Snowflake Bay (3 page)

“Calder's not one of the Cove Blues,” Fiona told him. “He's from the St. Croix River branch. Owen didn't tell you? I'm surprised, seeing the role he played in all that happened last summer. He and Calder have become good friends.”

Ben's mouth actually dropped open for a few seconds before he closed it again, which had the unfortunate result of making her look at his mouth, and those firm lips, and forget, entirely, the thread of their conversation.

“We were interrupted by a few customers coming in to the store, so he never had the chance to finish his story.” Ben's grin grew wider still. “Wow. The Hatfields and McCoys of Pelican Bay have ended the feud? I guess I have a lot more catching up to do than I realized.”

“Well, I wouldn't go that far, but steps have been taken, olive branches extended,” Fiona said, forcing her attention back to the conversation at hand, relieved to have current events to discuss, thereby leaving their past where it belonged. “I'm sure Logan will fill you in. Or drop by the Rusty Puffin. A single beer with Fergus and you'll be all caught up in no time.”

“I'd enjoy that, story or no story. How is he doing?” Ben's smile was one of affectionate reminiscence, and it struck Fiona how disparate their shared childhood memories would be, at least when it came to each other anyway. His memories of the McCraes were likely all warm and glowing, whereas her memories of him were shadowed a little by all that adolescent pining, and the big-brother-like teasing she'd taken from him.

She was getting really warm and not just from his proximity. Being even more flushed was not the look she was going for, though why it mattered at this point, she didn't know. Regardless, she began unbuttoning her coat to remove at least one of her many layers. Naturally she had to wrestle with the leather loops that held the front of the parka closed, unable to manage freeing so much as a single one of them as her rapidly dwindling patience was tested beyond the breaking point. She was really, really done with looking like a hot mess in front of him. It was the last straw. Her last straw, anyway.

At least that's what she blamed it on when, while wrestling with and failing to free any of the five loops, her mouth opened and she stupidly said the first thing that popped into her head. “They're really happy. Hannah and Calder,” she added. “As perfect for each other as Alex and Logan. So, if you were hoping to remount your campaign for my big sister's heart, you're going to be disappointed all over again.” She immediately squeezed her eyes shut.
Idiot. Stop talking. Forever.

To her relief, he laughed. “No, that wasn't on the agenda. I'm happy for her. Truly. In fact, I was surprised she hadn't already been snapped up. Is that why she's back in Maine? Because of Blue?”

Fiona shook her head and finally gave up on the leather loops altogether. She couldn't look any more like a stewed tomato than she already did, so what the hell. “No, she came back to get away from the city rat race, same as me. She met Calder after she came back. He has a horse farm out on the river. She's doing some work for him and his family's construction business in Calais. Any shingle hanging she does will happen out there.”

He looked surprised. “So, that's a bit of a whirlwind, huh? I guess when it's right, it's right.” He'd said it easily enough, but something told her he might not be all that sold on the reality of the sentiment.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him about his own situation. Her earlier thoughts aside, she knew if he'd ever married, much less had kids, Logan would definitely have mentioned it, or she'd have heard about it from his parents. And she'd made a fool enough of herself for one day. So she wisely—for once—kept her mouth shut, and simply smiled and nodded. Where was Alex, anyway? And Hannah, for that matter? She had a wedding intervention to get to. And a childhood crush to get away from.

“What about you?” he asked. “I was going to ask if you were home for the holidays, but did you say you've moved back to the Cove, too?”

“What? Oh. Yes,” she added, thinking back over the conversation. “I guess I did say that. I mean, yes, I did move back.”

“A recent switch?”

“Very. Not quite a month ago.” With the bulk of her earthly possessions in storage, she was still living out of boxes and suitcases, having rented a room in a new inn that had just opened in Half Moon Harbor, right in the heart of the Cove. Over the very vocal protests of both Alex and Logan, of course, who had invited her to move back into her old room for as long as she needed it. Fiona felt ridiculous as it was, coming home without all her t's crossed and i's dotted. Normally she was a t-crosser and i-dotter of the first order. But her independence was one thing she didn't want to leave behind, and she liked living in the heart of the Cove. It was very different from just working there or going to school there, while living out on the Point. And it was where her future clientele would be, so living there would help her get her head in the game. And she would. Just as soon as she talked Hannah out of a Christmas wedding.

“Everything okay?” he asked. “Logan told me you—or your firm—just won some prestigious award not too long ago. Some sort of national design review board or other? He said only a few firms in the country get the nod each year.”

She was mildly surprised to hear that Logan had been chatting her up to him. Or to anyone. She knew her brother loved his siblings and was proud of each of them, but she hadn't considered he'd be all chatty about it. Logan wasn't particularly talkative.

“I did, yes. It was a surprise—a shock really—but very flattering. I was truly honored.”

“To hear Logan tell it, it was well earned.”

She smiled. “Well, he might be a bit biased, but I did work very hard for that kind of recognition, so it was like a benediction of sorts.” Only not exactly the kind she'd been anticipating. “I thought that award represented reaching a career pinnacle, something I had dreamed about since becoming a designer, so it's kind of funny really that winning it was a part of what helped me to decide to close up shop in the city and move home again.” At his confused look, she added, “I'd been considering it for some time.”

“Things not going well? Wouldn't the award have helped smooth out any rough patches? I mean, with the economy and all, I know too well about that sort of thing.”

She shook her head. “I definitely understand that part, but no, my finances were pretty steady before that, and definitely got a huge boost afterward.” She gave him a pointed smile. “Consider yourself forewarned.” She knew from his grin he understood she was referring to the aftermath of his upcoming
AE
exposure.

“I hope to have the good fortune to suffer through such a challenging result,” he said. “So what was the problem?”

“I wasn't doing the kind of work I really wanted to do. And as wonderful and huge an honor as it was, the award was just bringing me more of that same kind of work, for the same kind of people. That wasn't motivating me, much less inspiring me. In fact, it was doing quite the opposite. Still, I'd worked so hard to build my business, I really couldn't imagine just wrapping it up and walking away. But I wasn't happy. And it had spread to sort of color my entire world.”

“In a field like yours, you need to be inspired. Hating your work is like poison.”

She tilted her head and regarded him in a new light. “I guess you would know. You love what you do?”

He nodded. “I like Portsmouth—it's got a nice blend of cultures and lifestyles. I understand your point about working for people you don't much respect, doing the kind of work that isn't in your chosen wheelhouse. That would definitely zap the joy right out of it for me. Didn't your celebrity or clout give you some room to take on a few clients whose desires matched yours, in addition to your more upscale, high-powered regulars?”

She gave him a wry smile then, and her tone was a bit sardonic. “What makes you think my personal vision was less upscale than the work I was already doing?”

He shrugged easily, but his grin was a bit abashed. “Don't take that the wrong way. I just figured if doing the kind of work you wanted meant moving back to a small town like Blueberry, then . . .” He let the end of the sentence drift to silence, then grinned. “Yeah, I'll just leave it there.”

She smiled with him. “What about you? Is your clientele more Smiths and Johnsons or Kennedys and Bushes?”

He chuckled. “I've worked with a pretty broad range. I like the big, complex designs, and I also like figuring out how to take a small, do-nothing sliver of a backyard and turn it into an oasis of sorts.” He shrugged. “I find inspiration in all of it. I mean, it's true, I love some of my clients more than others—a lot more in some cases—but that goes with the territory any time you deal directly with the public.”

She got caught up in all the twinkling emerald green in his eyes, the dazzling white teeth, and found herself looking down again, needing to break the spell he so effortlessly wove. He was so focused on her when he spoke, and it made her feel like they were separate and apart from how the rest of the world was spinning, just the two of them in their own little orbit, leaving everything else to drift away unnoticed.
More likely, it's the effects of the heatstroke you're experiencing from wearing so many layers
.

“It took a lot of courage to do what you did,” he said.

She looked up, her fingers once again tangled in her leather coat loops, and met his gaze. His expression was thoughtful now, contemplative. “Courage,” she repeated. “I wish I could claim that. I don't—it hasn't felt like that.”

“What does it feel like?” And she could swear he was no longer making idle conversation, because the look in his eyes now was intent, as if he were asking her to reveal the secrets of the universe. She would laugh if she thought that were really true. She was the very last person to be turning to for life-altering wisdom.

“The opposite of courage. Cowardice,” she responded, being as frank as she'd ever been, prompted by the sincere curiosity in his question. More frank, certainly, than she'd been with anyone else. Maybe even herself. “Like I was running away instead of staying and finding a way to bring my personal vision into my work. Do as you said, and figure out a way to take my success and use the power of it to work for the kind of clientele who shared my creative vision.”

“Why didn't you?”

It was a fair question, but rather than making her feel a stab of guilt or inadequacy, the open curiosity still in his eyes made her simply give voice to her reasons, her truth. At least as she saw it. “I didn't know how.”

“Meaning?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I wanted to be a successful, big-city designer. Dreamed of that my whole life. I knew when I moved to Manhattan that the odds of my being forced to return home inside the first year were, if not 100 percent, damn close to it.”

“But you didn't.”

She shook her head, then let out a dry snort. “I was
sooo
determined. I was a one-woman tsunami of determination. I had a business plan, and it was smart, ruthless, and the only way I saw to get what I wanted. I took on clients who wanted work I thought would make me look good, would earn me the kind of respect I'd need to be taken seriously, knowing I had to make my mark first. And, frankly, it was the kind of work I pictured myself doing once I moved to the city. Of course, if I was crazy lucky enough to earn even a modicum of success, then I knew I'd be able to add in the kind of work that was more personal to me. But, to be honest, the longer I was in the city, the more I tried to convince myself that that wasn't who I really was. Not anymore. As if that was the younger, inexperienced, small-town me, and now I was older, wiser, and a more mature, contemporary, big-city designer.”

“Only . . .” he prodded, when she didn't immediately continue.

“Only . . . it turned out that when I became successful for doing the kind of work that earned me the respect of folks who I honestly didn't respect in return, then that was the only kind of work, and the only kind of clients, who wanted me. After a while, I really didn't see a way out, and I don't know that I had any real confidence in what my original vision was, or if it was something worth pursuing with any seriousness.” She looked up at him. “I guess, to be really honest, when I considered that, thought about what would make me truly happy as a designer, not simply make me a successful one, I was afraid my real design style would get me laughed out of town.” She shrugged, both shoulders this time. “So, when I saw Hannah basically do the same thing, it gave me the courage to save them the effort, and me the embarrassment, and take myself out of town first.”

“Are you here until you figure out how to go back as the real Fiona McCrae?”

She was surprised by the question, and it felt good to laugh. She should do more of that. She hadn't realized, really, until that moment, how little even her day-to-day life amused her anymore. “I'm only just now really admitting, even to myself, who the real me is, design-wise. I'm not the city me, but I'm not the small-town designer I was, either. My time in New York changed me, broadened my scope, and taught me so much. So I need to figure out who I am now, what I want to do now. But no,” she said, “New York is definitely not where I want to be.” There was a surprising relief in knowing the truth of those words. “It was a part of my journey, but not, apparently, my final destination.” She grinned. “Besides, they aren't ready for the real Fiona McCrae, whoever she is, nor would they know what to do with her if they had her. I think we're both going to be a whole lot happier if we leave those two worlds forever apart.”