Haven Creek (22 page)

“It’s all right, Dad. Just think about your new grandchild.”

“That’s all I’ve been thinking about. I’m hoping Bryce is mature enough to take on a family of his own.”

Nate rested a hand on his father’s shoulder. “If he’s not, then he has time to mature. Stacy seems to be a levelheaded woman, and that means she’ll be good for him.”

Lucas blew out a breath. “You’re right. She convinced him go back to school.”

“They’ll work it out, Dad. Most young couples do.”

Lucas’s light brown eyes were fixed on his firstborn. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.”

“Come on, Dad. You know and I know that it wasn’t going to last. So please stop apologizing.”

“I kind of blame myself because I feel I put the mout on your marriage.” Lucas had slipped into dialect.

“You did nothing of the sort. It was what it was. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to bed.”

“Do you know something?” Lucas asked when Nate turned in the direction of the bedrooms.

He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “What is it?”’

“This will be the first time you slept here since you’ve been back.”

“Yeah, I know.” Nate walked into the bedroom as Odessa walked out. “Good night—or should I say good morning?”

She gave him a tender smile. “Good morning. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Anything.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“Grits, eggs, bacon, or ham. And lots of black coffee,” he said to Odessa’s departing back. Nate closed the door to the bedroom where he’d spent his childhood, stripped off his clothes, and got into bed. He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

“Morgan, I’m going home for lunch.”

Her head popped up and she nodded to Samara. “I’ll see you later.” The heat wave was over, and the island mandate for businesses to close down from twelve to four had been rescinded. Morgan would’ve gone home herself if she didn’t have a one o’clock meeting with Bobby. It was only days from the beginning of the Island Fair, and she wanted to start rolling out crusts for her mother’s pies. She also had to go to the supermarket to buy the ingredients she needed for her gumbo.

“Do you want me to lock the front door?” Samara asked.

“Please.”

Leaning back in her chair, Morgan stared at her to-do list. She had to call the furniture manufacturers to order the pieces for Nate’s apartment. She also had to call Mr. Fletcher at the Harbor Fishery to place an order for shrimp for the gumbo. She’d modified the traditional recipe, omitting the crabmeat and oysters.

Her cell rang and she picked it up when she saw Rachel’s number. “What’s up, Sis?”

“My water just broke.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at home.”

Morgan closed her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’re alone.”

“I am,” Rachel squeaked. “James dropped Amanda off at his mother’s this morning.”

“Did you call him?”

“Yes. He’s on his way. But I don’t think I’ll be able to hold on until he gets here.”

“You have to hold on, Rachel. Where are you?”

“I’m lying on some towels on the bathroom floor.”

“Are you doing your breathing exercises?”

“They aren’t doing me much good right now,” Rachel admitted. “I feel like someone is stabbing me. After I have these babies, I’m through.”

These babies.
Morgan’s grin was so wide her face hurt. So Irene was right when she dreamed about Rachel holding a fish in each hand. Their sister had concealed the fact that she was carrying twins.

“Talk to me, Rachel. It’ll keep your mind off the pain.”

“Wait a minute, Mo. James and the EMTs are here.”

“Tell James to call me when—” The line went dead, and Morgan knew she would have to wait to find out whether she was going to be an aunt to nieces, nephews, or one of each. The office phone rang and she picked up the receiver. “M. Dane Architecture and Interiors.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Dane.”

A shiver of excitement eddied over her when she recognized Nate’s voice. “Good afternoon, Mr. Shaw. How may I help you?”

Reaching for a pen, she scribbled down notes on a legal pad. Nate had decided not to use the smaller bedroom as an office. “You still want the office furniture?”

“Yes. I’ll subdivide space on the first floor for an office.”

Morgan wondered what had happened to make Nate change his mind. “What size bed do you want in the second bedroom?”

“What do you suggest?”

“A queen, because anything larger will overpower the space.” She pulled up the floor plans for his apartment. “I’m sending pictures of the styles you like to your cell.” Morgan didn’t have to wait long for Nate to tell her his choice. “You caught me just in time, because I was going to call the warehouse today.”

“You still haven’t told me how much I owe you, Mo.”

She made interlocking circles on the pad. “I’ll let you know once the order is confirmed, and you can pay them directly.” Her hand stilled as she closed her eyes. She thought back to the night she’d told Nate to leave before she begged him to make love to her. She wanted him; wanted him so much she found it hard to sit still. “I know I promised you breakfast,” she said, biting back a smile. “Are you available Thursday morning?” Thursday was July first, the beginning of the Island Fair.

“For you, I’ll be available every morning.”

And for you I’ll be available every night.
The heat that began in her face spread to her chest, settling in her belly when she tried to imagine waking up with Nate beside her. “Let’s start with one morning.”

“Oh, so there’re going to be a lot of mornings, Mo?”

“We’ll have to wait and see, now, won’t we?”

“There’s one thing you should know about me.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m a very patient man.”

Morgan couldn’t help but laugh. “And there’s something you should know about me, Mr. Nathaniel Phillip Shaw.”

“Whatever it is must be serious if you’re calling me by my government name.”

She laughed again. “I just wanted to tell you I’m the most patient woman on Cavanaugh Island.” She’d been waiting far too long for him to make love to her.

“Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.”

“Are you a philosopher or a carpenter, Nate?”

“You can say I’m a little of both. You recognize Rousseau?”

“I love his work.”

Nate’s deep laugh caressed Morgan’s ear. “My girlfriend is an intellectual as well as an artist.”

“I’m your girlfriend?”

“Of course, baby, you’re my girlfriend. What else would you be?”

“I’m not the presumptuous type.”

“I repeat: I didn’t know my girlfriend was an intellectual and an artist.”

“You can say I’m a little of both,” she admitted. “I’m going to have to hang up because I have to make several calls. I’ll see you Thursday morning, if I don’t talk to you before then.”

“What time do you want me to come?”

“Eight.” Morgan chatted with Nate for another thirty seconds, then rang off. She pumped her fists in the air. Maybe Nate was coming around. He’d admitted he wanted to sleep with her, and now he’d acknowledged she was his girlfriend. She hoped beyond hope that this relationship would go far, because she was so in love with him her heart hurt.

The Island Fair ranked second to Christmas when it came to celebrations. Shopkeepers set up stalls and tables outside their shops, exhibiting their products to locals and tourists. And because Morgan sold services and not goods, she planned to close for the duration of the fair.

Four days—ninety-six hours, or 5,760 minutes—that she hoped to share with Nate.

M
organ took a quick glance at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was July 1 and the first morning of the fair. She stared at the photographs on the refrigerator door. She’d uploaded the images of her sister’s twin sons, whom Rachel and James had named Stephen and Dennis to honor their respective fathers, printed them out, and affixed them to the fridge with tiny ladybug magnets. The newborns would stay in the hospital until they reached the requisite five pounds, at which point they would no longer be deemed preemies.

She’d gone to the hospital to see her nephews, her heart swelling with love when she’d stood with Rachel, watching the tiny identical boys sleeping peacefully in their incubators. When she’d asked her sister why she hadn’t told anyone she was carrying twins, Rachel admitted it’d been touch and go during the first two trimesters, which prompted her and her husband not to discuss her pregnancy.

Morgan had ordered Nate’s furniture, sent him an invoice, which he paid with his credit card, ordered the ingredients she needed for the gumbo, and had rolled out six pie crusts for her mother’s celebrated sweet potato pie. This would be the first time in years that two Dane women would enter the fair’s food competition.

Soft meowing garnered her attention. Rasputin raised his nose, sniffed the air, and then meowed again. “I’m sorry, Ras, but you have your own fish.” When she’d placed her fish order, Morgan had also asked Mr. Fletcher to fillet several pounds of whiting. It’d been a while since she’d had fish for breakfast.

“Nate’s coming for breakfast,” she said, continuing her monologue with her pet. “The last time he came over you hid from him. I hope you’re not jealous, because you’re still the number one man in my life.” When Rasputin purred as if he understood what she was saying, she murmured, “Yes. You’re my baby.”

She smiled when the cat turned and walked over to the mat at the side door and settled down to lick his paws. Although cats are instinctive climbers, Morgan had trained Rasputin not to jump on the table or countertops, because she didn’t want cat hair in her food.

Nate had teased her about being anal, which she vehemently denied. She liked having a neat house, and that meant dusting and vacuuming several times a week to keep cat hair at bay. What she intensely detested was clutter and disarray, because they upset her sense of balance. The solarium had become her sanctuary; glass walls brought the outside in, but because they were made of one-way glass, they provided a modicum of privacy.

The doorbell chimed throughout the house. Morgan smiled. Nate had arrived. “Come on back. I’m in the kitchen,” she called out.

Morgan’s head popped up, and the person she saw standing in the middle of her kitchen was not the person she had expected. “Francine.” There was no mistaking the surprise in her voice.

The redhead flopped down on one of the stools at the cooking island. “That’s me.” Her green eyes narrowed. “Who were you expecting?” She held up a hand. “No; please don’t tell me.” Francine pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Nate, right?”

“Very funny, Fran. It doesn’t take a psychic to discern that.”

Sitting up straight, Francine affected a smug grin. “Psychic or not, you know I’m right.”

Morgan stared at her friend. An apple-green halter sundress with matching flats was the perfect outfit for her coloring and the humid, overcast weather. She’d managed to tame her wayward curls by pinning them into a bun atop her head.

“What are you doing here?”

Folding her hands at her waist, Francine rolled her eyes upward. “Is that any way to talk to your BFF?”

Morgan affected a facetious smile. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not, but I’ll accept your apology this morning only because I’m feeling rather magnanimous.”

Resting her hip against the countertop, she met Francine’s eyes. “Pray tell why you’re in such a forgiving mood.”

“I have a date for the Island Fair.”

Morgan stared at Francine, then seconds later they were hugging and screaming like adolescent girls at a Justin Bieber concert. “Who is he?” Morgan asked when she’d recovered from the shock of her friend finally showing an interest in a man. “Come on, give me the details.”

A blush suffused Francine’s face. “David.”

The seconds ticked as the two women looked at each other. “David as in Sullivan?” Francine nodded. “He asked you to go with him?” Morgan questioned.

Crossing one leg over the other, Francine stared at the toe of her shoe. “It really didn’t go down like that.”

“How did it go down, Fran?”

“He’d come to the Cove to see Kara and Jeff, then decided to come to the Beauty Box for a haircut because he had a dinner meeting with a client later that evening.”

Morgan’s eyebrows lifted questioningly. “He told you all of that?”

“Yes, as I was cutting his hair. Everyone in the shop was talking about the fair and he asked me who I was going with. When I said no one, he asked if I’d go with him.”

“Is this a one-time thing, or are you looking for more from him?” Morgan didn’t want Francine to get her heart broken, because she knew David was still pining for his longtime ex.

“I know where you’re going with this, Mo, and I appreciate your concern. I’m not feeling David like that. We’re just hanging out for the Fair.”

“You know what folks are going to think.”

Francine sucked her teeth. “Folks can think or say anything they want. Now, what’s up with you and Nate?”

“We’re still together.”

“I know that. Have the two of you become more than friends yet?”

Morgan had to decide whether to withhold the information or tell the truth. She decided on the latter, because eventually Francine would tell her what she’d seen in her visions. “Not yet.”

“And why not? I told you I saw you and Nate with a baby.”

“That’s not going to—” the doorbell chimed again, stopping Morgan’s rebuttal. “Excuse me. That’s probably Nate.”

Francine slipped off the stool. “That’s my cue to exit stage left.”

“Stay and eat with us.”

“Really?”

“Don’t play yourself, Fran. Of course I want you to stay.”

Morgan went to open the door for Nate. Rasputin slipped from under the dining room table and trotted after her. Nate stood on the other side of the screen door holding a large shopping bag. Her gaze swept over his clean-shaven jaw, lingering briefly on his sculpted mouth. He smelled of aftershave and clean laundry. He was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt that he’d elected to wear outside the waistband. A pair of running shoes had replaced his construction boots.

She held the door open for him. “Please come in.”

Dipping his head, Nate brushed a kiss over her parted lips. “I see Francine’s here,” he whispered in her ear. Francine was the only person on Cavanaugh Island with a red Corvette.

“She’s joining us for breakfast.”

“That’s nice.”

Morgan gave him a skeptical look. “Are you being facetious?”

“Of course not. I happen to like Francine.” He handed her the shopping bag. “There’s something in there for you, for Blue, and for your sister’s twins.”

She looked into the bag to find a large red shoe made of soft fabric. It had three peekaboo holes and a giant shoelace. Nate had brought Rasputin a cat playhouse. “I can’t believe you actually bought something for Ras.”

Smiling, Nate cocked his head at an angle. “Why not?”

“Because I think you’re trying to bribe me into letting Ras mate with your sister’s queen.”

Reaching into the bag, he removed the playhouse. “This is not about you, baby. It’s about me bonding with Blue. You know we dudes have to stick together.”

Morgan shook her head. “I had you figured for a dog lover.”

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her to his side. “I love dogs, but there’s something about Blue that I really like. Maybe it’s because I like his mama so much.”

Something wouldn’t permit her to tell Nate how much and how long she’d liked him. “His mama also likes his new friend.”

He smiled, attractive lines fanning out from his eyes. Nate set the playhouse on the floor and within seconds Rasputin jumped in, poking his head through one of the holes.

Morgan didn’t know what to make of her pet. He hid from everyone who came to the house except Nate. What was it about him that Rasputin liked? Perhaps the feline knew how much she liked him.

“Come,” she said, reaching for Nate’s hand.

“How’s Rachel?” Nate asked as they made their way to the kitchen.

“She’s home, but she hangs out at the hospital all day to feed the babies.”

Nate gave her a sidelong glance. “Have you seen the twins?”

“Oh, Nate, they’re adorable. I have photos of them on the refrigerator door. They’re identical, so I can’t tell Stephen from Dennis.”

Throwing back his head, he laughed. “So the Dane tradition continues. Your sister named them after their grandfathers.”

Morgan released Nate’s hand when Francine came over to hug him. He kissed Francine’s cheek, lifting her effortlessly off her feet. “How’s it going, Red?”

Francine returned the kiss. “It’s all good, Nate.”

He held her at arm’s length. “You look very nice.”

Francine turned a vivid scarlet. “Thank you.”

Morgan placed the shopping bag on a stool, then opened the refrigerator to take out two glass dishes containing the fillets she’d seasoned the night before. “We’re having fish, grits, and corn muffins.” She smiled when Nate and Francine bumped fists. “I seasoned some with Old Bay and some with Zatarain’s. Let me know which one you want.”

“I’ll have both,” Francine said.

Nate concurred. “Me, too.”

“Plain or cheese grits?” Morgan asked.

“Cheese,” Francine and Nate chorused, laughing uncontrollably.

“Is breakfast always like this?” he asked, looking over Morgan’s shoulder as she removed the plastic lids covering the fish. “Wow, that smells incredible.” The aroma of the marinated fish filled the kitchen.

Francine laughed. “Morgan missed her calling. She should’ve been a chef instead of an architect.”

Nate stared at Francine. “Do you cook, Red?”

She lowered her gaze. “No.”

He gave her a look of disbelief. “Not at all?”

“Leave her alone,” Morgan whispered.

“I just—”

“Let it go,” she said between clenched teeth, defending her friend’s lack of culinary skill. What Francine lacked in cooking ability she more than made up for as a stylist and actress. Francine had given herself until thirty-five to “find herself.” And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have options, because she could always revive her acting career.

Francine hopped off the stool. “Can I help with anything, Mo? Nothing that pertains to cooking, of course.”

Morgan winked at her. “Sure. You can put out another place setting on the dining room table.”

Forty minutes later Morgan, Francine, and Nate sat in the dining room eating crispy oven-fried fish, grits mixed with grated cheddar cheese and topped with minced chives, and buttery corn muffins. Nate couldn’t believe Morgan could improve on her gumbo, but she had. Francine was right. Morgan had missed her calling.

He reached for another piece of fish. “I don’t know which I like better—the Old Bay or the Zatarain’s.”

Francine, who’d just swallowed a mouthful of corn muffin, nodded. “I’ve eaten fish with Old Bay, but there’s just enough kick in the Cajun seasoning to make my taste buds sing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’”

“No lie,” Nate said.

Morgan pushed back her chair. It was the first time she’d used the spicy seafood seasoning, and it had been a rousing success. She had always liked spicy food, but she wasn’t certain whether Nate would like it. “Who wants coffee and who wants tea?”

Francine sighed. “I’m going to pass.” She pressed both hands to her middle. “I’m about to explode.”

Nate stood up. “I’ll make the coffee.” He helped the women clear the table, and then made coffee after Morgan showed him how to use the espresso machine.

Francine hugged him, then she hugged Morgan. “I’ll see you two later this afternoon at the fair.” Turning on her heels, she walked out of the kitchen.

Sitting at the cooking island with Morgan, drinking freshly brewed coffee liberally laced with heavy cream, Nate rested a free hand on the nape of her neck. “Is this what I can look forward to every morning if we have breakfast together?”

She gave him a direct stare before smiling. “I don’t think so. If I ate this much every day I wouldn’t be able to move.”

“What about weekends?”

Morgan rested her head on Nate’s shoulder. “What constitutes your weekend?”

He kissed her short, fragrant hair. “Friday night to Sunday night.”

She laughed softly. “I’ll only agree to see you one of the three days.”

“What if you fix breakfast one day and I reciprocate on the other?”

“That’s still two days, Nate.”

Nate kissed her again, this time on her forehead. “Okay, baby. One day.” He wanted to tell Morgan he was willing to agree to anything just to spend time with her. “I started painting the apartment.”

“What colors are you painting the bedrooms?” Morgan asked.

“One wall in the master bedroom is a carnelian red. The other three walls, the ceiling, and the closet doors are antique white. All the walls in the smaller bedroom are celadon with white accents.”

Morgan nodded, smiling. “Very, very nice. What about the living room and dining area?”

“I’m considering a light gray called Harbor Mist.”

“That’s going to work well with the furniture, too.”

Nate wrapped his hands around the coffee cup. “My brother’s going to move in with me around mid-August. He and his girlfriend are getting married.”

Morgan eyes widened. “Is it the same girl he’s been dating for a while?”

“Yes. Marriage and fatherhood may be what Bryce needs to finally get himself together.”

“So you’re going to become an uncle again?”

“It looks like it. Hopefully he and Stacy won’t have twins, as Rachel did.”

Frowning, Morgan pushed out her lower lip. “I’m still mad at her for not telling anyone. I should’ve known, because Irene dreamed that Rachel was holding up two fish. And then when she and James bought a house with four bedrooms, that was also another clue.”