by Tara Sheets
“I don’t even own that many hair products, let alone carry them wherever I go.”
“Which is why you’re lucky you have me. Now turn your head so I can fix this”—she waved her hand over Emma’s head—“thing you’ve got going on here. What do you call this, bird’s-nest chic?”
Emma rolled her eyes as Gertie worked some papaya-scented mousse through her hair. “I was busy all day. And it’s not like I’m going anywhere special tonight.”
“That’s not what Juliette said,” Gertie sang back.
“What did I say?” Juliette bustled through the back door followed by Molly Owens, a curvy woman with shoulder-length dark hair.
“You said Emma had a big date tonight.”
Emma sighed loudly. “For the last time, you guys, it’s not a date. We are just meeting to discuss the summer festival.”
“A Saturday night dinner sounds like a date to me.” Molly braced an ample hip against the kitchen counter. “And I should know, believe me. I’ve been in the dating trenches for a while now.” At thirty-two, Molly was desperately seeking Mr. Right and had recently gathered the courage to put up a profile on Match.com.
Emma grinned as Gertie worked the comb through her tangled hair. “How’d your coffee date go yesterday?”
“It was meh-kay,” Molly said. “He talked about his mom the whole time.”
“Sounds like a great guy,” Gertie said firmly. Her two sons had done the unthinkable and abandoned their poor mother to attend colleges on the East Coast. She often wrote letters threatening to disown them if they didn’t call their mama or come home for regular visits. These letters were usually mailed in boxes with other serious threats like homemade chocolate chip cookies and packages of socks.
“I don’t know,” Molly sighed. “Blind dates are so disappointing. He just wasn’t right for me.”
“Why not?” Emma asked.
Molly’s gaze slid sideways. “Well . . . Okay, I’m not trying to be mean, or anything? It’s just, he kind of looked like a troll, you know? But in a good way,” she rushed to add.
Gertie stopped combing Emma’s hair. “How is that good?”
Molly held up her thumb and forefinger. “You know those little troll dolls from the sixties? Smiley, with potbellies and spiky hair? That kind. Not the kind who hang out under bridges and stuff.”
Gertie’s eyes shot wide. “How nice for him.”
“It’s just a bummer.” Molly rummaged in her purse. “Pine Cove Island isn’t exactly overflowing with a plethora of eligible men.”
“Preach it, sister.” Juliette took another sip of tea.
“I know, right? And after I rule out any guy who has the number 69—please—or 007 in his online profile name? It’s slim pickings, for sure.”
“What’s wrong with 007?” Gertie asked. “James Bond is cool.”
“On paper, maybe. But Bond girls have garbage luck.” Molly pulled some lip balm out of her purse. “They think they’ve met this nice hot guy, and then”—she applied the lip balm rapidly and smacked her lips together—“they wake up dead. Sprayed gold and stuff.”
Gertie waved a hand. “That’s just in the movies. You shouldn’t be so discriminating with the online names. Most guys aren’t creative like we are. Walter doesn’t have a creative bone in his body, but he’s a good husband to me, and a good father to our sons.”
“Walter is a firefighter,” Juliette said matter-of-factly. “He saves lives and rescues kittens. He basically walks away from explosions in slow motion, so he’s cool by default. It wouldn’t matter what online name he used.”
“I’m just saying that Molly could be missing out,” Gertie said. “She shouldn’t judge guys based on their screen names.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Fine. Maybe I’ll give PussyPleaser35 a chance.”
Juliette choked on her tea. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Molly said. “PussyPleaser35, you guys. I can’t make this stuff up.”
“Well, it’s a relief to know there are at least thirty-five of them out there,” Gertie said. “And I think I speak for all women on Pine Cove Island when I ask, is Hunter Kane one of them? Because he certainly looks like he could be.”
Emma threw Gertie a look over her shoulder. “You know you’re married, right? To that fireman we just talked about?”
“Married, not buried, honey.” Gertie caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth, smiling. “And Hunter Kane is some serious eye candy.”
“He really is,” Molly said wistfully.
“So much candy,” Juliette agreed.
Gertie misted finishing spray over Emma’s hair, scrunching it at the roots. “You’re done. Go look in the mirror.”
Emma checked her reflection above the kitchen sink. Her hair was smooth and glossy, with soft waves falling around her shoulders. “I love it, Gertie. How do you do it?”
Gertie waved the hairbrush in the air like a magic wand. “You Holloway girls aren’t the only ones with special abilities.”
“That’s for sure,” Juliette said. “You look hot, Em. Now you’re ready for your business meeting.”
“And can you please go wild, for a change?” Molly asked. “I mean, we all know he’s the enemy and stuff. We haven’t forgotten that, all right? But at least one of us should be having some fun.”
“And then you can come back and give us all the slutty details,” Gertie said.
“Yes.” Juliette nodded. “We want all the details, so make sure to take notes.”
Emma pointed to the door. “Out.” She tried to look stern, but failed.
Juliette gave her a hug and laughed. “You know you love us.”
“Come on, ladies. Let’s go.” Molly adjusted her miniskirt, frowning as she yanked at the waistband. She was always on a diet, even though she was adorably curvy and had been for years. “There’s dancing at the Siren tonight and I have to kill some calories. I stuck a French fry in my mouth and pulled the trigger at lunch today. Ended up eating the whole basket.”
Gertie tossed the arsenal of hair products back into her tote. “Well, I’m with you girls. Walter’s at the fire station tonight, so let’s go whoop it up.”
They said good-bye and left out the back door just as the dragonfly wind chimes in the front of the shop announced Hunter’s arrival. Emma took a deep breath.
Showtime.
* * *
Emma gripped her tote bag like a security blanket as they walked toward the wharf. She let her gaze wander over the scenic street, trying her best to appear casual and relaxed. But she wasn’t. How could she be? She stole a glance at Hunter, who seemed completely at ease in his white linen shirt and jeans. Who wore white linen, anyway? Nobody, that’s who. Unless they were posing for some yacht club magazine ad. It was stupid. He was stupid.
She turned her attention to the trellis of flowers near the pier. Lovely shade of purple, those. She was not in the least bit attracted to his swarthy, sun-kissed face and wind-blown hair, or the woodsy, pine-soap scent of him tonight. It wasn’t intriguing at all. Nope.
Near the pier, she stopped and pointed out some of the favorite landmarks. There was the bronze statue of Coco, the ancient, one-eyed harbor seal who had made a home in the waters surrounding the pier. She showed him the paved alcove where local musicians set up amateur bands, and the gazebo covered in lilacs near the water’s edge where weddings took place during the spring and summer. Soft strains of guitar music from the corner pub wafted through the air, and the streetlamps cast puddles of warm light along the edge of the water.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Hunter mused.
She turned to him. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”
“It is, a little. Usually you think of these old places as being kind of backwater, or run-down.” He glanced in her direction and added, “But not this place. It’s different. It has sort of a . . . timeless feel to it.”
“I’ve always thought so.” Emma watched the evening breeze ruffle his glossy hair, and w
ondered if he was for real. Was he just spinning it to make her like him, or did he really think of the place as being timeless? “The Holloways have lived here for over a hundred years. My grandmother told me they originally came over from Ireland, searching for a more peaceful existence, away from the famines and land wars. They wanted to find a place they could live in harmony, so they went as far west as they could go and eventually settled here. They were fishermen and farmers; important to the island’s growing community. The Holloway women became known as healers and bearers of good fortune. They helped people.”
Emma stopped at the edge of the grass and glanced at him. “There used to be more of us.” The familiar ache of losing her grandmother surged up and she shoved it down again. “But now it’s just me and Juliette. Things are a lot different now.”
“But you’re happy here?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she said in surprise. “It’s home. There’s something peaceful about this place that doesn’t change, not even when the rest of the world does. It’s what I love most about it. You might think all small towns are the same, but this place is special.”
His bright green gaze was fixed on her in admiration. “I can see that.”
A rush of warmth gathered in the pit of her stomach, and she glanced away before she grinned at him like a fool. It was really hard to stay focused when he looked at her like that.
They strolled along the grassy slope that led down to water’s edge. Seagulls called to one another on the wind as the sun began sinking on the horizon.
She pointed to a weathered picket fence that lined the grassy area near a small park. “Every summer before the festival we all get together to paint that fence bright white again. It spruces up the park area. And over there”—she pointed to the rope railing that looped down the pier—“we hang a few flower baskets. Mostly we concentrate on this pier and Front Street. The budget doesn’t really allow for any fixing up beyond that.”
“This year it will.” Hunter studied the street that ran adjacent to his new waterfront café. “I’ve donated a bit of money so we can really make things shine.”
“Shine?” Emma felt a twinge of apprehension. She never was one for change. It made her feel unsettled.
“Yeah, you know”—he spread his arms out—“all of this. It’s going to look like a movie set by the time we’re finished.”
She didn’t like the sound of it. Pine Cove Island wasn’t a movie set. Who was he to go changing things? “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“Well, I think we should repaint all the shop fronts. Some of the signs are so old, they look too dangerous to walk under. They need to be replaced for safety, if nothing else.”
Emma felt a prickle of unease. “Maybe the store owners like their old signs. They’re vintage.”
He frowned, nodding. “That, they are.”
She didn’t like the way he said it, as if he had judged her town and found it lacking.
“But upgrading signage will affect everyone’s businesses in a positive way,” he continued. “The public loves nostalgia, as long as it’s whitewashed and safe. People want things to look shiny and clean, you know what I mean?”
Emma bristled. Now her town was dirty? “You’re very opinionated for someone who just moved here and isn’t even familiar with the island culture. What makes you so sure people will agree with your ideas?”
“They already have.” He looked so energized, like he was embarking on an exciting new project. “That’s what Sam Norton was getting at during the chamber of commerce meeting. They gave me carte blanche to fix up Front Street and the wharf for the festival.”
Her stomach churned. “Why would they do something like that?” It was uncharacteristic of the town committee to just hand over that much decision-making to a newcomer.
“It may have something to do with the fact that I’ve increased this year’s cleanup budget by, let’s say . . . two hundred percent?”
Emma stumbled over a paving stone near a bench. She grabbed the back of the bench to steady herself. Two hundred percent? He had to be joking. “You donated that much money just to decorate the waterfront for the festival?”
“I think it’s a sound investment. I’ve always wanted to expand onto these smaller islands. This seemed like the perfect place to start. And as you say, there’s something special about it.” He gave her a slow, melted-caramel smile. It did warm, fluttery things to her insides, but her common sense wasn’t having any of it.
“But you’re talking about making a lot of changes,” she said. “This place has its own special charm. You’ll ruin all that if you commercialize everything.” Emma sat down on the bench, blinking rapidly. Disturbing visions of the waterfront wafted through her mind, complete with typical chain stores, flashing neon lights, and fast-food restaurants on every corner.
Hunter settled beside her. “I just want the festival to be a success, and I think cleaning up the waterfront and painting the shop fronts, maybe getting a crew out to do better landscaping, will make a difference. I don’t plan on drastically changing anything. You want more tourism for the festival, don’t you? And for the rest of the summer?”
She thought of her stack of unpaid bills at home in her office and tried to steady her whirlwind emotions. She needed the tourist season to be as big as it could be. If he wanted to throw his money into something that would benefit her, maybe that was a good thing. “What else do you propose?”
He relaxed back on the bench, hooking a foot over one knee. “I was thinking about live music.”
“We have live music. The junior college band always plays for the festival.”
“Okay, but I was thinking of hiring more seasoned professionals from Seattle. I’d like to have a rotating lineup of musicians. We could set up different venues throughout the wharf.” He pointed from one end of the street to the other, his gaze so intent that Emma could almost visualize what he was imagining. “We’ll have different bands playing at scheduled times to appeal to a wider audience. Acoustic guitar, jazz, that sort of thing.”
Emma considered it. He really seemed genuinely interested. Maybe the town committee was right. Let him make a few changes and do some renovations. What did it matter, as long as she reached her quota of sales? Besides, if things worked out the way they were supposed to, he would soon be gone, anyway. If he wanted to clean up the waterfront with his money for the time being, let him.
She stood up, hugging herself. The sun was still up, but the breeze floating in off the ocean had grown cooler. “We should probably wrap this up. I’ve got things to do at home.”
He rose from the bench and she had to crane her neck to look at him. At five feet four, the top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulders. Emma took a step back and tried to ignore the soft flush of warmth that spread through her limbs. No matter how cool she acted, her body was definitely on high alert.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Sure.” She was starving. Her stomach had been in knots all day and she hadn’t eaten much. If only her cupcake charms worked on herself, she would have eaten something to make her feel calm and confident.
“What’s good around here?” He scanned the wharf and Emma tried not to stare. He had such a strong, masculine face and the thickest, longest eyelashes on a guy she had ever seen. So unfair. Against the backdrop of the ocean, he looked more like a rogue pirate than ever.
She pointed to O’Malley’s Pub on the corner. “They have good burgers. And seafood, if you’re into that.” It was close, and the service was quick. Better to get this over with before she started fantasizing about him any further. Really, it was pure stupidity. How was it possible for her to get all dreamy-eyed over someone whose very presence was such a threat to her livelihood?
They crossed the street in silence, and Hunter held the door for her as they entered O’Malley’s. When they were seated in a corner booth, Emma scanned the bar crowd.
James Sullivan waved from behind the bar as he
mixed a drink. He had the easygoing attitude and self-assurance that seemed a prerequisite for all bartenders. Emma and Juliette had known him growing up, even though he was several years older and, therefore, too busy to pay them much attention. For a while when they were in high school, James seemed to be fascinated by Juliette, but so was every boy between the ages of nine and ninety-nine. Eventually he left for college, and had only recently moved back.
James gave her a questioning look, indicating the back of Hunter’s head. Emma shook her own head and mouthed business. She was not on a date. Let’s make that very clear.
Hunter relaxed back in the booth, his face darkly alluring in the low light. He smiled at the waitress as she filled their water glasses. The girl had to be just out of high school, but she blushed furiously and Emma knew exactly why. Hunter’s smile was like a loaded weapon. If you happened to be on the receiving end, you had no hope of surviving.
Emma ran her fingers self-consciously through her hair. She knew from experience that the evening humidity was making it frizz. So much for Gertie’s hair mousse. She searched for a topic. Anything to break the uneasy silence. “So where are you staying?”
“The bed and breakfast a couple of blocks away.”
“The Marina?”
“Yes, I checked in a few days ago.”
Poor man. Emma would bet the entire contents of her cash register—which wasn’t much, admittedly—that Bethany Andrews already had her crosshairs locked on Hunter. She had seen that woman in action, and most guys didn’t know what hit them. Bethany was like Jessica Rabbit coming at you full speed in a Mack truck. No stopping her.
“How do you like it?” she asked, careful to keep her expression neutral.
He shrugged. “I’m hoping to find a house.”
“Maybe you should hold off on that. A house is kind of permanent, don’t you think?”
He tilted his head, bright green eyes studying her.
“What?”
A slight frown. “I just have this feeling you don’t like me, and I’m trying to figure out why. I can understand your concern about my café, but is that the only reason?”