The Chesapeake Diaries Series (178 page)

“I’ll bet you worked just as hard to make your business successful,” Clay pointed out, and she nodded.

“Bonnie and I have worked very hard.” She thought of all the hours she put in on a daily basis, the weeks and the months—and yes, the years, when time off was almost nonexistent. There was no way she’d let Shaefer & Sinclair go off the rails. “I can’t let that go.”

“You don’t have to. Do both.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You’re talking about one event in July and the other in September. So you set up a temporary office here for the summer to do what you have to do, and then you go back to California after the senator’s daughter’s wedding and get back into your groove.”

“That’s pretty much the conclusion I’d come to,” she confessed, pleased that he’d seen her predicament for what it was and understood why she couldn’t abandon either. “Dan’s giving me a small office to handle the Magellan wedding, and I suppose I could use it for as long as I have to. It would mean handing off a lot of work to the staff in L.A., but I suppose if I have Ava and Corrine working the planning stages now, it would work …” She mentally ran through the events that were already on the books. There were one or two for which no substitution would be acceptable, but most of the others, she thought, would
be fine with either of the other planners and, of course, Bonnie.

She became aware of someone at her shoulder. She looked up to find their server, holding their salads and apparently waiting for her to move out of the way.

“Oh.” She flashed a smile. “Sorry …”

When the waiter was finished and had walked away, Lucy looked across the table at Clay and said, “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ll have two offices this summer and divide my time according to where I’m needed when.” She sighed happily and dug into her salad.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” he said.

She speared a tomato and raised the fork to her mouth, then paused. “Maybe you can. I’ll be meeting with the chef at the inn this coming week to go over the menus for the Magellans. If he has any special dishes in mind, maybe we’ll ask you to grow whatever it is he needs.”

“I already grow for the inn,” he told her, “but sure, tell Gavin to let me know if I have to put in anything special, though we’re running short of time if I have to start something from seed.”

She took a bite of the tomato. “I’ll keep that in mind when I meet with Susanna. I’ve been trying to pin her down on the menu for the past month. If I tell her the farmer needs to plant now, it might spur her on.”

“Tell her if she plays her cards right, there might even be a specialty beer available.”

“Oh, that would be fabulous.” Lucy put her fork back down. “If we could offer a special beer—like,
call it Magellan or something—exclusive to them for a limited time …” Susanna would love that, she knew. “Is that possible? Can you make a beer between now and the end of June?”

“Not from our crops, but I’ll talk to Wade.”

“That would be really something.” Her mind began to take off. “Oh, and maybe when you get your brewery up and running, you could make a beer that would be exclusive to the inn.”

“I can talk to Daniel about that,” Clay told her. “We’ll call it LuLu Beer.”

She laughed, and suddenly everything that she’d been fretting about over the past few months—the overbookings, the botched scheduling, floral designers who got their orders mixed up and caterers who backed out at the last minute, DJs who didn’t show, cranky brides and their near-impossible mothers—all seemed somehow less important than they had just a few days earlier. In the flicker of candlelight, she saw the boy she used to laugh with, the boy who’d kept her early secrets and who shared the carefree days of her childhood, and she saw the man he’d become. The boy had once been her best friend. Something told her that the man still could be that friend, that keeper of secrets—and a lot more.

A whole lot more, judging by the way he looked at her.

The waiter brought them the dessert menu after they’d finished their meals, but Clay handed them back with a thank you and a smile. To Lucy he said, “I have a better idea.”

“But they serve your sister’s cupcakes here,” Lucy protested. “I saw it noted on the menu.”

“I know where there’s a private stash of Brooke’s best chocolate raspberry cupcakes, baked this morning.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “And where might they be?”

“On my kitchen counter.”

“Oh, wait.” A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Is this the Madison equivalent of ‘want to see my etchings?’ ”

“Much better. Etchings aren’t edible. Besides”—he signaled for the check—“I never was much of an artist.”

“Not much of a baker either, if you’re relying on your sister to deliver the goods.”

“Ouch.”

“However, since I have tasted your sister’s cupcakes, I’d be a fool to decline.”

“A wise decision. Best baker on the Eastern Shore.”

He paid the bill and helped her drape her jacket over her shoulders. They walked out into the spring evening and he took her hand.

“This is such a beautiful time of the year here,” she said as they walked across the street to the parking lot. “I too often forget the little things that make it special.”

“Like what?”

“Like the daffodils and the tulips that are blooming everywhere. The English wood hyacinths. The dogwood and the azalea and the weeping cherry trees. The colors are just so perfect, and the air is so delicately scented. It’s why you always think of pastel colors when you think about spring. In my head, spring is always soft yellow and pink and lavender and pale green like new grass.”

“What colors are summer?”

“The colors of heat. Red and bright yellow,” she replied without thinking.

“What about blue and green? Where do they fit in?”

“They’re summer as well. The colors of the Bay, and shade trees.”

“And fall …?”

“Browns and golds, rusty reds and deepest orange.” She smiled, anticipating his next question. “And winter is white and silver.”

“And back in California?” he asked. “What do your seasons look like there?”

“Where I live?” She thought about it for a moment. “For me, mostly yellow and green all year round. There are other colors, I suppose, but that’s what I think of, when I think of the colors of L.A. And haze on the freeways, but I don’t know how to describe the color of that.”

He laughed. “We get haze here as well, don’t forget.”

“But only in July and August, if my memory serves. When it gets so hot and the heat rises off the sidewalks and the mist rises off the Bay. That’s a different kind of haze.”

As they approached the Jeep, Clay opened the car with the remote and walked Lucy to the passenger side.

“I can get it,” she said when he reached for the door handle.

“I’m sure you can,” he replied as he opened it.

“If my grandma were here, she’d say that the Madisons raised you right.”

“They did their best. Some of it stuck.” He closed the door behind her, walked around to the driver’s side, and got in.

Lucy rested her head against the back of the seat and watched from the corner of her eye as Clay fastened his seat belt and started the car.

“It’s a pretty night,” she said as he turned onto Charles Street.

“We have a lot of pretty nights here. I’m glad you’ll be around for some of them.”

“Me too.”

When she’d set out for St. Dennis early that morning, spending the summer here was the last thing on her mind. Funny, she thought, how sometimes things happen and you realize that the something was exactly what you’d wanted—what you needed—without even being aware that you wanted or needed it. She hadn’t spent a summer in St. Dennis since she was in high school, and suddenly it was the only place she wanted to be.

“Penny for them,” Clay said as they approached the farm.

“I was just thinking that it would be nice to spend the summer here, that’s all.”

He parked the car close to the house and turned off the engine.

“Think you can still hold your own when it comes to crabbing?” he asked.

“With a net or with a line?”

“Either way. I’m betting you’ve lost your touch.”

“That’s a bet you’re going to lose.” She turned in her seat to face him as she released her seat belt.

“You’ve been away a long time. I doubt you’ve maintained any of your old technique.”

“I figure it’s a lot like riding a bike.”

She welcomed his embrace when he reached for her,
lifted her face for his kiss. She waited for that momentary hesitation that always accompanied the first seconds of intimacy of any kind, whether the hug of a friend or the first exploratory kiss of a new relationship. She waited, determined to push past it, because she’d wanted Clay to kiss her, wanted to kiss him back, wanted to push back against the years and the darkness that every once in a while arose in her. She waited, but the little
click
she usually heard inside her head—that instinct that told her to run, she was in danger—never came.

It was an anomaly she’d ponder later tonight when she was back in her room at the inn, but for now, she simply wanted to savor the sensation of this beautiful man kissing her, of kissing him back. She held his face in her hands and let the warmth of his touch spread through her as his tongue teased the corners of her mouth. She found herself wanting more.

When had she ever wanted
more
?

This is what it’s like when you’re not afraid
, she thought.
This is what it’s like when you’re with someone you trust.…

“LuLu,” he whispered between kisses. In his voice she heard longing, desire. It was like fuel to the flame, and she moved closer, wanting to feel his body next to hers.

“Hey, Uncle Clay!” She heard the childish voice at the same time as she heard the rap on the passengerside window. She lurched backward, startled.

“Great,” Clay muttered as he disengaged himself. “He has his mother’s sense of timing …”

Clay rolled down the window. “What’s up, buddy?”

“What are you doing? Mom made cupcakes. She
let me help. Are you gonna come in and eat them with us?”

“Sure.” Clay sighed. “Where is she?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Yours or mine?” Clay asked.

“Yours, silly. That’s where the cupcakes are.”

“Get your head out of the window, Logan.” Clay looked at Lucy apologetically as he closed the window. “Looks like we’re going to have to share. Which was not, by the way, in the original plan.”

“It’s okay.” Lucy grabbed her bag from the floor of the front seat where she’d dropped it.

“No, it isn’t.” Clay squeezed her hand. “But maybe we can pick up where we left off later. Assuming my sister leaves …”

Lucy laughed and opened her car door. “Hi,” she said to Clay’s nephew. “I’m Lucy.”

“I know. My mother told me.” Logan seemed to be studying her.

“All right, cupcake eaters.” Clay came around the front of the car. “Let’s head on in and see what your mom made for us.”

“Chocolate raspberry, like you asked.” Logan led the way to the porch, up the back steps, and into the house.

“Hello, Brooke.” Clay focused a laser beam on his sister, who was getting coffee cups from the cabinet. Three coffee cups. “Nice of you to stop by.”

“Hi, Lucy. Good to see you.” Brooke flashed a smile. “I thought you might like coffee with dessert,” she said brightly. “I hope decaf is okay?”

“It’s fine for me,” Lucy told her.

“How was your flight?” Brooke asked as she prepared the coffeemaker.

“Early.” Clay pulled out a chair from the table for Lucy and she sat.

“You must be exhausted.”

“I’m a little jet-lagged,” Lucy admitted, suddenly feeling more tired than she had before Brooke inquired.

“So, Brooke,” Clay said as he took the seat next to Lucy. “Shouldn’t Logan be in bed by now?”

“Nope.” Brooke grinned as she measured coffee grounds. “Teachers’ in-service day tomorrow. No school.”

“Brooke, can I do something?” Lucy offered.

“Oh, no, thanks. There’s really nothing to be done.” Brooke poured water into the coffeemaker and hit the on button.

“Does that mean you’ll be leaving?” Clay asked pointedly.

Brooke ignored the question.

“So, Lucy.” Brooke pulled up a chair at the table. “How’s the Magellan wedding coming along?”

“I’ll know better after I meet with Susanna tomorrow,” Lucy told her.

“Clay says you’re going to be home for at least a week,” Brooke said.

“At least a week, yes.”

“I’m sure your mom is happy about that.”

Lucy nodded. “She is.” Lucy glanced at Clay. “I’m happy about it, too.”

“Looks like Lucy is going to be around even more over the summer,” Clay said.

“Really?” Brooke turned to Lucy. “Why’s that?”

“A few more events were scheduled at the inn that I’ll be handling. One in July, one in September.”

“I see.” The coffee finished dripping and Brooke got up to pour. “So I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

“Bet on it.” Lucy met Brooke’s eyes.

Brooke brought a plate of cupcakes and some small dessert plates to the table.

“Uncle Clay, I can’t find the Power Rangers channel,” Logan called from the living room. “Will you find it for me?”

“I’ll be right back.” Clay touched Lucy’s shoulder as he stood, and she reached up to touch his hand. Their fingers entwined for just a second as she looked up into his eyes.

As he left the room, he told Brooke, “Behave yourself.”

“Not to worry.” Brooke poured coffee and placed the cups on the table. “Cream and sugar?” she asked Lucy.

“Please.”

Brooke stood with her back against the counter. “I saw the way you looked at him,” she said. “You care about him.”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

“I was all ready to put you on the spot, play the big-sister card for real this time, and here you like him.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Brooke obviously had been caught off guard in her attempt to protect her brother, which in itself was okay, as far as Lucy was concerned. She might find herself called upon to defend one of her own brothers’
heart one day. Neither Daniel nor Ford had ever been all that astute where women were concerned. Would she be similarly protective if she thought one of them cared too much for someone who didn’t appear to care for him? Or would she shrug it off as none of her business and stand by and let him potentially make a fool out of himself?