Chapter Five
Rosie
Even after nearly thirty years in Oregon, Rosie still sometimes found it hard to believe she actually lived here in this beautiful
place by the ocean.
It seemed even more unbelievable that she was currently walking in this serene setting with her own beloved granddaughter.
Rosie sighed with contentment while a giggling Olive skipped ahead of her, sunlight glinting on her auburn curls and Dottie’s
leash gripped tightly in her fingers.
Olive and Emma had been in Wood Briar for over a week and Rosie felt as if she had been holding her breath that entire time,
bracing for disaster. She finally was beginning to relax and almost believe they might be able to make this work.
She still weighed every word she said to her daughter, afraid she might say the wrong thing and dredge up all the previous
conflicts between them again. She sensed Emma was being as careful around her. So far, they seemed to be managing together
in the same house better than Rosie had dreamed possible.
This was the payoff. Walking along her favorite beach with Olive on a sunny afternoon in early June while the ocean murmured
beside them.
“Look, Grandma. A crab!” Olive exclaimed, her features lighting up with glee.
Rosie suspected there were thousands of them on the beach, but she wasn’t about to tell this precious child her discovery
wasn’t particularly unique.
“Look at that. You found one. That is a mole crab.”
“It looks like a potato with little squiggly legs.”
“You’re right. That’s exactly what it looks like.”
She didn’t want this moment to end. When her daughter had asked her if she might be available to watch Olive that afternoon
while Emma had a staff meeting, Rosie had been quick to rearrange her schedule, even when her own plate had been full.
As usual, her week had been a hectic one, filled with meetings and jobsite visits. She had barely spent a moment with either
of them and Rosie relished this chance to be still and simply listen to the sound of the gulls, the music of the surf and
her granddaughter’s giggles.
Rosie would be spending all evening with Olive and tucking her into bed later, the most time she had spent with her granddaughter
at a stretch since Emma and Olive moved in.
She hoped the fact that her daughter had asked for her help indicated Emma was beginning to settle in and feel more comfortable.
She suspected her daughter had big plans for making changes at the bookstore, though Emma hadn’t talked much about them to
her. Rosie could only hope she would share her ideas when she was ready.
During the years Sylvia had run the bookstore, Rosie worked hard to step away and not micromanage all the day-to-day operations
of the bookstore she loved. The whole situation felt different now, with Emma at the helm.
“Can we find more crabs?” Olive asked eagerly.
Rosie considered, shifting her gaze to the edge of the beach, where the rocks presented the perfect place for tide pooling,
especially now, at low tide.
How much time had she, Gary and Emma spent at this very same beach, perusing the tide pools for anemones, starfish, crabs?
Their family had passed so many joyful hours on Crescent Beach building sandcastles, hunting for sea creatures, flying kites
in the coastal wind. Rosie regretted that it had been years since she had taken the time to indulge in what had once been
favorite activities.
That she had the chance now to share these moments with her daughter’s child seemed a rare and priceless gift.
She could see two problems right now, though. For one, they didn’t have the right footgear for tide pooling. She and Emma
and Gary always used to wear muck boots to protect their feet and help them walk carefully on the slippery rocks without damaging
the fragile ecosystems.
The second problem was Dottie. Her little dog, placid and easygoing though she was, would frighten the sea creatures.
She solved the second problem by finding a shady spot for Dottie nearby and securing her in place with her leash.
For the footwear issue, they would simply have to make do and stick to the tide pools closest to shore.
She and Olive were kneeling down admiring one of the larger crabs they found when Rosie heard the sound of approaching children.
Apparently someone else had decided this was the perfect time for tide pooling.
Rosie pushed away the twinge of momentary annoyance. Crescent Beach was surely big enough for everyone who wanted to enjoy
it, as long as they did so respectfully.
“Hi! You’re the bookshop lady!”
She turned at the greeting to find Finn Morgan along with a girl who had to be his sister racing toward the rocks wearing
rain boots and floppy hats.
Olive beamed at them. “Hi! My name is Olive.”
“I’m Zara. And this is my brother, Finn,” the girl said.
“We found a crab!” Olive said. “I named him Bob. I think he likes me.”
“I’m sure he does,” Zara answered, giving the preschooler an indulgent smile.
“How do you know if a crab is a boy or a girl?” Finn asked.
“Easy,” Rosie answered with a smile. “You ask it.”
She heard a muffled snort and looked up to see the children’s father approaching them. For some silly reason, Rosie could
feel her heartbeat accelerate. The man was far too gorgeous for his own good, with his lean features, stunning eyes and hint
of afternoon stubble.
“If the crab doesn’t answer,” he said, “there are other ways to figure out whether a crab is male or female.”
“How?” his son asked.
“A crab has what’s called an apron that you can see when you turn it over. A male has a long, narrow apron like the Washington
Monument and a female crab has a wider, shorter apron, more like the Lincoln Memorial.”
“Is that true?” Rosie asked. She had lived in Oregon most of her life and had never heard that. Not that she had spent much
time studying the gender characteristics of crabs, but still.
“I swear.”
“Are you some kind of marine expert?” she asked.
“Nope. Just a guy with too much curiosity and a passionate love of trivia. I bought a book about the local flora and fauna
of this part of Oregon when we were at your bookstore the other day. I read that particular fact in there.”
Olive frowned. “But we can’t pick up the crabs. My grandma said. We’re not supposed to touch the creatures unless a grown-up
is there to help us.”
“Your grandma is absolutely right. About crabs, anyway.”
He said the last part in an undertone and Rosie sent him a sharp look. What did he mean by that?
Her mind immediately went to their previous encounter in the bookstore. She had been worrying ever since that day that he might have overheard what she said to Emma about his books. She truly hoped not.
“How are things going at Stormhaven?” she asked, hoping to change the subject. “I asked Bryce to light a fire under our subs
and I made a few calls myself.”
“Whatever you did must have worked. We’ve seen a lot of progress this week.”
“Oh good. I’m glad they’re moving forward. I’m only sorry I can’t expedite the entire project. Bryce tells me there’s a problem
with some of the materials that your designer ordered. They’ve been delayed because of a shipping problem and are somewhere
stuck on a boat in the Pacific right now.”
“I had hoped all these details would be worked out before we arrived.”
“I’m sorry for all the delays. How is the carriage house apartment working out?”
“It’s tight quarters, only two bedrooms, one bathroom and a kitchen/living area, but we’re making it work. It helps that your
crew has mostly finished my office in the main house. The kids are heading to the first of several summer day camps next week
so I should have more time to focus.”
Before she could answer, his daughter called for his attention. “Is this an urchin, Dad?”
He turned away from Rosie, leaving her feeling an odd mix of relief and disappointment. When he bent to take a look at the
creature in the tide pool, she couldn’t help but notice the gold streaks weaving through his brown hair.
As she watched him interact with his children, a shiver of awareness thrummed through her, taking Rosie completely by surprise.
Where did that come from? Okay, she couldn’t deny Andrew Morgan was an attractive man, with those serious features and blue eyes. But she
wasn’t in the market for any man, attractive or not.
Rosie studiously turned her attention to her granddaughter. Her granddaughter, for heaven’s sake. The fact that she was here with her daughter’s child ought to help her keep her head, no matter how sexy
she found her new neighbor.
Rosie knew she wasn’t exactly ancient. She was only forty-five years old and barely heading into perimenopause, after all.
She hadn’t lived like a nun in the ten years since Gary died. She had dated on and off, usually when friends insisted on setting
her up with a friend of a friend or when she needed a plus-one to some event.
A few years ago, she actually had dated a divorced Lincoln City restaurant owner for nearly six months. On paper, they worked
well together and she had tried hard to fall in love with Jim Rylan. She enjoyed his company and they invariably had fun together,
but that elusive spark never quite materialized, no matter how hard they tried.
Eventually they both decided they were better off as friends. Only a few months after they broke things off, Jim had started
dating one of his neighbors and the two of them had married the previous Christmas.
Rosie was happy for them but had accepted that if she couldn’t fall for a decent, kind, good-looking guy like Jim, maybe she
was destined to spend the rest of her life alone.
She found it grossly unfair that she had only exchanged a few words with Andrew Morgan and wasn’t even sure she liked the
man, yet her traitorous body suddenly decided to wake up and instinctively respond to him.
“I don’t know what kind of creature that is,” he said to his daughter. “I’ll take a picture of it, though, and we can look it up after we get home.”