Barefoot Bay: The Billionaire's Convenient Secret (Kindle Worlds Novella) (6 page)

“Now, see.” Josh spread more of that delicious fig mixture onto a cracker and placed it on her plate. “Her selling out still doesn’t make any sense.”

Charlie gave her best imitation of an old-time gangster. “Maybe the company made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.”

The fact was, Charity didn’t have a choice. Not really. She needed Favor’s gas franchise in order to draw business into her store. Without it, she might as well lock the doors and turn off the lights. A tidbit the owner apparently hadn’t shared with her employee any more than she’d informed him of the impending sale.

“Maybe,” Josh said, pensive.

Here, at least, she could offer reassurance. “Once the sale is complete, Favor Oil will send in a crack team to do the reset. There’ll be very little downtime. Most stores will be closed for a day, two at the most. They’ve promised to keep as many current employees in place as possible. You’ll be able to keep your job. Plus, Favor offers benefits that a smaller store can’t provide—health insurance, accrued vacation, sick leave. In the long run, you’ll be better off.”

“Hot dogs and sodas are good enough for me,” he joked, patting a flat tummy. Once the joke earned the expected laugh, his tone sobered. “I kind of grew up at the Super Min. I like things the way they are.”

He was a creature of habit. Why was she not surprised? Any man who’d spent his life on Mimosa Key without venturing any farther than an occasional trip across the bridge to Naples probably wouldn’t adjust well to change. She, on the other hand, loved nothing more than packing her bags for a trip to some exotic part of the world. It was just one more reason why any relationship she had with Josh would begin and end as soon as she completed her business on the island. She dusted a crumb into the palm of her hand. They’d nibbled the cheese into oblivion. The wine bottle was nearly empty. It was time to call an end to their evening.

“This has been nice, Josh,” she said, pushing back her chair.

“Do you have to go?” Regret played across his strong features. “I wish you’d stay. Have dinner with me.” Almost before he finished saying the words, their waitress reappeared at the edge of the table carrying oversize menus.

“I’ve had a great time, but…” She glanced from the leather-bound booklets to the disappointment that shone in Josh’s dark eyes. Beckoning him forward, she cupped one hand around her mouth and leaned to his ear. “I can’t let you buy dinner here. Do you have any idea what a meal in a place like this runs?”

“It’s not cheap, I’ll give you that,” came Josh’s whispered response. “But it’ll be worth every dime, and more, if you’ll stay.” He leaned away while his expression shifted into a teasing grin. “You might as well. I’m going to order, no matter what, but I suspect my fish will taste all the sweeter for your company. The pompano, Marcia,” he said, not bothering to glance at the menu.

Charlie’s breath unraveled. Sharing a meal with Josh, lingering over coffee and dessert, held more appeal than she’d expected. Still, she couldn’t let him go into debt, no matter how much she wanted to spend more time with him. Her thoughts tumbled until they landed on what seemed like a fair compromise. “Tell you what, I’ll stay if you let me pick up the tab. I’m on a business trip, after all. I can expense it.” Although, not even her generous expense account would cover their entire meal.

The waitress coughed discreetly. “If I may…” She waited for Josh’s nod before continuing. “The bill has been handled. Courtesy of Mrs. Walker.”

Charlie fought to keep her mouth from dropping open. First, Lacey Walker had insisted on having the chef prepare something special. Now, she was comping the entire meal. It didn’t make sense. Not for a mere clerk at a convenience store.

Who is this guy?

“You know the owners that well?” she ventured.

Josh’s nonchalant gesture did little to put her at ease.

“Lacey and I go way back. She used to babysit me when I was a little tyke,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “I guess she’s still looking out for me. So…you’ll stay?”

The hesitant tremor in his voice cut her off at the knees. She rushed to reassure him. “How could I leave?” She glanced at Marcia. “The fish is good?”

“Excellent, Ms. Oak. Much of our produce comes from the small organic farm here on the property. As for the fish, Chef Ian meets the boats at the docks each morning and hand-selects the best of the catch for Casa Blanca. The things that man can do with food…” Marcia pressed her hand against her chest in a pretend swoon.

“You’ve convinced me,” Charlie said with a laugh. “The pompano it is.”

“Very good. You won’t be disappointed.”

“Thank you,” Josh said as Marcia left and Charlie settled into her seat once more. He leaned across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m looking forward to learning more about you.”

The wait staff swooped in then, preventing her from examining the tingle Josh’s touch had ignited at her wrist. Plates were removed and crumbs brushed from the table. Goblets were refreshed and silverware replenished. The wine steward brought a selection of white wines, and Josh chose between them.

In the lull before the next course, she turned to him. “How’d you wind up working at the Super Min?” she asked, hoping the job was a stepping stone to something…more.

“That’s a long story and not all that interesting.” Josh leaned back in his chair, one hand playing with the stem of his water glass.

“Let’s hear it,” she prompted, determined to justify her growing regard for the man across the table.

“I’ll give you the condensed version. I never knew my dad—he split before I was born. My mom did the best she could, but she was only eighteen when she had me. Keeping a roof over our heads was a never-ending struggle. I guess I was a latchkey kid.” He rolled a shoulder. “If it hadn’t been for people like Charity and Lacey…” He gulped from his glass.

In a move that would have drawn censure from someone more in tune with formal table manners, she propped her elbows on the table and leaned toward Josh. “Tell me more. I want to hear every detail,” she insisted, surprised by how much she meant the words.

“Once she found out I was on my own while Mom was at work, Charity put me to work at the Super Min. It was her version of day care, I guess. I was six or seven when I started stocking shelves. I’ve worked there—off and on—ever since.” He fell silent while their server placed bowls of fragrant soup before them and departed. Once they were alone again, Josh said, “I’m not quite sure why I told you all that. I’m not usually so open about my past.”

“I’m glad you did,” Charlie whispered, understanding now why he feared change. A part of her heart melted as she pictured a young Josh wearing hand-me-downs, his hair falling over his eyes while he dragged or shoved heavy cartons across the hardwood floors. The Super Min had been his home away from home. But change was coming, whether either of them wanted it or not. Charity Grambling’s days of selling boiled peanuts and providing her own version of child care were numbered. Charlie wrenched her thoughts to the here and now. “Charity must like your mom a lot. Are they close?”

“They’re like”—he paused, his brow furrowing—“family. But it’s more than that. Folks on Mimosa Key take care of one another. It’s part of what makes the island special. Well, there you have it. You know all there is to know about me. The important stuff anyway.” He eyed an array of silverware before selecting the largest spoon. Grinning as though pleased with himself, he dipped into the soup. “This is great. Try some.”

“Oh, I imagine there’s a lot you haven’t told me.” She had the strangest feeling Josh had glossed over more than a few details. She wanted to know the rest of his story—where he’d gone to school, what clubs he’d belonged to, if he’d played sports or ever considered college.

“But what
I
want is to know more about you.” Across the table, the dimple in Josh’s cheek deepened when he smiled. “Let’s start with the basics. Where were you born? Where’d you grow up?”

“I’ll tell you what. You guess. For every right answer, I’ll”—she tapped a finger to her chin—“let you have a bite of my dessert. The lemon mousse on the menu is calling my name.” She leaned into her seat, enjoying the game. “So from what you know about me so far, where do you think I grew up?”

“Somewhere below the Mason-Dixon Line,” he said without hesitation. “There’s the slightest trace of a drawl in your voice.”

“One bite of lemon mousse to you,” she said, faking a pout. She’d worked hard to train the South out of her mouth. Apparently, she hadn’t been entirely successful. “What else?”

“You’re cultured, polished,” he answered, while she tried not to squirm under his direct gaze. “I’d say you probably grew up in an average-sized town. Mama and Daddy doted on their little princess. You were the queen of your private high school and loved the Greek scene in college. Vassar or Bryn Mawr. A liberal arts degree.”

“Aha! That dessert is all mine. Your image of me as a spoiled little rich kid couldn’t be further off if you tried.” Her hair fell forward, and she brushed it behind her shoulder. “I was in college before I realized not everyone shopped at Goodwill.” She grimaced at the memory before flashing him a grin that said she’d moved beyond secondhand stores. “The first time I walked into a Neiman Marcus, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”

“Really?” Josh tilted his head in a doubtful pose.

“Honest.” She crossed her heart and kissed her fingers the way she’d done as a child. Sobering, she went on. “My dad inherited a hundred acres of the meanest, stingiest land in Georgia when Grampa keeled over from a heart attack halfway through the spring planting. That didn’t stop him and my mom from pouring life and soul into farming. They tried raising corn. Mostly what they grew was more dirt.” She flicked an imaginary piece of dust from the linen tablecloth. “I hate dirt.”

“Good to know.” Josh smiled over the rim of his wine glass. “Are they still around, your folks?”

“Oh, yeah. The bank foreclosed on the land a few years back, and they moved to a nice, little duplex in Moultrie. It’s south, near the Florida line. Daddy got a job at the shirt factory in town. Mom grows vegetables in a community garden plot and helps out at the church.” She stared at the setting sun beyond the plate glass windows. “It was the best move they could have ever made, but they’d never admit it.”

“And you? How’d you get where you are?”

She gave a rueful laugh. “When you come from nothing like I did, people tend to assume you’re never going to amount to anything. Everyone in town expected me to wind up married or pregnant—or both—before high school graduation. But I knew an education was my ticket to a better life, a better future. I studied hard. Aced my SATs. Went to Columbia on a full ride. Stayed for my master’s in accounting. And it paid off. I landed what was supposed to be my dream job at Waterson and Bash.”

A pensive mood struck, and she cupped her chin in her hand. The way Josh stared at her, it was almost as if he was devouring every word. There was no harm in telling him the rest of it, was there? She straightened the napkin in her lap and plunged on.

“I’m not sure how much longer I’ll stay with W&B. I earn a good living there, but sometimes I think there’s got to be something…more.”

“You could always take up farming.” He smiled to show he was only joking.

“Yeah, no,” she said firmly. “If I never have to hoe another row of beans, it’ll be too soon.”

A shadow crossed over Josh’s face. She waited while the efficient staff served the main course before she ventured, “Don’t tell me. You dream of owning your own farm.”

“Not exactly.” Josh’s fork hovered over his fish. “A vineyard, maybe.”

“You’re not serious,” she breathed. The first man she’d felt any kind of a spark with in ages and, not only had he spent his adult life behind the cash register at a convenience store, his life’s ambition was to farm? She really knew how to pick them.

“Oh, yeah. One of our neighbors grew scuppernong grapes on the fence behind our apartment. I loved those things. Couldn’t get enough of them.” He laughed, obviously remembering. “I learned how to make wine when I was in high school. It made me very popular. I got invited to all the best parties.”

“So, now what? You want to grow grapes? On Mimosa Key?” She hoped he’d done his homework. Farming, even raising hardy peanuts, was a tough gig.

“Maybe,” he mused. “If I can find the right piece of land. Good soil and good drainage are a must.”

Charlie breathed a relieved breath. It sounded like Josh had at least considered some of the pitfalls. But there were so many others. “I doubt many bankers are going to beat a path to your door. Can you afford it?”

“I have some money set aside. Enough to get started. In fact, I was planning to drive around the island tomorrow and look at a couple of pieces of property. Would you like to come with me?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Though the reason was more difficult to recall than it had been an hour ago, she had to stay as far away from Josh—and farming—as possible.

“I get it. That’s okay.”

The restaurant had filled and emptied while they lingered over dessert and coffee. She studied the few remaining crumbs of the best lemon mousse she’d ever tasted. This was it. The time had come to really and truly part company. She glanced at the man who sat, relaxed and totally at ease, in the opposite chair. To a casual observer, Josh looked as if he belonged and wasn’t simply enjoying a once-in-a-lifetime chance to play host in an expensive restaurant.