Snowflake Bay (2 page)

All her line of vision allowed, however—now that he'd turned her around so her back was to him, tipping her head forward to allow him to work her hair free from the scarf—was the Michelin Man-style, double-padded red snow coat she'd buttoned around her short, curvy frame, under which was a layer of thick hoodie, a long-sleeved turtleneck, and a T-shirt. She surprised herself by letting out a muffled snort. “Well, if the nickname still fits,” she murmured, proud of herself for embracing the humor in the moment, only to discover a split second later she was blinking back stupid tears.

Maybe no matter how much a person grew up, no matter how much she matured, she thought, mortified all over again, there would always be a part of her who was still that same, invisible thirteen-year-old girl.

Big hands gripped her shoulders again and turned her back around. Then she felt rough, thick fingers gently tug at the scarf until her face was completely uncovered, or at least most of it was. Curls still clung to her eyelashes and errant wool fibers remained plastered to her Chapsticked lips.

She finally looked up at him. What the hell. She couldn't possibly be more mortified around him now than she had been during pretty much every waking, breathing moment of her adolescence, could she?

Any latent, exceedingly selfish hopes she might have harbored that time and age had been unkind to him were extinguished with that one simple glance. He was . . . beautiful. He'd always been beautiful. Thick, chestnut-brown hair that was forever in need of a trim topped a pair of always twinkling eyes the color of Maine evergreens, and a ready grin set between a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. Only now, age and time had somehow transformed him into a man who was more rugged, more handsome, more genuinely, heart-grippingly sexy. The kind of sexy a thirteen-year-old couldn't even begin to appreciate, but the thirty-two-year-old woman standing before him could all too well.

His body was as ruggedly appealing as his face, with broad shoulders to match those wide palms, and the kind of muscles roping his arms and biceps that even the green plaid wool jacket he had on over a faded red hoodie did little to hide and everything to enhance. She didn't dare look lower. Didn't have to. He'd always been athletic and agile despite his size. Looking at those long legs and perfectly muscled thighs wasn't necessary. She imagined them anyway, remembering far too many summers spent watching him and Logan from her bedroom window as they played pick-up basketball at the hoop mounted to the front of the carriage house, in nothing more than gym shorts and gleaming, honey-gold skin.

It seemed so unfair, she thought, even as she drank in the sight of him like a woman who'd been in the desert since, well, since the summer of her eighth grade graduation. Which was when he'd left town, and her unrequited love, in the unnoticed and seriously pathetic dust.

“Hello, Ben,” she said, seeing the wisps of wool still clinging to her lips dance briefly in the warm, dry air. She wanted to close her eyes. Hell, she wanted to dig a hole to China. Instead, she forced herself to maintain eye contact.
Adult. Mature. Not thirteen. Not stupidly pining for a guy who never once thought of you as anything but his best friend's annoying, bratty kid sister.

At the moment, however, he looked sincerely happy to see her. That shouldn't have made her knees knock. Or her thighs clench.

“I didn't know you were back in town,” he said.

“That makes two of us,” she said, thinking that her heart had to be pounding against her chest so hard, if she looked down, she'd surely see a cartoon version of it pumping out through her coat. Her fireplug red, down-filled coat.

Her karma clearly didn't include things like having the sexier-than-ever Ben Campbell reenter her life when she had on cute yoga pants and was in some innocent but super suggestive pose that had him immediately wondering why in the hell he'd never noticed her before.

“You, uh . . .” He made a brief motion toward her mouth, and then that gleaming white grin flashed. “Either you've been slimed by your scarf, or you have a very unfortunate fungal issue. Either way—” He reached past her to nimbly snag a napkin from the holder she'd half buried under her satchel. “Here,” he said, offering it to her.

Aaaaand humiliation complete
.
Forever thirteen.
Ah well, what the hell. Might as well own it. She tugged off her gloves with her probably wool-coated teeth, then took the proffered napkin. “Thanks,” she said, and turned to put her gloves on the marble countertop and do the best she could without benefit of a mirror to de-fungi herself. Turning back around, she crumpled the napkin in her hand and gave him a wry smile. “Better?”

“Mostly,” he said.

She went stock-still again when, teasing grin still firmly in place, he stepped closer, bowed his head, and gazed ever-so-intently at her mouth. She had no idea how her legs held her upright as every one of her adolescent fantasies came screaming back to mind, but in a far—far—more adult fashion. Surely, he couldn't mean to—

He brought his hand up—not to cup her cheek so he could lower his lips to hers—but to pluck away the few remaining fibers that still clung to her lips.

What did it say that the tips of his fingers brushing her lips elicited a far greater response from her body than the last man she'd actually gotten naked with? Nothing positive, she was sure. About her, or about poor, couldn't-find-an-erogenous-zone-if-it-was-staring-him-in-the-face Charlie. Which, sadly for them both, one rather universally well-known zone had been.

“Now you're good,” he said, smiling again as he stepped back.

No, not really,
she thought
. But you sure are.
She swallowed against a throat that was suddenly a dry wasteland, while other parts of her were . . . decidedly not.
Oh, so, very, very good.

“Are—” Fiona had to pause, clear the dust and longing from her throat, before continuing. “Are you here visiting your folks?”

“Sort of,” he replied easily, completely oblivious, of course, to the havoc he was wreaking on every last strand of her DNA. “Mom finally convinced my dad to head south. For his health,” he clarified. “I'm just getting back from helping them move.”

All visions of hot yoga mat sex fled and her eyebrows drew together as she frowned. “I'm so sorry to hear that,” she said, pushing the last of her wayward curls from her face, only to get the balled-up napkin she'd forgotten she held stuck in her hair. She yanked it back out and shoved it in her coat pocket.
Ever so seductive, Fi, you temptress, you
. “I mean, not that they moved south, but—is he okay?” She'd known Henry Campbell and his wife, Elizabeth—Lizzy to everyone who knew her—her entire life. They were the fourth generation of Campbells to run the family's—the thought broke off half-formed as she remembered the red pickup truck out front. How had she not noticed the distinctive white and green sign on the side panel? “So, who's running the Christmas tree farm?”

Ben grinned, and it really should be a crime against nature, she thought, basking in the glow despite wishing she could resist it, and him. “Dad is okay,” he replied, answering her first question. “His arthritis has gotten steadily worse, though, and he really can't take the winters up here any longer.”

“And that's when you do all of your business. Aw. I'm sorry, Ben. I know how much they both love that farm.”

He nodded. “It wasn't easy prying them out of there, but Mom found this really great retirement community in South Carolina, right on the coast. They've only been there a few weeks and she's already gotten them both involved in so many things, I'm not sure they can rightly call themselves retired.”

“They're happy, then,” Fiona said, seeing it in his eyes. His beautiful, forest-green eyes. “That's good. Really good. They've both worked so hard, they deserve some play time.”

“I've been telling them that for years.”

“You're not going to sell the farm, are you?” Ben was the youngest of the Campbell clan, and the only child of Henry and Lizzy. Neither of Henry's siblings had had children, and Lizzy was an only child, so everyone knew that the farm would go to Ben one day. Then he'd left Blueberry Cove, gone off to college and beyond. Other than to see his folks from time to time, always in the off-season—which was why Fiona had never bumped into him on her annual holiday treks home—he'd stayed gone. She wasn't even sure why the farm passing into different hands mattered so much. Yes, the McCraes had bought their Christmas trees from Campbell Christmas Tree Farm every year she'd been alive, and the past few generations of McCraes had as well. It was a long-standing tradition, not only for her family but for most, if not all, of the families in Blueberry Cove, as well as the surrounding Pelican Bay area. But did it really matter if it was a Campbell running the place?

Traditions meant something to her, a lot to her, in fact . . . but hadn't she moved away exactly as he had? Of course, in her case, the Pelican Point property was already in Logan's capable hands, so her leaving the Cove wasn't quite the same thing, but still, she understood what Ben was facing. She also knew firsthand that his parents had lovingly supported him in his own pursuits. “Sorry, it's none of my business. It's just—it's been in your family for a long time.”

“I'm running it,” he said. “For now, anyway.”

That surprised her. “I thought you had a big landscaping company down in Portsmouth?” Okay, so maybe she'd kept up a little since he'd gone. But she usually came home for the holidays and that meant buying a tree, and could she help it if his parents liked to brag about their only son?

One tawny eyebrow lifted, but all he said was, “I do.”

“Heck of a commute. How will you handle running both, especially at this time of year? Or, I guess maybe folks don't do too much winter landscaping in New England, so maybe you can just do the Christmas tree thing, then when the season is over, you could—” She abruptly stopped talking. She was babbling.

His expression shifted for a brief moment, after which the easy smile remained, but the amused twinkle wasn't there in his eyes any longer. “I just got back from South Carolina, helping the folks with the last of the move. Lots to figure out,” he said, by way of reply. “I'm only now diving in really.”

“And during your busiest season. That's a lot right there.”

“In some ways, but you know from listening to me gripe as a kid about all the farm chores I did, it's a year-round operation. Most folks think it's all about the holidays, that that's when we do all our work. The truth is, that's the easier part in some ways. It's a bit chaotic because of all the people coming to the farm, but that's a different kind of busy than what we do in actual tree farming. It's great to see everyone come out, year after year. My folks would be the first to tell you that that's the payoff, the reward, for the hard work they put in the rest of the year.”

Fiona remained silent for a moment, then said, “It must be deeply gratifying to see the same families coming back again and again.”

When Ben nodded, but otherwise didn't continue the conversational thread, she took that to mean she'd done enough prying into his personal business. Too much, most likely. “So, what brings you out here? To the Point, I mean.”

“Had to go around to the three satellite tree lots we run every season for folks who don't want to trek out to the farm to cut their own. The farm and the lots open to the public the day after Thanksgiving, so I was making sure things are good for us setting up again this season. Blueberry Cove was my last lot check, and I had some time heading back to Snowflake, so I swung out here. I was hoping to catch up with Logan,” he replied, and she thought he seemed relieved at the shift in conversation.

She wondered if her brother was the only person Ben had hoped to catch up with. But even though Ben had had a crush on Hannah all through their high school years, he'd been a part of Fiona's life far longer than that. He was four years older than she, the same age as Logan, and the two men had been best friends since kindergarten. Ben had lived in Snowflake Bay, which was tucked further inland, amongst the other inlets, coves, and bays that formed the Maine coastline, and situated between Pelican Point and Blueberry Cove. It was sparsely populated, and, other than the post office, there wasn't a developed township, so the few kids who lived there had been bussed down to the Cove for school.

“I called the sheriff's office, thinking I'd stop by there, but they said he was headed this way,” he continued. “I haven't seen him in a good while, and I haven't been out to see the Point in ages, so figured I'd come on out. I heard about the renovations and thought it would give me a chance to see them up close. Besides, I owe Logan a face-to-face apology for missing the wedding. I know he said he understood, but—”

“He did,” she reassured him. Despite the fact that Logan had come back to the Cove after graduating college and Ben had gone away to college, then started his business in Rhode Island, the two had remained good friends. So much so, Logan had originally asked Ben to be his best man. “He was disappointed, of course, but he understood. Logan said something about you having to do a photo shoot for a magazine? For your business, I'm assuming?”

Unless there's a Hot Landscape Designer Calendar,
she thought
. Because he could be in that. Hell, he could be the cover for it. And all twelve months, too.
Her designer brain immediately flashed on January Ben in the snow, July Ben in the sun, or September Ben in nothing at all. She was forced to clear her throat. Twice. “Dry air,” she explained when he looked concerned.

“Yes,” he replied. “It was about the business. It was a full profile and photo spread in
Architectural Exteriors
. I'd already agreed to it when Logan asked me and I offered to back out, but—”

“No, he'd have never wanted you to do that. Wow, that's quite the big deal. Like
Architectural Digest
big. When did it come out? I'd love to see a copy.”

“Should be out any day now, actually. They ended up holding it for the December issue. The executive editor wanted to work in the whole family Christmas tree farm angle.”

“I don't know about
AE-
type magazines, but if it's like other industry periodicals, the end-of-year issue is usually a big one, so that's doubly good.”

“That's the hope,” he said. “Regardless of all that, though, I felt terrible not being able to stand up for Logan. No one was happier than me to hear he was getting married.” His smile spread and the warmth shot back into his eyes, making her feel all squirmy. “After everything that had happened, first with your folks, then with Jessica . . .” He trailed off, shook his head, the remembered pain of losing Logan's fiancée reflected in his eyes. “I honestly wasn't sure he'd ever tie the knot.”

“Neither were we,” Fiona said, appreciating the sincere concern she heard in his voice, knowing Ben understood better than anyone what their family had been through over the years. “But Alex is great. The best. She's family now, and so good for him. You'll love her.”

“Yes, I think so. And you're right, she seems a perfect fit. I met her just now,” he added. “She was trying to move a big dresser from the master to your old room, so I gave her a hand, though I'm not sure she really needed it. Capable woman.”

Fiona knew it was silly to feel a little zing in her fluttery parts when he mentioned her childhood bedroom. He knew every room in the house, had spent at least as many days out at Pelican Point as a kid as Logan had spent at the Campbell farm. It was just that she'd lain in that bed many a night, dreaming her lovesick, Ben-infused, adolescent dreams. She smiled and hoped he mistook her flush for winter-chapped cheeks. “Alex is that. One of the many reasons we all but begged her to marry him.”

“I understand the renovation has been all under her guidance?” Ben glanced around the kitchen, but Fiona suspected he was seeing the entirety of the restored property in his mind's eye. “Incredible work. Really impressive.”

“A good part of which she's done herself. She's not afraid to swing a hammer.”

He chuckled. “No, I bet not. Honestly, though, I didn't think I'd live to see this place restored to its former glory. Was worth the trip out here just for that.” He made one last visual scan of the room, then looked back at her, his smile remaining easy and light, as did his voice when he added, “And now I hear another McCrae is set to walk down the aisle.”

His casual mention of Hannah's impending nuptials shouldn't be surprising; it had been ages ago now since he'd had his eyes on her older sister. Fiona was also quite certain that Ben had been so busy chasing after her big sister that he'd never been aware of Fiona's feelings for him. Truth be told, Fiona knew even if he'd never given Hannah the time of day, Ben Campbell still wouldn't have ever looked at Fireplug Fi or thought of her as anything other than Logan and Hannah's nuisance kid sister.

To Fiona's mind, her younger sister, Kerry, had actually been the nuisance kid sister. Fi had been the family mediator, the natural born mender of fences, whereas Kerry had been a wild child since birth. And yet, something about her baby sister's devil-may-care, mischievous demeanor had sparked a kind of kindred spark in Ben, who'd teased her and ruffled her hair, but always in an affectionate, sort of admiring, you-go-girl kind of way. It had been bad enough to feel jealousy over his feelings for Hannah, whom Fi had always admired and looked up to, but for Kerry? That had stung.

No, he'd definitely never known how she'd felt about him. No one had. Because she'd never told a soul. Not even Hannah, whom she'd normally confided everything to, but, for obvious reasons, couldn't in that case. Instead, she'd spent a pathetic amount of time imagining very detailed, exceedingly dramatic, very adolescent scenarios in which she'd profess her love to him. Even then, she'd known that, at best, he'd have chucked her under the chin like the big brother he thought himself to be, and laughed himself silly.

At worst . . . well, she hadn't seen any point in imagining the worst. After all, it had all been quite humiliating enough as it was, watching him pine for the willowy and ethereally beautiful Hannah, and bounce erry on his proverbial knee . . . while he called her Fireplug and teased her mercilessly about everything from her crazy curly hair to her always pink-cheeked face. Always around him, anyway. While her young heart pined for him, in her own private misery.

Fiona had never, even for a moment, felt ill will toward her older sister for being the object of Ben's affection, though. If anything, she'd been ashamed at how envious she'd been, pissed off, even, that Hannah was too stupid to see the gift that was being handed right to her. Fi could feel her cheeks warm even now as she remembered how, in her adolescent logic, she'd convinced herself that since his crush on Hannah had gone as unrequited as Fiona's crush on him, their shared misery could only be seen as something that would eventually bond them even more deeply to each other.

“I didn't even know she'd moved back to the Cove,” he was saying, mercifully jarring Fiona from that painful blast from the past. “And now here she is, already engaged to be married?” His smile was one of sincere happiness. “I was in town earlier, and chatted briefly with Owen at Hartley's Hardware Store. He mentioned she's marrying one of the Blue clan, which—” He broke off, shook his head even as he chuckled. “I shouldn't laugh. I haven't been around really, so I don't know who turned into what, but the Blue cousins Logan and I knew growing up were a pretty rough bunch, not to mention a lot older, neither of which ever struck me as being Hannah's type. Of course, according to Owen she's traded in her high-powered, D.C. lawyer gig—which seemed exactly like her—for hanging a shingle back here in small-town Maine, so what do I know?”