by Irene Hannon
Apparently fairy tales were on the menu at the Orchid, along with the sisters’ famous pot roast.
But Kristen didn’t have an appetite for either at the moment.
“See you later, Genevieve.” She pushed through the door without waiting for a reply.
Yet as she walked toward her car, she had to admit the older woman was right about one thing. Sparks did have a tendency to fly when you least expected them, and there wasn’t a whole lot you could do about that except ignore them—or avoid the source.
Which was exactly how she intended to deal with her landlord. She’d do her best to see that their paths intersected as seldom as possible, and when she couldn’t avoid him, she’d make a concerted effort to disregard the annoying sparks that were beginning to fly.
Because sparks could lead to romance, as Genevieve had noted.
And romance wasn’t on her agenda for Starfish Bay.
* * *
From his spot beside the shimmering infinity pool, sheltered on three sides by the low-slung Inn at The Point, Clint gazed around at the Starfish Bay residents enjoying the food, drink and ambience as a jazz ensemble played softly in the background.
He hadn’t been any more thrilled than Lindsey at the Mercantile once they’d gotten wind of Mattson’s plans to develop The Point, but he had to admit the man had kept his promise. The inn blended with the natural surroundings, and the developer had even restored and rebuilt—on a smaller scale—the town’s beloved Starfish Bay Chapel, once the only structure on The Point.
Mattson was also on hand today, circulating among the guests, making everyone feel welcome. No question about it; the man was a class act.
“So what do you think?”
At the question, Clint turned to find Scott Walsh, the project foreman, standing behind him with his new wife and stepson. Clint smiled at Cindy and Jarrod, who’d lived in Starfish Bay far longer than he had. It was nice to see the young widow looking so happy—and nice to know happy endings were possible.
For some people.
“Spectacular.” Clint kept his smile in place, but it was an effort. “Hi, Cindy. Jarrod.”
“Man, that pool is awesome.” The thirteen-year-old continued to ogle both the setting and the pool.
Scott grinned. “But it was a bear to excavate and build.”
“I’ll bet.” Clint’s lips quirked up at the man’s comment. Scott seemed like a decent guy. He’d stopped by several times while Clint was working on the interpretive trail to check on the progress and offer assistance.
Lindsey strolled over, her husband, Nate, in tow. The man snagged a stuffed mushroom cap from the tray of a waiter who was passing out hors d’oeuvres.
“I have to admit this turned out a lot better than I expected when we organized the Save the Point campaign.” Lindsey surveyed the pool and the elegant stone, glass and wood structure. “It’s very tasteful and low-key. Plus, we kept the chapel.” She glanced at the white steeple, peeking above the roof of the inn as it soared to the sky from its own private garden on the other side of the structure.
“And the bench,” Nate added, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
She nestled closer to her husband, and the look that passed between them tightened Clint’s throat. That was true love—as was the squeeze Scott gave his wife’s fingers.
He felt like a third wheel.
“I think I’ll wander over to the other side and see if I can scrounge up some heartier food.” He tried for a lighthearted tone despite his sudden melancholy. “Will you excuse me?”
“Sure. Make the most of it. You won’t see a party like this in Starfish Bay again anytime soon.” Lindsey flashed him a grin.
As he circled the pool, Clint helped himself to a stuffed mushroom, a mini quiche and a scallop wrapped in bacon secured with a toothpick, motivated more by the persuasive smiles of the proffering waiters than by hunger.
Halfway around, Louis Mattson flagged him down and shook his hand. “I’m glad you could make it, Clint. So what do you think of the place?”
“It’s amazing—and out of my league. But it’s nice to see how the other half lives for a couple of hours.” He took a marinated shrimp from the tray a waiter offered. “The food is spectacular, by the way.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“The music’s nice, too. You throw a great party.”
“I can’t take any credit for the arrangements. I left those in the capable hands of the inn’s event planner and head concierge. Ah...here she is now.” The man leaned sideways and flagged her down over Clint’s shoulder.
Wiping his hands on the cocktail napkin, Clint turned. In the two weeks since their impromptu hike, he’d seen nothing of his tenant. Nor had he heard much. A car door closing when she left for work in the morning—early. Another door closing when she arrived home at night—late. Aside from that, the muffled sound of water running and a few squeaks from the floorboards were the only audible signs of her presence. The woman put in incredible hours.
And the hectic pace of her life showed. Though she’d applied her makeup with a liberal hand, she hadn’t been able to totally mask the shadows under her lower lashes.
She gave him a smile that was more PR than genuine and turned her attention to Mattson. “I hope you’re enjoying the party.”
“It’s wonderful. And more importantly, our guests agree. I’ve heard nothing but rave reviews about the food, the band, the ambience. Clint was just adding his compliments.” The man leaned sideways and waved at some new arrivals. “The sisters from the Orchid are here. I want to go over and say hello.” He reached out to shake Clint’s hand again. “Eat some more of that food. You, too.” He smiled at Kristen. “Might as well enjoy the party you planned.”
He walked away, leaving silence in his wake. While he wasn’t the most gregarious person, Clint could usually make small talk if pressed. But for whatever reason, he couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Desperate to fill the awkward lull, he stopped a passing waiter and helped himself to two mini quiches, passing one to Kristen.
She tried to demur. “I don’t usually eat at these kinds of events. There are always too many details to see to.”
“Everything seems to be under control. Like the man said, you might as well enjoy the party you planned.”
Acquiescing, she took the quiche and nibbled at it.
“Would you like a drink?”
“No. That’s definitely verboten when I’m on duty.”
“How about a soda?”
“Thanks. I’m fine.” She took another dainty bite of the quiche he’d demolished in one gulp. “This is very tasty. But then, the food at Mattson properties is always stellar.”
“And fancy.”
“That, too.” She finished off the quiche and wiped her hands on the cocktail napkin he supplied. “But our guests like to explore other dining options, too. I have no problem sending them to the Orchid for some home cooking and local flavor, but I wish there was somewhere else close by.”
“What about Jaz’s?”
Three beats of silence passed as she regarded him, her expression wary. “The biker bar at the edge of town? In the old gas station?”
“Yeah.”
Her squint, and the tilt of her head, conveyed her skepticism. “I don’t think our clientele would go for that.”
“The food’s great.”
“Even so...”
“Have you ever been inside?”
“No.”
“You might not want to judge by appearances.” When she didn’t respond, he spoke again. “If you want to test it out, I’d be happy to meet you there for lunch tomorrow. But I’m afraid you won’t find anything fancy like sushi.”
That got the same reaction as had his rustic reference during her apartment-h
unting visit. Her chin lifted and he could feel her bristling. Now why had he baited her again? You’d think he’d have learned his lesson.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve never been a fan of sushi—or roadkill.”
His lips twitched. Witty comeback.
“Jaz doesn’t serve roadkill—at least, not that I know of. But I can vouch for his burgers. They’re the best I’ve ever had. He also throws a mean pizza. You won’t find quiche on the menu, however. So it’s not exactly Inn at The Point fare.”
She pursed her lips and considered him. Part of him hoped she’d decline. The other part hoped she’d accept.
He wasn’t certain which part he wanted to win.
All he knew was that since their hike two weeks ago, he’d found himself thinking about her far too often—and hoping he’d have another excuse to spend time with her, even if she did remind him of Lisa.
The resemblance was especially remarkable today. Kristen’s sleek, classy black cocktail dress, its modest cowl neckline offsetting the low dip in the back, was the very kind of outfit Lisa might have worn.
“Okay. You’re on. What time shall I meet you?”
His pulse edged up. The stunning woman across from him, who seemed as comfortable in a designer cocktail dress as she did in jeans and hiking boots, was willing to join him for lunch. His mood took a decided upswing—answering the question about whether he’d wanted her to accept or not.
“Will one o’clock work? That will give me a chance to get home from church and change.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “One’s fine. I take it the attire at Jaz’s is casual.”
“Very. Why don’t we go together? That is, if you don’t mind riding in a truck.”
“I’ve ridden in plenty of trucks.” A waiter signaled to her, and she wadded the napkin in her fingers. “Duty calls. See you tomorrow.”
He watched her walk away, the filmy fabric of her dress rippling in the breeze.
A waiter approached with a tray of champagne, and on impulse Clint picked up a flute. He didn’t usually indulge, but for whatever reason, he felt in a celebratory mood.
Raising the glass in silent salute to his tenant, he sipped the bubbly liquid and launched a mental countdown until lunch tomorrow, hoping anticipation wouldn’t keep him tossing all night.
He’d felt the same with Lisa at the beginning, too, though. She’d been classy and upscale as well. He’d never been able to figure out what she’d seen in him, never understood why she’d fallen in love with him. So when things ended, he hadn’t been surprised—though her motive for dumping him had had nothing to do with differences in class.
It had been all about hate.
His stomach clenched, and he took another swig of champagne. He’d never blamed her for walking out. Never blamed her for her inability to forgive him. How could he, when he’d never been able to forgive himself?
But just because Kristen reminded him of Lisa didn’t mean things with her had to come to the same dismal end.
At least he hoped not.
Chapter Six
At one o’clock sharp on Sunday, Kristen stepped onto the landing outside her apartment, locked the door and descended the stairs.
She found Clint waiting for her beside his truck, one hip propped against the door, arms crossed.
“Am I late?” She knew she wasn’t. Could it be he was just anxious to see her?
When her heart skipped a beat at that possibility, she frowned in annoyance.
Get over it, Kristen. No strings, remember? This is a work-related research outing, nothing more.
“No. You’re very punctual.” He pushed off from the truck and gave her a quick once-over.
She reciprocated. Her jeans weren’t as faded as his, and her soft cashmere sweater was definitely nicer than his black cotton shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows.
At least he wasn’t wearing a scuffed leather jacket or torn jeans.
“Is this too dressy for Jaz’s?” She gestured to her attire.
“It’ll do.” He opened the passenger door and ushered her in.
She climbed aboard. He closed the door behind her, circled the hood and took his own seat.
“I’d have been happy to drive.” She pulled the seat belt across her lap.
He inserted the key. “I don’t mind.”
“You don’t trust me behind the wheel, do you?” She snapped the belt in place as he put the truck in gear and started down the drive.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t deny it, either.”
One side of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to suppress a smile. “True.”
“I’m actually a very good driver. I’ve never gotten a ticket or had an accident.”
“The ticket I can understand.”
She sent him a wary look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look in the mirror.”
She narrowed her eyes as his insinuation registered. “Are you suggesting I might have used my feminine wiles to get out of a ticket?”
“Let me ask you this. You said you’ve never gotten a ticket. But have you ever been stopped by a cop?”
“Yes.”
“I rest my case.”
She blew out an exasperated breath and glared at him. “For the record, I never batted my eyelashes at any of those cops.”
“Ah. Multiple stops.” His lips flexed again.
Kristen’s irritation swelled. “Just three in my whole life, for missing a couple of stop signs and failing to use a turn signal. And I was polite and professional.”
“Were you at fault?”
She squirmed in her seat. He would ask that. “Yes.”
“As I said before, I rest my case.”
“I never did anything to try and influence those officers.”
He spared her a quick look. “You didn’t have to. I was a cop for a long time. Trust me, we can be influenced by a pretty face—especially when the face is polite.”
He’d called her pretty.
That was unexpected.
She sat back, trying to figure out how to respond to the backhanded compliment.
Fortunately, given Starfish Bay’s tiny main street, she didn’t have to worry about it. Thirty seconds later, Clint was pulling into Jaz’s parking lot.
“Sit tight and I’ll get your door.”
She didn’t argue as he set the brake and exited the truck. Instead, she did her best to switch gears and psych herself up for what was certain to be an interesting dining experience.
Clint opened her door, waited while she slid out, then took her arm as they walked toward the entrance. She was so distracted by his touch she almost didn’t notice the Harley in front of the building, or the skull and crossbones spray-painted on the walls.
Almost.
The inside was worse. Twin pool tables greeted her, unused at the moment. The walls were lined with all kinds of weird memorabilia, from Grateful Dead posters to skulls with rhinestones in the eye sockets.
Oh, brother.
Clint breezed past all of that and led her to the back half of the building, where bar-height tables and stools were clustered in front of a large range and grill.
A tall man in a tight T-shirt, with longish, gray-streaked black hair and some formidable tattoos, turned from the grill as they approached.
“Hey, Clint. You’re here early. You must have come right from church.”
“Close. I only stopped at home long enough to change.”
“I barely got here in time to open the place myself. Our pastor was on the long-winded side today. And who is this pretty little lady?”
Clint drew her forward. “Meet Kristen Andrews. She’s the concierge and event planner at the
inn. Kristen, this is Jaz.”
The man wiped his right palm on his worn jeans and extended his hand, giving her a hearty shake. “Nice to meet you. I wasn’t able to make the open house, but I expect this place is a hundred and eighty from your usual turf.”
“It’s very...unique.”
The man guffawed. “Scary, you mean. But the truth is, we’re a family restaurant. All this stuff—” he swept his hand around the interior “—is for show. It’s everybody’s worst image of what a biker bar should be. Over the top, you know? But hey...it brings people in. That and the food. Did Clint tell you we have amazing burgers?”
“Yes. Pizza, too.”
“On your first trip, have a burger—unless you two are just paying a social call and saving lunch for another day?”
Clint deferred to her, and Kristen realized he was giving her an option to change her mind, now that she’d seen the place from the inside.
The door jingled behind them, and she glanced over her shoulder. An older couple entered, with what appeared to be grandkids in tow.
“Be with you in a sec, Hank,” Jaz called. “You and Marian and the kids find a table.”
Okay. Those people looked normal. They’d also brought children here. And Jaz went to church. Those pluses helped offset the decor.
“We came for lunch.” She smiled at Jaz.
“All right, then.” He gave her a flash of his teeth. “Menus are on the tables. You can’t go wrong with any of the burgers, but my personal favorite is the cheddar and bacon. My seasoned fries are also awesome. I’ll be over to get your order in a minute.”
He took off for the couple with the two children, and Clint gestured to one of the tables near the wall. “That okay?”
“Fine.”
He followed her over, and once seated, he held out a menu.
Smiling, she waved it aside. “I’m going with Jaz’s recommendation.”
“Smart choice.” He set his own menu back in the holder, too. “So everything set at the inn for the opening on Friday? The place seemed to be running smoothly yesterday at the open house.”
She rolled her eyes. “You weren’t privy to the behind-the-scenes chaos, multiplied exponentially by Louis Mattson’s presence. But I’ve been on hand for openings before, and despite the mayhem, we’ll be fine. We only book half the rooms for the first week to give the staff a chance to settle in and get comfortable.”