A Shore Thing (16 page)

“You’ve got me wrong. Completely.” All trace of the smile vanished. Gage hung his head and moved it side to side, exposing waves of sun-streaked hair. With his tanned skin and untamed locks, Gage could pass for a surfer, if surfers wore Dockers and collars, that is. He raised his head. “I would never laugh at you.”

I glanced away, suddenly fascinated with the classic yellow and red bottles at the far edge of our table. My heart pounded and I wanted to send it to bed without its supper. This made no sense.
He
made no sense.

His eyes captured mine and didn’t waver. A golden shadow framed his lips and trailed down his chin. “Let’s just lay it out on the line here, Callie. Can we do that?”

He sounded sincere. My mouth had gone dry. Annoyingly dry. But I managed to croak out, “Sure.” I slid back into the booth.

Gage unhooked his hands and stroked the speckled design of the Formica tabletop with his fingertips. “I feel for you and for this community. Like you, I’ve begun to appreciate the land in question. I’ve spent time on it, watched the sea life, felt the bones of it, if you will.” He sighed and lifted his head. Those eyes again. “It’s a magnificent place.”

My shoulders relaxed. “So you understand.”

“To a point.” Gage sat up straighter. “I’ve got a new business to run and this is, quite frankly, our first big project.”

My forehead lifted. “You’re a new architect?”

Gage shook his head. “No, not at all. I’ve worked under some of the best. I’ve learned what I like, and what I don’t care for in this business, and this is one of the reasons I chose to open my own firm.” He continued to stroke his fingers across the table surface. “I’m a big believer in divine appointments. Something tells me you feel that way too.”

I hesitated. That seemed rather forward, even for him. “I do.”

“That’s exactly how I felt when this project fell into my lap. I have wanted to open my own eco-firm for months, but just needed a push or maybe more like a harsh shove.” A closed mouth smile lit up his face, those eyes. He clasped his hands again. “I wasn’t even sure where to settle. That’s one reason why, when this opportunity arose, I embraced it.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I can see that you are a reasonable person. You know what it’s like to pursue things that are meaningful to you. That newspaper article sure listed a lot of them. For instance, all those children you support . . . did the reporter get that number right?”

I stifled a sigh. Supporting children through Compassion International was a pet cause, but Eliot surprised me when he asked how many and I blurted out the truth: five kids. Even most of my family didn’t know about them. “He did, but I shouldn’t have admitted that to him. It isn’t right to put myself on a pedestal. Anyone would—”

“Do the same thing? Hardly. No, I’d say that shelling out enough to feed and educate five children each month is not something ordinary people do.”

“The Von Trapps did it—and then some.”

Silence, followed by a burst of laughter, flowed from Gage. “You got me there.” He continued to laugh. “Good one.”

As his laughter dissipated, Mimi showed up with an expectant look on her face. I fidgeted with the menu, even though I knew everything listed on it. “Just a cup of your chicken soup tonight.”

Her brows, painted a shade too light, rose and pulled together. “Well, I hope you’re not feeling sick.” She laid the oily back of her hand to my forehead. “Nope, you’re cool as a cuke. And for you, Gage?”

He handed the menu to Mimi without looking at it. “Turkey burger, medium rare, mustard only, and a green chili on top.”

“Some gal just ordered the same thing not more than a couple of days ago. Must be a trend.” She stuffed her notepad into a pocket and jetted to the next table.

Gage peered at me, a remnant of his laughter still warming his face. “Comfort food all around then, eh?”

“Yes, but not in a good way.” I sighed. “Just came back in from a meeting at camp where I work. Collected enough grease from the pizza to fuel my car.”

“Hmm. Not good.”

Silence draped itself over us. And over me, fatigue, the kind that sneaks up on you after adrenaline courses through the body, much like a rushing river does along a mountainous pass, carving new grooves into the earth until it sputters dry. Without thinking, I shut my eyes and dropped my head forward to stretch my neck then rolled my chin all the way around. My eyes popped open to find Gage watching me. “Sorry.”

He waved away my apology. “I’m with you. If Suz hadn’t decorated my house with drop cloths and ordered me to stay away, I too would be asleep by now.” He held up his coffee mug and winked at Mimi who zipped over with a hot pot. He took a fresh sip. “But then again, I can’t complain. I intimated this before, but I received more confirmation that this move was the right one when just after I arrived, my sis and nephew showed up needing a home.”

“May I ask? When we met, Suzanna seemed, I don’t know, distracted maybe? Like she had a lot on her mind but didn’t want to share it. Just a sense I got.”

“You’re right. Things have been rough for her and Jer. I probably should let her be the one to tell you about it; you were the first person in town to reach out to her. Despite our differences, that meant a lot, Callie. A whole lot.”

“Thanks.” His compliment threw me again. Second time today that Gage Mitchell had something surprising to say to me. My stomach churned. Was it hunger for real food, or an emotional stew of conflict brewing in my gut?

“All I’m trying to say here is that I believe God led me here to this job so I could provide the home that my sister and nephew need. I have no doubt in my mind about that. So I’m sorry if you thought I had some kind of trick up my sleeve.” He smiled at me while folding his arms onto the table and leaning toward me. “But being hated just isn’t on my to-do list. If truth be told, the only trick I could be accused of was trying to help you see that I’m not the ogre you think I am.”

“And that maybe when I figured that out, I’d drop the SOS project?”

He shrugged. “Guess that was naiveté on my part, wasn’t it?”

His face held a more rueful look now, although his eyes glimmered. Part of me wanted this whole thing to go away, but it wouldn’t, so neither would I. There was too much at stake for the Kitteridges, the community, even for myself. I shrugged. “Sorry.”

Mimi served me a steaming cup of soup and packet of crackers, and slid Gage’s burger concoction in front of him. “Water?”

We both nodded yes.

“Right up.” She scampered to the kitchen.

Gage picked up a fry. “My offer still stands. Even though you may reject me, I’d still like to give you an insider’s glimpse into what I have in mind for the property.”

I swallowed a spoonful of soup. It tasted bland. “I’m not rejecting you, just your work.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I put down my spoon. “Don’t get all artiste on me. I know all about the reject-my-art-and-you-wound-me theory.”

He bit into his burger, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “So you don’t buy it?”

I shrugged, two palms up. “Whatever floats your boat.”

“My sister might challenge you on that. She’s the true artist in our family, and I’m only beginning to see how much art means to her.”

“Yes. That’s right, the painting.”

“Not just any painting, but freehand art, applied directly to my walls. She made the bathroom a masterpiece in one day with a giant sunburst. Knocked my socks off.”

I smiled. “Really.”

“Well, no, not
really,
but it surprised me. She and I have a lot of years between us—”

“I’ve noticed.”

Gage dropped his burger onto his plate and sat back, eyeing me. “Oh have you now? How subtle of you to say so.”

Nimbly, I took another sip of soup, the second helping better than the first. “Anyone who knows me understands how little I care about age. That was my attempt at humor, but I apparently need work on delivery.”

“Not necessarily. That Von Trapp line was good.”

I glanced at the ceiling before looking back at Gage, unable to hide the glint that had formed in my eyes. “This is true.”

Laughter erupted at our table as Mimi appeared with two glasses of ice water with slices of lemon floating on top. “Dang, I missed the joke.” She winked at me. “Now see what breaking bread together can do for relationships?”

She sped off and I allowed the afterglow of laughter to keep my spirit buoyed. I tried not to think about how the fight ahead might affect the friendship with Gage that, despite my every attempt to avoid, continued to bud. Instead, I searched my mind for some common ground—other than the obvious.

A lightbulb switched on inside my head. “Do you think Suzanna might be interested in doing some painting for me . . . as a job?”

Gage’s right eyebrow arched and he paused, as if considering the idea. “I think she would love that.”

I pulled my gaze away from that highly-arched brow of his. “All this talk about painting has made me long for some fresh color in my cottage, but I just don’t have the time to tackle that. I’d love it if she would consider working for me.” I didn’t tell him that depending on how she did there could result in more work for her at the camp. “Let me give you my number—”

“She has it.”

“Oh. Right.”

A moment passed and Gage raised his glass. “To finally finding something we can agree on.”

I raised my own glass and clinked it with his. “Here, here. To common ground.”

GAGE

ELVIS HAD NOTHING ON him, for as Gage drove the windy road to his quaint home near the shore, the lyrics of “All Shook Up” assailed his mind until he wished he could push a button and force the voice in his head to be silent. His daily thoughts about Callie and her righteous anger and cause-fighting spirit had turned tonight into something altogether new and fresh. Frightening, even.

Part of him welcomed the change. He wasn’t immune to the hope that someday he might find a relationship worth sacrificing everything for, a woman whose body and heart would replace his round-the-clock consumption of work with a passion of another kind. Lack of enthusiasm from either side of the equation, however, would kill a bond in its infancy.

This is what shook him to his middle. Gage fought the stirrings within himself, almost wishing them away. He realized that it would do no good to allow himself to fan the flames of ardor only to have them doused by a gully-washer of a rainstorm. And yet desire had sprung up from some dormant place, and at the moment he was doing nothing to bat it away.

The front porch light welcomed Gage as he turned into the drive. Although the front bedroom was dark, a glow shone from the living room, a sign that Suz’s artistic ambition had yet to wane for the night. Youth. Sometimes he felt much older than his thirty-five years. At the same time, some of Suz’s zest for life had found its way beneath his skin and pumped the equivalent of fresh oxygen into his veins. Worries that may have buried a more cynical man had failed to throw him into despair.

Before he could slip his key into the lock, Suz flung the door wide open. “Hey, you’re home!”

“I am.”

Her hair ribbon had failed in its duties because uncombed strands sprung up every which way. And while an apron may have saved her clothing, finger-width smudges of paint swept across her cheeks, chin, and nose. Her almond eyes peeked from beneath unruly bangs reminding him of Jeremiah after a day at preschool.

She halted and tilted her head to one side. “What’s up with you?”

Gage shut the door behind him. “Nothing much. Tired, but that’s all.”

“Right.” She squinted at him. “You have a goofy look on your face. You got a secret?”

Astute question. If keeping feelings tucked away where they could not do damage meant he had a secret, then he supposed he would have to lie. “C’mon. Show me why you kicked me out of my own house.”

She surveyed him warily but relented and lifted one lovely hand into the air à la Vanna White. “You like?”

His gaze riveted to the room. The giant sunburst that Suz had painted on his bathroom wall had surprised him. If she had told him about it ahead of time, he might have discouraged her and guided her toward a more masculine image. When he saw it, however, he was awed and glad he had not said a thing beforehand.

Now? Similar thoughts ran through his head. “Wow. This is beyond what I imagined.”

“You like it, then?”

“Beyond words.”

Suz had managed to transform his white living room into a warm, elegant sanctuary. The walls no longer appeared flat but uneven, textured, and layered with rich tones. “I’ve seen this technique before, but . . .” He turned to her. “How did you learn to do this? It looks like plaster but it’s—”

“Paint! I know. It’s a Tuscan technique, or at least a method that makes it
look
Italian.” She took a breath; her smile dimmed slightly. “Probably the only other good thing to come out of my marriage.”

“It’s stunning. And the trompe l’oeil?”

“That I learned on six months worth of Saturdays at the rec center. I’m glad you like it because I hadn’t time to sketch it out before putting it up there.”

“Freehand?”

“Of course.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Thanks for all the effort. It’s classic and beautiful.” He paused. “You know, you could make money doing this.”

“What? This?”

He laughed. “Of course you could. It would probably be a lot more fun for you than hanging around my dull office all day.” He didn’t have to tell her that her income would skyrocket with a career change. Any career change. Until the Kitteridge project got completely off the ground and he began finding smaller in-between jobs, money would be tight.

“But don’t you need me?”

Her face sent him back in time. She still could pout like the very little sister. “I’ll always need you, kid, but I’ll make do.”

She thought a moment. “Then I’d like to try. If you really don’t mind.”

“Actually, I’m glad you said so. I mentioned your work to Callie, as a matter-of-fact, and she expressed interest in hiring you.” He deliberately worked to make his voice sound even and nonchalant.