by Diane Moody
How much had Molly told Olivia? The fact that Olivia didn’t say more put his mind at ease. He plowed on.
“Captain MacVicar was highly respected and extremely successful in his shipping trade, making frequent trips across the sea to English and European ports. His ship, a beautiful three-masted Baltimore schooner named The Merry Martha, transported lucrative products like tea, silks from China, spices from the Orient, that sort of thing. Schooners were built for speed more so than cargo space, so MacVicar’s was a seasonal trading vessel.
“Early on, The Merry Martha carried mail between the continents, but MacVicar hated making the ‘packet ship’ runs, as they were called. Very risky because they traveled on precise schedules, carrying important documents and ‘packets’ from embassies and governments along their trade routes. Such predictable time schedules made them easy targets for pirate attacks, of course. MacVicar refused to put his crew in such a dangerous plight, so he soon dropped the mail service.
“Still, I’ve always been fascinated by those mighty clippers—” He stopped, realizing he’d been chatting away without any regard to his guest. He dipped his head, embarrassed. “Sorry, I tend to get carried away at times.”
“Not at all. It’s fascinating. I once read a book about a famous clipper that was actually navigated by the wife of the ship’s captain—”
“Flying Cloud: The True Story of America’s Most Famous Clipper Ship and the Woman Who Guided Her, by David Shaw.”
“Yes, that’s it! You’ve read it?”
Trevor crossed his legs. “Yes, when it first came out in 2000. I’m sure I have a copy here somewhere. I was familiar with the story, of course, and honestly wanted to like the book. But instead, I was utterly distracted by the imposed fictionalized dialogue. It didn’t ring true, somehow.”
She tucked a leg beneath her. “Sure, the dialogue was fabricated to better tell the story in a novelization. But I loved Eleanor Creesey’s strong spirit and determination, especially in a time period that relegated women to cooking, cleaning, and staying out of the way. She was amazing. I’ve often thought her story would make a wonderful movie.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. An astonishing feat for a woman to navigate a history-making world record like she did. Imagine, breaking the record on the ship’s maiden voyage.”
“New York to San Francisco in eighty-nine days instead of the previous two-hundred,” Olivia added. “And that was before the Panama Canal was built. All thanks to the brilliant navigation—by a woman, no less.”
“If you start singing ‘I Am Woman,’ I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
She pressed her lips together, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Really? Because I’m fairly sure you want to hear it.”
“You’d be sorely mistaken,” he teased back.
“But you can’t kick me out yet.”
“I can’t?”
“No. I want to ask you something.”
“Fire away.”
She took a breath and slowly released it. “I’ve noticed something about you.”
“And what might that be?”
“Your entire demeanor changes when you talk about books. Especially books you love, but even those you don’t. You obviously have a genuine passion for books, but I think it’s more than just a business for you. Much more. It’s as if you come alive when you talk about them. Why is that?”
What kind of a question is that? He clamped his jaw and tried to think how to respond. He tried to read her expression but found only sincerity in her eyes. What was she after? Why was she critiquing him? They’d only met yesterday.
“I hope you don’t take this wrong,” he began, “but who are you to ask me a question like that? Books are my business. To superimpose anything more is to—”
“It also occurs to me you aren’t nearly as formidable as you’d have people believe. Why is that? What’s that all about?”
He shook his head, dizzy from her persistence. “I have no earthly idea what you’re trying to get at, Miss Thomas.”
“It’s Olivia. And I’m only trying to understand why you are the way you are.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re blunt?” he retorted. “And teetering on the edge of being downright rude.”
She relaxed, sitting back in her chair again. “Why, thank you.”
“Thank you? What . . . I mean . . . are you daft or something?”
“Not at all. See, I’ve recently come to a point in my life where I’m no longer willing to live in a shell and miss opportunities. And right now I see this as an opportunity to get to know you. I find you extremely interesting, Trevor. But I want to know what’s holding you back from answering a few simple questions?”
He felt his face heating again but for the life of him, couldn’t find a word to say.
Her eyes still locked on his, she leaned forward to scratch Charlie on the head. “Have you ever thought about writing?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. Again. “Why would you ask—”
“Because I can’t imagine you not writing. You’d be a natural at it. You have such a unique perspective on so many subjects. You don’t run with the pack. Your mind seems to conceptualize things in different ways from the rest of us. It completely sets you apart. Sure, most folks might think you’re standoffish, even aloof. But I for one would love to read a book written by Trevor Bass.”
He huffed a noisy sigh and clapped his hands against his knees. “You’re certainly entitled to your own delusional ideas, but I need to call it a night.” He stood up, hoping she’d take the hint.
“Methinks I hit a nerve.” She smiled as she gently lifted Charlie from her lap and placed the sleepy dog on the floor. Olivia stood and climbed back into her coat. “Thank you for the tea and a lovely evening.”
She may have aggravated him, but he couldn’t let her leave in the heavy snowfall. “Let me grab my coat, and I’ll walk you to the MacVicar.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
“Sit back down and put those galoshes on.” He took his coat from the rack and pulled it on.
She obliged, sitting down before stepping into the oversized boots. “Really, Trevor, you don’t have to. It’s just a couple of blocks.”
He looped a wool scarf around his neck and put on his cap. “Yes, thank you, I believe I know where the inn is located. Can you just do as you’re told and not be so stubborn?”
“Stubborn? I’m not stubborn.” She stood up, stomping her feet more firmly into the galoshes. “But thanks for the boots.”
He motioned toward the front door. “Ready?”
“If you say so.”
He opened the door then locked it behind them as he ushered her into the blinding snow. “It can be slippery here and there, so hold onto my arm.” He extended his elbow toward her and started across the street.
“Isn’t this GREAT?!” she shouted, lifting her face to the blustery night sky.
She giggled like a schoolgirl catching snowflakes on her tongue. He tried to imagine the scene through her eyes; someone who’s never been around this much snow before. He fought the urge to smile, still bristling from her nosy questions. Whatever had intrigued him earlier now felt like warning sirens screaming through his head—BEWARE! BEWARE! He vowed to avoid her whenever possible and give her no more opportunities to pry into his personal life.
As they turned up the sidewalk leading to the MacVicar, he realized she’d let go of his arm. He turned to find her stooped with her back toward him.
“What are you—”
WHOMP!
The snowball hit his chest, the surprise of it nearly knocking the breath out of him. “What was THAT?”
“My first ever snowball! I’m so excited!”
“But—”
“Ah, c’mon! Fight with me, Trevor!” She squatted again, rounding up more snow.
“But—”
“Enough with the buts, already!” She turned, blasting
him with another hit, this one between his shoulder blades.
He reached down, packed a quick one, and spun around to lob it at her shoulder. “Ha! Surprise!”
“You call that a snowball? Come on, buddy, give me your best shot!”
His leather gloves made it easy to pack the white stuff, so he made an even bigger ball. “You want it? You got it!” He threw it hard in her direction just as she turned back toward him. The giant snowball hit her right on the nose and sent her sprawling.
“Olivia! I’m so sorry!” He rushed to her side, sure he’d knocked her out. She lay flat on her back, arms outstretched, her face covered with snow. “Are you all right? Olivia?”
Her breath puffed white clouds above her face. At least she’s breathing, he thought, though her eyes remained closed. He leaned closer, cupping his gloved hand behind her head. “Olivia? Can you hear me?”
“Huhh . . .” she groaned, her eyes still closed.
“Are you all right?”
She didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t say a word. Suddenly, a wicked smile split her face, and her eyes flashed wide open as she smashed a handful of snow into his face.
“GOTCHA!”
Her roaring laughter cut through the night, bouncing off the old house as he fell back on the ground. “Oh, you’re a real cut up. Very funny.” He wiped the snow from his face, trying hard not to laugh. “I thought you were hurt, and this is how you repay me?”
“Hey! Is everything okay out there?”
Trevor and Olivia looked up as Trig stood on the front porch wrapping a coat over his plaid pajamas.
“Trig!” Olivia said, getting up. “It’s snowing!”
“Yes, I see that, Olivia.” He held his hand over his eyes to block the glare from the porch light. “Is that you, Trevor?”
He stood up, dusting the snow from his backside. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Awfully sorry if we awakened you.”
Trig grinned. “No problem. Looks like you two are having a good time out here.”
Oh, great.
“Yes, well, I’ll be on my way now.” Trevor waved as he turned to go. “Good evening, Miss Thomas. Mr. Myers.”
“G’night, Trevor,” Olivia said, still snickering. “Thanks for walking me home.”
He said nothing, just raised his hand without turning. As he walked away, he heard Trig’s voice carry over the hedge.
“Will wonders never cease? Trevor Bass—in a snowball fight? How’d you manage that?”
Thankfully, Trevor couldn’t hear Olivia’s response.
Now if the ground would just open up and swallow me whole.
Chapter 10
“What did you say?” Ellen asked.
Olivia adjusted her cell phone against her ear. “I’ve asked Trevor to show me some houses here.”
“Just for the fun of it, right?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m thinking about the possibility of buying a house here. I probably wouldn’t live here full time. I could rent it out while I’m away.”
“Isn’t this rather sudden? You’ve only been there a few days, Olivia. How could you possibly know if you’d want to live there? Didn’t your attorney advise you not to make any rash decisions for a while?”
“I know, but what harm could it do to look at a few? I haven’t signed the dotted line yet. I just want to see what’s on the market here.”
“What did Trevor say to that?”
Olivia paused, choosing her words carefully. “He didn’t seem too thrilled at the prospect, but I’m beginning to think that’s his shtick.”
“His shtick?”
“Yeah. I think he likes having a buffer around himself, so he purposefully acts obnoxious.”
“Sounds like a real gem. Can’t wait to meet him.”
“Why would you want to meet him?”
“Because you keep talking about him. Every time we talk.”
Olivia paused. “Oh, please.”
“I’m just saying . . .”
“So, how are things in Atlanta?”
“Stop changing the subject.”
“You’re barking up a tree that doesn’t exist.”
“Ha ha. I’m just trying to save you from making a big mistake.”
“Are you talking houses or booksellers?”
Silence. Then, “Look, Olivia. You know how much I love Caden Cove. And I can see how it might be appealing—a complete change from here, all that snow, a quaint seaside village and all that. But the whole purpose of you going there was to have a chance to think things through. Make some decisions now that . . . well, now that you have the means to follow your dreams.”
“You’re such a poet.”
Ellen laughed, and suddenly Olivia missed her terribly. “If you’re so worried about me making a big bad mistake, why don’t you throw your things in a bag, catch a flight up here, and come straighten me out?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
After three days the snow finally stopped, leaving behind a wintry white carpet more than four feet high. Olivia had enjoyed the respite, spending most of her time reading The Count of Monte Cristo in her room or downstairs in the living room. There, Trig and Michelle often joined her, telling her all about life in this quiet corner of Maine. How quickly she’d grown fond of these two and the passion they shared for Caden Cove. She hadn’t yet mentioned the teacup or the legend, deciding she’d let them bring it up if they chose to.
She told Trevor she’d wait until the snow cleared to go house hunting. He assured her he was more than capable of driving in such conditions. No doubt another dig to remind me I’m an outsider. She could still see the look on his face when she first mentioned looking at houses—a mix of incredulity and disdain. Which, of course, made her all the more determined to pursue the idea.
Oh, the thrill of a challenge. Especially from one so cod-mungeonly.
Now, waiting for Trevor to pick her up, she fought a nervous anxiousness. If she were honest, she knew why. That night when they chatted over tea after book club, she couldn’t help feeling there was something between them. Nothing forthright or obvious, but something. A glimmer of possibility? A tiny crack in Trevor’s armor, allowing her to see beyond his gruff façade?
Later, during their snowball fight, she’d caught sight of it again in his laughing eyes, warmed by childlike playfulness. A face no longer set in stone, but one crinkled and sparkling with spontaneous abandon. Had she imagined it or wished it so? In the days that followed, the sound of his laughter played over and over in her head. She smiled, pleased to know there was more to Trevor Bass—
“Ready to go?”
Olivia jumped. “Trevor! You startled me!”
“I suppose I should have knocked or something. Trig told me I could find you here.”
She busied herself pulling her coat on, avoiding eye contact until the heat in her face cooled. “Yes. I’m here. Waiting for you.” She pulled on her gloves, still not looking up. “Are you sure you want to do this today?”
He turned. “Why? Have you changed your mind?”
Olivia straightened her shoulders and finally looked him in the eye. “Not at all. Let’s do this, shall we?” With that, she walked past him into the entry hall.
He opened the door for her then held her arm as they navigated the front steps. He hustled them toward the SUV, opening the passenger door for her. Once inside, she turned to thank him but the door shut in her face.
Okay, then. So much for the kinder, gentler Mr. Bass.
He slid behind the wheel, closed the door, and buckled himself in. “I heated the seat for you, but if you find it too warm for your liking, you can adjust it by pressing the button there on your side of the console.”
“Oh, how nice. Thank you.” She buckled her seatbelt. “Feels great.”
“Yes, well, I’ve selected five houses to show you.” He handed some papers to her. “Here are the listings if you’d like to look them over. We’ll start closer to town and work our way out toward the
beach.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He looked at her briefly, then pressed the ignition button and they were on their way.
“I must tell you it’s extremely difficult to help you find what you’re looking for when you won’t give me more specific parameters, like number of bedrooms, price range, square footage. So I assume this is merely an exercise in curiosity more than a viable search for a home.”
She turned sideways to face him, adjusting her seatbelt. “Trevor, is there a problem here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you grill all your prospective buyers like this? Because I would think it wouldn’t help sell houses, coming across so antagonistic.”
He stiffened, his eyes on the road. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I simply—”
“The thing is, unless I have to sign my name in blood to assure you I’m serious about looking for a home here in Caden Cove, then I’d expect a little more civility in your approach. Last I heard, most realtors like to schmooze their prospective buyers, not alienate them.”
“But that’s just the problem,” he uttered through clenched teeth. “I don’t believe you are a prospective buyer. I think you’re just looking for something to do while you’re here on your ‘extended getaway.’ I think you’re curious about what the houses here look like on the inside. I think you’re—”
“How could you possibly know what I may or may not be thinking?” She huffed, shaking her head. “Besides, what difference does it make why I’m looking at houses? You’re a realtor. I asked you to show me some houses. That’s what realtors do. So please explain to me why you’re so caustic about it, because I’d really like to know.”
He slammed on the brakes, causing the belt to pull tight against her, then turned off the ignition.
“Now what?”
He grabbed the papers from the console and got out of the SUV. “You want to look at houses? Fine. Here’s our first stop.” With that, he slammed the door and disappeared from Olivia’s sight.
“Buster, you are this close to getting on my last nerve!” she grumbled to herself.