by Cynthia Swan
She looked up from unloading the groceries.
“Dalton, come on in.”
Curious, Dalton picked up the case of water Timmy set on the floor by the door and brought it over. She had food scattered across the long counters.
Lots of fruit and vegetables. No bread. No crackers or snacks. He peeked in the fridge when she opened it to put the oranges away. No meat or condiments either.
His nosiness got the better of him as he took the empty plastic bags and put them in the pantry. It was empty other than a bag of dried beans and a bag of rice. No flour or sugar either. She must be one of those women who was constantly on a diet, even though she was already way too skinny.
“I put the water and the plastic bags on the shelf in the pantry. Hazel sells reusable bags.”
He didn’t mean it to come out sounding condescending, but it did and Dalton winced.
But she didn’t seem to notice.
“I know. I would have purchased a bunch of them, but she’s out. She said she’d have more next week. In the meantime, I’ll use the plastic ones for the trashcans in the bathrooms.”
Yep. He was a big jerk. And yet he couldn’t help himself. What was it about her that brought out this grouchy side of him?
He teased her, grinning when her cheeks turned pink.
“You know, I saw the rental car in the driveway, you could drive to the Sip and Shop. Get your own groceries, instead of making Timmy bike over in the cold. The kid looks like a giant marshmallow.”
“Tim is saving for a car, so he really appreciates the work.”
She opened a drawer and pulled out a handful of envelopes.
“I’ve set up deliveries for every week while I’m here and asked for Tim to deliver the groceries.”
Christy leaned a hip against the counter, the light from the floor to ceiling windows making her skin glow.
“Don’t you remember how much you wanted a car? The freedom it represented. And just so you know, Tim prefers to be called Tim, not Timmy.”
“He’s always been Timmy.”
Dalton perched on a barstool across from her, leaning his elbows on the long counter.
“Yes, I remember. I wanted a truck. Any truck. My brother bought a used sports car, but not me. It had to be a truck, the bigger the better.”
“You look like a truck guy with your faded jeans and flannel shirt.” Christy pressed her lips together.
Uh oh, he recognized that look, he’d seen it enough over the years on his mom and sister’s faces. A lecture was coming.
“Tim is almost sixteen. A young man. He’s outgrown the name Timmy.”
Dalton thought about what she said.
“Maybe you’re right. I hated being called Colton’s little brother. I’ll try to remember to call him Tim.”
She beamed at him while he talked, her full attention on him. Not on her phone, but on him.
He’d noticed that about her. When anyone talked to her, no matter if they were five or ninety, she looked at them, listening as if every word was critical, as if they were the only person in the world. No wonder everyone was talking about how sweet she was.
Maybe he’d been wrong about her?
She washed the carrots as she talked.
“As soon as I finished work, I begged my—my boss to take me to get my license. I was so excited, it was the highlight of my sixteenth birthday.”
“Didn’t you have a big sweet sixteen party? Lots of cake, tons of friends, and presents?”
Dalton leaned forward, wanting to know how she’d spent her birthday all those years ago.
Christy finished cutting up the vegetables. She put them in glass containers so they’d be ready to cook or snack on later.
“I didn’t have a party or cake,” she whispered.
“What? Why not? I would have thought you’d have everyone at school begging to come to your party. You must have been the popular girl, the cheerleader, the prom queen, and the homecoming queen.”
The look on her face made Dalton wish he’d kept his big mouth shut.
“I would have liked to go to a regular school.” She let out a long sigh.
“I never went to a high school football game. Never walked across the stage to graduate, and never went to a dance, let alone prom.”
She put the vegetables and fruit in the refrigerator; her back to him so she couldn’t see his expression. Shock rippled through him.
“What are you talking about? You didn’t graduate high school?”
Christy busied herself pulling two mugs out of the cabinet. She turned on the kettle before coming to sit across from him.
“We moved around a lot and my mom worked odd hours, so I had a tutor. I got my diploma in the mail.”
She ran a finger across the granite, not meeting his eyes.
“Since I didn’t attend a regular school, I never went to a game or a dance.” She looked up at him, her big blue eyes seeing right through him.
“Was it fun? Football games in the fall? Wrapped in blankets with cups of hot apple cider or hot chocolate?”
She looked so wistful, he’d reached halfway across the island to take her hand before snatching his hand back. Luckily she was looking out at the gray sky and waves and didn’t see what he’d almost done.
He cleared his throat.
“I played baseball. Hot dogs and sodas, my family and friends cheering.”
The memories filled his mind, he could smell the leather of the glove, hear the crack of the bat.
“I used to sneak beer in the stands to drink with my buddies while we watched my brother play. Until my sister caught us and ratted me out to our parents.”
The kettle whistled and Dalton jumped up before she could.
“You’re shivering. There’s a blanket on the sofa if you want to wrap up. I’ll fix the tea.”
She stood, rubbing her arms.
“Hazel set the thermostat for me. Maybe you could look at it? I’m not sure it’s set high enough.”
Christy wrapped a big blue knitted afghan around her and curled up on one end of the sofa so she could look out at the ocean. No one was out walking on the beach, it was too cold today.
Dalton brought the tea over, handing her a blue mug with shells printed on it.
“I put a little honey in it.”
She held the cup in front of her like he’d just told her that he put poison in her tea.
“Something wrong?”
Dalton set his tea on a coaster and went to look at the thermostat.
“I’ve never had honey in my tea. I usually drink it plain.”
“Really? Try it, it’s good. My mom says local honey keeps you from getting allergies. I’ve never had allergies, so I’m guessing it works. That’s what I want to believe, maybe it just tastes good.”
He adjusted the temperature and came back over to sit in one of the oversized chairs.
“I bumped the temperature up two degrees.”
“Thank you. Those new thermostats are so complicated.” Her stomach growled.
How was it possible the woman intrigued and annoyed him at the same time? She was so nice, and yet she expected everyone to do everything for her. In his experience, all beautiful women were like that, expecting life would be handed to them on a silver platter.
Dalton shook his head. He’d promised his brother he’d try. Mackenzie really had soured him on women. If he didn’t try, it would be like letting her win, and his ex had won far too much already. So he took a deep breath.
“I can hear your stomach from here. You should eat more, not that rabbit food you put in the fridge.”
“Since I’ve been here the past couple of days, I’ve been hungrier than I’ve ever been in my life. My aunt says it’s the ocean air.” She sipped her tea.
“The honey is superb, thanks.”
Dalton looked at the time on his phone.
“I have to get to work. Come by What Ales You later, I’ll feed you.”
The light went out of her e
yes.
“I’ve eaten enough today. I can’t gain any weight.” She pulled the blanket tight around her.
Dalton stood, keys in hand.
“I heard you’re some kind of makeup artist. Why does it matter what you weigh?”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I’m in fashion. They say they’re inclusive and diverse, but they judge everyone on their weight and their looks. It’s exhausting.”
“That’s ridiculous. Maybe you should change careers.”
Dalton frowned as a bell clanged deep within him. A warning. There was something she wasn’t telling him, so he’d be neighborly, but that was it. Lies were a deal-breaker.
She huffed.
“You know what? I’m on vacation so I can eat what I want. I’ll come for dinner.” She walked him to the door, a faraway look in her eyes.
7
Will had the night off so Dalton was cooking along with his new cook, Jill, Will’s cousin. Cooking ran in the family.
“Everything okay, boss?”
Dalton looked up at his new chef. “What?”
She added a handful of spices to the stew and stirred the pot.
“You keep looking at your watch.”
Jill put a hand on her hip.
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with that pretty brunette I’ve been seeing around town, would it?”
“What brunette?”
Jill pointed the wooden spoon at him, scowling.
“You know who I mean, the one who lives next door to you? Everyone’s been talking about her. I ran into her at Stacks, she’s really sweet.”
Dalton scowled.
“Times like this, I despise living in a small town. Isn’t there anything interesting going on in the world?”
He grumbled under his breath about nosy Nellies.
A sparkle in her eye, Jill shrugged.
“Whatever you say, but I heard Jackson down at the marina asking about her. Wondering if she was single.”
The lid to the pot clattered to the floor.
“She is not available.”
“Oh, really? That’s not what I heard.”
Jill tied a scarf around her hair.
He couldn’t help himself.
“What did you hear?”
Jill looked out the round window set into the wooden swinging doors.
“You better get out there and find out yourself. Looks like Jackson is talking to her right now.”
Dalton pushed past her, calling over his shoulder.
“The kitchen’s all yours.”
He smoothed his hands on his jeans as he strode through the pub to the table in the corner by the fireplace, scowling at Jackson as he passed him.
Jackson grinned.
“Where’s the fire, Dalton?”
He frowned, ignoring Jackson as he made his way to her, nodding to the few folks grabbing a late dinner.
“You made it.”
Christy smiled at him, her eyes as blue as a summer sky. She’d tied a floral scarf around her head, the ends trailing over her shoulder. Dressed in black leggings and a thick sweater, she looked like she belonged here in Magnolia Beach. A local out for a relaxing evening.
“No one’s ever cooked for me before.”
She wrapped her hands around the stoneware mugs he had commissioned from a potter in Seagrove.
“This tea hits the spot. The wind off the water chills me right through to the bone.”
Dalton rested a hand on the back of the wooden chair.
“It will warm up a bit in the next few days.”
Maybe he’d been too hasty in his judgment of her.
“Do you want a menu?”
“Surprise me.”
It was the best thing she could have said to him. His face brightened.
“Relax and enjoy the fire while I cook us dinner.”
Dalton paused, “that is, if you want me to join you?” He nodded to her book, “or maybe you’d prefer to be alone?”
Christy put the book in the Stacks tote bag she’d purchased.
“I was hoping you’d join me. I don’t like eating alone.”
Dalton ignored Jill as he pushed through the doors to the kitchen, deciding what to make her for dinner.
He ignored the pointed throat clearing.
He ignored the humming and the silly songs.
Until finally he’d had enough. He finished plating their dinners and turned.
“What?” He growled at his chef.
Jill blinked innocently at him.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been humming. Wedding songs. Kissing songs. Mushy stuff.”
He spooned homemade strawberry jam from the past summer into small ceramic bowls. Seagrove potters made all the dishes. It was more expensive than buying plain white dishes in bulk, but so worth it.
“Have I?” Jill grinned at him.
Dalton ignored her and finished putting the finishing touches on the plates. He wanted everything to be perfect.
Guests always asked about the dishes, so much so that Dalton added the website of the potter to the bottom of the menu and offered the signature What Ales You mug for sale by the register.
They were oversized, glazed in shades of blues and greens and grays, like the ocean. The potter stamped the name of the pub into the clay. Dalton sold tons of them every season. With that thought, he turned to Jill, plates in his hands.
“Would you mind wrapping up one of the blue mugs for Christy?”
“I’d be happy to.” Jill checked the stew.
“She’s a good person, Dalton. Give her a chance.”
He thought about what Jill said as he brought the plates to the table.
When he set them down and sat next to her, Christy had a funny look on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It smells absolutely amazing.”
She stared at the plate of bacon, eggs, biscuits, and the homemade jam.
“Breakfast for dinner is one of my favorite meals. The food and jam is all locally sourced.”
She inhaled.
“I haven’t had bacon…”
He put his fork down. Had he made a mistake?
“Shoot. I should have asked. Are you a vegetarian?” But he could have sworn he’d seen her eating fried chicken at Stacks.
Dalton rested his forearms on the table. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt to cook.
Christy looked at him, the odd look on her face as if she wanted to tell him something but wasn’t sure how.
“No, I’m not a vegetarian. I… was on a strict diet.”
She slowly bit into a piece of bacon. Her face changed, a look of astonishment crossing her face.
“What?” She wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin.
Something was off.
“You act like you’ve never had bacon before.”
“I haven’t.” She finished the piece of bacon, smacking her lips.
“I’m usually on a diet.”
Now it made sense. Dalton sat back in the chair.
“Oh.”
He took a sip of tea.
“Oh, what?” She frowned at him.
“You’re one of those women.”
“What women?”
He sighed. Wrong again. When would he quit trusting his gut? It was always wrong. He was the king of picking wrong women.
“Self-absorbed. Worried what everyone thinks about you. Way too skinny.”
“I like time to myself, sometimes that comes across as standoffish or self-absorbed.”
“Understood.” He pointed at her plate.
“You’re at the beach. Relax. Be yourself. Live a little.”
She looked at her plate as she scooped up a small forkful of eggs.
“I’m trying.”
“It looks like you hacked at your hair with a knife.”
Great. Did he just say that out loud? By the frown on her face, Dalton guessed he had. He wanted to take it back, but
it was too late. Once you let go of words, they were free to fly, skewering everyone in sight.
Instead of yelling at him or telling him what a jerk he was, Christy pressed her lips together.
She cut her biscuit in half, put the egg and bacon on it, then spread jam on the other biscuit. She shook out her napkin, wrapped both biscuits in the napkin and pushed away from the table.
“You don’t have to be rude. I know you don’t like me.”
She picked up her tote bag.
“Thank you for dinner. I’ll stay out of your way from now on.”
And with that, she walked out of the pub and out of his life.
As he sat there, feeling like the biggest, meanest jerk in the world, someone smacked him on the back of his head.
“Ow.”
“Dalton James. I cannot believe how rude you were. Go after her and apologize.”
Jill scowled at him.
Dalton kicked the chair Christy vacated.
“I don’t know what it is, she brings out worst in me.”
He scrubbed his hands through his hair, staring into the fire.
“She’s annoying. Do you know she never reads the menu, just orders whatever she wants and expects it to happen.”
Jill arched a brow.
“Really?”
“Really what?” Women made no sense. None at all.
“You know nothing, Dalton James.”
“What?”
Jill blew out a breath. “She’s beautiful and kind in that fresh-faced, Snow White way. You think because she’s beautiful that she’ll break your heart so you’re rude to her, hoping to push her away. It’s so much easier than taking another chance.”
He scoffed.
But Jill wanted her say, stubborn woman.
“Think about it. From what I’ve heard and seen, she’s really nice. Alice will have your head if you don’t knock it off. Quit being so awful to her and get over yourself. Mackenzie was one woman. One. And you’re giving her the power to ruin the rest of your life.”
Jill picked up Christy’s abandoned plate.
“Think about it.”
She snatched the last piece of bacon off his plate.
“You can thank me later.”
Dalton sat there, staring into the flames.
Everyone liked her. Couldn’t they see how spoiled she was, how she expected everyone to do everything for her? She always put her phone on speaker, even dictating her texts. It drove him crazy.