Chapter 8
8
“Thanks for coming by, Lexie.” Bren walked the Hope Harbor police chief to the door of the cottage.
“Happy to do it.” She scanned her watch. “I was going to stop in at the house, but I’m running late. Would you mind letting Fred know I was here? Adam and I promised Matt we’d both come to his baseball game tonight.”
“I’ll be happy to. It’s never smart to disappoint a ten-year-old.” Bren smiled.
Lexie angled back toward the room. “Welcome to Hope Harbor, Emma. I’m sorry about your car trouble, but I hope you enjoy your visit as much as you can under the circumstances.”
“I am, thanks to Bren.”
“Glad to hear it. See you around, Bren.” With a lift of her hand, Lexie exited and hurried toward the corner of Fred’s house.
As she disappeared around the side, Bren closed the door, pulled out her phone, and faced her houseguest. “Now that you’ve passed the background check with flying colors, should I assume you’re staying?”
“Yes. Unless you’re having second thoughts about inviting me.”
“Nope.” Over the past several hours, the strain in the younger woman’s features had eased—validation that extending a helping hand had been a sound decision. “I’ll ring Fred and let him know.”
She tapped in his number, but when the call rolled to voicemail, she hesitated.
Rather than leave a message, it might be better to deliver the news in person in case he had any questions. And he was home. He’d been watering a pot of geraniums on the back porch five minutes ago.
“Change of plans. I’ll run over to the house and give him the news. After I get back, I’ll pop a pizza in the oven for dinner. It won’t be fancy, but it’ll be filling.”
“You don’t have to feed me. If you’ll point me to a local market, I’ll stock up on food for while I’m here.”
Careful, Bren. Her pride ’s already been dinged.
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we share a pizza tonight, and if you end up staying more than a night or two, you can go with me on my next grocery run and pick up part of the tab. Deal?”
Emma chewed on her lower lip. “That doesn’t seem adequate. I wish I could treat you to dinner at a restaurant.”
“I like eating at home—with an occasional exception for Charley’s tacos. Did you see his stand on the wharf?”
“The white food trailer with the colorful lettering, next to the tiny park?”
“That would be it.”
“I noticed it from a distance, after I got a whiff of his cooking. It smelled divine.”
“It is. Before you head out, we’ll stop in there. You can’t leave Hope Harbor without sampling Charley’s tacos. They’re amazing.” She opened the door again. “I put a set of towels for you on the counter in the bathroom. I also put a luggage rack in the hall, next to the bathroom. And I made space in the closet in the bedroom, if there’s anything you want to hang.”
“I doubt I’ll be here long enough to unpack but thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Any update from Marv while you were out walking?”
“Not yet. He told me at the coffee shop that he may not get to my car until tomorrow morning, and he’s only open half a day on Saturday. So I don’t know if he’ll finish fixing it before he closes.” Her brow pinched.
“No worries. The couch is yours as long as you need it. I’ll be back in less than five minutes.”
She slipped through the door and struck off across the lawn toward the house, no trace of the earlier rain lingering in the air.
But the wet grass provided tangible evidence of the downpour. And after she left the cobblestone path and trekked across the lawn to the back door, her sport shoes absorbed the beads of moisture clinging to the blades.
A change of socks would be in order as soon as she returned to the cottage.
After ascending the steps, she raised her hand to knock—only to spot Noah through the window.
Oops.
Another encounter with Fred’s son today would be one too many.
A phone call would have to—
He turned from the fridge, a soda in hand. Froze when their gazes collided.
Dang.
She couldn’t run off now that he’d spotted her. She’d have to pass on the news to him, if Fred wasn’t available.
And maybe that was more appropriate anyway, since he was the one who’d raised the objection to Emma staying on the property.
After a few beats, he approached the door. Opened it.
He was still wearing the knife-creased slacks and long-sleeved dress shirt he’d sported earlier.
Not exactly chill-out vacation attire by her standards, but hey. To each his own.
“Is your dad around?”
“Yes, but he’s on the phone dealing with a Helping Hands issue. You want me to give him a message?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him Lexie came by. There are no legal skeletons in Emma’s closet. She’s staying until her car is fixed.”
The corners of Noah’s mouth dipped south. “How long will that take?”
“I have no idea. She hasn’t heard from the mechanic yet.”
He set the can on the counter beside him, folded his arms, and studied her like she was a number that didn’t add up on a balance sheet. “How can you be so trusting when the world is full of con artists and people who pretend to be something they’re not in order to get what they want?”
As a wave of bad memories swept over her, she swallowed past the sudden sour taste on her tongue. “Emma isn’t like that.”
Noah’s probing blue eyes narrowed, as if he was seeing more than she’d intended to reveal. “How can you be certain of that? Did she tell you her background?”
“No, but she’s running from something. Escaping. Looking for a fresh start.”
“How can you know that, if she hasn’t shared her history?”
“Instinct. Intuition. Gut feeling.” And seeing in the young woman’s angst all she herself had felt twelve eternal years ago.
“Those aren’t always reliable. Why don’t you ask her some questions?”
“You can’t force people to confide in you before they’re ready. Trust has to be established first.”
“You laid a pretty solid foundation for that by inviting her to stay with you.”
“It was a beginning, but trust isn’t built overnight. She’ll probably be gone long before we get to that stage.”
Faint creases dented his forehead. “What if your instincts are wrong? What if she’s a user? You could get burned—or worse.”
“I’ll take that chance. And why should you care, anyway?”
He blinked, as if the question confused him, but rallied fast. “I care about anything that could potentially have a negative impact on my dad.”
No doubt that was true.
But in the instant before he shuttered his eyes, it was clear he was also concerned about her.
Huh.
That was unexpected.
Even more unexpected?
The sudden spurt of warmth that sent a pleasant glow radiating through her.
All at once, an alarm bell began to ring in her mind.
That sort of reaction was dangerous. Letting herself develop feelings for anyone who was passing through town would be the height of foolishness.
She backed to the top of the steps before responding. “If I pick up the slightest indication that Emma’s stay will have any adverse impact on your dad, I’ll ask her to leave. Satisfied?”
“I guess.” He frowned, his expression hard to read. Agitated, annoyed, angry—who knew? “I’ll let Dad know she’s staying. Have a nice evening.”
With that, he shut the door.
For a long moment, Bren remained where she was while her heart did an odd quickstep. Almost like she was attracted to Mr. Oxford-shirt-wearing CPA.
Which was crazy.
She blew out a breath. Massaged her temple.
It had to be hormones. What else could it be? The man was handsome, after all. Any woman would notice his good looks and toned physique—especially one who hadn’t had much romance in her life in quite a while.
Like none.
But his appeal would fade. She was too smart to let herself get all hot and bothered about a guy with no potential.
She struck off across the lawn again, more moisture seeping through her shoes as she escaped across the wet grass.
Yuck.
At this rate, her socks would be stuck like glue. She’d have to peel them off.
No big deal, though. That was a small inconvenience she could take care of in less than a minute.
Yet as she approached the cottage and glanced back at the house, she had the strangest feeling that whatever had seeped into her heart back there was going to be far harder to get rid of than clingy wet socks.
What had just happened?
From the middle of the kitchen, Noah stared at the back door as Bren’s question scrolled through his mind.
Why should he fret over the possibility that she could get hurt or burned by her attempt to do a good deed?
It didn’t make sense.
Yet despite his glib answer, the truth was the barista from The Perfect Blend had awakened his protective instincts.
And the sudden, subtle softening in her features suggested she’d not only picked up on that but liked it.
Even worse?
He’d liked it too.
Which was stupid and dangerous.
Balling his hands into fists, he began to pace.
Yes, the brief spark that had zipped between them might, under other circumstances, suggest the two of them had potential. But current circumstances weren’t conducive to further exploration. Aside from formidable geographic issues, the two of them had nothing in common.
Bren had purple hair, for crying out loud. Her ears were triple- pierced. She wore loud colors. They were as different as two people could—
“Were you talking to someone a minute ago?” His dad entered the kitchen, phone in hand.
“Yeah.” He stopped pacing. Leaned a hip against the counter. Exhaled. “Bren came by. The police cleared her guest.”
“So her instincts were spot-on.”
“Just because the woman’s record is clean now doesn’t mean it will stay clean.”
“I’m not worried.” His father squinted at him. “You all right?”
Noah wrapped his fingers around the edge of the counter behind him. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Beats me, but you seem kind of tense. Rattled. Why don’t you go for a walk down to the wharf? That’s always relaxing.”
“Aren’t we eating dinner soon?”
“That was the plan, but an issue came up with Helping Hands and we’re having an emergency board meeting. I’m sorry to run out on you.”
“What about dinner?”
“I’ll get takeout from the Myrtle. You may want to pay them a visit too. The meatloaf is delicious. Or you could finish off my leftovers from Frank’s. It’s the best pizza this side of the Rockies. There are also omelet and sandwich fixings in the fridge.”
So much for the heart-to-heart he’d hoped to have with Dad tonight. At this rate, he’d have to schedule an appointment if he wanted to lay out his case for a move.
“I’ll manage. What’s on your schedule tomorrow?”
“A deck-repair project for a family going through a tough stretch. The father lost his job months ago, the wife has medical issues, and they have three young children. The deck’s downright dangerous, from what I hear—especially with little kids running around. We want to get it back in safe, serviceable condition.”
Noah sighed. “Do you have any downtime?”
“Here and there, but I like being busy. As your mom always said, it’s nourishing for the soul to be involved in the community, to make a contribution. Besides, after all the blessings I’ve received, it’s only fair that I give something back.”
As Dad’s words hung in the air between them, a niggle of guilt nipped at his conscience.
He’d been blessed too. And what had he ever given back? Oh, sure, he contributed to a variety of causes. Money, not sweat equity or time, like Dad. He’d certainly never opened his home to a stranger as Bren had.
Maybe, while he was here, he could at least pitch in if someone needed help. Like the family that had hit hard times, with the shaky deck. This was supposed to be vacation, after all. He shouldn’t be putting in long hours on work duties every day. A change of pace would be healthy.
“That’s an admirable attitude. Could you use another pair of hands with the deck project tomorrow?”
His dad’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t expect you to work on vacation.”
“After my run in the morning, it will be either that or number crunching. And I did come out here to see you. Not that I expected to be doing deck repairs, but if it will give us a few hours together, I’ll take it.”
“When you put it that way ... the answer is yes. I do feel bad that I’ve had such limited time to spend with you. If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have booked myself up. But I hate to renege on commitments.”
And it wasn’t fair to ask him to in order to accommodate a son who had shown up for an impromptu, unannounced visit.
“Don’t worry about it, Dad. We’ll catch up.”
“How about Sunday? Other than church, my day is yours.”
“Consider it a date.”
“I’ll look forward to that.” His father ambled over to the back window, moved the curtain aside, and looked toward the cottage. “Speaking of dates ... Bren’s a rare one, isn’t she?”
Noah tried to make sense of that non sequitur. Failed.
“That’s one way to describe her.”
His father pivoted back. “You don’t like her?”
“I didn’t say that. She’s just ... different.” He kept his tone casual as he walked to the fridge and made a pretense of examining the contents. “What do you know about her?”
“In terms of what? Background, character, hobbies, family situation, favorite color ... love life?” At the hint of amusement in his father’s voice, Noah checked on him over his shoulder.
There was a definite twinkle in his irises.
Oh brother. Non sequitur explained.
If his dad was trying to play matchmaker, however, he’d picked the wrong pairing.
Noah closed the fridge and schooled his features into a neutral mask. “Background. I wondered if a similar tough situation in her own history compelled her to reach out to Emma.”
“I have no idea. I mostly know her from the coffee shop, and we have an occasional chat at church over a doughnut at the social hour after the service. But we’ve never delved into heavy topics or personal subject matter. Come to think of it, I don’t think she’s ever offered much about her past. From everything I’ve seen, though, she’s a lovely young woman. I’m surprised she isn’t married.”
Noah shrugged. “Not every guy finds rainbow hair attractive.”
“The rainbow is gone.”
“I noticed.”
“That’s a start.”
Noah folded his arms. “If you mean what I think you mean, no, it isn’t.”
His father ignored that. “If you want me to, I could do some reconnaissance on her for you.”
“No, I do not want you to.” At the sudden lift in his father’s eyebrows, Noah dialed back his intensity. “If I want to know more, I’ll ask her myself.”
“ Do you want to know more?”
He shrugged, striving for nonchalance. “Not necessarily.”
“Uh-huh.” His father moseyed over to the counter, pulled a glass from the cabinet, and stuck it under the water dispenser in the fridge. “I expect she’ll be at church Sunday. If we stick around for doughnuts, you could have a chat with her. Or you could wander out to the cottage and strike up a conversation.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I can think of a few reasons.” His father lifted his glass in salute and grinned.
Okay. Time to nip this in the bud.
“Dad.” He used his sternest demeanor. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“About what?” The exaggerated innocence in his father’s countenance was almost laughable.
“You know what I’m talking about. And to be clear, I’m not in the market for a relationship. Especially here. My career is back in St. Louis.”
“Careers are portable.”
“Not if you’re angling for a partnership.”
“Is that still your goal?”
“Of course. You know that. I charted a path years ago, and I’ve been following it since day one.”
His dad swirled the water in his glass. “Haven’t you ever seen a fork in the road that tempted you to leave the straight and narrow and go exploring?”
The quote on the board in front of The Perfect Blend this morning flashed through his mind even as he shook his head. “No. It would be too easy to end up lost or in a dead end.”
“Or on a mountaintop with a glorious view toward a place you never dreamed of.”
“That sounds romantic in theory. In practice, it’s risky.”
“I suppose it can be. But you know what they say—no risk, no reward.” His father examined the contents of his glass. “I’d wager Bren is a take-the-fork woman. What do you think?”
“I have no idea.”
“My money also puts her in the glass-half-full camp.”
Why did all roads in this conversation lead back to Bren?
“She could be.” He opened the fridge again and extracted the box of leftover pizza. “You sold me on this for dinner. If it’s half as tasty as you say, I may have to pay this place a visit while I’m here.”
“You won’t regret it.” His father drained the glass, pulled his keys from his pocket, and jingled them. “I wonder what Bren and her guest are having for dinner?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“I bet Emma would enjoy a trip to Frank’s for pizza.”
“Maybe Bren will take her.”
“Or you could take them both. Have a night out. Relax. Laugh.”
Was his father kidding?
“I have work to do tonight, Dad.”
“It will be there after dinner. And it would be a thoughtful gesture to buy them a meal. Show them both some support.”
“In case I haven’t made it clear, I don’t support the half-baked idea of taking a stranger in, even if her record is clean.” He set the pizza on a plate and put it in the microwave. “Good luck with your meeting. I’m sorry they bothered you on a Friday night.”
“It’s never a bother to practice the Golden Rule. Enjoy your dinner.”
After setting the empty glass on the counter, his father disappeared into the laundry room. A minute later the door to the attached garage opened. Closed. A car engine turned over. The muffled rumble of the garage door signaled his departure.
Noah jabbed at the microwave buttons as peace descended in the house. Crossed to the window. Pushed aside the curtain.
Surely Dad hadn’t expected him to follow through on his out-of-the-blue suggestion to invite the two women to join him for a pizza excursion. He barely knew Bren, and Emma was a total stranger.
Of course, if he had asked them, he could have used the trip as an opportunity to dig for details about both of their backgrounds.
In all likelihood, however, he wouldn’t have learned much. A one-time pizza outing wasn’t sufficient to create the level of trust Bren claimed was required to elicit secrets or personal information.
Besides, who cared about their backgrounds? Their past, present, and future lives were no concern of his. His evening would be more profitably spent working on an analysis of the latest crisis situation at the office. The more productive he was while on vacation, the more brownie points he’d earn with his boss.
A ping from the microwave summoned him, and he grabbed his lukewarm soda from the counter. Removed his dinner. Set it on the table.
Who needed to go to Frank’s when he had Frank’s pizza right here?
One bite in, his father’s assessment proved accurate. It was stellar pizza despite being left over. The fresh-from-the-oven version would be phenomenal.
A treat the two women in the cottage would no doubt have enjoyed after their stressful day.
But relieving their stress wasn’t his responsibility. If Bren wanted to reach out to someone who was down on her luck, that was fine. He had no such obligation.
And after the weird reaction he’d had to her earlier at the back door, it would be safer to walk a wide circle around her during the remainder of his visit—especially with his matchmaker dad singing the praises of the woman with purple-hued hair every chance he got.