“That’s a great idea. But you’re trying to change the subject from your overbooked schedule. Can you cut back on your hours here, at least? Maybe Abby and Earl can make up the shortfall?”
Gretel had no ability to withstand her sister’s concern. Her whole life, Bethany had been the one person she could rely on, the one person who loved her unconditionally.
“Our arrangement isn’t about cash flow,” she finally said. “They give me room and board and a truck and that’s more than enough. They offered to pay me but I refused. Anyway, as soon as Abby’s healed, she won’t need me as much.”
Bethany opened her mouth to respond, but Nate slung an arm around her shoulders. “It sounds like Gretel has it worked out the way she wants.”
“Yes.” She gave her future brother-in-law a tiny, grateful smile. “Even if they paid me, it wouldn’t be much because they give me room and board. And I need quite a bit of money.”
Bethany’s eyebrows lifted. “For what?”
“I kind of…committed some money to some people.”
“Oh my God. Are you in debt? Do you need a loan? Are there people after you?”
Crap, she’d phrased that wrong and now her sister was panicking.
“No, nothing like that. I don’t owe the money. I donated it. Thinking that I had it, thanks to Daddy. But I didn’t and now the group is in trouble thanks to me. So I need to work as much as I can to make up for it.”
Bethany blinked at her in confusion. “What group?”
“It’s a…butterfly sanctuary in Texas…”
Catching on, Bethany burst out laughing. “Oh boy. It’s all making sense now. The one near Daddy’s development?”
“That’s the one.”
“How much did you pledge?”
“A lot. But it’s not your problem. It’s mine.”
Someone cleared their throat. “Uh, I got a problem. I need a quad shot cappuccino with two pulls of coconut syrup if you’re done blabbing.”
She turned to see Old Crow, one of the weather-beaten fishermen who mostly hung out in the harbor. “Well, look who the halibut dragged in. Shouldn’t you be bugging the poor bartenders at the Olde Salt?”
“Toni told me to broaden my horizons,” he grumbled as he leaned his elbows on the counter. “Besides, their coffeemaker broke.”
“Oh really, is that the story you’re going with?”
He scratched at the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. “Fine. You make a damn good cappuccino. When you stop gossiping.”
She accepted the compliment with a gracious nod and slid over to the espresso machine. “No one in this town gossips more than the fishermen, so you can just eat those words for breakfast along with your quad shot.”
“You know she’s right.” Nate laughed and tugged his hat back over his thatch of brown hair. “Didn’t take her long to figure this place out. Though the firehouse could give the fishermen a run for first place.”
“I’ve heard stitch-and-bitch is a good source too,” added Bethany over the sound of the milk steamer.
“Ooh, I actually got invited to stitch-and-bitch!” Gretel finished the steaming process, added two pumps of coconut syrup to the cappuccino and carefully brought it to Old Crow. “They’re going to teach me how to knit. I already know how to bitch pretty well.”
“Speaking of gossip, did you hear about Ian Finnegan?” Bethany said. “He has a stalker. He warned all of us at the hospital so we can watch out for her.”
“Yikes.” Last fall, Gretel had spent a crazy night with Ian Finnegan, a neurosurgeon friend of Bethany’s. Since there were champagne cocktails involved, she couldn’t remember all the details, but it hadn’t ended in bed. He had confessed that he had an enormous crush on her, but she’d let him down easy and their friendship vibe still felt pretty good. “I hope he’s okay. I’ll call him later.”
Old Crow was staring down at his cappuccino. She’d mixed a bit of the foam with coffee and made a jaunty little crow on the foamy surface. “What the hell is that?”
“Coffee art. You know they have competitions for that.”
He looked up at her, his weathered face set in forbidding lines. “But now I can’t drink it. Don’t want to mess it up.”
She laughed and pulled out her phone to snap a photo of it. “There, now you can drink. Enjoy. Nothing lasts forever, you know.”
Nate, still smiling, took Bethany’s hand. “We’ll get out of your way, Gretel. Good luck with all these degenerates.”
“Oh, I can handle them just fine. They know who’s boss around here.” She winked at Old Crow, who was now sipping his drink with an expression somewhere between crusty and blissful.
The town had a saying—strange things happen around Lost Souls Wilderness. She would extend that to “strange people”—which were her favorite kind.
The rest of her shift flew by. During her downtimes, she scoured Craigslist for used sound systems. She sent off emails to a few potential sellers. Then she made the whole project even more real by posting in the town’s Facebook group that an open mic night would be coming to the Wicked Brew soon. Within a few minutes, six people had responded with excited comments.
Let Danny D try to back out now.
Her mother called while she was filling a large order of coffees to-go for the real estate office on the next block. She tapped out a text telling Aimee she’d call her in a couple of days.
Her mother sent back a long text filled with uppercase words and exclamation points.
In other words, the usual.
After her shift ended, she raced to pick up Abby and Lulu for the baby’s checkup. She actually dozed in the foyer, curled up in a hardback chair, during Lulu’s appointment. Sometimes her small size came in handy.
She came awake with a start when Abby reappeared, covered in smiles. “She’s doing great! She gained three ounces already.”
“Woohoo!” Gretel clapped her hands and jumped to her feet. “That’s great news! On a side note, the last time I celebrated someone gaining weight was with my anorexic bestie in Bali.”
Abby shook her head in amusement. She was a tall, willowy woman who wore her hair in short curls that had never seen hair dye. She found all of Gretel’s stories about her past life endlessly entertaining.
“Hey, I just got a message from Eli. He and the twins are playing over at Zander’s house and we’re invited to come for dinner. Zander picked up some pizzas from the Last Chance. Just so you know, no one in Lost Harbor ever says no to Last Chance pizza.”
“Cool. Great. Pizza. I’m in.” Did she sound funny? As if an unsettling thrill had shot through her at the mention of Zander?
Because it had.
“You sure? I can tell them to come on home. I know you and Zander are…” She trailed off delicately. Gretel had ranted about Zander once, early on, after he’d criticized the way she parked the truck.
“What? Me and Zander are what? I don’t know what you mean. Go ahead and finish your thought.”
“You’re not his biggest fan, that’s all. Though I really think if you got to know him more, you’d appreciate him. There is not a better, more honorable or responsible human being on this planet than Zander Ross.”
Abby handed the baby to Gretel so she could get her coat on. The sleeping bundle settled sweetly into her arms.
“He’s very responsible. He’s also kind of…judgmental.”
“Really, you think so?” Abby shrugged into her coat and pulled on her bright knitted hat. Earl had knitted it for her—how adorable was that?
“It’s probably just me.” Gretel handed the baby back and zipped up her own coat. “Since he has so much material to work with.”
“Oh stop. If I catch him being anything but sweet to you, I’ll hurl used baby wipes at him. You know I would, too.”
Gretel giggled as they headed for the street, where they’d parked next to a snowbank.
Lost Harbor didn’t have a single parking garage. Or a single parking meter. Or a single val
et. It was weird.
But it did have Arctic sunsets the shade of peach bellinis and air like the purest champagne. She drank it in as she drove Abby and the baby up the ridge, each curve revealing a new vision to her dazzled eyes. It was almost enough to give her a buzz—without a drop of alcohol.
Chapter Five
Gretel had never been to Zander’s house before. From the outside, it had the look of a gingerbread house with its steep roof and the smoke curling from the smokestack vent. On the front porch, a lamp hung from an ironwork bracket in the shape of a raven. That wasn’t the only artistic touch; the whole house had a handcrafted feel to it. A jumble of skis was stored under the overhang, along with snowboards, snow shovels, snowshoes, skateboards, bicycles and even an old plastic tricycle.
Inside, it had the same unfinished feel as the Noonans’, with pine board walls and open rafters, though it was much tidier. A wrought-iron spiral staircase led to an upper loft, which was closed off by a hatch. The kitchen and living room were all one big open space. A sturdy worktable occupied the center of the space. It held jars filled with crayons and pens, stacks of schoolbooks, and someone’s science project, which appeared to be bug-related.
All the kids were sitting around the table playing a board game she didn’t recognize. They were completely absorbed and barely noticed Abby and Gretel’s arrival. Groovy joined Niko by the fire and they sniffed each other like old friends.
In the kitchen, they found Zander in the midst of taking pizza out of the oven. He wore jeans and a soft t-shirt, revealing mouthwateringly defined arm muscles and a tattoo she couldn’t make out.
Gretel’s eyes widened as she scanned him, head to toe. She realized that she’d never seen Zander without his outdoor gear on. He was…ripped. Chiseled. Whatever the right word was for a perfectly honed masterpiece of masculinity.
“Smells good,” said Abby, sniffing the steam coming from the pizza. It was lucky she spoke first, because Gretel was having trouble finding her voice. “But I hope you have more of those. My appetite is absurd these days.”
“I got five.” Zander greeted them with a nod. A very impersonal nod—maybe a judgmental one? “I learned my lesson the time I thought me and the boys could split two.”
He gestured toward a stack of plates that sat on the stainless steel counter next to the sink. “Gretel, want to grab those and I’ll bring the pizza? Abby, you just relax and don’t try to carry anything. Earl told me he’d beat my ass if I didn’t stop you from overdoing it.”
Finally Gretel got her wits back. “What do you think my entire job is? The other day I had to tackle her to keep her from reaching for a jar on the top shelf.”
“And then she had to stand on a chair to get it.” Abby smiled at her affectionately. “It was pretty adorable, I’ll be honest.”
From his expression, Zander didn’t do “adorable.”
“Cover your ears, ladies.” He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. “Orders incoming.”
At the table, Jason and Petey jumped to attention and swiveled to listen.
“Jason, put away the game in whatever manner you choose. Petey, grab another chair from my bedroom. Eli, come get some forks and help Gretel with the plates. Littler kids, go wash your hands. Big kids too.”
Incredibly, all the children launched into action and zoomed off to perform their assigned tasks.
Abby’s face wore the same expression that Gretel’s probably did—stunned and disbelieving. “How the heck? You should never have left the Marines, Zander. You should be a damn colonel or something.”
“Discipline is important,” he said seriously. He bent over to pull another pizza from the oven and Gretel tried to keep from staring at his ass. But not too hard—it was such a fine one. It deserved some appreciation. “We ran a drill before dinner to make sure they had it all down.”
“You ran a drill?” Gretel slid a hot pad under the pizza as he set it on the counter. “They’re little kids, not toy soldiers. Kids are supposed to have fun, especially when there’s pizza—”
“I’m kidding.” He grinned, which was such a rare thing for him that Gretel wished she could take a picture. It turned him from a serious grownup into a hottie about her own age. “I bribed them,” he admitted. “I said if they made me look good we could talk about ice cream sundaes for dessert.”
Gretel narrowed her eyes at him. “Bullshit. I’ve never seen you kid. You always say what you mean, which means you totally ran a drill.”
He plopped down the pizza and planted his hands on his hips. “We practiced, but I wouldn’t call it a drill. And I do kid sometimes. Like now.”
Their gazes held in a standoff, which didn’t end until Abby cleared her throat. “Well, whatever you did, bribery or drill or both, it worked like a charm. The dinner table is ready except for those plates. Can you guys relax so we can eat? Is there an order for that?”
“At ease,” said Zander after a moment. “Or stand down.”
“You can’t aim your orders at me,” Gretel told him. “I’m not really good about taking orders.”
“Really? Shocker. Well, suit yourself. You can keep glaring at me if you want or you can come have some pizza.”
“See, I’m so talented that I think I can probably do both.”
He grunted, which she interpreted as a complete victory. Lifting her chin, she took hold of the stack of plates. As she carried them toward the worktable, she heard him say to Abby, “She likes the last word. I already learned that lesson.”
“Don’t make me throw a plate at you,” Gretel warned him. “Because I’d probably miss and hit Abby and Earl would kill us both.”
Zander’s snort of laughter followed her to the table, warming her down to her soul.
Zander had noticed something interesting about Gretel. She had the ability to change the mood of a room—like, completely. Before she’d arrived, the kids had been focused on their game. Even the little ones were caught up in it—or maybe in the thrill of hanging out with the big ones. They’d interrupted the game only long enough to hurry up and complete whatever task he’d asked them to do.
After Gretel arrived, they were suddenly eager to talk. They even competed to share stories with her.
Jason wanted to talk about the practice session he’d attended with the ski team. “We went on an adventure ski out past Faraway Point and I kept up even with the seniors. They said I can definitely make the team.”
Gretel reached across the table and high-fived him. “That’s awesome, dude. I’m in awe of anyone who likes to go fast in the snow. I also think it’s crazy, but hey. You love it, and I’m rooting for you. When can I watch you race?”
“Well, next year. If I make the team.”
“It’s a date. I’m going to mark it down in the giant empty space marked ‘next year.’”
Yeah, Gretel didn’t strike Zander as someone who planned ahead much.
“Gretel, can you dye my hair?” asked Petey.
Zander was still spluttering through a mouthful of 7Up when Gretel answered cheerfully, “Sure, what color? Or colors? If we do foils, I can do more than one.”
“I want more than one,” Petey declared. “At least five.”
“Sounds complicated. Maybe we should start with two.”
“Maybe you should start by asking permission,” Zander told his little brother.
“It’s my hair.”
For a moment, Zander couldn’t think of the right response to that. Petey made a good point; of course it was his hair. “But I’m responsible for you. And that includes your hair.”
Petey aimed a death glare at him. “I can tell everyone that you aren’t responsible.”
“It doesn’t work that way, kid.”
Gretel chimed in—of course. Naturally she would think she had something to say in this situation. “Changing your hair color is a pretty harmless form of self-expression, if you ask me.”
“No one did,” Zander said gruffly.
“I do!” Petey r
aised his hand. “I ask her!”
Abby, who was a pro with his kids, butted in at that point. “One good reason not to use dye on your hair when you’re young is that we’re talking about chemicals that can be pretty toxic.”
“So we’ll use the nontoxic brands, or we can even use something like henna.” Gretel’s face lit up with that magnetic smile of hers. “Problem solved.”
“Gretel, can I talk to you in private for a minute?” He shoved his chair back and stood up.
His brothers oohed as if they were the ones in trouble, but Gretel shrugged and followed him away from the table. The house was so small—almost more of a cabin—that the only place he could guarantee privacy was his bedroom. Even the bathroom wouldn’t do because sound echoed off the tiles his mother had finished installing just before the crash.
He closed the door behind them, while Gretel surveyed his room curiously. The walls were made of rough white pine and a whimsical wrought-iron chandelier hung from the ceiling. Its best feature—aside from the king-size bed and the huge supply room that was now a walk-in closet—was a set of crank windows that opened onto the forest.
“You’re the only boy I know with a chandelier in his bedroom,” she said as she eyed it.
“This room used to be my mother’s studio. She made that chandelier. The boys have my parents’ old bedroom,” he said curtly.
“Your mother made a chandelier?” Her eyes widened and she tilted her head back to stare up at it. The glow from the copper light shades turned her hair to fire.
“She was an artist. And a welder, among other things.”
“Your mother was a welder?”
“Can we get back to the main topic?”
“Oh, sure. What was it again? I thought you just wanted to get me into your bedroom.” She tossed a wink at him, as if throwing candy into a crowd.
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