Sweetheart Cottage (Cranberry Bay #1) (6 page)

“Rylee.” Katie spoke above the chatter of women. “You will join us, won’t you? The sewing circle meets on Wednesday nights. We’re sewing a pleated Thanksgiving apron.”

“Yes.” Rylee said, seeing a way out of spending more time with Bryan. “I would love to come Wednesday nights.” She turned to Bryan, “Why don’t you stop by on Wednesday evening; I’ll leave the garage door open for you.” She took a deep breath. Bryan did not have to rule her every thought and feeling. She was no longer a teenager falling all over her first love. She was a grown woman who knew how to handle life on life’s terms.

“Sure thing.” Bryan nodded to her. His face was void of any emotion except politeness. Rylee’s stomach turned with sadness. She didn’t want to fall in love with Bryan again, but she did want to know she had once mattered. Of course, he’d been married. He’d fallen in love with someone else. Although he was no longer married, she couldn’t expect him to remain in love with her forever. But she still wanted to see something in his eyes. Something to tell her she had once mattered to him the way he had to her.

Bryan turned away and sauntered over to the sewing circle women. “So, who is going to make me an apron?”

Giggles and laughter rose from the five women clustered together, and Rylee couldn’t help but notice how Sasha’s arm went around Bryan’s waist in a light hug as she gazed up at him. Not wanting to see any more, Rylee pulled on Raisin’s leash and slipped out the door. The cool rainy breeze blew across her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. She simply needed to put Bryan back in his place as someone she once knew and get on with her plan to get out of Cranberry Bay.

Bryan frowned at the photos on his computer screen. He took a sip of cold coffee and swallowed. The late afternoon shadows crept into the small room, and he flicked on the seashell desk lamp. It’d been in the throwaway pile at Ivy’s antique shop. Ivy said the shop already had five seashell lamps, and they didn’t need one more. She handed it to him for free, and he set it up on his desk as his first piece of office furnishing. The large conch shell reminded him of a trip he’d taken with his brothers and Dad to Hawaii. It had been one of the only trips they’d taken where Bryan could remember his Dad enjoying himself.

Restlessly, Bryan shifted on the hard swivel chair. For the last hour, he’d tried to come up with catchy captions that would encourage buyers to request a showing. Former agent Rob Decker hadn’t believed in using technology to promote his business. He’d been in business long enough that he had a long list of satisfied clients who, in turn, gave him a steady stream of new clients. As a new agent, Bryan needed the online Multiple Listing Service to attract buyers. He only wished writing one-liners about a home’s marvelous backyard with a play-area for kids didn’t have him staring at the screen for over an hour.

A gust of cool wind blew inside the small office as the door opened, and a burly man entered the room. He wore a thick, heavy black down coat, jeans, and tall leather boots. Bryan pushed back his chair and squeezed between the large maple desk and the wall. He stepped forward and embraced the man in a large bear hug. “Dennis. How have you been?”

“Good.” Dennis returned the hug. “Got a minute?’

“Always.” Bryan gathered a stack of manila folders from a chair and placed the files on the floor. “Sorry about the mess. I’m trying to update some of Rob’s listings.”

“Allison and I heard you took over for Rob. How are things going?”

“Slow. But it’s the time of year. How is Mrs. Perkins?” Bryan asked, and smiled at the thought of his first-grade teacher. Allison Perkins was a longtime resident of Cranberry Bay whom everyone still called Mrs. Perkins. She’d retired last year after a thirty-five-year teaching career. The town held a large celebration for her in the park. Her former students had returned from all over the country, and the day had included a marvelous afternoon of stories, tears, and joy.

“She’s getting used to retirement.” Dennis ran his hand over his lower jaw. “But, we’ve decided to sell the river fishing cottages. Our grandkids are in California, and we’d like to buy a condo closer to them.”

A memory of the old fishing cottages flashed across Bryan’s mind. On the night Rylee turned twenty-one, they had slipped into one of the cottages with a key he’d found tucked under a flower mat. The rustic cottages offered very little comfort, but that hadn’t mattered to them. He’d brought a thick blanket, and they’d placed it in front of the stone fireplace, talking all night and dreaming of a future together. He had proposed not soon after. Foolishly, he believed that night would lead to her spending the rest of her life with him. Their lives seemed wide-open and filled with promise.

“Do you think you can help us with the sale?” Dennis repeated.

Bryan flushed and cleared his throat, embarrassed to be caught lost in his daydreams and not paying attention to business. “I’d be happy to help you with the sale of the cottages. These are the six cottages alongside the west bank of the river, correct?”

Dennis shifted in his chair, leaned forward, and tapped his fingers on the desk. “Yes. Those are the ones. I’ve used a couple for storing fishing gear and other items from our house.” Dennis shook his head. “I’m afraid one of the cottages is loaded up with nothing but Christmas boxes. I’ll ask Allison to clear it out as soon as possible.”

Bryan chuckled. “Mom would love a spare cottage to store Christmas decorations. She must have saved every snowflake and Santa picture my brothers and sister and I ever made. Mom keeps saying one day she’ll have a house full of grandkids to enjoy the old things. So far, there’s only two, and it doesn’t look like any more are on the way.” He ran his finger over the edge of a manila folder on his desk. His chest ached with the unfilled longing for children, his children, running around his home.

“You never know how things will work out,” Dennis said. “Mrs. Perkins and I didn’t have our kids until late in life. There’s plenty of time left.”

“Yes, well…” Bryan reached into his desk and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers. Before he could even think about a family, he needed to focus on making an income. “Let me get some information from you. I’ll have the cottages up on the multiple listings by this evening and add a few photos tomorrow.”

Dennis cleared his throat. “Allison thinks the cottages would sell better if they were fixed up a bit. I told her fishing cottages were always popular. But she seemed to think otherwise.”

“Houses do sell better if they are staged.” Bryan twirled his pen between his fingers. “The market isn’t exactly booming in Cranberry Bay and staging them to be vacation cottages would help the sale. They’re sold as a single listing, yes?”

“Yes. All six cottages are one lot.”

“Is the staging something Mrs. Perkins wants to do?”

“No.” Dennis lowered his voice as a shadow crossed his face. “I’m afraid not. She doesn’t want this to get around town, so please don’t say anything.” Dennis swallowed. “She’s been sick lately. The doctors aren’t sure what’s wrong. We’ve taken a lot of trips to see doctors in Portland, and they’re doing some tests.”

Bryan’s heart contracted. He adored his teacher. As a first-grader, he was slow to catch on to reading. Instead of allowing him to slip behind, Mrs. Perkins spent long afternoons teaching him how to sound out letters. By the end of the year, he had advanced into second grade as a reader.

“I’m so sorry to hear. I’ll take care of the staging. We’ll work it on a commission basis and take the payment from the sale of the cottages.”

“Thank you.” Dennis nodded to him and stood. “I know your Dad would be proud of you.”

Bryan lowered his eyes and fiddled with his pen. He doubted his Dad would be proud of him. He’d become exactly what Dad had always suspected he would—someone who didn’t have a direction or a strong focus but instead floated from low-paying job to low-paying job.

“Of course he’d be proud,” Dennis said, his voice echoing off the empty office walls. “Your Dad always talked about how proud he was of all of you.”

“Of course,” Bryan said. He clenched his jaw and bit back the shame he’d known all his life. Dad hadn’t been proud of him. Unlike his brothers and sister, he’d been a disappointment to his father. He didn’t excel at baseball like Sawyer. He didn’t excel at basketball like Adam. He didn’t like sports at all. Instead, all he wanted to do was play his guitar. His father lectured him on how music would never get him anywhere besides a tavern at the beach. And, Bryan’s chest tightened, his father had been right. He’d tried to make a living as a musician and quickly discovered playing nightly gigs at the beach taverns wouldn’t cover the rent. Seasonal work never paid enough, and most people had to juggle multiple jobs in order to live full time in the small beach communities surrounding Cranberry Bay.

Bryan pushed the painful memories aside. He stood and leaned over the desk to shake Dennis’s hand. “We’ll be in touch soon. Please tell Mrs. Perkins I said hello.”

After Dennis left, the silence in the small office chilled him. He’d never worked well by himself, preferring instead to be surrounded by life and activity. Bryan grabbed his black leather over-the-shoulder bag and shoved a couple of folders inside. He slipped his small laptop computer into the largest compartment of the bag and pulled his jacket from a small nail behind the door. Outside, the air smelled of fires crackling in wood-burning stoves. Bryan made a mental note to make sure Mom had enough dry wood to last for the next couple months. He headed down the hill toward the local pub.

A minute later, he pulled open the heavy wooden door. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, and a large-screen TV broadcast a college football game on the corner wall. Tom Hathaway, owner of the town hardware store, played a game of pool with Chuck Dawson, owner of the tackle-and-boat-rental shop.

“Want to join us?” Chuck lowered his cue to the table. He leaned down and cued the ball into the right pocket.

“No, thanks.” Bryan patted his black satchel. “I’ve got a little work to do.”

Bryan strode by the bar, where Josh Morton and Jack Richardson studied a long spreadsheet. Josh ran the town’s historic train from the small depot. Once the town had been on the way to Portland, but all that changed a few years ago when the train companies realized the tourists didn’t want to come to Cranberry Bay. They wanted to go to the beach towns. Josh’s grandfather had spent his career as a train conductor, and, after he passed away, Josh had set up a nonprofit for the town’s old train depot and surrounding tracks. On fall weekends, Josh ran a special fall-leaves train ride that always brought a flurry of people to Cranberry Bay. But the signature event was the Santa train, complete with hot cocoa and cookies and children wearing their pajamas. The event was a favorite of Lauren’s, and she always convinced all of them to make it a family occasion. Unfortunately, most of the time heavy winds and rainstorms pounded the area, and the holiday train drew only small groups of locals.

Bryan headed toward the back corner booth and quickly sank onto the hard bench. As he waited for his laptop to boot up, he ran his fingers over etched initials carved in the tabletop. It’d been a ritual for Cranberry Bay couples to carve their names in the tables. His parents’ initials were on the table under the front window. Sawyer and Ginger had carved theirs in a front table by the door. And, if he walked to the table in the far right-hand corner, he’d find Rylee’s and his initials, etched together and encircled with a heart. They’d worked on it for weeks the summer they both turned twenty-one. After she left, he never sat at their table.

Bryan’s computer beeped as Ivy stepped alongside his table. A brown-and-cream apron covered her jeans and maroon sweater. “What can I get you?”

“I didn’t know you were working at the pub?” Bryan raised his eyebrows. Ivy’s antique business was one of the few in the town that visitors stopped for on their way to Seashore Cove. Over the last few years, she’d built a strong track record of online sales and kept busy year-round. Unlike other locals, she didn’t need to juggle multiple jobs.

“Caitlin’s got a nasty flu. Jessica is visiting her sister in college. Bill said we wouldn’t be busy tonight. I told him I’d fill in for a few hours. If I can sell antiques, I can sell a few pints of beer.” Ivy’s light laughter filled the space between them.

“I’m a part of the microbrew club.” Bryan reached into his wallet for the small, folded card. Every month, he collected a new stamp. At the end of the year, the cards were tossed into a drawing for a free month of drinks. He’d won the first year, but he had quietly slipped his card to Chuck, who’d just lost his son in a car wreck on an icy road.

“Ah.” Ivy leaned back on her heels. “You’re one of the lucky. I’ll check with Bill to see about the flavor of the month. I’m guessing Pumpkin Ale.”

“That was last month.” Bryan laid his card on the table and smoothed it with his thumb. “It’s November. New month. New beer.”

“Gotcha, sir,” Ivy said, playfully. “Do I take the card too?”

“Yep.” Bryan pushed it toward her. He smiled at her. Ivy and his twin sister had been best friends all through school. She’d joined them at family holidays and always brought a lot of laughter. No one could understand why Ivy hadn’t found that special partner, but Bryan suspected it had something to do with her feelings for Josh. Something that Josh seemed not to notice. “Bill has a stamp he keeps in the left corner of the bar.”

Ivy shook her head. “You ought to be waiting tables, not me.”

Bryan shook his head and smiled, as, across the room, Josh waved at Ivy.

She leaned over and whispered against Bryan’s cheek. “I’ll be right back. Someone is calling me.” Ivy lightly stepped through the center of the pub and stopped in front of Josh. She leaned close to him and touched his arm.

Bryan turned back to his work as a song’s lyrics blasting from the pub’s speakers caught him off-guard. It was the song he had once declared as his and Rylee’s. That night, he had pulled his car up alongside the river’s bank, opened the door, and let the music seep into the night air. He held her close and danced with her under a full moon. Something inside him ached. The ache that never quite went away, no matter how much he had tried to get rid of it. He shook himself. He couldn’t think about any of that now. Those days were gone, and he’d never again trust her with his heart. Bryan pulled the listing data back up on his computer. The best thing to do was focus on his work.

After a few minutes, Ivy set a dark bottle of ale in front of him. “November’s special is a handcrafted beer out of Portland JR’s Brewing. I can’t tell you if it’s any good or not. Josh wouldn’t give anything away.” She laid the folded and stamped card beside him. “But I did get you a stamp for November.”

“Thanks.” Bryan took a drink. It was a little sweeter than he liked his ale, but he’d never been one to complain.

The front door opened, and a blast of cold air shot through the pub. Councilman Cole Mays and Mayor Mitch Webb stepped inside. Both of them shook their dark jackets, and water splashed off their shoulders. Bryan peered at one of the large upper windows. The trees swayed, and water ran down the outside pane.