The Chesapeake Diaries Series (162 page)

After all, she reasoned, it was only a friendly dinner with an old classmate, right?

Chapter 6

His coffee mug refilled and half a fat croissant on its plate nearby, Clay took a folder from his briefcase and spread it open on the table. At ten o’clock on a January morning, Cuppachino was much more subdued than it had been at eight. His table was one of only three that were inhabited.

“This,” he said as he removed a piece of graph paper, “is what we need to be thinking about.”

Wade MacGregor, Clay’s partner in MadMac Brews, stared at the hand-drawn structure. “It looks like one of those old-fashioned hop barns.”

“That’s exactly what it is. And it’s what we’re going to be working on once we get the hops in the ground.”

Wade picked up the sketch and studied it. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

“I mean you and me.” Clay leaned back in his seat and took a sip of coffee. “We can’t afford to hire someone to build it, so we’re going to have to do it ourselves.”

“I have no carpentry skills,” Wade said bluntly.

“Fortunately, I do,” Clay assured him. “And since
you seem like a reasonably intelligent guy, I’m betting you can learn.”

“Maybe we can get Cameron O’Connor to give us a hand.”

“And we’ll pay him … how?”

“We’ll pay him in beer.” Wade grinned. “We both know that Cam really likes a good beer.”

“Which we won’t have in any real quantity for about, oh, three years if we’re lucky. If the Eastern comma larvae don’t eat our hops and we don’t get hit with powdery mildew.”

“Someone’s been studying up,” Wade said.

“Someone has to.”

“Hey, give me a break. I just got married, been back from my honeymoon for all of”—Wade looked at his watch—“sixteen hours.”

“Time enough to get to work.”

“Okay, supposing I agree that the two of us should build a hop barn. I’m assuming we’d build it there on your farm?”

Clay nodded. “Plenty of room.”

“So what are we going to use as material? As you pointed out, we don’t have a whole lot of discretionary funds to work with.”

“Barn boards.” Clay took a bite out of his croissant.

“Barn boards?” Wade frowned.

“Sure. Those, I have plenty of.” He leaned forward. “There are three barns on the farm. One I use primarily to store equipment. The other—the biggest one—we’re going to turn into our brewery.”

“For which we’re borrowing the money from my sister.”

“Right. And the third barn, the one that’s seen better days, we’re going to tear down and reuse the boards to build the hop barn.”

Wade nodded. “I guess I know better than to ask who’s going to take the barn down.”

Clay laughed. “The dismantling process will take some planning so that we don’t pull it down on top of ourselves. I think we’ll need Cam’s help there, too.”

“Maybe if we asked him to be our official taster, he won’t charge us too much.”

“The idea has possibilities. But it just occurred to me to offer him some of the old barn boards that we don’t use.”

“What would he want with those?”

“We’re talking about heart-pine boards that are over one hundred years old here, champ.”

“Okay, so you’ll have a lot of old wood left over. Still don’t get why Cam would want that instead of cash.”

“In his spare time, Cam makes furniture. Tables, mostly. He prefers to work with old woods. Old heart pine if he can get it, which is rare.”

“So what you’re saying is that the barter system is alive and well in St. Dennis.”

Clay nodded. “I bet Cam would jump at the chance to get his hands on all that old pine. The tables he makes are works of art, by the way. My mom just bought one for the dining room in her new house. It really is one of a kind. My sister liked it so much, she asked him to make one for her.” He paused as a thought occurred to him. “It would be really cool if Cam made one for her from the boards from our old barn.”

“Nice housewarming gift,” Wade noted.

“Yeah, I’ll have to talk to him about that, sooner rather than later. Brooke’s planning on moving into the old tenant house as soon as it’s finished. She’s hoping maybe as soon as next month.”

Wade pulled Clay’s sketch closer and took another look. “What about this rounded top piece? How would we make that?”

“Traditionally, a cupola sits over the drying area, and I thought it looked pretty cool. I think we can make it with shingles, maybe a metal roof. That’s something we’d need Cam for.”

“So okay, we meet with him as soon as we can set it up. Meanwhile, while I was away, I ordered some barley seed.”

“You were ordering barley seed while you were on your honeymoon?” Clay stared at Wade. “What did Steffie have to say about that?”

“Nothing, since she went off in search of a wholesaler for macadamia nuts. She had some while we were in Hawaii that she thought were superior to the ones she was using, so of course, she had to track down the source.”

“You two deserve each other.” Clay laughed. “You’re two of a kind.”

“Hey, the woman makes the best ice cream on the eastern seaboard. I make …” Wade paused, and a cloud momentarily crossed his face. “I made one of the best beers in the country.”

“And as soon as we get MadMac off and running, you’ll be making the best once again,” Clay assured him.

“That’s the plan, Stan.” Wade glanced at his watch.
“I gotta run. Time to pick up Austin from preschool.” He stood and finished his coffee in one long gulp. “How long do you suppose I have to live in St. Dennis before Carlo’s wife makes me a mug with my name on it?”

He pointed to the shelf behind the counter where a line of handmade mugs stood.

Clay shrugged. “She only makes them for regular customers.”

“I could be a regular customer.”

“Put up or shut up.” Clay turned his mug around so that his name was front and center.

“Or we could buy mugs with our names on them and hold our morning meetings out at the farm, or over at my place. Steffie makes her ice creams early, so she’s usually at Scoop before seven.”

“True enough, but we both make lousy coffee.”

“Good point. Okay, tomorrow. Same time. Same place. See you then.” Wade nodded in the direction of the kitchen, where Carlo, the owner, was bellowing at one of the busboys. “A real friend would put in a good word for me where it counts.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Clay waved off the waitress who roamed the room offering refills.

“Your friend’s leaving already?” the waitress asked.

“He has to pick up his son from school.”

Before Wade’s late business partner died, he’d married her to give her young child a home and a parent who could be counted on. Austin had just turned two, and had been welcomed into the MacGregor family—and all of St. Dennis—with open arms.

Clay returned the sketch of the hop barn to the
folder and was just about to drop it into his briefcase when the door opened and Grace and Lucy came in. They were both a bit windblown by the wind coming off the Bay, and they both paused to chat with Wade. Lucy having served as planner on Wade’s recent wedding, Clay figured there would be a round of thankyous all over again.

Well, that was all right. He liked looking at Lucy.

Right now she stood with her hands in the pockets of her coat—apparently, she’d heeded her mother’s directive—her head tilted at an angle as she looked up at Wade and smiled. Clay guessed Wade was telling her once again how much he and Steffie had loved everything Lucy had done to pull off their wedding in a very brief period of time. Grace was beaming like the proud mama Clay knew her to be, so he figured it was safe to say the praise was still being heaped on.

Again, okay by Clay. He could look at Lucy all day. She had always had the best smile, still did. It lit her face and deepened her dimples and, well, it was just a pretty sight to see.

Lucy had always been petite—some of the kids in their class had nicknamed her “Runt”—but after Clay grew to his full height at sixteen, she seemed even tinier. Her hair was darker now, he noticed. When they were kids, it had been equal parts of gold and red. Now it was more a light auburn. The red and gold still there, but the mix was different. Today, it looked more …

She stood across the table, one hand waving in front of his face. “Clay, you in there?”

“Yeah. Hey, Lucy.” He tried to cover up the fact
that he’d not only been tuned out, but tuned out thinking about her. “How was your flight?”

“Okay. I got here.” She smiled, and for a moment, he could have sworn he’d heard his heart thump onto the floor. If she’d heard it, too, she gave no sign.

“Glad you did. So when’s your meeting?”

“Tomorrow at ten at the inn. Wish me luck.”

“Of course, but I’m sure you’ll knock ’em dead.”

“I hope so.” She leaned on the back of the closest chair. “I don’t know either of these people, so it’s going to be very tentative. All I do know is that Trula wants them to have the wedding here. I don’t really know what
they
want. For all I know, they’re only humoring Trula by meeting with me.”

“Nonsense.” Grace came up behind her daughter and handed Lucy a takeout cup of coffee. “Robert would tell her if he wasn’t interested.”

“I don’t know.” Lucy turned to her. “Trula’s awfully tough sometimes.”

“Robert and Susanna have been to the inn and they loved it,” Grace reminded her. “I’m sure when they see what sort of ideas you have for their wedding, they’ll be very pleased.”

“That’s just it, Mom, I have no ideas. I don’t know them, don’t know what they like and what they don’t like.” She turned back to Clay. “Anyway, keep your fingers crossed for me.”

“Will do.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night. Seven, right?”

“Right. Lola’s or Captain Walt’s?”

“Captain Walt’s. You promised me rockfish and oysters, and I intend to make you deliver.”

“Walt’s it is. See you then.”

“So nice that you two are going on a date after all these years.” Grace smiled.

Lucy frowned. “It’s not a date.”

“Sure it is.” Clay grinned.

She turned back to him, the frown still in place. “No, it isn’t. It’s just dinner.”

“If you say so.” He was still grinning, and had the overwhelming feeling that she wished he’d stop.

She took her mother’s arm and steered her toward the door. He watched from his seat until her red coat disappeared from sight, then got up, took his mug over to the counter, and handed it to the waitress to be washed and replaced on the shelf, then waved good-bye to Carlo, who was on the phone. When he stepped out onto the sidewalk, Lucy and Grace were nowhere to be seen.

Funny her insisting they weren’t going on a date, he mused as he walked back to his car, his keys jingling in his pocket, wondering if he should read something into it. He’d just unlocked the door with the remote when the thought occurred to him: Maybe to her, this wasn’t a date. Maybe it really was just a thank-you-for-helping-my-mother.

And maybe—he had to face this possibility even though he didn’t like it one bit—maybe she’s involved with someone in California. Maybe that’s why she spends so little time here, why whenever she’s here, she acts like she can’t wait to leave.

Bummer
, he thought as he started the car. That would be a real bummer. He’d always had a thing for Lucy. It had taken him a long time to accept it. A lot of women had come and gone through his life in the
years since they’d been friends, but he’d never felt the same sense of, well,
fate
that he had when he looked at her. When he thought of her. And, he had to admit, over the years, he’d thought of her often.

This dinner—date or nondate—had been a long time coming. He damn well better make the best of it.

Chapter 7

Lucy cleared her throat for about the fifth time and paced along the window wall in the library. She checked her phone for a possible text, voice mail, or missed call, but nothing.

Robert Magellan and his fiancée, Susanna Jones, were ten minutes late. Had they decided to skip this morning’s meeting and just hadn’t gotten around to letting her know?

Nah, Trula would never permit such a thing, and Lucy knew that Trula had tremendous influence over Robert. It never failed to amuse her that her mother’s old friend held such sway over one of the country’s wealthiest self-made men. Trula was a seventy-something-year-old woman who wore her white hair tucked into a bun at the back of her head and favored polyester pant suits and coffee mugs with pithy quotes. Robert was a dot-com millionaire who’d started up several enormously successful companies over a fifteen-year period of time and had profited from each of them, but it had been his search engine, aptly named the Magellan Express, that literally made his fortune. Following the sale of Express
and his subsequent retirement, he’d organized the Mercy Street Foundation, a nonprofit investigative firm that searched for missing people at no expense to the loved ones of the victims. Susanna Jones had been his right hand in each of his ventures, and to hear Trula tell it, had been in love with Robert for years. Susanna had stood by him even when he’d married another woman and started a family, and after his wife, Beth, had gone missing with their infant son, Ian, Susanna continued her personal search for them. Months later, Susanna was the one who located the place where Beth’s car had gone off the road and into a deep ravine in the mountains of western Pennsylvania, Beth’s remains still strapped behind the wheel. Ian, however, had been nowhere to be found, and it was partly through Susanna’s diligence that Robert’s child eventually was located and returned to him. According to Trula, it had taken a while, but Robert had finally come to the realization that Susanna was his happily-ever-after.

“Once he came to his senses,” Trula had told Lucy, “he was hell-bent for the altar, would have had his cousin, Father Kevin, perform the ceremony right then and there. But I told him there was going to be a proper wedding, that Susanna deserved the whole shebang, and that was what she was going to have, and that if he had any sense, he’d be having the wedding right here in St. Dennis.”