Dockside (21 page)

“Dad.” Daisy nudged his shoulder. “
Dad.
I said, the usual? I’m going inside.”

“Sure. That’d be great,” he said. He didn’t realize he had a “usual.”

As Daisy went in, she passed Olivia, who brought out a pitcher of ice water and some glasses. At her heels trotted the ever-present Barkis. “Hey, Greg. Don’t you look spiffy.” She sat down next to Connor and hugged his arm. “After we’re married, maybe Greg will take you shopping.”

Connor laughed. “What, I’m not spiffy enough for you?”

“Sure you are. But there’s something about a guy in a really good suit…”

Nina studied Greg, seeming to notice his clothes for the first time. “What’s the occasion?”

“Daisy and I had a meeting.” He didn’t elaborate, conscious of protecting Daisy’s privacy. He got the feeling the bank wasn’t Nina’s favorite place these days, though she’d never told him why.

“Nina, did you get your invitation?” Olivia asked her.

Greg glanced at Connor, who spread his hands. “What can I say? It’s all wedding, all the time.”

Nina and Olivia ignored them. “I did, thanks,” Nina said. “It was so nice of you to include me and Sonnet. You didn’t have to, though.”

“Nonsense. You’re my sister’s best friend. I hope you’re planning to come. I’d love it if you and your daughter would share the day.”

Nina seemed uncharacteristically awkward, her gaze shifting and her cheeks coloring up. Watching her, it struck Greg that this woman possessed facets he was finding one by one. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be privy to them. Maybe he shouldn’t want to be—but he did.

Twirling a lock of hair around her finger, she smiled at Olivia. “Thank you. I’ll send in my RSVP right away.”

“Mission accomplished,” Connor said, seizing the slightest pause in the conversation. He handed Greg a work binder filled with permits. “Everything should be in order. The crew will be done by the end of the week.”

“We need to go look at wedding cake designs.” Olivia grabbed her fiancé’s hand and pulled him toward the bakery. “And don’t give me that look of desperation. Come on, Barkis.” She patted her thigh.

After they’d gone, Nina explained her strategy for getting more media coverage for the inn. Even though it was fully booked for opening weekend, they both knew promotion was an uphill battle. She showed him the list of places she wanted to send the press kits. She had targeted a range of media, from small, local outlets to the
New York Times.

As he listened to her pitch, Greg felt the warmth of the summer sun on his back and watched her nibble at her donut. She ate methodically, in tiny bites around the periphery.

“What’s that smile?” she asked, eyeing him across the table.

“I just flashed on the way business meetings used to go for me in the city. Baked goods were not involved. Just a lot of caffeine and testosterone.”

“Sounds like you don’t miss it.”

“Nope. Can’t believe I put up with it all those years.”

“So why did you?”

“That’s a good question. I wish I’d asked myself that fifteen years ago. I felt…driven,” he admitted. “Nobody was forcing me to compete that hard, but it was the sort of thing guys in my position did.” It seemed bogus, now that he looked back. There was just something in the air in the city—a keen sense of competition, an urgency. He felt responsible for producing a big income, too, what with the kids, a mortgage and Sophie just starting her law career.

Then a stark realization struck him. Those were all rationalizations. The real reason he’d worked so hard, spending so many long hours at the firm, never slowing down to take a breather—the reason for all that was his own unhappiness. Not that he knew at the time, of course. The competition and chaos of work kept a thick barrier around the truth. But he could see it now, clearly. If he kept busy enough, he didn’t have to think about the fact that things were strained with Sophie, that a subtle, simmering discontent flowed deep beneath the surface, so deep that it was possible to overlook, provided he kept himself preoccupied.

“Here you go, Dad.” Daisy returned with a cheese kolache and a glass of lemonade.

“Thanks.”

Daisy studied her fingernails, which were painted a deep red-black. Greg found that he disliked the color intensely.

“Great nail polish,” Nina said. “What’s the name of that color?”

“Dark ruby, I think. If you ever need to borrow it, let me know.”

Nina smiled. “Thanks, I might take you up on that.”

Girl talk, Greg realized. For the first time, it occurred to him that Daisy had been without it for quite some time.

Acting almost shy, she put the envelope on the table. “So this is it,” she said to Nina. “It’s the letter for Logan.”

Greg was startled to hear her bring it up with Nina. Clearly, the two of them had discussed it already. So much for Daisy’s privacy.

Nina glanced from Daisy to Greg and back to Daisy. “How do you feel about it?”

“All right, I guess. Glad I got it over with. I have no idea how he’s going to react.”

Greg was torn between annoyance—this was a family affair, after all—and gratitude, since he figured he needed all the help he could get. Most of the time with Daisy, he had no idea what the hell he was doing. Sometimes he felt so alone that he panicked, so knowing Nina was in the loop calmed him. Nina herself had walked this path, and she seemed comfortable sharing her experience with Daisy.

“Anyway, thanks for hearing me out,” Daisy said. “Hey, Dad, can I take the car, and you get a ride back to the inn with Nina? I, uh, I kind of have a…well, not a date, exactly, but I asked Julian if I could get some shots of him at the Shawangunks.”

The rock-climbing mecca was legendary, and Julian Gastineaux had quickly become her favorite subject to photograph. For some reason, Greg felt an impulse to glance at Nina, to see what she would say to the request. Then he caught himself. “You’re not planning to climb any rocks.”

“Dad.”

“Okay, okay.” He dug in his pocket for the keys. “I don’t mind. Be back before dark.”

“Thanks, Dad. See you, Nina.”

After Daisy left, Greg looked across the table at Nina. “So you and she have been talking about…her situation.”

“We have. I hope you don’t think I’m meddling. Actually, I
am
meddling.”

“I noticed.”

“Only I prefer to think of it as being a good friend, a confidante. Not a meddler—that’s someone with a malicious intent. Daisy knows I can relate to her situation, which is why I think she trusts me.”

He stared down at his hands for a moment. “So when you told Sonnet’s father…”

“Awkward,” she said. “Discovering the existence of Sonnet had to be a blow to Laurence. He built his life with military strategy, and he was masterful at it, creating a big future for himself. His marriage to Angela Hancock might have been a love match, but it was strategic as well. They became the perfect D.C. power couple—young, brilliant, educated, African-American, dedicated to serving their country. Their girls are perfect, too—private school, every advantage. He goes up a notch every year, it seems. The sky’s the limit. Although there’s that one little blooper from his past.”

“Sonnet.”

“Yes. I figured he’d run the other way once I told him about her. But to his credit, he didn’t do that. After I told him, he paid child support, and he sent me a letter to give her when I thought she was old enough to understand. He said I could read it first, and I did, to make sure it wouldn’t upset her. When Sonnet was eight years old, I gave her the letter. She disappeared into her room with it and came out an hour later asking if she could make a long-distance phone call. Ever since, he’s been open with her and involved in a marginal level in her life. One thing he did—something I never asked for—was start a fund for her education. He did it right away, from the first moment he knew about her.”

“So telling him was the right thing to do.”

“For Sonnet. And this boy Daisy was with—maybe he’ll step up, but even if he doesn’t, she’ll be all right.”

“I know,” he said, letting go of his irritation. “And I know the future’s going to be hard as hell for her, so having people she can talk to helps. Dammit.” He raked a hand through his hair, telling himself to quit babbling. “There are just so many ways to screw this up. Damn. It’s…we do it again and again in an endless stream. You’d think we’d learn, or at least keep our kids from messing up.”

“That’s not the way it works, and you know it.”

“I do know. I’ll try to take it easier.” He found that he was able to do that around her. Simply sitting here in the sun, feeling the breeze and looking across the table at her filled him with a curious sense of calm pleasure. All right, he thought, studying the way she sipped her iced tea and the shadow of one dark curl, forming a comma on her forehead. Ask her. He’d been thinking about it for days—what it would be like to go out with her. To do something with her that wasn’t business-related for once. He’d lain awake night after night, mulling over his options, and finally, last night, a bone-deep sense of loneliness had driven him from his bed. He’d slipped out into the summer night, the warm air busy with crickets and frogs. He looked across the compound and spied a light on in the boathouse. The idea that Nina was up, too, had been instantly compelling. Here was this girl he’d known for years, and finally their lives were intersecting. Why the hell not? he thought.

He straightened up in his seat, cleared his throat. “So I was wondering—”

“Yes?” She leaned forward, watching him with a peculiar intensity. Her response had come quickly, almost as if she’d been expecting the question. She seemed to realize she’d jumped the gun, and laughed a little. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I thought you and I—”

“Yo, Romano. I was hoping I’d run into you here.” A big guy in jeans and work boots came over to the table.

She beamed up at him. “Hey, Nils. This is Greg Bellamy. He owns the Inn at Willow Lake. Greg—Nils Jensen, from the jewelry store.”

They shook hands, squaring off with their eyes. The guy didn’t look much like a jeweler. “Nice to meet you,” Greg lied.

“Likewise,” Nils lied back. He turned his focus to Nina. “So are we still on for tonight?”

“Definitely,” she said.

Still on? On for what? Greg told himself not to get bent out of shape. He hadn’t even asked her out. And Nina was his partner, not his girlfriend. Still, he disliked the proprietary way Jensen firmed up his plans for some kind of date with her, then departed with a Paul-Bunyon swagger.

She didn’t offer to fill in the blanks after Jensen left. Instead, she turned her attention back to her agenda. “Okay,” she said, “so I made a timeline of everything that needs to be done before we open. Here’s your copy.” She presented it to him with a flourish. “Oh, and did you get the boat lift fixed?”

“There’s a part that needs welding.” He grabbed the list and crammed it into his pocket without looking at it. “It’ll get it done.”

Seemingly oblivious to his irritation, she finished eating all the glaze off the donut and left its carcass. “Thanks. So…were you going to ask me something?”

Right, he thought. “What? No.”

“Oh. I thought, before Nils showed up, you were going to ask me something.”

“Totally forgot,” he said. “It must not have been important.”

“Must not,” she agreed. “You ready? I’m parked down the street.”

Nina’s car was like everything else about her—small, cheerful and cute. She drove a Fiat the color of a buttercup, with the radio set on his favorite station—coincidence, he told himself—and the backseat filled with the flotsam and jetsam of a busy person.

“You’ve got a mobile office back there,” he observed.

“I haven’t figured out a filing system yet.”

“Connor had some efficiency expert lay out the office at the inn,” Greg reminded her.

“It’s impossible to impose one person’s system on another.”

Greg didn’t argue. He suspected there was a deeper reason she hadn’t inhabited the office of the inn yet, but he forced himself to shake off his annoyance.
Focus. It’s just business.

For some reason, Nina felt out of sync with Greg, and she wasn’t sure why. Before Nils had stopped by to remind her about bowling league, she’d had the feeling Greg was going to ask her something. Ask her out. Like, on a date.

No, probably not, she corrected herself. That was most likely just wishful thinking. And it was for the best, because if he’d asked her out, then she would have had to make a decision she didn’t want to face.

There were supposed to be boundaries in place, to create a distance between her business and personal life. Yet time and again, she was lured to the brink, and not just with Greg. She found herself drawn to his kids, too—soulful Max, and Daisy, who was at a vulnerable spot Nina could totally relate to. Had she stepped over the line, talking to Daisy? She didn’t know. Daisy talked to her and Nina listened. And, all right, she couldn’t help herself—she sometimes chimed in with an opinion or advice. It just came naturally to her.

She still felt out of sorts later when she and Greg went to work on the attic of the inn. This had been a work-in-progress for days. The attic was a labyrinthine repository of mostly junk that probably hadn’t been touched in decades. They’d been sorting through broken furniture, musty books, rusty tools, abandoned toys, spider-infested linens. The vast majority of items went straight to the dump, but every once in a while, they found a small treasure, like a white hobnail vase or a tole-painted tray.