The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (21 page)

She ducked into the alley, hoping Mrs. Rutherford hadn't seen her. She felt like a fool for allowing that woman to control her, but she just wasn't in the mood to face her.

She walked farther down the cobblestone way, passing several tiny storefronts. The first one was a little wine shop with artificial grapes hanging from a wooden sign. Next came a place with seashells and funny-looking mermaid sculptures in its window, then finally a nice-smelling place with african violets in glazed pastel pots and cut flowers in galvanized buckets grouped near its open door. Then the alley dead-ended in front of a storefront with a closed green door.

"Hi."

She turned around and found Robin grinning at her. "I saw you go past." She pointed back up the alley. "I'm the second door on the left. I need to get a better sign."

Camilla nodded, not wanting to admit she'd been too rattled to notice.

"Hey, are you looking at this?" Robin came up to stand beside her in front of the green door.

Camilla noticed a FOR RENT sign in the crooked oval window next to the door.

"I've got a key. Come on in." Robin opened the door and ushered her inside.

The place was even tinier than her cottage, just a single room about four paces across, with a high, raftered ceiling rising to a point. The floors were oak, the walls were freshly painted cream, and it was cute in that Stockdale cottage way, with divided-light windows in the back facing onto a little garden full of roses. "Great garden, isn't it? It belongs to the plant store down the alley. You'd have a great view."

"I would have a great view? What are you talking about?"

Robin ignored her and went into her real estate pitch: "It's cozy—"

"—Just big enough to bump your knee every time you turn around."

"It's got a lot of charm—"

"—Charm is just another word for creaking floors and crooked doors, Robin."

"The last renter loved it—"

"—So much they moved out and it's for rent again."

"Not true. I know her. The acupuncturist who rented here loved the place and hated to leave."

"Why did she? Not enough people wanted to get poked with needles?"

"No, smarty. She got so much business she moved into a big place over on Vincente Alley."

"Well, I can see why. This place isn't big enough to store all her bandaids."

"They don't need bandaids with acupuncture, silly." Robin grinned at her. "You're just playing hard to get. But I know better. It's perfect for you. You do most of your work on a computer, don't you? You could make a little space like this work."

"I don't have a computer. The police seized it as evidence. Why on earth would I want to rent this place? It doesn't have a kitchen or a bathroom, or, well, anything."

"Not to live in, Camilla. For your accounting business."

"My what?"

"Oh come on. Haven't you ever thought of running your own business?

"No." She had thought of it, actually, but never even dared to let it get beyond the daydream stage. Who was she to start her own business? Why would anyone trust her with their accounts? It was way-too much for her to dream of.

"Why not?" Robin asked, undeterred. "It wouldn't take much money to get started, and you have an accounting license, don't you?"

"Yeah, I haven't lost my accounting license. Yet. But—"

"Don't you like Pajaro Bay?"

"It's not that." She went over to the back windows and looked out at the flowers.

"Then what? You have a cute house, a nice kid, a really great guy."

"The house is for sale, the kid's not mine, and the guy is leaving town even before I do. And he's a pain in the butt. I don't even like him."

"Well you sure don't look at me like you look at Ryan. Thank goodness for that. I'd have to let you down easy."

Camilla smiled. "Well, Ryan's not exactly easy himself."

"All the better. You can spend the next fifty years figuring him out."

"No."

"He'll stay here and keep us safe, and you'll keep us from going bankrupt. It's perfect."

"You're not listening, Robin."

"One of my best qualities."

Camilla shook her head. "That's debatable."

"Well...." Robin opened one of the back windows, and the scent of spearmint wafted in on the warm breeze. "See how nice it is? You'd have flowers outside your window all summer, and in the winter, you can light a fire in the little stove." She pointed at a cream-colored wood-burning stove in the corner.

"No central heat is what you really mean," she said.

"It's just big enough for a desk and chairs, and you would be just down the alley from me. Free gourmet coffee anytime."

"Good thing," Camilla said. "Since there isn't enough room in this place for a coffee pot."

Robin laughed. "So you'll do it?"

Camilla shook her head. "Are you crazy? I'm not opening an accounting office in Pajaro Bay. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"We need a local accounting office. Really desperately need one. There's no place within forty miles to get your books done."

"That's not my problem, Robin."

"But you know how to do Quickbooks and taxes and payrolls and all that jazz."

"Well, sure," she said, dismissing the idea of owning her own business, in a darling office, in a charming little village, with the local cop as her personal cabana boy. It was ridiculous. A life like that only happened to other people, not her. "I mean, I have a degree in all that jazz, but—"

"Fabulous, sister. I'll be your first customer. Starting now."

"And my last. I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Can you imagine what Mabel Rutherford would say if she found out I was handling people's money?" She shuddered at the thought. It would be a constant battle to hold her head up, and soon enough, people would find out she wasn't to be trusted, and then where would she be?

"Who cares about Mabel Rutherford? You'll start with a few clients—like me—and then it'll grow as word spreads about how wonderful you are."

Boy, did Robin have her pegged wrong. "What makes you think I'm so wonderful?"

She smiled. "You have a degree in all that jazz, remember? And Felix Cordova recommends you. That's good enough for me."

"Well it's not good enough for me. I still have to sell the cottage—then what am I supposed to do? Sleep in the garden? And why are you pushing this, anyway? What's it to you what I do for a living?"

Robin looked crestfallen. "Don't you realize what today is?"

She shook her head, then it finally struck her. This wasn't about her at all. She started laughing. "Oh, you poor little thing. April 15th. Tax day. Of course."

"And I need help."

"That's your emergency?"

Robin looked sheepish. "You wouldn't think it was funny if you saw my desk." Then she perked up. "Please come see my desk. Pretty please? I'll buy you pastries and give you unlimited gourmet coffee, and if you can figure out how to make that stupid electronic filing thing stop arguing with me I'll pay you the same amount I was going to pay the tax office over at the county seat."

Robin looked so helpless at that moment that Camilla couldn't stop giggling. "All right. I'll do it. But on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You don't try to rent me any more places in town. I really have to leave once the cottage is sold."

Robin wrinkled her nose. "Can I cross my fingers behind my back before agreeing?"

Camilla stood there tapping her foot. "The filing deadline is in"—she glanced at her watch—"about seven hours."

"I'll do it!"

~*~

Chapter 12

It was the next weekend before Camilla, Ryan and Oliver headed out for their day at the beach. The sun was out and the Mustang's convertible top was down as they drove down toward the beachfront.

"Are we really going to the amusement park this time?" Oliver asked.

"Yes. I promise. Last weekend was just too busy." Camilla didn't want to tell him that this would be the last weekend all three of them would be together in Pajaro Bay. She had almost finished fixing up the cottage for sale. She had gotten the whole second floor repainted, with Ryan and Oliver's help, and once they got the living room done, she'd start on the exterior. It was really coming together.

But they were coming apart. There had been no more so-called accidents, but Ryan was still hanging around the cottage. It had started to feel natural. And now it was going to end. Ryan's two-week notice was almost up. He was going to take off on some cross-country adventure without a backward glance.

And she and Oliver would soon be heading off to whatever city seemed the best place to start over. She had been studiously avoiding deciding what city that was going to be. As if avoiding it would make it go away.

"Here we are," Ryan said. The Mustang came to a stop in an overcrowded parking lot in front of the most run-down beach shack she'd seen in Pajaro Bay.

"This is the famous Mel's?"

"Yup." They got out and headed up the worn wooden steps to the restaurant.

"They weren't kidding calling it Mel's Fish Shack, were they?"

He laughed, and opened the squeaky screen door for them.

Inside the place was dark and deafeningly loud—with the Beach Boys tunes that blasted from the speakers doing their best to compete with the sound of fifty voices talking at once.

"Let's sit outside," Ryan shouted in her ear.

She nodded. They made their way through the crowd to the ocean-front deck at the back of the restaurant.

When they stepped out into the sunshine again, she took a deep breath and shook her head to clear the din from her ears. "Wow."

He laughed. "Yeah. This isn't Mama Thu's."

She smiled back at him, remembering the quiet deck, the sun setting over the bay, and his arm resting lightly around her shoulder. Was it only a week ago?

Now they were keeping their distance, almost afraid to pursue something that couldn't possibly go anywhere.

They found a small table at the edge of the deck. It was stacked with plates and cups from the last diners who'd just left. "Grab it!" Ryan said.

She and Oliver sat down and in a moment Ryan returned with a plastic tub. They cleared the table, and then wiped it down with some napkins.

"This is fun!" Oliver said.

"Then why is it so hard to get you to clear your plate at home, young man?" she said, but grinned at him.

When the table was clean they all sat there, and Oliver kept pointing at things—a surfboard with a shark bite out of it hanging from the shack's outside wall, a tank full of lazy goldfish just inside the restaurant door, netting decorated with green glass floats that covered the deck's railing.

"Here are your menus," said the green-haired teenaged waitress who finally juggled her way through the crowd to their table. "Hey, Captain Ryan. It's good to see you." She gave him a big grin. "It's been a long time."

He nodded grimly and looked down at the laminated menu.

Camilla put a hand over his, knowing he was still uncomfortable when people pointed out his reclusiveness, and he looked up and smiled at the girl. "Yeah, Nan. Nice to see you, too. And you've got an after-school job. Good for you. Keep those grades up, kid, and you'll be ready for the academy in no time."

The girl smiled happily and disappeared back into the crowd with a promise to come back with three bottomless sodas. "She's planning on becoming a forensic psychologist—at least she was last time I talked to her," Ryan explained.

"You know everyone in town, don't you?" Camilla said.

He nodded. "Just part of my job—my almost ex-job."

"Part of who you are," she said.

"You sound like my little sister," he said grumpily, and buried his face in his menu. It was like he was fighting his true nature. He seemed to truly care about everyone around him, but he seemed at the same time to want to avoid connecting with people. Why? Because he was afraid to get hurt? That was her reason, but how could it be his?

Soon Nan was back with the promised sodas, and they were ordering from among the extensive choices—all variations on deep-fried seafood.

"We'll start with three cups of chowder," Ryan said.

"That's right," Camilla agreed. "We're still doing comparison testing."

That finally brought a smile back to his face.

"Onion rings?" the waitress asked.

They all nodded.

"Calamari?"

"What's that?" Oliver asked.

"deep-fried squid," Camilla explained.

"Ooh, gross!" he said happily.

"That's a yes," Ryan interpreted for the waitress.

Once again, as she had been repeatedly over the last week, Camilla found herself struck with how good Ryan was with Oliver. She felt bad she had accused him of wanting to grill Oliver, when actually he was always very gentle with him, protective. That was the term she kept coming back to with him. Protector. That's what drove him. And yet she resented that part of him. She could never live with such a smothering man. She added that to the list of logical reasons why they didn't talk about where he was going after this weekend.

He cocked his head to one side to listen to something Oliver was telling him. She noticed how one strand of hair kept falling in front of his ear when he did that, and wanted to reach out and tuck it behind his ear.

She did.

He froze when her hand brushed across his cheek.

"You're hair was out of place," she said quietly.

"Thank you."

She looked out at the water.

"So you plan to leave as soon as you sell the cottage," he said suddenly.

She nodded.

"We're leaving?" Oliver said.

"Of course, Oliver," she told him. "You know I said so."

"That was when we first came. Now it's different."

"But nothing's changed," she said.

Oliver looked from Ryan to Camilla, and she wondered if he had read too much into Ryan hanging around. Did he think this was permanent?

She started to put her arms around him but he wiggled away. "Can I go look at the fish tank?" he asked suddenly.

Camilla nodded.