Seabreeze Book Club (Summer Beach 6), page 4
Letting her gaze travel up the wondrous staircase, Ivy saw that some risers had been painted over—as if the artist had discovered a new truth in the pages of a book. What magic awaits all whose footsteps fall here, she thought.
When Paige turned back to her, Ivy introduced herself.
“I’ve heard all about you,” Paige said, her eyes lighting with pleasure. “How fortunate that you’ve found happiness with our Bennett. You’re looking for a book today?”
“Quite a few, actually. My sister and I are starting a book club at the Seabreeze Inn, and we hope you can supply the readers.” Ivy went on to tell her about what she had in mind.
“Why, I’d be honored to help you revive the literary tradition at Las Brisas del Mar,” Paige said, using the original name of the old beach house.
“Was it well known for that?”
“Indeed. For all the arts, of course.”
Ivy smiled at the thought. “I just found a guest book for Amelia Erickson’s literary society.”
“That’s definitely a sign that you must forge ahead with this idea,” Paige said with a vigorous shake of her head. “Amelia’s literary salons were quite famous. She brought in noted authors to speak—which you could do as well. Her library must have been magnificent.” She placed a hand over her heart and sighed at the thought.
Paige’s love for books touched Ivy. “There’s not much left in the way of books, I’m afraid. But perhaps we’ll rebuild.” Ivy gestured to the staircase. “I love your selection of quotes. Who is the artist?”
“My daughter,” Paige said. “She grew up here, and her first attempts were in crayons. Over the years, she became more discerning, both in her art and her philosophy. She teaches at a university in Los Angeles.”
“How nice that she’s still close.” That explained the changing of quotes, Ivy thought. She glanced around. “Your store is so welcoming and charming. I love your use of color. ”
With a wistful expression, Paige took in the shopworn space. “Sometimes I think love and old paint are all that’s holding this place together, but I like to honor the past. We’re kindred spirits like that, I think.” Paige paused and put a finger to her chin. “You haven’t read Jane Austen, have you?”
“I was just discussing her with my niece,” Ivy said. “Actually, I’ve only seen the film.”
Paige nodded knowingly and adjusted her glasses. “I’ll bring a copy of Pride and Prejudice for you. No time like the present to see what you’ve been missing.”
“I don’t know if I have the time to read such a long book.”
Paige’s eyes sparkled. “Perhaps you haven’t been reading books with the right message for you. And, ‘if a book is well written, I always find it too short.’ That’s not mine, that’s Jane Austen, but the sentiment still rings true.”
“Maybe so,” Ivy allowed. “Some in town say you’re a book whisperer. They say you always know the book a person should read.”
A demure smile played on Paige’s bright, lightly lined face. “I’ve simply read a lot of books in my time.”
“But how do you know what kind of book a person needs versus what they think they want?”
“It’s in the eyes, which are the window to their soul, to paraphrase Shakespeare.” Paige’s eyes sparkled—as if she held a secret known only to her. “Let me know when the first book club meeting will be.”
Another customer drew Paige’s attention. Ivy was happy to host the book club, but between guests and family, she hardly had time to read, especially an old book that probably went on and on. She sighed, resolving to skim it, at least.
Why Paige thought she might like Pride and Prejudice was beyond her. After all, she’d seen the movie years ago, though she could hardly remember much of it except for the handsome Mr. Darcy.
3
On the way back to the inn, Ivy decided to take the beach route because she’d missed her morning walk. Poppy was looking after the inn, and Shelly should be there soon, so she wouldn’t be missed. Drinking in the ocean air, she slung the canvas shopper over her shoulder and slipped off her sandals.
With determined steps, she stumbled over the dunes until she reached the damp, sea-smoothed sand near the water’s edge. As she did, Shelly’s words about Bennett rushed through her mind.
Seeking to understand her hesitance with Bennett—though she did not question her love for him—Ivy thought about how she’d come to this point in her life.
Over the last couple of years, she’d traded her life as an anticipatory problem-solver—perfectly laundered shirts for Jeremy, new clothes for Sunny, drama lessons for Misty, nutritious meals for all—for a life where she was responsible for only her well-being.
Not counting guests of the inn. Or Sunny. Or running a business.
On the other hand, maybe she was too busy.
She put the roof over her head—although technically, it had been Jeremy’s earned income. But hadn’t her daily toil been worth something?
Of course, she told herself.
Now, her labor was measured in what a guest would pay for a clean, well-decorated room, a morning meal, and pleasant conversation. She was trading her skills on the open market. And that had bought independence.
She rather liked that feeling.
It was like that first sip of Coca-Cola—all fizzy and sweet and caffeinated. A lot like lust, and even a little like love, except that real love, she thought, deepened into a smooth liqueur of the richest flavor—perhaps the color of Bennett’s golden hazel eyes.
When it wasn’t right, love settled into a feeling akin to tolerance, excuses for the other, and resignation that this was all there was and would ever be. She knew that feeling—and never wanted it again. But with Bennett, the feeling was different from what she had known before.
Was it really?
With each step, she dug her toes deeper into the sand. Water swirled around her ankles as the sea spilled in and swept out again.
Blinking against the bright sunlight that blazed against the glittering sand, she felt a stark realization hit her like a chilly Pacific wave.
While she had loved Jeremy, they had not been in love. The I’ve-got-your-back, in-sickness-and-in-health, first-signs-of-gray, and post-baby-belly kind of love that loves regardless. With Jeremy, she had to maintain her Standards with a capital S. To him, a slight muffin top and gray roots meant she had let herself go in the most egregious manner.
It wasn’t her imagination; he’d told her so.
Now she knew that had been a warning before he settled on a younger model.
So now, the love of a good man who accepted her for who she was—with a frown too deep, a sprinkle of gray, a soft muffin-top around the middle—was heady stuff.
However, that didn’t mean she had to give up her hard-won accomplishments, did it? She loved making her own money and spending it any way she pleased, even though it was usually on paint or repairs for the house. Her budget might not be as large as when she’d been with Jeremy, but it was all hers. She didn’t have to think twice about buying a new pair of sandals, even if she really didn’t need them in orange.
For the first time in her life, she was truly in charge of her life and her decisions. As a young woman, she’d gone from being dependent on her family to being dependent on Jeremy. Now, there was no one to report to, no one to ask for permission. Except for taxes and guests, she had her freedom.
Oh, yes. Heady stuff, indeed.
Her forceful footsteps scared a lone shorebird, who skittered back to the safety of its flock.
Silly bird.
On the other hand, she’d encountered loneliness in Boston after Jeremy’s death. Living in a rented room, her daughters busy with their lives, her friends juggling commitments with family and other married couples as she once had. The best decision she’d ever made, crazy though it seemed to her friends back east, had been to take on the dilapidated old house that Jeremy had never meant for her to have and create a livelihood for herself.
Slowing her step, she wondered if welcoming Bennett fully into her life would mean giving up the personal agency she’d just discovered? Sure, it was all professions of love and moonlight kisses now, but would she end up taking on the responsibility of the care and tending of a full-grown man? Would she be the one in charge of shopping, groceries, laundry, medical appointments, relatives’ birthdays, and so on ad infinitum?
Would his needs eclipse hers?
Bennett didn’t seem like that type now, but she was wary—not of him, necessarily, but of her actions.
It would be too easy to fall into the role of full-on helpmate again—not that that was entirely a bad thing, mind you—but at her age and station in life, she yearned to do more—to live for herself, too. She wanted to paint, tuck money aside for her eventual retirement, take a few pleasure trips, and buy purple shoes if she felt like it. Not that she couldn’t do those things with Bennett.
So why hadn’t she done those things with Jeremy?
Because his needs and those of their children had always come first.
She stooped to pick up an interesting pink shell, broken but still beautiful. That’s how she felt now.
Turning this dilemma and new thoughts over in her mind, she walked on until she finally reached the inn. With a renewed sense of purpose, she kicked sand from her feet and entered the nest of her own making.
Ivy placed the broken shell on the kitchen counter. Cut flowers were in the sink, and Poppy emerged from the butler’s pantry with several small vases.
“I found these for the guest rooms,” Poppy said. “Amelia had so much here. I can’t imagine what their place in San Francisco was like.” As she trimmed the flowers, she asked about the book club.
Ivy eased onto a stool. “There’s a lot of interest. I just spoke to Paige about it, and I told Jen, Darla, and a couple of others about it. Everyone seems interested.”
“Here, too,” Poppy said.
“Who?”
“Gilda and Imani for sure,” Poppy said. “We talked about it over breakfast. Gilda writes book reviews for magazines, so she volunteered to compile a potential reading list. Imani listens to audiobooks at Blossoms when business is slow, so she keeps up on books, too.”
“New or classics?” Ivy asked.
Poppy snipped a rose. “Something beachy would be fun.”
Ivy lifted a corner of her mouth in thought. “Let’s make a list. We can compare notes at the first meeting.”
“Everyone knows lists are your department,” Poppy said. “Besides, I have to babysit the vegetables out there for Shelly.” She nodded toward the rear garden where lettuce, tomatoes, sugar snap peas, and peppers grew.
Ivy shook her head. They all missed Shelly’s help at the inn.
Poppy stuffed flowers in the vases.
Ivy slid from the stool. “I’ll put those in the rooms.”
“Thanks,” Poppy said. “By the way, do we have any more ink for the printer, or should I pick up more in town?”
“I’ve already done that,” Ivy said. “You’ll find an extra cartridge in my shopping bag over there. You must be doing a lot of printing.”
“Not me,” Poppy replied. “It’s for one of our guests, Geena Bellamy. She’s printing a load of legal-looking documents. If she keeps this up, we should charge her. Though I wouldn’t mind if she were at least nice about it.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes. “We’re not a copy center—that’s merely a limited service for guests. I’ll speak to her when I see her.”
After checking in the day’s guests, Ivy and Poppy set up for the late afternoon event in the music room. Celia, a friend who underwrote the music program at the school, brought in a talented young pianist to play, and everyone gathered for a glass of wine or a cup of tea before going out for the evening.
Yet, there was still no sign of Shelly.
Resigned to do without her sister, Ivy plugged in the electric tea kettle while Poppy arranged wine glasses. It was a casual, self-serve affair that guests enjoyed. After setting up, Ivy and Poppy went to the kitchen to make a grocery list for the coming week.
A voice rang out.
“The cookie man has arrived,” Mitch said as he strolled into the kitchen holding a pastry carton that smelled of sweet spices. He looked like he’d just returned from the beach. His spiky blond hair stuck out at all angles, framing a sun-reddened face, and he wore an old T-shirt and flip-flops.
“What are we serving today?” Ivy asked.
He flipped open the lid of the carton. “Oatmeal raisin and s’mores cookies with chocolate and marshmallows and graham crackers—all fresh from the oven. Who wants one?”
“Yes, please,” Poppy said. She reached inside for a s’mores cookie.
“I won’t say no to the oatmeal raisin,” Ivy said. “Although I should.”
“You’ve got to live a little every day,” Mitch said with a quirky grin. “Did my team at Java Beach take good care of you while Shells and I were away?”
“They did,” Ivy replied, selecting a cookie. “I heard you had a good trip.”
“The absolute best.” Youthful exuberance lit his face. “Shelly is amazing, and it’s so cool to have a real family now. Hey, I’m actually related to you and Poppy now.”
Ivy laughed. “By marriage.”
“I’m one lucky guy.” He glanced around. “Where’s Shelly?”
“She’s not here yet,” Ivy said. “I saw her earlier, and I’m a little worried about her. She said she hasn’t been feeling very well.”
“It’s probably a case of Montezuma’s Revenge,” Mitch said, making a face. “Guess I’ve got a stomach of steel. Poor Shells.”
“You’ll let me know if I can do anything for her?”
“Sure. I think she’ll be okay, though.”
Ivy pressed her lips together, refraining from comment. Shelly and Mitch were a couple now, and it was clear they didn’t need Ivy hovering around playing concerned older sister. They were certainly adults and had a new life to embrace.
Or was Shelly taking advantage of that? It wouldn’t be the first time.
Ivy took a bite of the cookie. “These are delicious,” she said, savoring the warm oatmeal and raisins with a hint of cinnamon.
Just then, the back door banged open.
Shelly rushed in with a self-conscious grin on her face. “Late again, right?” She paused to kiss Mitch. “Hi, babes.”
Shelly didn’t look like she was feeling bad. In fact, Ivy thought she looked bright and well rested. “Did you have your nap?”
“I really needed it,” Shelly said. “Except I’ll probably be up half the night again.”
“That’s cool,” Mitch said. “We can meet my friends in the village. They’re playing at Spirits & Vine tonight. It’s hot jazz night.”
“Cool,” Shelly said, darting a glance toward Ivy.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Ivy said evenly. Maybe Shelly had made a miraculous recovery. Still, she resolved to have another talk with Shelly. In private.
Footsteps sounded on the stairway, and Ivy put the grocery list aside. Guests were gathering in the music room, and Bennett would return from City Hall soon. They had a routine, and Shelly knew it as well as anyone.
“I’ll go see to the guests,” Poppy said, glancing between them and quickly making herself scarce.
“Thanks,” Ivy said. “Time to be a host,” she added, casting a look at Shelly as she pushed through the kitchen door.
“Be right there,” Shelly called after her.
Guests might have arrived as strangers in the music room, but Ivy made sure that people met and left as friends. They’d even had one couple who met and began dating at the inn over the holidays. After the gathering, guests filtered out to restaurants in Summer Beach.
Ivy collected the dirty dishes and glassware left behind. Although Shelly had arrived, she’d also disappeared too shortly after the event began. Ivy didn’t know whether her sister was sick or simply disinterested, but she was trying her patience.
If Shelly no longer wanted to work at the inn, they would have to have that conversation. Ivy didn’t want to feel like she had to monitor her—they had been partners before. All in together toward a goal. She missed that.
In the kitchen, Bennett had stationed himself at the sink. “Since you’re short-handed, I’ll whip those dishes out in no time,” he said, filling the sink with sudsy water.
“You’ve noticed, too,” Ivy said.
“Hard not to. But I’m sure Shelly will come around soon.”
Ivy stacked up the dishes. “Wish we had a dishwasher,” she said. The house had never had one. Unfortunately, that was nowhere near the top of Ivy’s lengthy to-do list.
“You’ve got me,” Bennett said, grinning.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Having a partner made all the difference. She picked up a dish towel. “I’ll dry. And I don’t expect you to step into Shelly’s position.” Ivy didn’t like feeling this way about Shelly, but she needed help.
Bennett grabbed one end of the towel and drew her toward him, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Have I told you how much I love you today?”
As he tucked his arms around her, Ivy looped the towel around his neck. “Not since breakfast.” Gazing into his warm hazel eyes almost made her forget about Shelly—and her hesitation about their relationship.
In his embrace, she felt safe and loved—and a little guilty for thinking that might not be enough. Bennett was everything she could want in a man.
But what she wanted was to be certain. No mistakes. Not at her age. Besides, their marriage wasn’t legal yet. Blessed, but not legal. Left hanging—that’s how she felt.
“I’m all yours, sweetheart,” Bennett said, his voice husky with emotion. He covered her hand with his and swept it over his heart. “You have all my love.”
Under her palm, his heart beat with surprising intensity. Ivy splayed her hands against his firm chest. She noticed the way other women looked at him. Single women, guests, tourists—even the new guest, Geena Bellamy—a surly, unpleasant young woman even this evening—had eyed him from across the music room. For the most part, he seemed unaware of the attention. Or maybe he was used to it.
