Читать книгу Secrets Between Them - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 10

JENNIFER OPENED HER EYES, certain that the announcer on her radio alarm had made a mistake. It couldn’t be quarter to eight. She never slept in.

Morning was the craziest time of Jennifer’s day. She usually prepared as much as she could the night before: setting the table, mixing the dough for muffins or scones, filling the coffeemaker with fresh grounds and water so all she’d need to do was press a button in the morning.

But last night she’d done none of that. She and Nick had talked until past midnight. Since she’d been too tired to deal with her usual late-night chores, she’d set the alarm a little earlier for the next morning.

But somehow she’d slept through it. Jennifer rubbed her eyes, then confirmed the time for herself. Damn. She only had fifteen minutes until she was supposed to serve breakfast to her five guests, plus her father and aunt.

She pulled herself out of her warm, lavender-scented sheets. Winced. Her head ached.

Then she remembered the wine she and Nick had shared last night.

When was the last time she’d had more than one or two glasses? She couldn’t remember.

She grabbed jeans and a fresh T-shirt, then slipped out to the bathroom. Sounds of someone cooking came from the kitchen. Miracle of miracles, her father must be up preparing the breakfast. She washed quickly, then hurried out to help him.

“Good morning, Jennifer.” Her father peered over his bifocals at her, then blinked as if he couldn’t quite focus this early in the morning.

He looked like a crotchety old man with his disheveled gray hair and whiskers bristling on his chin. His lean frame was lost in an oversize sweatshirt and pants that seemed as if they’d fall to the ground given one good tug. But he was definitely her hero this morning.

“Thanks, Dad.” She gave him a kiss, then checked the coffee machine. Good, he’d already switched it on. She pulled out place mats, then set the table. Her father tossed a spoonful of salt into a big bowl of batter. “What’s on the menu?”

“Pancakes with fresh blueberries. I picked ’em this morning.”

“That sounds great.” Jennifer pulled out the blender to make smoothies…one of the B and B specials. She grabbed bananas and strawberries from the freezer and blended them with vanilla yogurt and milk.

The first of the guests came into the kitchen just as she was pouring thick smoothies into tall glasses. Steve and Laura Waterton were looking forward to renting kayaks and heading for the Broken Islands.

As Jennifer answered their questions about the weather forecast, the Tisdale sisters came down.

“How did you sleep?” Jennifer asked as she poured them each a cup of coffee.

“The birds were dreadfully noisy,” Ruth said. “The racket started before dawn.”

“I thought the singing was lovely,” Eileen said. “We have so few songbirds in the city, anymore. Just robins and sparrows, really. The odd chickadee.”

Jennifer wasn’t surprised that they each felt differently about the morning birdsong. The sisters seemed to be direct opposites in everything from looks—Ruth was long and lean with angular features, while Eileen was short and plump and pretty—to temperament.

“I suppose I’ll have to sleep with the window closed tonight.” Ruth slid into the chair with the best view of the gardens.

Eileen, unperturbed by her sister’s grumbling, smiled and took the seat across from her sister.

The final guest appeared then. “Good morning, everyone.”

Nick’s entrance immediately brightened the mood of the room. Jennifer didn’t think she was the only one who felt it. Even Ruth managed a smile and a word of welcome.

He helped himself to coffee, then sat at the one remaining place setting. Jennifer passed around glasses of smoothie and when she reached him, he touched her arm.

“When are you free?” he asked.

She felt the blood shoot up to her face. “I need to clean the kitchen and wash a few loads of laundry.” The Waterton’s room had to be prepared for new guests. “Then I have my morning yoga class. I’m finished around eleven-thirty.”

Most afternoons she gardened. But today, she would make an exception.

“I saw the sign to the yoga studio on my drive from the ferry. Orange-and-blue colored building?”

“That’s the one.”

“How about I pick you up and we go on from there?”

“That would be fine.” Fine? Talk about an under-statement. She couldn’t remember when she’d looked forward to something as much as this. She’d had so much fun talking to him last night. Once they’d gone to their separate rooms, she’d stayed up for hours replaying their conversation. After his awkward question about the forget-me-not song—she always hated when that subject came up—they’d discussed travel. Nick had been to a lot of places. Not overseas, but he’d visited almost every state, as well as much of Mexico and Central America.

She’d drunk in every story, every detail.

“Pancakes are ready,” her father announced, bringing a laden platter to the table.

The pancakes were thinner than usual, with crispy edges. A little concerned, Jennifer went to the stove and sampled one of the pancakes still on the griddle.

She couldn’t tell what was wrong, but it didn’t taste right. She glanced back at the table and watched as Nick lifted a forkful of pancake to his mouth. He chewed, then stopped. A look of mild surprise crossed his face. He reached for his cup of coffee.

“These are different,” Steve Waterton said.

“They certainly are.” Ruth pinched her mouth and set down her fork.

“I did a little improvising today,” her father said proudly, clearly taking the comments as compliments. “Tossed in a few splashes of white wine. What do you think?”

Jennifer’s gaze shot to the spot on the counter where she’d left the bottles after her late night conversation with Nick. There’d been about a third of a bottle left when she went to bed, but now both bottles were empty.

At the table, everyone was silent for a moment. Nick scooped more pancake onto his fork. “Very Parisian,” he pronounced.

“They say you can add white wine to anything,” her father said.

Obviously he’d been watching too many cooking shows.

“That may be true, but I hope you didn’t add any to the coffee.” Ruth picked up her mug and sniffed the steaming liquid suspiciously.

Her father laughed and Jennifer forced herself to join in, though she strongly suspected Ruth had not meant her comment as a joke.

“Eat up,” her father said. “I’ve got plenty more in the kitchen.” He joined her by the griddle, picked up the spatula. “Why don’t you sit down at the counter and eat, too, Jennifer? I’ve got this covered.”

She’d been about to suggest she defrost some muffins she kept in the freezer for emergencies. But she could just imagine how her father’s face would fall if she did that. He was so pleased with himself, with his efforts to save her the trouble of preparing breakfast for once.

His intentions were good. But why, oh why, couldn’t he have followed the recipe that she, and her mother before her, had been using with great success for the past thirty years?

“Thanks, Dad. I’d love some pancakes.”

He carefully flipped three onto a plate and handed it to her. “You work too hard, Jennifer. I should handle breakfast for you more often.”

“…NINE AND TEN,” MOLLY Springfield finished counting, then curled her spine up from the yoga mat and rested her palms on her knees. “That’s it for this morning, everyone. Please take your time coming up from the floor.”

Molly moved to the back of the room where she gradually brightened the lighting and lowered the thermostat to normal room temperature. She toweled off her face and the back of her neck, then slipped a light, hooded jacket over her bright red sports bra.

A few of the participants were rising now. One of the first, as usual, was Jennifer. She had a lithe body and the postures came to her easily. But she tended to approach each session like a workout, rather than the spiritual refresher it was meant to be.

Observing Jennifer roll up her yoga mat quickly and efficiently, Molly reflected that if anyone needed the relaxing, calming effects of yoga, it was Jennifer. She was always rushing, always busy, too thin, too stressed. She ran the family business practically on her own and had to look after not only her elderly father, but now her aunt, as well.

Then there were her volunteer projects.

Jennifer never turned down anyone who asked for a favor. She was so kindhearted. Too kindhearted. A few times now Molly had tried to convince her that she took on too much, but she wouldn’t listen. Still, Jennifer was her best friend on the island and Molly did not intend to give up on her.

A gray-haired grandmother of five smiled up at Molly from the floor. Agnes was still fully reclined on her mat, looking refreshed and relaxed. “That was great, Molly. My hips feel so much better since I started coming here.”

“I’m glad you made it out today, Agnes.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Especially now that all the kiddies are back in school.” Agnes rolled onto her side, then gently eased her body into a sitting position. She’d had surgery three months ago, but you’d never know to look at her now.

Though she’d been the first up from the floor, Jennifer waited until all the others had left before she approached Molly.

“Thanks, I needed that.”

“Can you stay for a cup of tea?”

Jennifer’s cheeks, already rosy, seemed to go hotter. “Not today. Sorry.”

“Errands?”

“Um…” Jennifer fussed with the zipper on her sweatshirt.

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

“No. No.”

Molly followed her friend out of the renovated garage to the garden. Across the street the Kincaid’s beautiful Victorian home was a familiar, benevolent presence. Molly waved at Justine Kincaid who was sitting on the front porch in a rocking chair. It looked like she was nursing six-month-old Erica. The two of them were alone this week, as Harrison had taken his daughter Autumn to Seattle for the week.

Molly focused on Jennifer again. Sometimes a blunt question was the only way to find out what you wanted to know. “So why can’t you stay for tea?”

Jennifer’s gaze shifted to the side. “It’s just that I have this new guest who wants a tour of the island.”

“I hope you’re charging for your services.”

Jennifer looked at her blankly.

“Come on, Jenn. If you’re going to give up an entire afternoon to show this guest around the island, you ought to be properly reimbursed for your time.”

Jennifer was still staring at her as if she were speaking in a foreign language. “I never even thought of charging him.”

Him. Suddenly Molly saw the situation in a new light. “How old is he, Jenn? Is he cute? Is he single?”

As she peppered questions at her friend, Jennifer’s cheeks grew brighter than ever. Molly grinned. This was great. Jennifer was going out with a guy.

And speaking of the guy, this must be him now, driving up in a dilapidated-looking Land Rover. Molly had an indistinct glimpse of a dark-haired man with a lean face. Then he jumped out of the driver’s seat and headed toward them.

“Oh, he is cute, Jenn. Yum. He doesn’t have a friend or a brother, does he?”

“Molly, it isn’t like that,” Jenn insisted. Yet, her color wasn’t settling down as the man approached.

He was dressed in hiking boots, shorts and a light gray T-shirt. As he drew closer, Molly frowned. He reminded her of someone.

As soon as he spoke, she remembered.

“How was the class, Jennifer? I hope you aren’t too tired for our tour?”

Jennifer said something in reply, but Molly didn’t hear her. She backed up until she felt the solid wall of her house behind her. Oh my God, she couldn’t believe this.

Nick Lancaster. This could not be coincidence. How had he managed to track her to Summer Island?

“THE CLASS WAS GREAT, NICK. Molly’s an excellent instructor.” Jennifer looked around and was surprised to realize she was now alone in the front yard.

“Molly?” The front door of the cottage was closed. Maybe Molly didn’t want to be a third wheel…

Jennifer nearly groaned, remembering Molly’s teasing. This wasn’t a date, she’d told her friend, but she wasn’t sure if Molly had believed her.

It isn’t a date, she reminded herself, as Nick moved a little closer. She slipped a hoodie over her tank top, waiting as he checked out Molly’s house.

“Why did your friend run inside like that?”

“I’m not sure. I was hoping to introduce you.”

“Have you known her a long time?”

“About two years. She moved here from Toronto after her mother died.”

“Her mother’s dead?”

“Yes.” Now why would he have asked that? “She has no family at all anymore.”

Nick’s expression grew thoughtful. “Summer Island is a long way from Toronto. Why do you suppose she moved here? Did she know anyone?”

“No, but I’m sure glad she did. She’s become one of my best friends. Hopefully you’ll get a chance to meet her another time.”

“I hope so, too.”

Jennifer glanced back at Molly’s house. It was strange the way she’d disappeared so quickly. But maybe she’d been tired. This had been her third class today.

“So are you ready?” Nick asked.

“Sure.”

On the way to the Rover, Nick caught sight of the Kincaids’ summer home across the street. Justine had been out on the porch earlier, but she and the baby must have gone inside.

“Wow. That’s a nice looking place.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jennifer hesitated. So many visitors came to Summer Island hoping to get a glimpse inside Simone DeRosier’s old summer home that she’d learned to be reticent about pointing it out. But Nick wasn’t just another visitor. “Harrison and Justine Kincaid live there.”

“Harrison Kincaid. Wasn’t he Simone’s husband?”

“Yes.” Jennifer walked around him to the Rover, and after a pause, Nick followed. Once they were both seated, he seemed in no hurry to get moving.

“Didn’t they have a daughter? She would be, what—six or seven?”

“Autumn’s eight now. She’s thrilled about her new sister. Justine had a baby girl this spring.”

“Yes. I’d heard that. You know there’s a rumor going around that Autumn has inherited her mother’s voice.”

Where would he have heard that? Harrison and Justine usually did an excellent job of keeping Harrison’s daughter out of the public eye. Nevertheless, Nick was right. Autumn was tremendously talented. “She’s a natural singer and musician. But Harrison won’t allow her to perform in public. She’s still very young.”

Nick turned back for a final glance at Molly’s house. He seemed about to ask another question, but apparently changed his mind. He started the engine. “So. Where to first?”

Jennifer felt a thrill of anticipation. It was a sunny, warm day, chock-full of possibilities. “I think we should park at Pebble Beach and walk to town. I can fill you in on the island history on the way.”

“Okay. You’re the tour leader.”

Nick smiled at her, and Jennifer felt the effect right down to the tips of her toes. Maybe this wasn’t a date, but she was looking forward to being with Nick. Until it was time to go home and prepare afternoon tea, she was going to pretend she was a young woman without a care in the world.

She directed Nick to Pebble Beach where they parked, then headed straight for the ocean. The beach was strangely deserted for such a fine day. Of course, vacation season was now over and kids were back at school.

As they walked, their shoes crunched on the tiny rocks. “I see why you call this Pebble Beach.”

“We don’t have sandy shorelines on the island. In a way that’s a good thing, because it’s helped keep the tourists away. That, plus the complicated ferry system.”

“I visited Saltspring Island once many years ago. From what I’ve seen so far this island is quite different.”

“We have similar topography and weather, but that’s where it ends. Ask any local—Saltspring is exactly what we don’t want to be.”

“Why not? It’s very popular.”

“Sure. And I like to visit Saltspring, too. In fact, I sell my lavender products through one of the crafts-women there. But Summer Island is just more…real. We aren’t overrun with tourists and artists and back-to-nature types.”

“You don’t like tourists and artists and back-to-nature types?”

His teasing smile gave her that light-headed feeling again. “I don’t have a problem with them. It’s just that they can squeeze out the locals. Most of the people on our island were born here and live here year-round. They’re fishermen and farmers and they don’t want yuppies coming from the city and clogging our little town with specialty coffee shops and upscale hardware stores.”

“So is it an us against them mentality?”

“A little bit,” she admitted.

“What about your friends? Harrison Kincaid lives in Seattle, doesn’t he? And Simone wasn’t a full-time resident, either.”

She laughed. “I don’t make full-time residency a condition for my friendship.” They were on the boardwalk now, the ocean to their right as they headed toward Cedarbrae. How had they ended up talking about her friends again?

She had so many questions to ask him. Last night they’d talked about travels, but nothing personal. She wanted to know everything there was to know about Nick Lancaster. “How long have you been a writer?”

“From the time I could hold a pen in my hand, practically. But I didn’t sell my first book until I was twenty-eight. Since then I’ve been lucky to make a pretty decent living. What about you? I’m assuming you were born and raised here. Did you ever move away for a while?”

“Never.” She couldn’t help sighing as she said this.

“You didn’t go to college or university or anything?”

“I was supposed to. But my mother died the year I graduated high school. I stayed back to help my father adjust…and then he had his stroke. I couldn’t leave then.”

He paused to throw a rock into the ocean. “You never married?”

“No. But once…I came close.” Jennifer didn’t think of her aborted engagement very often. She could hardly picture Barry in her mind, or imagine his voice, or the way it had felt to kiss him.

It was hard to believe she’d once considered linking her life with that of a man who had made such a non-lasting impression. “But that was a long time ago.”

“What about now?” His gaze swept over her. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Please don’t let me blush again. It didn’t mean anything that he was curious. This was the sort of general interest question that people did ask. “No. That’s one drawback about living on a small island. Not many single men, especially by the time you get to your thirties. Molly and I sometimes joke about sending away for mail-order husbands.”

Nick chuckled, and Jennifer waited for him to offer his own romantic history. When he didn’t, she prodded.

“Have you ever been married?”

“Never. Though I came close once, too.”

“Oh?”

“We lived together for a few years. Then she dumped me.”

His smile was self-deprecating and yet so utterly charming that Jennifer felt another twist of her heart. Had he really been dumped? It didn’t seem possible. What woman in her right mind would dump Nick Lancaster? There had to be more to his story, but they’d reached the outskirts of Cedarbrae and Derby’s Diner was before them.

“I’m kind of hungry,” Nick said. “You?”

“Derby’s serves a good lunch. Want to give it a try?”

Nick hesitated a moment, then said, “Actually, I was here for lunch yesterday.”

“Really? So was I.”

“Is that right?” He opened the door for her and they went inside.