from the shelf he’d built from recycled timbers and placed them by the coffee machine while it gurgled away. He started stripping meat from the chicken for a sandwich. He added a slice of bread his sister Aggie had sent with Gigi and a couple of pickles before pouring the coffee. He slipped two fingers in the handles and grabbed his plate, balancing it all as he walked back outside.
Taking his cup, Bryce spoke up. “Thanks. You know, it wouldn’t hurt to have more contacts for sales. Especially if they were to be standing orders, then I wouldn’t have to bother phoning around. Everything we produce would be presold and I could get more work done.”
“You know I appreciate you doing the people stuff, Bryce. I just don’t think we need to worry about that yet. Maybe when the new clams come in we could look at it.” Arlo picked up his sandwich and took a bite. It made sense that they start looking for more outlets for their shellfish, but not yet. That would mean talking to people, having them in his own little patch of paradise, and doing the whole meet-and-greet things that he found too confrontational. If he waited until the clams were almost ready to harvest, it’d give him time to work himself up to being sociable and another three years of peace and quiet. Right now, he preferred not to think about it.
Bryce sipped the hot brew before speaking again. “I don’t mind doing it, you know that. All I’m saying is that it might not be a bad idea to see what she has to say. She might be able to save us a heap of trouble later on looking for customers. Plus I like to be prepared, and with the new beds going in, what can it hurt?”
Arlo tried not to glare at his best friend. He didn’t want to deal with anyone from Seattle. Not now, not tomorrow. No matter how hard they tried to shield Arlo, someone always managed to get past Bryce and unsettle him.
The way things were now was good enough for him. If they wanted help selling their produce when the clams came in, they could make contact with her then.
Chapter 3
“He kicked me off the farm, Emily.” Hilary sat on the window seat overlooking over the harbor and relayed the morning’s unsuccessful visit to her friend. Nobody had ever kicked her off their property before. Nobody except the new part owner of her old restaurant, that is. The one who had her shares and his name on the door where hers had been. “His manager virtually held my arm as I got back into the car. I’ve never felt so humiliated.”
Well, not entirely true but Emily would know what Hilary meant. Nothing she’d organized for this weekend was going to plan. It threw her out of whack and left her feeling unsettled and nervous.
“Get back out there and convince him, Hil. You can’t give up that easily. It’s not like you.”
She traced her finger over the embossed roses on the hand-crafted pillow. Her gran used to do stitchwork like that. Something about it felt so cozy compared to the mass-produced goods these days. Points to Matt for his decorating skills.
Hilary sighed. She couldn’t believe she’d given up that easily. “I have the feeling there’s something about this family I don’t know, and I’m a little bit scared to step on toes, to be honest.” She thought of the tragic death years ago of the wife and mother of the Hope family, which had come up when she searched the family online. None of that gave her any
information on the elusive fisherman. He’d been a small child at that time. It was as though they’d all flown under the radar ever since.
“Please don’t tell me you’re not going to try again?”
“Of course I will, but it kind of took the wind out of my sails. I’ve never had that sort of reception before.” Everyone usually felt honored when she approached them and for good reason. Her business worked for them with little or no more effort than they were expending now—less, in most cases. How could that possibly hurt the elusive mollusk farmer?
“Well, maybe you need to try a different approach. What were you wearing when you arrived?”
Hilary picked at the hem of her cotton shirt. “Black pants and a white shirt.” Sensible clothing for an outdoor meeting, she thought.
“Please! Go sexy, then. Who can resist those long legs of yours when you show them off? Seriously, girlfriend. They’re your best asset. Wear a skirt or something that will turn his head and make him notice you. Sex sells, Hil—you know that. This is a serious deal, one you can’t afford to let slip through your fingers. If you don’t sign him up, someone else will and that will seriously piss you off.”
It would, without a doubt. “But I don’t believe in selling myself like that. He should want me for what I can do for his business, not because of how sexy I look.” She pressed her forehead to the glass and stared down at the front yard. Matt was outside cutting flowers from the garden and glanced up, giving her a brief nod. She lifted a hand and waved, not feeling the love for him either. He could’ve paved the way to speak to his brother, but instead, he’d tried to put her off.
A car pulled up at the mailbox and a lady in a flowing caftan in green and gold got out, a wicker basket in her hand. She patted down her perfectly smooth, gray hair, and a huge smile lit up her face. When she reached the path, she gave Matt a hug, kissed his cheek, and followed him inside. They were obviously close. Maybe that was the answer. Get friendly with the rest of the family, regardless of Matt’s attitude, and see what happened. Surely he would soften once he realized she wasn’t there to upset the balance? But that would mean staying on the island longer and she wasn’t prepared for that.
Hold Me Now: Hope Harbor Page 2