The Plan

by Tawdra Kandle

  “I’m going to help Logan bring out the wine.” I knew it was rude, interrupting Jude mid-sentence, but if I waited for a break, I’d be here all freaking night. And it would be ruder to just walk away without an explanation.

  Logan had just re-corked the bottle as I wandered into the kitchen. He glanced up at me, and I saw the guilt in his eyes.

  Pointing at him, I fixed him with what I hoped was a steely glare. “Not cool, Logan. Not cool at all.”

  “What?” He spread his hands, like he had no idea what I was talking about.

  “Abby?” I hissed her name. I wasn’t happy about her being here, but neither did I want to hurt her feelings.

  “What about her?” He picked up two glasses and made to move toward the door, but I refused to budge yet.

  “Is this some kind of set-up? Like matchmaking? I know your wife, man. She’s not going to be happy until all the men in her life are snagged, and as I see it, I’m the last unattached male. This has her fingerprints all over it.”

  Logan shook his head. “Little paranoid there, Coop? I asked you over here tonight to talk about the Riverside, remember? The hotel? And that’s Abby’s field. It’s her family. Her dad owns and operates one of the most successful boutique hotel chains in the world. So it seemed like a good idea to get her take on the project before we go ahead.” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s not always about you, Cooper. Maybe you need to get over yourself.”

  Shit. Had I misread this situation so badly? I was on the verge of groveling, my mouth open to start saying my mea culpas, when I caught Logan watching me out of the corner of his eye, gauging whether or not I was buying his spiel.

  “You are full of shit, you know that?” I gave him a little shove. “I almost believed you.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t all bull. Jude suggested getting Abby’s thoughts about the Riverside, and it sounded like a good idea. It wasn’t until just before Ab got here that Jude showed her true hand. Sorry, brother. I wasn’t involved in the planning, but I’m not standing in my wife’s way when she has a plan.”

  I sighed. “Logan, I’ll tell you. I want to be pissed at you, but there’s something about the look on your face every time you refer to Jude as your wife that makes me feel for you, man. You got it bad. I can see that she’s got you so twisted up, you’d sell your own mother to make Jude happy. I’ll give you a break this one time.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Just try to behave yourself tonight, and I’ll make sure you don’t get totally thrown under the bus with Abby.” He picked up the wine again, and then paused again. “There’s nothing there? With you and Ab, I mean? She’s a nice girl, Coop, and she’s funny as hell. Smart, pretty and—oh, yeah, sane. That’s one of the big things I’d suggest you look for in a woman.”

  I rolled my eyes. I’d been divorced from Karlee for nearly seven years, and the guys still liked to rib me about that little episode. Even when Matt had bought his Corvette during what we referred to as his midlife crisis, he’d turned to me in the middle of all the joking and said, “At least I can keep mine in the garage. I didn’t marry her.” Ouch.

  “You know what? Bite me. I learned my lesson. I’m not looking for a woman—at least, not one to keep around. I like mine in small doses. So yeah, Abby’s a peach, and she’s fun. But no way am I sniffing around that way. She’s long-term type of girl, and I’m a short-term guy.”

  Logan lifted one shoulder. “Fine. Grab the other two glasses, please. I need to get back to the grill before our steaks are burnt.”

  I survived dinner. As Logan had said, Abby was sharp, knowledgeable about her job and in possession of a wicked sense of humor. Halfway through the meal, I relaxed and forgot I was there under false pretenses as we debated the pros and cons of the old Riverside.

  “But Logan, if you’d seen her from the river, like we did the first time . . . I could just envision it. We’ll put in a dock, like they used to back in the day. People can pull up in their boats and stay the night.”

  I took another sip of wine. “If they have nice boats, why do they want to stay in a hotel? It’s like driving an RV and parking it in the lot while you sleep in a hotel.”

  She waved her hand. “Trust me. No matter how great the boat is, sometimes you want to stay in a real room. Anyway, that’s not our main target clientele. The property runs all the way to route 18. If we can get a variance from the town to clear the lot, we can put another entrance right there and bring in more passer-by traffic. That’s the one thing that the Hawthorne House doesn’t have, being all the way in the middle of town.”

  Abby nodded. “Not that the Hawthorne needs any more traffic. I have people begging me to bump them up on the waiting list. But I agree about the hotel. Your marketing is going to be aimed at the reservation crowd—the people who plan their trips ahead—along with the impulse people. The ones who’re driving down the highway and say, ‘Hey, that looks like a cute hotel. Let’s check it out’.”

  “I think you’re jumping the gun when you’re talking clients.” I stabbed a piece of potato. “This is going to be a huge project, requiring months of work. I thought you were looking for something more like the Hawthorne, just in another town. If you’re going to become hoteliers, shouldn’t you start small?”

  Logan shrugged. “Go big or go home.” He lifted Jude’s hand, linked with his own, to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Right, babe?”

  Jude smiled. “That’s about it.” She shifted her gaze to me, some of the softness still lingering in her eyes. “Besides, I need something to keep me busy. Joseph and Lindsay have pretty much taken over the Tide. I’m in there every day, but between the two of them and Sadie and Mack, I’m feeling a little extraneous. I’m not used to having too much time on my hands. When that happens, I get into trouble.” She winked at me, and I grinned. No matter how annoyed I might get with Jude from time to time, there was no doubt that I loved her. Like a sister, that is. There’d been a brief time, before she and Logan had declared for one another, when I’d toyed with the idea of Jude and me. On the surface, it’d made sense: neither of us, I’d thought, was looking for big romance. I knew Jude, and it would’ve been nice to have a date for big events and someone to take to dinner on weekends. She’d let me down gently, telling me that we didn’t have the spark, as she called it. While I was willing to forego that kind of nonsense, apparently Jude hadn’t been. Sitting here now, watching her with Logan, I remembered her parting words that night.

  “Cooper, that spark? Don’t give up on it. Not yet. You’re going to find someone who can give it to you.”

  Unbidden, an image of Emmy straddling me, her long red hair a cloud around her beautiful face, rose in my mind. Had that been a spark? Well, it had been something. Something new and different, for sure. I’d been trying to deny it for weeks, trying to convince myself that my night with Emmy hadn’t been anything more than my typical hookup.

  Spark? I wasn’t ready to call it that yet. But it was more than what I felt sitting here chatting with Abby, no matter how pretty and bright she might be. Closer to what I saw between Jude and Logan? Maybe. Still didn’t mean I had to act on it. It didn’t mean I was going to show up at the Tide this Saturday night for the first time in a month, sit at the bar and try to sweet-talk Emmy Carter into a second go-round.

  But it didn’t mean I wouldn’t, either.

  “IZZY, GRAB ME ANOTHER STICK of butter out of the fridge, please.” I glanced over my shoulder at my oldest daughter. “I’m elbow deep in dough.”

  Izzy tossed back her long red braid. “This is the last stick of unsalted.” I’d taught all my kids to let me know whenever we used the last of anything, so that I was seldom caught completely without any ingredient.

  Still, I hadn’t realized we were so close to the end of the butter. “Shit.” I muttered the word under my breath. I tried to watch my language around my kids, but I’d long ago decided it was more important to teach them discernment—when was the right time to repeat something Mom had s
aid and when was not—than to shelter them completely.

  “Want me to go to the market and get some more?” Cameron was sitting at the kitchen table, working on math homework. He looked far too eager for an excuse to close the book. I sympathized, since I’d hated math, too—still did—but first things first.

  “Thanks, bud, but this stick’ll see me through the last crust, and then I have to make a delivery to the B and B. Finish up that schoolwork, and by the time I’m ready, you can all ride with me. Matt said he had some new boards in if you want to go over there and take a look.” Matt Spencer owned The Surf Line, a small shop on the main street of town, across from the Hawthorne House. Eddy had worked for him on and off over the years, and I had a sneaking suspicion that Matt had kept him on more as a favor than because he made any real contribution to the business. After Eddy left town, Matt had delivered a check to me, insisting it was back salary he owed my ex-husband. I was dubious, but Matt wouldn’t take no for an answer. At the time, I’d needed every cent I could scrounge up.

  In the last few years, Matt had taken my son under his wing. To my relief, Cam didn’t seem to have the same hunger for waves that his father did; his passion was surfing sidewalks. Matt had begun stocking skateboards a while ago, and he often invited Cam over to check them out. I was grateful for one more strong male influence on Cameron’s life.

  My mind was elsewhere, but thanks to muscle memory, my fingers kept the piecrust dough moving. I rolled, smoothed, spread and crimped almost without thinking about it. Once the pie was safely in the oven, I began turning muffins out of tins and sliding Danish pastries from the cookie sheets as I called for reinforcements.

  We were a well-oiled machine, my daughters and me. Dee, who’d just turned six, was a pro at putting together boxes. Once they were assembled, she passed them onto Izzy, who at nine years old was adept at boxing pastries and muffins. She layered them with waxed paper and taped the boxes securely.

  By the time the pie was out of the oven and cooling, the week’s pastries were ready to go. I stole a peek over Cameron’s shoulder and noticed that he was working on the last few math problems. Perfect timing, since the pies needed to cool a little before I moved them to the transporting containers.

  I started up the van so that the air conditioner could kick in before the food was loaded. Everyone carried something, securing all the baked goods as we did every week.

  “All aboard! This train is leaving for town.” The kids giggled as they always did. That was the great thing about having children, I decided: up to a certain point, at least, they were contractually obligated to laugh at Mom’s corny jokes. I dreaded to think the day was coming when I’d no longer be funny.

  The idea of them getting older reminded me of Lexie Davis, which of course made me think of Cooper. Not that I needed much prodding in that direction these days; for the past month, since our one and only night together, Cooper had been on my mind almost constantly. I didn’t go out of my way to either see him or avoid him, but I was thinking it wasn’t a coincidence that we hadn’t crossed paths in nearly four weeks. He might’ve insisted we could still be friends, but I had a hunch he didn’t want to test that theory.

  Town was hopping today. Season was in full swing, and I bit my lip in concentration as I maneuvered down a side alley, coming up alongside the Hawthorne’s service entrance. The small parking lot to the side of the B and B was filled to capacity.

  The kids and I had our routine here, too. They helped me carry everything into the kitchen, and then while I had my weekly meeting with Abby—which was usually more of a visit between friends, with a few minutes of business tossed in for good measure—they all dispersed. Cameron would go across the street to hang out with Matt, while the girls usually went right over to the Tide. They loved to play with Lindsay and Joseph’s two little ones, who were almost always at the restaurant this time of day. Jude would be there, too, and she’d set my daughters up with a basket of fries while they amused her grandchildren.

  “Something smells good!” Abby came into the kitchen as we set down the last boxes. “Did you kids do all this by yourselves?” It was her regular joke with the kids, and they always played along.

  “Yeah, you know we’re at the stove slaving away while Mom sits on the sofa, eating ice cream and watching trash TV.” Cam shook his head, pretending to look sad.

  “Brat.” I gave his shoulder a little shove. “Go on now, get over to Matt’s. I’m not going to be too long here today.”

  Izzy giggled. “You say that every week, and then you and Miss Abby sit here forever talking. And then you say you didn’t think it had gotten so late, and where does the time go?” Dee snickered, too.

  I looked at Ab, shaking my head. “Ungrateful wretches.” Sitting down on the one of the kitchen stools, I shooed the girls off. “Better get down to Jude’s before I tell her no fries for you today.”

  Dee made a face of mock terror and darted for the door, Izzy following. “Be careful of traffic! Remember it’s season.” I called the warning mainly for good form; all my kids knew to cross at the corners, and realistically, the volume of cars in town meant they moved at a snail’s pace. It was probably safer this time of year than at any other.

  Abby poured us each a cup of coffee and slid mine over along with a pitcher of cream. “So. How’s your week been? Anything new?”

  I poured a splash of milk into my cup, pondering. I hadn’t told Abby about my one-night stand with Cooper. I wasn’t sure why, except that I just wasn’t ready to share that beautiful night with anyone yet, not even with my best friend. Abby and I were close, but we didn’t talk about men or our love lives. I assumed that was mostly because neither of us had either of those things in our lives.

  I’d met Abby as soon as she’d come to town because Jude had introduced us, strongly suggesting that the new manager of the B and B should hire me to make the pastries and desserts. At the time, I figured Jude’s influence had made me a shoe-in for the contract, but once I got to know Abby, I’d realized that she made all her own decisions when it came to business. She could be ruthless, but she was good at what she did. The success of The Hawthorne House was a testament to that.

  We’d clicked on another level simply because we were similar personalities, even though our backgrounds and circumstances were hugely different. Abby was from a large and wealthy hotel family in Philadelphia, and she’d been in the industry for a long time. Why she’d left her family business to come work for Jude and Logan was something she didn’t like to talk about, even with me. I had a sense that it had something to do with a man, but I didn’t know for sure.

  We mostly hung out when I delivered to the B and B, but on occasion, Abby would come over to my house for dinner during the week, if she had coverage at the Hawthorne. My kids loved her, and she was great with them. Neither of us had large chunks of time to socialize, but I considered her the closest friend I had outside Jude, who skirted the line of friendship by also being my boss and surrogate big sister.

  “No, nothing new.” I answered her question. “Same old, same old. Things are picking up at the Tide. I expect this weekend’s going to be a little insane.”

  Abby nodded. “I bet.” She fidgeted, and I narrowed my eyes. It wasn’t like her to be distracted.

  “So what’s new with you?” I leaned onto the counter, resting my chin in my hands.

  “Oh, well . . . not much. I had something weird happen last night.” Her eyes sparkled a little. “Jude and Logan invited me over to dinner. It’s kind of still on the QT, but they’re thinking about buying the Riverside Inn and renovating it, and Jude said they wanted my input. I was fine with that, but when I got there, they told me they’d invited Cooper over, too.”

  My insides jolted, tightening. I swallowed over the huge lump in my throat. “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. But when he got there, I think he was surprised to see me. I don’t think they’d told him I was going to be at dinner. Jude didn’t say anything, but it felt like
a set-up. You know how Jude likes to play matchmaker.”

  “Uh huh.” My head was buzzing. Cooper and Abby. God. How was I going to deal with this? Could I pull off pretending I was happy for her while my heart felt like it was going to pound out of my body?

  And Cooper. Mr. No-Relationship-For-Me Davis. What the hell? Was it just me? I was good enough for a hookup, but he wanted the princess for a girlfriend?

  I took a deep breath and reined in my runaway brain. Abby was my friend. I loved her, and she was no princess. If she and Cooper clicked, who was I to be anything but happy for them? After all, I’d told Cooper upfront that I didn’t want anything serious or long-term. I’d agreed to his parameters as fast as he’d agreed to mine.

  We were both idiots.

  I managed to speak again. “So how was it? Did you guys . . . you know? Hit it off? Did he ask you out?” Please say no, please say no, please say no . . .

  Abby hesitated. “No, he didn’t ask me out. As for hitting it off, I don’t know. I’ve always liked Cooper, but you know, he’s kind of closed off. At first last night, he acted like he’d rather be drowning in the ocean than sitting on that deck with us. With me. He relaxed a little bit as the night went on, but I’m not sure we have any chemistry.” She sighed. “Damn shame, too. The man is seriously gorgeous. That face, those eyes—and that body.” She fanned herself with her hand. “Maybe we wouldn’t be a good match, but I might not say no to a one-night tasting party.”

  I almost laughed. I wanted to tell her that one night would never be enough with a man like Cooper Davis. But I kept my mouth closed and nodded. “Yeah, Coop’s hot. Always has been.” I played with the handle of my coffee mug. “I didn’t know you were looking for a guy, Ab. Every time I mention a possible man for you, you deflect.”

  She grimaced. “I’m not. Looking, I mean. I didn’t think I was. After—well, I thought I might be done with men for good. Done with relationships. I could be that woman who everyone says is married to her work. Like Elizabeth I.”