Chapter 4
FOUR
OLIVER
I wasn’t counting syllables or anything, but I was fairly certain that was the most words he’d spoken all at once since he’d literally blown into my foyer.
His voice was deep and possibly still angry, but I liked hearing him talk, and I really liked looking at him in the dancing firelight.
It highlighted his shape in the drab sweatsuit.
The red in his hair was enhanced by the glow, his eyes finally focused on me with something other than malice.
He’d shouted at me to wait, but then he’d asked about …
“The garden?” I squeaked.
Why would this perfect stranger ask about Gran’s garden?
Could he know how I had let it go since she’d died, all but abandoning it last summer while I struggled to honor the bookings we already had in place?
How could he know? And why on earth did he care?
Gran’s beautiful courtyard was a mess; I barely wanted to admit that, much less talk about it.
I centered myself. The customer is always right, and this customer wanted to know about Gran’s garden. His brow was still very much furrowed.
“I’d apologize for it being buried under two feet of snow and that you won't be able to enjoy it, but I’m afraid it’s not much to see over the winter and …
in a little bit of disrepair. Have you stayed with us before, Mr. Concannon?
Have you seen it in full bloom during the season?
” I racked my brain, but I was fairly sure I’d have remembered if the man before me had been a guest at the Lavender Sea.
“No,” he answered. “Well, yes and no.”
I motioned to the chairs, sending an encouraging nod his way and really hoping he’d explain that contradiction. We sat. He stared at the fire, and I stared at him.
“No.” He said to the fire. “I’ve not stayed at the Lavender Sea before. But my family used to vacation here every summer.”
He pointed up, toward the window. “Next door. But I remember the garden from my visits. I would look at it out the windows from the upper floors.”
Finally, his face relaxed slightly. I wouldn’t label it a smile, but his scowl had softened. He’d gone from handsome to beautiful with the unfurrowing of his brow and the look of interest that replaced the daggers in his eyes as he turned my way. The man appeared to be about my age.
My heart beat as I pictured the garden as he must have seen it when we were young, and I thought about how it looked under the snow that was still falling.
For some strange reason, I didn’t want to disappoint the man.
If he knew the state of Gran’s garden, I feared he would be just that.
Gran would be too, I thought. Except then I remembered how she always supported me and how positive she always was.
The garden will come back, I thought, knowing it was what Gran would have said.
“Whoever designed the garden,” he continued, “must have thought about how it would look from above. It’s a wonderful design. A secret little English garden right here at the beach.”
My smile was genuine if sanguine as I responded. I could hear Gran’s voice, picture her gray hair whipping in the beach breeze: The uglier they make my boardwalk, the more beautiful I will make the Lavender Sea.
“It was a big old fuck you,” I said. Oops, I’d said that out loud. And I was smiling as I said it, memories of Gran talking about the place she loved with such righteous rage.
I looked at my guest, ready to apologize for cursing, or explain, or both. Instead, he spoke.
“I’ve seen old pictures of the Lavender Sea. Even if I hadn’t, the juxtaposition is such … I mean, it’s obvious this classic beach architecture wasn’t always surrounded by those modern monstrosities.”
“That’s exactly what she used to call them.” I felt a tug in my chest over the man’s interest in the Lavender Sea and his disdain for my corporate neighbors.
He faced me more directly. My gaze had wandered to the fire, but I sensed his movement and met his look, moving the book from my lap to the table. His big blue eyes held a question but also caution and concern.
“There was a woman, I remember, from when I used to vacation here. Long gray hair, falling out of a sun hat while she tended the garden. May I ask about her?”
Who was this man, describing my Gran in her garden? Painting the picture of one of my favorite ways to remember her?
“That was my grandmother. Her parents built the Lavender Sea. She never lived anywhere but here, tending to guests and that garden with equal gusto. She passed away about eighteen months ago.”
“I am very sorry for your loss. I had hoped to walk the garden during my visit.”
“Well, if you decide to come back with your family again over the summer, I hope you'll consider staying here instead of next door. I do still have space available some weeks.” I stopped myself from saying “most weeks”. Despite the fact that he was there alone, I pictured him like so many of the Lavender Sea’s guests, with a pretty yet somewhat haggard wife and two cute but demanding kids.
I could see the social media post tagging the B&B, the man with his arm around a bikini-clad woman, the two kids holding pails and shovels, all of them squinting in the sun, their skin pink.
Amateurs, Gran always used to whisper when one of our guests came back burnt. Depending on the severity of the burn, I’d reply with, “Flamingo,” or, “Lobster.”
“Oh, I am here with my family.” The furrow was back for a beat, then all of a sudden his face altered, the scowl gone like he’d flipped a switch.
His eyes danced, and his mouth showed just the slightest smile, barely more than a smirk.
It lit up the room brighter than the fire I had been lost in moments ago. “Only they're staying in West Jannah.”
A thought flashed through my head, or really through my entire body. It was a sensation I had never experienced before. I wanted to kiss that smirk right off his face and not stop until I’d kissed every part of him.
He’s a guest, Oliver!
“You sent your wife and kids to stay in West Jannah?” I blurted, still imagining that picture-perfect family. My eyes went wide, and I popped my hand over my mouth.
He looked confused for a second, but then he smiled in the face of my embarrassment. The look in his eyes let me know that he wasn’t laughing at me. His eyes were dancing once again and could only be described as kind.
My abominable snowman had melted into something much more playful.
He shook his head. “Not married. My sister’s getting married, though. She met her husband in West Jannah, so they decided to have the ceremony there.”
“Oh yeah, the big Valentine’s Day wedding happening at Beach Acre Farm!” He looked surprised.
“You mustn’t be from a small town, Mr. Concannon.
We might be a busy metropolis in the summer, but there’s not much going on in Jannah Beach in the dead of winter.
Your sister’s wedding has been the talk of the town.
Especially among us merchants since it’s proving to be a nice little boost for a lot of people.
I have a friend who’s catering. Another who owns the flower shop.
Oh, and I know the DJ!” He just stared at me. I shrugged. “Small town.”
The fire crackled, but it was the only sound in the room. His stare went on long enough that I felt the need to fill the silence.
“I should have guessed that was why you’re here, but …
you didn’t want to stay with them? The Ocean View is a lovely hotel.
The only thing it’s missing is an ocean view!
” I turned my head in the direction of the crashing waves as I told the joke Gran had repeated numerous times to the owner of the Ocean View.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I love my family. But I’ve always wanted to stay here, and I have this big project I’m working on, so I thought I might have some down time if I didn’t stay with the rest of the wedding party.”
“Oh my God!” I pointed to the computer bag. “You’ve been trying to work, and I’ve interrupted you about a million times. I’m so sorry.”
“To be fair, I wasn’t working that one time you popped in.” Thank God he was smiling.
“No, you were not.” That didn’t sound too thirsty, did it?
“I can leave you to it, just …” I was all set to go hide in the kitchen again.
“Actually, Oliver, it’s been a really long day. I’d appreciate it if you’d show me to my room.”
We stood at the same time, both instinctively turning so that we were face-to-face. He wasn’t covered in snow now, or naked, as the firelight played with his angular features in ways I found mesmerizing.
He bent down to retrieve his bag. I might have been staring as the lost-and-found sweatshirt rode up his back, a small tuft of dark-blond hair filling in the spot.
He straightened up, swinging the strap over one shoulder as he did so, causing the sweatshirt to ride up in the front in turn.
The hair at his happy trail was thicker and darker than that sexy little patch at his back.
He straightened his clothes out while clearing his throat.
I cleared mine as if I was mimicking him. “Let’s get you to your room.” When had my voice gotten that deep?
Oh no, I wasn’t thirsty at all, as evidenced by his eyebrows as they rose to the level of his messy bangs.