by Sally John
“A listener?”
“Is that a question?”
“No.” She squared her shoulders. “I need someone to listen, and not like Liv or Quinn or Sam would. They’re too, I don’t know, emotionally involved.”
“You think I fit the bill.” A statement, a half smile. Or more like a quarter of a smile.
She gave him her own quarter of a smile. He totally fit the bill of not emotionally involved. “The thing is, I just found out my boss is retiring. He’ll either sell the restaurant or close it down.” The words began to flow more easily. “Which means I’m going home to major work changes, maybe even to no job within a couple months. I’m going home to no place to live. I mean, the ugly studio apartment doesn’t count. Not really. Not that I can’t find a better place. But life feels so chaotic, so up in the air.”
“Probably because it is.”
She blew out a breath. “I’m getting tired of up in the air.”
“It makes walking with two feet on the ground difficult.”
“What do I do about it?”
“What can you do?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Let me ask this. What is there to do besides go back and do whatever it is you have to do to get on with life there?”
“Not go back?” She met his eyes and something passed between them. She couldn’t say what it was, but it seemed real. And a little bit awkward.
“Is that a question?”
“No. Sorry. I’m a little iffy today.”
“You’re vulnerable.”
“That too. Anyway, not going back to Valley Oaks isn’t really an option. I don’t have a job here. My home is there. I mean, my roots are there. People don’t uproot themselves to turn a vacation spot into their permanent place of residence.”
“Is that a statistic you read somewhere?”
“No. It’s just not done.”
“Think outside the box. What else don’t people do?”
She thought of Danno’s ridiculous proposal. “People like me don’t buy restaurants, even though my boss offered to sell it to me and make it work somehow financially.”
Keagan’s eyebrows went up and right back down. “That is outside the box. Why did he offer to do that?”
“He thinks I know the business and could do it. I think he’s an old softy who hopes his dream doesn’t die when he retires to Florida, and I’ve been there the longest.”
“Can you imagine yourself doing it? What would it be like?”
“A huge responsibility. Danno taught me everything he knows. He’s like Liv that way. But I couldn’t do it alone. Quinn’s the best waitress and my best friend since kindergarten. I’d want her for a partner. We would need a chef because neither one of us can cook. The place needs redecorating. I’d fire at least two of the wait staff and hire teenagers and teach them to do it right.”
“You’ve thought about this.”
“Only this very minute.”
“What’s the downside?”
“Quinn is a flake—lovable but a flake nonetheless—and folks might boycott the place because they’re still mad that I sold my farm to a developer and then I’d lose the money I made from that deal.”
“The upside?”
She shrugged. “I’d have a job?”
Keagan did not agree or disagree. And as usual, there were no clues in his body language as to what went on inside of him.
Kind of like a wall, which made him a perfect sounding board.
“You want to factor in the rest of your life,” he said. “Whether or not Valley Oaks offers the real stuff you need, like family, friends, community, significant other.”
Jasmyn felt a flush of embarrassment. Why did it cut so deeply all of a sudden? She had easily shared hurtful things with Sam and Liv, admitting that she’d never felt part of the Valley Oaks community, that there was no special guy, that her dad had never been in her life.
“There’s no family. None. Not much in the way of community outside of the restaurant, and there is definitely no significant other since—oh, never mind. There just really isn’t anyone except Quinn. Sad, huh?”
“It’s life. But I am surprised the CIA hasn’t contacted you yet.”
She smiled.
“Do you want your listener to render an opinion?”
She’d prefer a shoulder to cry on. “Sure.”
He studied her face for a long moment, as if wondering whether or not to believe she wanted to hear his opinion. “Conventional wisdom says not to make a major change within the first year after a traumatic incident.”
Tears stung. “But,” she whispered, “I need a home and job security like yesterday.”
He nodded. “Throws a monkey wrench into the mix, doesn’t it? There’s always the advice to take two aspirin and drink plenty of liquids.”
She frowned.
“What? You wanted real answers?”
“Maybe.”
“Sleep on it, Jasmyn. Things will look better tomorrow.”
“It’s not even noon.”
“Another monkey wrench.” He smiled.
He smiled a full-on smile.
That smile wrapped around Jasmyn like strong arms lifting her up off of a rock-strewn road and setting her on a horse. A white horse. A steed. She leaned back against a solid wall of armor.
Uh-oh.
Uh-oh indeed.
Forty-One
Late Friday afternoon, Keagan knocked on the door of Cottage Eleven, a deep violet-blue windbreaker over his arm, a youth size. They didn’t carry women’s petite sizes at the gym. They did carry the blue that matched her eyes.
He was thinking way too much about Jasmyn Albright’s size and eye color. And poking his nose into her business way too much. A significant other? Had he honestly said those words?
Life had been less complicated when he only noticed her bubbly personality and how much she helped Liv.
The door opened and there she was, the color of her eyes intensified by tears. She was having a rough day.
He steeled himself. That was how one survived the bad guys as well as good women who might exit the scene with his heart in their back pocket.
He cleared his throat. “Need a listener?”
She smiled and shook her head as she wiped her nose with a tissue. “I just talked with Quinn. We’re both a mess over Danno retiring.”
He nodded. “I come bearing gifts.” He held out the jacket.
“Déjà vu. We’ve done this jacket thing before. There was a motorcycle involved.”
The day at the airport, the day of Liv’s heart attack. A long time ago, it seemed. An eternity. Before he had noticed Jasmyn Albright.
Her dimples went deep. Her face glowed as if the indentations somehow flipped a light switch. She said, “Do I get to keep this one?”
“If it fits.”
“And if I don’t have to ride a motorcycle.” She took the coat and slipped her arms into it.
“We get them for the gym. You looked cold earlier today. I thought maybe you could use a warmer jacket.”
“Ohhh, nice fleecy lining.” She zipped it and flipped up the hood. “It has a hood!”
“And a logo.”
She glanced down at the small, white embroidered letters, Seaside Village Gym, and tied the hood, hiding most of her face. “It’s a perfect fit. I’m as snug as a bug in a rug. Can I pay for it?”
He would give her a dozen if it meant seeing those dimples twelve times over. “No. Just wear it everywhere. Free advertising.”
“Okay.” She looked at him. “Wow. Thank you, Keagan. I really needed this. Not just the jacket but…I don’t know.”
“A distraction from the mess?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you and Quinn decide what to do?”
“No. We just had a good cry.”
“That helps.” He noticed her tears were gone.
He was noticing too much. When had his reaction to her changed from she’s a sweet kid? When had he realized she was ol
der than she appeared, that she was near his own age, attractive, competent, and yet full of an innocent, childlike wonder?
He offered some inane parting words and slipped away.
Near his front door, he muttered to a potted bush, “Ten more days and she’s out of here. And now I’m talking to plants.”
Forty-Two
Still wrapped in the jacket Keagan had just given her, Jasmyn sat down in the rocker and set it in motion. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
It was a nervous reaction, of course. The two weeks of delightful bliss were over. Yes, they were definitely over.
Every day she crossed off a calendar date and thought of in-her-face tornado memories and cold shoulders and an ugly studio apartment. Most days she could bury those things and get lost in the bliss.
But now, today, Danno had called with his news. Valley Oaks would not be buried easily.
And then she confided in Keagan because—silly goose that she was—she thought of him as another Casa friend, one with a guy point of view. Like Danno or Zeb Swanson’s sons or Quinn’s little brother, who had often tagged along with them as kids.
But Keagan smiled, and she thought of knights and white steeds.
And then he gave her a jacket.
She stopped rocking, phoned Quinn again, and told her the story.
Quinn said, “Is Keagan the hot one?”
“There is no ‘hot one.’ ”
“Yeah, there is. You told me he could do men’s cologne ads.”
“That’s Chad. He’s super good looking and has a kid-brother personality.”
“So who’s Keagan?”
“The motorcycle guy.”
“Who can break boards with his bare hands and makes you feel safe and scared at the same time.”
“I didn’t exactly say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Quinn chuckled. “So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know.”
“If he were the hot one, I’d say you might want to stay put.”
“Honestly, Quinn.”
“Okay, seriously. You’re attracted to the guy. Probably like all the women there are attracted to him. Angel, knight, Kung Fu Dude. And what was that about that snarly old actor—Clint Eastwood. Wow. Your guy has everyone’s attention.”
“Hey, you’re right. Then it’s not a huge deal.” She tried out her theory. “Maybe it just says I’m over Nick.”
“Definitely. Except it is kind of a huge deal if it means your heart is waking up again.”
Jasmyn leaned forward until her forehead rested on her knees and groaned.
“Is it mutual?”
“Mutual? No.”
“He gave you a jacket.”
“He’d give one to anyone who needed a jacket.” She sat up. “ ‘Angel’ and ‘knight’ suit him perfectly. He keeps to himself and then poof, appears when someone’s in trouble. And the whole time he’s so even-keeled, you have no idea what’s going on inside.”
“He’s probably hiding a broken heart.”
“Quinn, give it up.”
“Okay. Sorry. So, I’ve been thinking about running the Pig.”
Quinn distracted her. They spoke of wild changes they would make to the restaurant, beginning with a French-themed decor, which made no sense at all unless they convinced people that the Eiffel Tower and French fries were somehow connected.
Thoughts of Keagan faded away.
Forty-Three
Liv propped her fists on her hips and walked a slow circle around the front room of Cottage Three. The place was a disaster. “This place is a disaster.”
Beau knelt in front of the furnace, a narrow unit in the wall. His tool belt clanked as he screwed in a grate. “Nah. It’s made to order for a little TLC.”
Liv shook her head. Tender loving care included a good scrubbing and a fresh coat of paint, not major repairs like fixing splintered cabinet doors, holes in walls, broken window panes, and a cracked sink. Not cleaning blood out of hardwood floors.
“Miss Liv, if you don’t mind my asking, what happened here?”
“A big mistake.” She groaned and sank onto the window seat. “Normally I have an accurate sense of who belongs in one of my cottages.” Not wanting to sound pretentious to Beau, whom she did not know all that well yet, she held back. No sense scaring off the competent handyman with descriptions of the Holy Spirit tapping her on the shoulder and breathing insight into her heart about a stranger.
“My guess is you are a woman of prayer, Miss Liv. If God says jump, you ask how high.”
She laughed. Maybe she couldn’t scare him off. “Something like that. I wasn’t paying attention this time. And Keagan, who double-checks my decisions, was out of town. An acquaintance from church asked if her grandson could stay for about a month until his dorm room opened up at school. He was moving down from Sacramento. What she didn’t know was that he’d been involved with drug dealers. There was unfinished business between them.”
“That sounds like one big made-to-order nightmare.”
“They found him here after only a week or so. For some reason he opened the gate for them and let them inside. They almost killed him.” She gestured. “And they did this.”
“Is he all right?”
“He survived. Oh, it was awful, Beau. It was about two o’clock in the morning. Piper’s a night owl and right next door, so she heard the commotion. She called the police and then started the phone tree.”
“Phone tree?”
“I’ll add you. It’s our system for calling each other for emergencies or whatnot.” Whatnot. Like her heart attack? Had they used the tree for that? “Piper called Noah and me and we each called others. She called Chad, who went outdoors and unlocked the gate for the police. I don’t know if that was stupid or brave.”
“You all must have been mighty terrified.”
“We were. Fortunately, Tasha and Coco slept through it all. I was kind of glad Keagan wasn’t around. He would have done something brave and stupid and gotten hurt.”
“Miss Liv, you’re getting all stressed out just talking about it. You go on home and have some tea. I’ll make a list of what needs to be done here.”
She waved a hand, dismissing his concern, and realized she was rubbing her chest with the other hand, trying to relieve a tightness which, according to her doctor, resided in her imagination. “Beau, I’ve avoided this for six months. Keagan and Noah cleared out what little furniture was in here, but then I locked it up and thought seriously about throwing away the key.”
The aftermath—reliving over and over the threat to her Casa family—had been too much for her to bear. The night itself had been so full of terror—shouts, mayhem, flashing lights, cops in the courtyard, the perpetrators sprawled facedown and getting handcuffed. By the time the ambulance carried off the poor boy, by the time the police hauled off the others, by the time she entered Cottage Three and surveyed the damage, it was morning and she had felt ripe then for a heart attack or a stroke.
It took a long time for the Casa folks and the neighborhood to regain their sense of safety. Then the busy summer season was upon them. Then Jasmyn arrived. Then came the real heart attack.
Tending to Cottage Three hadn’t even made it onto her to-do list until a few days ago.
“It’s high time I address this mess,” she said.
“You know what it needs? A good cleaning.”
She eyed the stained floorboards again. “Obviously.”
“No, I mean a deeper kind of cleaning. The kind my Granny Mibs would give it.” He paused and met her gaze.
In an instant she knew what he would say. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed before the stuff he was made of. It was plain to see in his open face and hear in the gentle cadence of his speech.
She didn’t know much about Beau Jenner. He had come highly recommended by her retired handyman and by Keagan, who knew him from the gym. What else had she needed but their counsel? Now she was curious about the choices B
eau must have made that led him all the way from Kentucky to her front door and then to this moment.
Liv folded her hands on her lap. Her chest was fine. It didn’t need attention. It didn’t need nervous kneading. Her head could do with some kneading, though. How could she not have thought of the obvious?
Because that night…
“It was the most awful thing I’ve ever experienced.”
He nodded.
“Your Granny Mibs would pray and sprinkle holy water over every inch of this cottage, right?”
He smiled. “You got it, Miss Liv.”
About time she got it.
While Beau went to the hardware store, Liv walked through the wrecked cottage, praying for God’s peace to invade it and spraying holy water from a blue plastic bottle.
It was an old custom she had learned growing up in a liturgical church. Syd had thought the water part was silly, but then he’d never been one for mystery. Tell God what you need, amen, over and done.
She wasn’t concerned with explaining or arguing or figuring it out. To her the act, at the least, was symbolic of God’s presence, and that in itself soothed her soul. The woman Jasmyn had recently met out in the desert—what was her name?—Nova. Nova would understand. Well, insofar as there was anything to understand about mystery.
“And amen.” Liv tucked the bottle into a pocket of the canvas bag that held an array of items she used around the property, including a small pair of clippers, baggies of all sizes, a crunchable sun hat, garden gloves, cell phone, and screwdriver. Practical stuff. She was a practical woman who acknowledged a very impractical, unseen world.
She stood in the open doorway, facing the L-shaped living room and kitchen, and smiled. “Peace be with you, Cottage Three.”
“And also with you.”
Liv turned, surprised to see that Samantha was the one speaking biblical language.
She stepped into the alcove. “A step-aunt took me to church once. She came for a visit and died the next day. I was ten.”
Liv relaxed the surprise from her face. “Oh.”
“Exactly.” She gestured over Liv’s shoulder. “You’re getting started?”
Liv wanted to ask about the step-aunt, but knowing Samantha, she’d already said all she wanted to say on the subject. “Yes, I am. I think it’s time.”