Sand dollar lane, p.17
Sand Dollar Lane, page 17
So how was Lucy the villain here? Since when was she Maleficent? Brody Green wasn’t exactly Prince Charming.
“Can’t you guys work something out?” Hannah pleaded. “I mean, come on, Mom. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
“Of course, I want you to be happy,” Lucy said, trying not to smother under the truckload of guilt her daughter had just dumped on her.
“Well, then can’t you quit feuding with Mr. Green?”
Hannah made it sound like the situation with Brody Green was all Lucy’s fault. Well, it wasn’t.
“Honey, that’s a two-way street,” she said.
“Maybe if you start down it one way, he’ll come down it the other.”
The suggestion sounded so logical, so easy.
So adult and mature.
But they were talking about Brody Green. Lucy wished her daughter would stop looking at her so earnestly.
She also wished she had more faith in building an amicable working relationship with the man. She’d always considered herself a woman who possessed excellent people skills but they went missing when she had to deal with him. Maybe she didn’t have as excellent a set of skills as she’d always thought.
Or maybe—here was a dreadful possibility—she’d changed. Before what had happened with Evan, she’d been positive and happy. And trusting. More tolerant of people’s faults. Easy to work with. Maybe she wasn’t so much so now. It was a terrible reality to consider having to embrace. If it was a reality.
“I’ll try,” she said.
“Thank you!” Hannah beamed at her and hugged her.
“But remember, I’m only half of the equation.”
“The good half,” Hannah said, and kissed her cheek.
She bounced out of the room, happy and bubbly once more, bequeathing her misery to Lucy.
The misery continued for the rest of the evening and on into Lucy’s dreams. She found herself hurrying to a small wedding chapel on the beach, all dressed up in the black flowing robes and creepy horned hat of Disney’s Maleficent. From inside came the strains of Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.” She picked up her pace and ran to the door.
Once she pulled it open, she could see past the foyer and into the sanctuary, which was packed with guests. Up at the front stood Declan, with his father at his side. Both men were dressed like Prince Charming. And there, waiting to march down the aisle, stood Hannah, beautiful in a wedding gown trimmed with seed pearls, her arm slipped through the crook of her father’s arm. Evan was wearing a purple robe and a crown. A crown he didn’t deserve!
Hannah turned and glared at Lucy. “What are you doing here?”
“I came for the wedding,” she replied. “My invitation must have gotten lost.”
“You weren’t invited,” Hannah said. “Nobody wants you here. You’ll only start trouble.”
A big man who looked a lot like Carl the builder came lumbering up. He was dressed in a tuxedo and carrying a pail of water. “You need to go,” he growled.
“No, it’s my daughter’s wedding.”
Hannah turned her back on Lucy. “Get her out of here.”
“Okay,” said Carl and tossed the water on Lucy, who immediately began to shrink and cry, “I’m melting.”
Wait, that was the witch in The Wizard of Oz. “I’m not a witch,” she cried. “I’m not a witch!”
She woke up with the words still on her lips. Oh, Lord, had she really turned into a witch?
The thought wasn’t a pleasant one and it was hard to shake. She tried to move through her workday as if nothing were bothering her. She showed a house and closed a deal—all in a day’s work for Lucy Holmes, real estate broker extraordinaire. She should have been ecstatic. Instead, she felt grumpy and her smiles were forced.
Come Friday she proved to herself that she wasn’t a witch by stopping by Sunbaked and buying chocolate chip cookies to take to the gathering at Jenna Waters’s house and extra for her neighbors.
Mr. Sullivan was delighted when she knocked on his door that afternoon. “Thank you, Lucy. You’re a good neighbor.”
Yes, she was, which surely let her off the hook for being an evil witch.
“These look great,” Bonnie said when Lucy next delivered a plate to her. “I just made some lemonade. Want to come in for a minute?”
Lucy was all about getting to know her neighbors, and she loved checking out people’s houses. “Sure,” she said, and followed Bonnie inside.
Her house had a friendly vibe, with comfortable-looking furniture—a light green microfiber couch and matching loveseat. A two-tiered rustic barnwood-finished coffee table held a glass bowl filled with seashells. A framed photo hanging on the wall over a fireplace with an insert immediately drew Lucy’s eye. Lucy recognized the beach. It was the one at the end of town down by the pier. The forefront showed a close up of beach grass. Beyond it lay a stretch of sand with one lone log on it. Beyond it was sparkling blue water, and on that water, gently blurred by distance, some sort of giant tanker sat under blue sky and clouds. It could have been for sale in an art gallery.
“Did you take this?” Lucy asked.
“I did. Photography’s a hobby of mine.”
“It’s fabulous.”
“Thanks. Make yourself at home. I’ll get the lemonade.”
The house had an open-concept floor plan, and Lucy settled into the loveseat and watched as Bonnie went to work in the kitchen, pouring their drinks from a glass pitcher. The kitchen had older cabinets and a Formica counter top, but, with the exception of a glass fish on the eating bar, it was free of clutter.
She brought Lucy a glass, saying, “I think we need to sample those cookies right now.”
She picked up the paper plate from the coffee table where she’d set it and held it out to Lucy, who shook her head and said, “I already sampled one.”
“When it comes to cookies, one is never enough,” Bonnie said.
Slender as she was, she could afford more than one.
She picked up a cookie, took a bite, then groaned and looked heavenward. “This is to die for.”
“Wish I could take credit for it, but I got them at the bakery. I am looking forward to doing some baking once my kitchen is done.”
“I’m not much of a baker,” Bonnie confessed.
Lucy pointed to the guitar propped on a stand and leaning against a wall. “You obviously have other talents.”
“I think I’d call that more an addiction than a talent.” Bonnie shook her head. “If I’d just gotten a normal job back when I was a sweet young thing, I’d have a fat IRA by now.”
“But to have a band. That just sounds so cool. Anyway, there’s more to life than money,” Lucy said. “You can have all the money in the world and not be happy.” Money sure hadn’t saved her marriage.
“You’re right,” Bonnie agreed. “There’s more to life. But it’s nice to be able to pay the bills, and that’s always a scramble for a musician. I’m just glad my gram deeded me this place. Between that and what I make with the band and the small royalty checks, it may not always keep the wolf from the door but it at least stops him from blowing it down.”
“Royalty checks?”
“I had a couple of cuts on CDs. No huge hits, but I still get a little money.”
“So you’re a songwriter,” Lucy said in awe.
“Starving musician would be more accurate,” Bonnie said, then asked how Lucy was settling in to Moonlight Harbor.
Lucy would have loved to know more about the songwriting thing. Had Bonnie lived in Nashville? What were the songs? The subject was obviously closed, so she moved on to chatting about the town and how much she was enjoying settling in.
“I’m having an open house at the office on Sunday. I hope you’ll stop by,” she finished.
“Even if I’m not planning on moving or buying a house?”
“Even if you’re not planning on moving or buying a house,” Lucy assured her.
“Sure. That would be fun. And by the way, if you’ve got nothing to do, our band is playing at The Drunken Sailor on Friday and Saturday nights all summer. Come hear us.”
“I’ll have to do that. What do you play?”
“A variety. A lot of country and rock—’80s and a few oldies from the ’50s and ’60s. Mostly stuff people can dance to. They’ve got a great dance floor there.”
“It sounds fun,” Lucy said, and wished she had someone to go dancing with.
She stayed a few more minutes, then downed the last of her lemonade and left. She felt less grumpy after her cookie delivery, but grumpiness was replaced with wistfulness. It would be nice to have someone to dance with, to enjoy a meal with, to make love with.
After what she’d gone through with Evan, it would be hard to trust a man. And here in Moonlight Harbor, she was beginning to suspect it would be hard to find a man. Period. Too bad Frances Sullivan was so old. Other than him, she hadn’t met any single men.
Except Brody Green.
Who, if her subconscious was right, brought out the wicked witch in her.
That evening she couldn’t help feeling a little jealous as Tyrella Lamb showed off her engagement ring. “He’s moving down here. Can you believe it?” she gushed.
“Absolutely,” said Nora Singleton. “You’re worth it.”
“But what about his church?” Jenna asked.
“His son’s going to step into his shoes and he’ll help out Pastor Paul down here. And he’ll help me run the hardware store. Hallelujah! That store is aging me before my time.”
“Are you aging?” teased Cindy Redmond. Cindy herself didn’t look all that old, with her round baby face and that smattering of freckles.
Tyrella rolled her eyes. “Girlfriend, just ‘cause it don’t show doesn’t mean it’s not happening. He says he’s always wanted to live at the beach,” she finished with a smile.
“I’m so glad for you,” Jenna said. “It makes all the difference when you find the right person.”
It made a difference when the right person turned out to be the wrong person, too. It was hard for Lucy to keep her own smile in place. Where had she and Evan gone wrong?
“How are you settling in, Lucy?” Jenna asked after the excitement over Tyrella’s news had died down.
“Fine,” Lucy said. “I’m excited to fix up my house and the business is going well. I hope you’ll all come to our Dream Homes Realty open house on Sunday afternoon,” she said to the group.
“If you’re serving these cookies, I’ll be there,” Courtney said, holding up one.
“You can’t have an open house without goodies,” Lucy said. She turned to Annie. “I suppose it’s too late to ask you to do up some appetizer platters for me.” Annie’s food truck was open for the tourist season and she’d been talking earlier about how busy she was.
“I think I could manage something,” she said, and gave Lucy her phone number so they could talk.
“I hope you’re managing to get some business,” said Cindy. “Brody pretty much has the market sewed up here.”
He’s dropping some stitches now. Hehe.
Okay, she should just give in to her inner Maleficent.
Except how would her daughter feel about that? Not good, of course. Oh, she was bad. She could feel Jenna studying her and tried for an insouciant expression.
But as some of the women drifted back to the refreshment table, she found herself confiding in her new friend. “My daughter’s dating his son. It’s a little awkward.”
“I can imagine,” Jenna said.
“Hannah’s sure I’m going to ruin her future if I don’t...” How to finish this sentence? Play nice. Get over my irritation with Brody Green.
“You are business rivals. That can be awkward,” Jenna said diplomatically.
“More like mortal enemies.” Oh, no. Had she really just said that? Her face burst into flames.
Jenna chuckled.
Lucy shrugged. The truth was out now. “I guess you could say we’ve got a bit of a turf war going. That makes it hard for the kids. Frankly, I’m not sure how to handle this.”
“I guess you’ll have to start peace negotiations.”
Yuck.
“Brody really is a good guy,” Jenna said.
Maybe when he’s asleep.
This last thought launched an instant round of word association. Sleep. Bed. Sex. Sex with Brody Green.
Do not go there, Lucy instructed herself.
Too late, she’d gone.
Darn the man. He was like ants at a picnic, crawling all over every aspect of her life. He needed to be dealt with.
But how?
“He’s done a lot of good things for many of us,” Jenna added, and Lucy remembered the testimonials of how he’d helped some of the women in that very group of friends.
Brody Green had a good side. If she could find it, then maybe they could manage to coexist in Moonlight Harbor. There was only one way to find that good side and that was to look for it. She knew what she had to do.
* * *
On Saturday morning Lucy went to Beach Dreams Realty bearing banana poppy seed muffins from Sunbaked. The woman manning the reception desk gave her a polite smile. But when she said her name, the smile dissolved, and the other woman in the office seated at a nearby desk looked at her as if she were that Wicked Witch of the West. Grab your broomstick and scram.
I’m not the witch. I’m Dorothy. Lucy forced her lips to stay up. “I’m looking for Brody Green. Is he in?”
“He just went on a coffee run,” the receptionist said, polite but frosty. “He should be back soon if you’d like to wait.” The look in her eyes said, Do that at your own risk.
“I assume he went to Beans and Books?” Lucy asked, and the receptionist nodded. “I’ll find him, then. Meanwhile, I hope you ladies will enjoy a little something from the bakery.”
If they did, they’d obviously both rather choke than admit it. Lucy received a reluctant thank-you, then scrammed before they could throw one of the muffins at her.
She floored it to the coffee shop, preferring to risk a speeding ticket to having to go back into Brody’s office. Fortunately, she found his convertible still in the parking lot. She could see him through the plate glass window, leaning on the counter, chatting with Rita Rutledge, the owner, while her barista made coffee drinks. More like flirting, likely. Brody Green probably had every single woman in town besotted with him.
Lucy started for the door, then backed away, deciding she preferred to converse with him without witnesses. Her heart was beginning to play jump rope as she leaned against his car, opting for a casual pose. How was this going to work? How should she start negotiations? As a humble supplicant? Tease? District attorney offering a deal?
Jenna had insisted Brody was a nice man, but so far in their dealings Lucy hadn’t seen it. She hadn’t been nice herself, either. This was not going to go well, she just knew it. The last thing he would want to see when he walked out of the coffee shop was her in her white skirt and red-checked blouse.
The blouse was V-necked with a ruffle and a flounced sleeve and she’d thought she looked pretty cute in it. Until that moment. Suddenly, she wondered if she didn’t look more like a throwback to the ’50s—an over-the-hill model trying to sell a new car. This was a bad idea.
She could see him in there, yakking away. He must have said something funny because Rita laughed and shook her head at him. Brody Green was everyone’s darling.
Except hers. The man was insecure with strong jerk tendencies. She should leave. This was pointless.
The barista put three to-go cups in a cardboard carrier and he picked it up and left, smiling. Of course, he was smiling. Every woman in Moonlight Harbor thought he was fabulous.
Lucy was the only one who saw that the emperor had no clothes.
No clothes. Sex. Stop it! She needed to scurry on over to her Ranger and leave.
Except she’d waited too long. He’d shouldered his way out the door and was already starting for his car.
He saw her, hesitated and frowned, then approached slowly. Cautiously. Like he was afraid she’d bite.
She still hadn’t come up with exactly the right approach now that she had no goodies to give him. She winged it, opting for a smile and a slightly playful tone.
“It’s a shame I left my peace offering at your office. They’d have gone well with coffee.”
He moved a step closer to her and she caught a whiff of aftershave. The jump-roping got faster.
He cocked an eyebrow. Brody Green had very expressive eyes. “Peace offering?”
“You can’t open negotiations without one,” she said lightly.
“What are we negotiating?” His answering tone did not match her light one.
“A truce, maybe. Are you free for dinner tonight?”
He looked downright skeptical. “You’re asking me to dinner.”
“I am.”
“No strings attached?”
“None.”
“Not planning on slipping poison in my drink?”
“Not so much as a drop.”
He still looked wary, but he nodded. “All right.”
“The Porthole?” she suggested.
It was the best restaurant in town and the only way to impress him, she was sure. Judging by the way he dressed and the snazzy car he drove, Brody Green was all about appearances and he liked the finer things in life. He wouldn’t stoop to eating at the Seafood Shack.
“All right.”
“Seven o’clock?”
He nodded. “I’ll meet you there.” Then without another word, he got in his car and zoomed away.
Dinner with her archenemy—Lucy hoped her daughter appreciated the sacrifice she was making.
* * *
What had he been thinking agreeing to dinner with Lucy Holmes? He hadn’t been thinking, of course. He was like some dumb fly sucked into a spider web by the electrical charge of its own flapping wings. His maleness was the equivalent of those wings on an insect, flapping away, his hormones buzzing, drawing him ever closer to the sticky web that held his doom. Lucy Holmes was trouble, Brody knew it, not only for him as a businessman but for him as a man. She was pretty and ambitious and, he was sure, a natural born heartbreaker. Nothing good could come out of meeting her for dinner.
