Sea of Love: A Bayberry Island Novel (18 page)

She frowned. “Ookay.”

“Brochures
.
”

Rowan giggled. “Hey, don’t hate. Brochures really are a time-saver, you know. It gets old answering the same questions all day every day, and it’s easier just to point to the display rack of brochures.”

Ash’s eyes crinkled up as she talked. He seemed to be enjoying their time on the love magnet. “I’ve read all about Ruthie and his mermaid wife, too,” he added.

“Great.”

He touched the side of her face with his fingertips and let his gaze drop to her lips. “Do you believe in the mermaid legend?”

It was an innocent enough question. After all, they were getting to know each other, and if she were Ash, she’d want to know if the woman on the glider with him was tragically insane. “No. I do not.” She decided to keep things moving. “Did you get a chance to read my mother’s brochure?”

Ash’s body stiffened at the question. His reaction had been barely noticeable, but Rowan had learned to read him.

“Not yet, but I will the first opportunity I get.” Ash was always so diplomatic.

Rowan glanced down at her hands. “You’ve probably heard about my family by now, that we’re the only holdout, and everyone else who owns land on the cove is plenty angry.”

Ash nodded, listening.

“Wait. That’s not technically accurate—it’s just my
mother
who’s the holdout, along with a few of her browbeaten friends. Honestly, if it were up to me, I’d sell to the developers right now. My dad wants to sell, too, and my parents fought so much over it that they ended up separated. Clancy is on the fence—he sees things through a law-enforcement perspective and worries about the gambling element. And Duncan doesn’t care. He’s doesn’t give a damn about the island.”

Rowan noticed that one of Ash’s eyebrows had arched high. She must have said too much. “Sorry for rambling.”

He reached for her hand and held it with both his. The feel of his warmth and strength was soothing to her, and she took a deep breath.

“I know firsthand that money—the lure of it—can do a lot of damage.” Ash seemed pensive. “I’ve spent all of my adult life chasing money, telling myself that it was never enough. But I’ve recently learned that money is just money. It’s not what really matters. It isn’t real.”

Rowan snorted. “I’d
love
to learn that lesson. I’m up close and personal with so much ‘real’ shit—broken cedar shingles, crumbling tuck-pointing, a bum roof, inefficient windows, iffy air-conditioning, peeling paint, splintering wood—”

Rowan stopped herself. She closed her eyes in embarrassment. “Wow. I’m really sorry. Let’s talk about something else.” She pasted on a pleasant smile. “So. I got my bachelor’s in education and a master’s in psychology from Tufts.”

“I know that, too—the diplomas on your wall.”

“Oh jeesh. Okay. Clearly I’m at a disadvantage here, since I’m not living in
your
apartment. So how about you? Tell me about your consulting business. Your family.”

Ash shifted his weight in the glider and blew air from his lips, like his answer was going to be complicated.

“If you want,” Rowan added.

He leaned in and kissed her cheek, as if to reassure her. “I’m happy to. I grew up in Boston and attended boarding school, then went to Harvard and Harvard business school. Both my parents were Harvard graduates.” He stopped there, self-conscious.

Rowan decided to make it easier on him. “That’s not much of a shocker, Ash. I figured you for a blue-blooded T-fer the minute you whipped out your black credit card.”

Ash looked stunned, then burst out laughing. “So much for going incognito, huh?” He kissed her again, this time on the lips. It was a peck, but a sweet peck. “So, anyway, I worked in the banking industry for a few years and then started my own consulting business. I—” Ash stopped. “It’s pretty boring stuff. I act as a middleman between large corporations and investments they might be interested in—real estate, mostly. But I’ve recently started working for a nonprofit foundation called Oceanaire. Our focus is marine conservation and education.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“I’m enjoying it. So what did you do before you moved here from New York?”

“I worked for a headhunter in Boston for many years, in the secondary education market—you know, deans and provosts and stuff. Then when I moved to New York with Frederick, I joined the same kind of company there.” She shrugged.

Ash seemed to be waiting for more details, which wasn’t something Rowan wanted to give. She didn’t want to waste another second talking about Frederick. So she changed the subject.

“Okay, so, my best friend is Annie Parker—I told you about her. She owns a tourist shop on the Main Street boardwalk.”

“I think I was in her place the other day. I bought a sweatshirt and some of her, you know, special chocolate.”

Rowan laughed. “Seriously? Well, she’ll be here for the clambake tonight with her fiancé, Nat, so you’ll get to meet them. I mean”—maybe Rowan was being presumptuous—“if we’re still on for tonight.”

His eyes widened. “Of course. I look forward to it. I meant to ask you—do I have to wear a costume?”

“A costume?”

Ash frowned. “Yes. Look, I’ll just come right out and say this—I’m not a costume guy. I’ve noticed that everybody wears costumes to everything around here, so . . .”

Rowan couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess you have a point, but no. The clambake is a costume-free zone.”

“I’m relieved. I thought I was going to have to wear a set of waterproof coveralls and an eye patch or something.”

“As much as I’d like to see you in the eye patch, what you’ve got on right now would be fine. Just bring a sweater. It can get cool on the beach at night.” She smiled at him. “Have I told you that you make me laugh?”

“That’s a good thing?”

“A very good thing.” It was her turn to kiss him, and she stretched up until her lips found his. Her kiss was also in the peck category, but she stayed a second or two longer than necessary. God, did she love his kisses.

Rowan had a silly grin on her face when it was over, but she saw no reason to hide it. “So how about you? Who’s your best friend?”

The glider stopped. They’d been so wrapped up in their conversation that Rowan hadn’t even realized they were still moving. He didn’t answer her question. Obviously, he was willing to discuss some things, but not everything. The ex-girlfriend had been fair game, as was school and work, but anything related to his family—and now his best friend—seemed to be off-limits. Rowan figured he’d had enough getting-to-know-you time.

“It’s okay, Ash. I should probably get back to work.”

“Stay.” He grabbed her hand tighter. “It’s . . . well, my family isn’t—it
wasn’t
—like yours. I had a very different experience.”

Rowan tucked her chin toward her chest and looked up at him. “Is this a polite way of saying you don’t come from a long line of Mermaid-worshipping head cases?”

Ash laughed, pulling her close again. “That’s not at all what I’m saying. Since I’ve been here on Bayberry, I’ve been thinking about how my life seems . . . I don’t know . . .
dry
compared to yours, I guess.”

“Dry?”

“Well, yes. You have two parents and two brothers and a lifelong best friend. You have history here on the island, a place where you will always belong, no matter what. I’ve always been more of a . . . I suppose you could call me a loner.”

Rowan decided to stay where she was, snuggled into the side of his body, and let him talk. It took a moment for him to continue.

“I was an only child, and my parents died when I was six. I went to live with my grandfather, who raised me.”

Rowan’s body went still. She had no idea how to respond to that, so she opted to stay silent.

“They were young, in their late thirties, and they’d traveled to Kenya for a safari to celebrate their tenth anniversary. There was a flash flood and they were washed away. Their bodies and the body of their driver weren’t found for weeks.”

Rowan closed her eyes. She continued to hear the rhythm of the sea, birdsong, and the beat of her own heart, so that’s how she knew the world was still intact. But it might have skipped a breath in sympathy—such loss at that age was impossible to imagine. The pain and confusion must have been crushing for him. “Ash, I’m so very sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” The glider began its back-and-forth movement again, and he pulled her even tighter to his side. “Grandfather Louis was a wonderful man, very principled, a typical stoic New Englander. He was all about work and honor. I wasn’t always easy to deal with when I got to my teenage years. No, let me rephrase that.” He chuckled slightly. “I was a complete
ass
. And we butted heads a lot. He died when I was nineteen, a sophomore at Harvard.”

“That’s so sad, Ash.”

“It was. But my saving grace was my best friend, Brian Martin, and his family. They kind of took me under their wing and made me an honorary member of the family. I met Brian in boarding school, and we went to Harvard together.”

Rowan’s heart lifted—Ash had a best friend! She knew how crucial that was when life got rough.

Ash laughed uncomfortably. “You know, this all sounds so tragic when I say it out loud, but Brian died six months ago. He was in a private plane doing research for Oceanaire when it went down off the coast of Nova Scotia. It’s been . . . it’s hard for me.”

Rowan’s limbs felt lifeless and heavy. Her cheeks went hot. She pushed herself up to look in Ash’s face, but he stared blankly out toward the grounds. Since she didn’t have any words that would possibly make a difference, she laced her fingers in his.

“Thank you,” Ash said.

They sat like that in silence, rocking back and forth, the squeak of the love magnet moving in time with the breathing of the sea. All Rowan could think was that she had no idea how one person could absorb so much loss. It seemed like Ash’s entire life had been about loss. No wonder he felt like a loner.

“Ah, there you are.”

Rowan bolted up from the old glider so fast it slammed against the side of the house with a
crack
! Ash stood seconds later.

“Good morning.” Imelda looked Ash up and down, frowning.

Rowan regrouped quickly. There was nothing for her to be embarrassed about, after all. They’d just been talking.

“Ash, this is Imelda Silva, the only member of the family you haven’t met. She’s the boss around here.” Rowan grabbed Imelda’s hand and coaxed her out from the doorway. “Mellie, meet Ash Wallace.”

“A pleasure, Ms. Silva.” Ash extended his hand gallantly, no hint of solemnness in his expression. It was startling how quickly he’d switched gears. Being a female, Mellie couldn’t stay grumpy for long in his presence.

“Hello, Mr. Wallace. Are you enjoying your stay?”

“I am, thank you.” He gave her one of his heart-melting grins. “If those blueberry and cranberry scones are your creation, I should be bowing at your feet.”

“
Meu Deus
.” Imelda’s cheeks flushed, but she collected herself. “I do need your help, Rowan.”

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”

Imelda headed back into the house, but smiled over her shoulder at Ash.

Rowan turned toward him. She took both his hands in hers and looked up into his eyes. He offered her a sad smile but held tight to his emotions. Rowan was stunned. She didn’t know how a person could carry all that sadness and still be standing, let alone functioning in the world.

“You deserve happiness.” Rowan thought her words must sound puny and obvious in the face of everything he’d just shared, but that was all that kept going through her brain—it was time for him to be happy.

He leaned down and kissed Rowan gently, resting his forehead against hers as he stroked her hair. “You deserve to be happy, too, sweet Rowan.” Then Ash pulled away and smiled. “You’d better get back to work. I don’t want to be on Imelda’s bad side.”

“Okay.” Rowan’s knees felt wobbly as she turned to go, as if she’d taken on some of the weight of Ash’s sadness. Suddenly, her own tribulations seemed minor. “See you about six. On the beach, okay?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

To: Jerrod Jessop

From: Ashton Louis Wallace III

Subject: Mermaid Island

Jerrod,

I am writing to inform you that I can no longer offer my services to Jessop-Riley and am resigning from the Mermaid Island job immediately. My reasons are of a personal nature. I understand this is sudden, and I will be happy to refund my retainer as well as any expenses your firm may have incurred on my behalf to this point. When my attorney returns from vacation, I will ask him to contact you regarding the terms of our contract and any punitive damages you may seek. I regret any inconvenience my withdrawal from the project may cause you.

I wish you the best in all your endeavors. Please note that I will be ending all my consulting work, effective immediately, and closing my office. Feel free to contact my attorney if you have any further questions, as I will not be available to speak on the phone.

Best regards,

Ash

Kathryn Hilsom sat back in her desk chair and read the e-mail again, just to be sure she hadn’t been hallucinating first thing on this Monday morning. When she was certain she’d read correctly, she giggled like a girl.

This was a godsend. It was true that she’d spent the last three months hating Ash Wallace with every breath she took, but right now she wished she could kiss the man. He was just . . . gone! Out of the picture! She didn’t have to do a thing! She wished she could thank him for his impeccable timing—he’d burned out just as she was ready to shine.

Kathryn jumped from her desk, checked her reflection in the mirror behind her office door, and grabbed her suit jacket from the stand. As she smoothed the fabric over her hips, she took a moment to give herself a little pep talk.

This was it. This was her moment. She would finally get an opportunity to use all the untapped people skills and business acumen in her professional arsenal. She would go to Bayberry Island and do what Ash Wallace could not, and a whole world would open for her. A huge bonus? Probably. A promotion to vice president for acquisitions? It was quite possible. But maybe she wanted something better for herself; maybe she was thinking too small. Maybe this was the time to blow out of this corporate box and set up her own consulting firm, filling the market void Ash Wallace had handed to her all tied up in a bow.

Kathryn shivered with pleasure and smiled at herself in the mirror. Closing the Mermaid Island deal would make anything and everything possible. It would mean that her new life was about to begin.

She rushed across the J-R office suite, then knocked on Jerrod’s door energetically.

A muffled voice came from within. “I’m busy.”

“It’s Kathryn, Jerrod.”

“And I’m still busy.”

She refused to let his nasty mood affect her. She gently opened his door a crack. Her boss was seated behind his desk with his head in his hands.

“I just need a minute of your time, Jerrod.”

He jerked his head up and glared at her, but didn’t tell her to leave, which Kathryn took as an invitation.

“I can handle Mermaid Island,” she said, stepping inside and approaching his desk. “I can close the deal. I know I can. I can salvage this, Jerrod.”

Her boss laughed and shook his head. He reached for his usual Slurpee and began to suck on the straw like he was trying to extract a golf ball instead of a bit of frothy corn syrup and artificial coloring. He leaned back in his chair when he was done. “I just forwarded that e-mail to you. You sure didn’t waste much time.”

“We have no time to waste.”

“I’ll think about it.” He frowned at Kathryn. “Ash did leave me a voice mail before he resigned. He said Mona Flynn would be more willing to negotiate if we’d get another environmental assessment.”

“That’s fabulous!”

“I wouldn’t go that far. We’ll have to find another firm who’ll tell us what we want to hear, and that will cost money.”

“We should move on this right away.”

“I said I’ll think about it.” He took another loud slurp. “I’m busy. I’m busy breaking out in a rash—a fucking two-hundred-and-thirty-million-dollar rash.”

Kathryn tried her best not to show how disgusted she was. Jerrod Jessop was a self-absorbed, hyperactive, spoiled little boy. She’d hated every day of the seven years she’d worked for him. His behavior certainly was making her decision easy, though. In a week or so, when she’d closed the Mermaid Island deal, she would gladly accept the bonus. Then she’d tell Jerrod to stick his vice presidency offer all the way up his Slurpee straw.

She smiled pleasantly. “We cannot look at this as a problem, Jerrod. It’s a real
opportunity
for us. We need to seize it.”

“Close the door on your way out.”

“Of course.”

Idiot.

*   *   *

There was no way around it—Ash had to get out of the clambake. He had to get off the island. He had to extricate himself from Rowan Flynn before it was too late.

As he walked to town, he felt the anger and bewilderment pull at him like a wicked undertow. Never before in his life had he felt ensnared like this. A woman—worse yet, a woman he’d just met—had a pull on him that was too strong to resist. Too intangible. Too unexpected. How was he supposed to fight something he couldn’t name and had no reference for? It was driving him nuts.

He’d felt the pull the instant he’d laid eyes on her, standing in the front hall of the B and B in her T-shirt and jeans, greeting him with wary politeness. And just moments ago, sitting with Rowan in the old porch glider, he couldn’t avoid the truth—with every moment he spent in her company, the pull grew stronger. How had he allowed this to happen? How had he let her charm him, kiss him, intoxicate him, make him laugh, and seduce him into chaos?

Most of all, how had she coaxed the truth from him like that? He didn’t share his sob story with people. It had taken him two years to tell Nanette about how his parents died. In the six months since Brian’s death, he’d barely spoken his name aloud.

And why the hell had he agreed to be her date—
her actual date
—to the clambake? If he were still Ash Wallace, the closer, he would have accepted her invitation as a strategic move. It would give him a way to gain her trust and get access to her family. But the damn job was an afterthought at this point. It wasn’t about the job anymore. He’d quit the fucking job. And he’d already met the Flynns and he’d already earned Rowan’s trust.

So why would he accept her invitation to the clambake? There was only one answer to that question. If he showed up, he would show up as a man who was interested in the woman who had invited him.

Ash looked up at the flawless blue sky. His footfalls became heavy on the pavement as his thoughts went to Nanette—he’d actually talked to Rowan about Nanette! He never opened up like that to a woman. Brian had been his one and only sounding board for anything personal.

Ash laughed out loud, thinking that “closed off” had been only one of the many labels women had given him over the years, along with stoic, distant, cold, shut down, and—his personal favorite—
an imitation human being
. That had been Nanette’s parting shot, a wound she tried to inflict when she told him she planned to relocate to San Francisco and his reaction wasn’t what she’d hoped to hear.

“Do whatever you think is best,” he’d told her.

She’d stared at him for a moment, her mouth hanging open. Then she blew up. “After three years together, that’s all you can say? Are you kidding me? Are you really that empty inside?”

So that was the real mind-bending mystery here. Why now? Why was Ash suddenly feeling things he’d never felt before? Was it something about Rowan? Was it something about the tiny island she called home?

Whatever it was, he hadn’t asked for it and he sure as hell didn’t have faith in it.

Ash reached the marine yard just after eleven. He poked his head into the shack that served as Sully’s office and was immediately assaulted with the smell of low tide mixed with diesel fuel, dirty oil, and how he imagined a bologna sandwich might smell after a month in the summer sun.

“Sully?”

A clanging sound rang out from behind a door marked
PRIVATE
. It opened, and Sully poked his head out, then looked down at his feet. “Oh, it’s you.”

Once again, Ash was struck by the small businessman’s lack of small business skills. “I came by to check on the engine. Are you done installing it?”

Sully raised his eyes. “You in a hurry?”

“You could say that.”

He shrugged. “Well, I ordered it Friday afternoon and then we had the weekend come along, you know, so I’m sure it will be here soon.”

Ash laughed. “Are you serious? It takes several days to get a part from Hyannis? In that time, I could’ve swum there and back with the engine anchored to my neck.”

Sully scowled, wiping his hands on a paper towel. Ash realized he must have interrupted his lunch. “Good thing you like swimming, Mr. Wallace, because that boat of yours ain’t going anywhere till it’s fixed.”

Ash was growing tired of this conversation. “I need the repairs done today.”

Sully nodded, but said nothing.

“I’ll be back this evening.”

Sully closed one eye and looked at him quizzically. “You want to leave this evening?”

“Well, I’d like to leave right now, but since that obviously isn’t an option, I’ll wait until tonight.”

Sully studied the wad of paper towel in his hand like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. He looked up again. “I mean no disrespect, Mr. Wallace, but even if I could get the engine mounted by tonight, which I can’t, are you sure you’d want to attempt a night sail?”

He laughed. “I’ve been sailing at night since—” Ash stopped himself. He was supposed to be a novice sailor. God, but he was so sick of all this
lying
. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll leave in the morning.”

Sully shook his head. “Well, I got a couple more jobs ahead of you. I can’t make any promises.”

Ash laughed again. “So it seems. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He heard the condescending tone in his voice but wasn’t overly concerned about it. After all, he was being royally screwed by this slow-moving yahoo. He left the shack and headed down the dock toward the
Provenance,
giving it a quick inspection. Right at that moment, he realized how he longed for his solitude, his only company the wind and water. How had he let Rowan get under his skin the way she had? How had he allowed himself to like this silly island as much as he did? This was a job, not a vacation. These people weren’t his friends, and this place wasn’t some kind of home away from home. Ash couldn’t get off this island fast enough.

Feeling restless and needing to kill time, Ash wandered into town. He found an unoccupied bench on the public dock, stretched an arm out over the back and crossed his legs. From his perch he did some more people-watching, studying another wave of families and couples as they disembarked from the ferry. He saw couples with their arms draped casually across each other’s shoulders and over hips. He saw parents gripping their kids’ little hands. Ash stared out over the sea, suddenly overwhelmed with uncertainty. Why was it that he longed so for his solitude? Was it because he truly wanted to be alone, or was it because he wanted to hide in what was familiar and safe?

“Hello, sir.”

Ash dragged his eyes from the ocean to find a little girl in a mermaid costume standing by the bench. She held out a flyer. “The children’s play starts in ten minutes in the museum parking lot. It only costs five dollars.”

He accepted the piece of copy paper and smiled at the kid. “Thanks. Five dollars sounds like a bargain. I’ll try to make it.”

She grinned. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

Something about the girl’s face made his chest tighten. It occurred to him that she looked a bit like Rowan, with her straight light brown hair and freckles. “I’ll try.”

“Come on, then!” She grabbed his hand and tried to tug him to a stand. “I’m going there now, so I can show you where it is. I’m in it. I play a mermaid. There’s hot dogs and popcorn balls for sale, too.”

Ash looked at where her small hand grasped his and found himself smiling. Here he was again—getting kidnapped by a kid. Just then it dawned on him that he’d been kidnapped many times since he set foot on Bayberry Island—by children, by Rowan, by the unconventional rhythm of life around here.

“You coming?”

“Sure,” he said, standing. “Lead the way.”

Why not? It wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

Plus it had been at least twenty years since he’d had a decent popcorn ball.

Not long after, Ash stood at the outer fringes of the parking lot, the midday sun beating down on him. A horde of proud parents held up every kind of recording device imaginable—smartphones, digital cameras, video recorders—as the drama unfolded on the raised platform against the old brick of the museum wall.

“Oh no!” The first mate gestured wildly as he looked over the railing of the fishing vessel. “We shall perish! All is lost!”