Chapter 29
Maybe she’d have to forgo a stop at The Perfect Blend, despite her craving for a caramel latte.
Heaving a sigh, Devyn inched down Main Street, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign someone who owned one of the cars parked along the sidewalk was preparing to depart.
Nada.
Her plan to stop for a quick treat after running errands in Coos Bay might be a bust.
At Bluff Avenue, she hung a right, continued to Dockside Drive, and circled back up Harbor toward Main.
There wasn’t an empty spot in sight.
Sheesh.
It was never this hard to find parking in Hope Harbor, especially in the middle of the week.
But it was the day after Fourth of July, and the town had been awash with tourists the entire holiday weekend. A few must have lingered one more day.
Oh well.
She’d survive without a caffeine fix, even if her restless nights since Friday’s mind-blowing kiss had left her bleary eyed.
At Main Street, she turned right again. One more circuit, and she’d call it a—
Wait.
The couple leaving The Perfect Blend appeared to be heading for a car.
She slowed, pacing them until they stopped at a compact model halfway down the block.
Yes!
She stopped and flipped on her blinker while other vehicles on the same quest lined up behind her.
The twosome took their sweet time getting in, buckling up, maybe checking their phones, but she wasn’t budging, even if the delay ticked off the drivers to her rear.
When the car at last pulled out, she took a steadying breath. Tightened her grip on the wheel. Parallel parking was no small challenge for someone who rarely drove and had only learned the maneuver well enough to squeak by on her driving test years ago.
It took three tries and a major case of sweaty palms, but at last she managed to wedge the car into the less-than-generous spot.
Whew.
As the waiting cars passed by, she kept her face averted in case there were any unhappy campers in the group, zooming in on the large “For Lease” sign in the window of the hardware store beside her.
That was new.
Apparently there were still no takers on the space.
A space with potential to be a ballet studio.
She mashed her lips together, trying to quash the idea she’d relegated to a dark corner of her mind after her last visit to the shop.
That whole notion was crazy. She was at the peak of her career, with plans to dance at least a few more seasons before moving on to the post-performing phase of her life.
Or that had been her intention, anyway.
Until she’d come back home and reconnected with her sister.
Become part of the community with her volunteer efforts for the show.
Discovered what a gift it was to have time to breathe.
Realized how much of her personal life she’d sacrificed thanks to the rigorous demands of her career and the lifestyle it required.
Meeting Aaron had only exacerbated the problem.
She uncurled her fingers from around the wheel and tucked her hair behind her ear.
Like it or not, once seeds of discontent were sown, they tended to send down roots and sprout. Make you second-guess things you’d never questioned—and want things you hadn’t realized you’d been yearning for at a deep, elemental level.
Things like personal connections. Family. Friends.
Love.
A car in the passing parade beside her stopped, as if the driver was wondering whether she was coming or going, so she picked up her purse and opened the door, shaking her head as she mouthed a “sorry.”
Leaving the Focus behind, she crossed Main Street and set a brisk pace down the sidewalk, trying without much success to calm the turmoil in her mind.
As she approached The Perfect Blend, she read the saying on the sign in front.
Zach had gone for whimsy today, with a nugget from Tolkien.
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate.
Like an empty hardware store that could be a ballet studio?
Rolling her eyes, she marched forward. It was ridiculous to read too much into a sidewalk sign. The fact that the sayings on several of Zach’s daily quotes had been relevant to her current situation was pure coincidence, nothing more.
At the coffee shop door, she stopped and peered through the glass. Hesitated.
The crowd was daunting.
But Zach and his baristas were efficient, and the line usually moved at a fast clip. While snagging an empty table might be tough, she could find a bench outside somewhere if necessary. She hadn’t come this close to a java infusion to walk away empty-handed.
She joined the queue inside, scanning the shop.
No empty tables.
Naturally.
She’d managed to time it right outside with the parking spot, though. Perhaps luck would follow her inside and someone would leave once she had her drink.
Five minutes later, after claiming her latte, she gave the shop one more sweep.
Every table was occupied, and as far as she could tell, no one was getting ready to vacate.
Apparently, her luck had run out.
She started to turn toward the door.
“Devyn!”
At the summons from a familiar voice, she pivoted back to find Charley leaning sideways in his chair and waving at her from a table at the far end of the room. A woman with a long blond ponytail sat facing him, nothing but her back visible.
As she walked toward them, Charley spoke to the solo customer at an adjacent table, then took the second chair at that table and set it next to his.
“Seats are at a premium today.” He remained standing. “Please join us.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You won’t be.” The blond woman smiled as she approached. “Charley and I are just chitchatting. BJ Stevens Nash.” She held out her hand. “And you’re the famous ballet dancer.”
“Only in limited circles.” Devyn returned her firm shake. “I’ve seen you at church. It’s nice to have a name to go with a face.”
“Have a seat.” Charley tapped the chair.
Since all she had on her agenda for this afternoon was her daily workout, she could afford to stay for a chat. And it beat going in search of a vacant bench outside—or drinking her latte in the car while passing drivers looking for an empty parking spot gave her the evil eye.
She slid onto the seat.
“I didn’t realize you two hadn’t met.” Charley retook his chair.
“Since BJ knows about you, let me fill you in on her. She’s an accomplished architect and the owner of the premier design and construction company in the area.
Before that, she worked for an architectural firm in LA.
Hope Harbor was fortunate she chose to make this her home. ”
The other woman grinned at her. “If you ever need a PR rep, Charley’s your man.”
“I don’t do PR. I just tell the truth.” Charley lifted his cup in salute. “Besides, your work speaks for itself. The renovations you did at Edgecliff are amazing.”
“That was a once-in-a-lifetime job.” The woman turned to her again. “Edgecliff is a historic estate outside of town built by a lumber baron more than a century ago. The owner wanted to repurpose it as a museum and special events venue. I was fortunate to get the job.”
“No.” Charley shook his head. “Edgecliff was fortunate to get you.”
“See what I mean?” BJ raised her hands, palms up, then shifted her attention to Charley. “Thank you for the kind words, my friend.”
“They’re well-deserved. Anyone in this area who has a construction or remodeling project would be smart to hire you.” Charley drained his cup. Stood. “My muse is calling, ladies. Enjoy the rest of your beverages.”
He replaced the chair he’d borrowed at the adjacent table with his own, raised a hand in farewell, and sauntered toward the door.
“That man has a way of brightening up your day.” BJ followed his progress, lips tipping up.
“I know. He’s the same as I remember him from when I lived here years ago.” Devyn sipped her drink, mind working at warp speed.
Coincidence . . . serendipity . . . happenstance . . . whatever the reason she was being prodded to think about the out-of-the-blue ballet studio opportunity, maybe she should go with the flow. Asking a potential resource for information wasn’t like making a commitment, after all.
She set her cup down. Wrapped her fingers around it. Checked out the adjacent tables.
All the occupants were engaged in conversation or engrossed in reading material.
Excellent.
Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “May I ask you a professional question—in confidence?”
“Sure.”
“Have you ever built a ballet studio?”
BJ’s eyebrows rose. “That’s not a question I get very often.”
“I have a project in mind. Very early stages. Too early to talk about, really. But as long as our paths crossed today, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions, get a read on the level of expertise available in the area.”
“That sort of work hasn’t come my way since I moved here, but I was the lead architect at my firm in LA on a bid we won to design a large-scale studio and performance space for a modern dance company.
Their emphasis wasn’t classical ballet by any means, but the dancers all had ballet training, and they did do some pointe pieces. ”
That sounded promising.
“Do you remember much about the studio part of the project?”
“A fair amount. I did tons of research before we launched the actual design phase. The client had very specific demands in terms of changing rooms, reception area, and office space, but the studio was their main focus. I remember the flooring was critical. It had to have sufficient bounce to absorb energy, but it also had to be slip-resistant yet easy to glide over. We also put in a floating subfloor. And we soundproofed the three studio rehearsal spaces so adjacent office areas wouldn’t be disturbed. ”
Thorough—and impressive.
“Charley wasn’t exaggerating about your expertise.”
The other woman waved that aside. “Any architect or contractor worth their salt does their homework. I’d have to take a refresher course if a job like that came along again, but I’d be open to tackling it.”
And she’d no doubt do an excellent job. BJ came across as the buttoned-up, conscientious type. Someone who didn’t let any details fall through the cracks.
Exactly the kind of person she’d need if she decided to pursue the idea percolating in her mind that refused to be quashed.
Devyn swallowed the sip of coffee she’d taken. “Do you have a business card with you?”
“Always.” BJ fished one out of the pocket of her worn jeans, handed it over, and drained her cup.
“I hate to desert you, but I’m on a lumber run and only intended to grab a quick coffee until Charley bribed me with a slice of Eleanor Cooper’s fudge cake, which is legendary in these parts.
Don’t leave town without treating yourself to a piece. Zach always has some in the case.”
“I’ll remember that. Thanks for all the information.”
“Good luck on the project.”
“I’ll keep you in the loop if anything comes of it.”
As BJ strode toward the door, pausing to deposit her cup in the trash before she exited, Devyn leaned back. Let out a slow breath.
That had been an interesting meeting.
Providential, almost.
Of course, their impromptu chat had been nothing more than a preliminary discussion.
To pursue a dance studio project, a ton of upfront work would be required.
Financials would have to be run, lease terms reviewed, customer base studied to see if there were enough prospective students in the area to make the venture sustainable. Any of those could be a deal breaker.
Still, there was potential. Perhaps even an opportunity to grasp, or a new road to follow, as the quotes of the day in front of The Perfect Blend had suggested.
A tingle of excitement rippling through her, she picked up her cup. Took another sip of her drink. Grimaced.
Her latte had cooled.
But the idea that had taken root in her mind was beginning to heat up.
Even if it didn’t fit with her five-year plan.