Loving Hearts (4 page)

“You mean Rachel’s?”

“Right,” he said. “I hope you had a nice time.”

Esther closed her eyes and fumbled for a response. She’d had a horrible time. Her sister’s ploy had been obvious. Or had it been Jeff’s idea? The evening tumbled through her thoughts. “It was okay,” she said. “Nothing to write home about.”

“Family birthdays are like that sometimes, I suppose.”

Another lengthy pause caused her discomfort, and Esther wished he’d say something or say goodbye. Tension knotted in her neck and coiled around her shoulder blades.

“A week from Tuesday, then,” he repeated. “At seven.”

“Right.”

“Is your address correct in the telephone book?”

“Yes, and please use the side door. That’s my office.” Her voice sounded hard and unnatural in her ears.

“Right.” He hesitated again. “I’ll see you then.”

The telephone clicked and died, but remembrance of his voice saying her name sailed through her head like a kite on the wind, dipping and soaring, taking her breath away. Foolish.

Men. She didn’t need the hassle. She thought of Rachel’s birthday party. Poor Hal. His face loomed in her thoughts. No doubt her sister or Jeff had set her up. The intent seemed obvious. Scrape the barrel and find poor Esther a man.

Shame dragged at her heart. Hal had done everything he could to show interest in her. He’d brought her a drink and sat beside her telling the mundane story of his life…though hers had been no better…while she wallowed in misery. Couldn’t people just accept that she wanted to be single?

And why had she agreed to handle the Bay Breeze job? She could easily have told Ian it would be a month, maybe two, before she’d be free. As often as logic warned her to steer clear of him, her heart led her in the opposite direction. Asking for trouble, that’s what she was doing.

Her father came to mind. If faith could move mountains, then faith could guide her. Years ago she’d felt God’s call to be on her own. God? Or had it been her own decision? No matter, she felt ready to let God be in control.

An unexpected grin tugged at her lips. She’d
try
to let God be in control. She preferred to hold the reins.

E
sther stared at the invitation before dropping it to her desk. Another of her sister’s ploys. Annoyance rifled through her. Why would she receive an invitation to the Bay Breeze Fourth of July celebration unless Rachel had manipulated it? Esther reconsidered. No. Not Rachel. Never. The perpetrator had to be Jeff.

Running her index finger around the edge of the attractive card, Esther closed her eyes. Should she be angry or laugh at the charade? Hadn’t Rachel and Jeff realized their previous matchmaking attempt had failed miserably? Then again she couldn’t blame them.

She flipped aside the white-and-gold card with her thumb and finger, dismissing the invitation that reminded her she was ruining Rachel’s life. She eyed her watch. No time for feeling bad about it now. Ian would be arriving any minute.

She’d tried to anticipate his questions ahead of
time so their meeting could be brief. Brief? Loneliness washed over her. Lately she missed him. He hadn’t dropped by the library since she’d refused the Sunday boat trip a few weeks ago. Had she been foolish? What could be wrong with developing a friendship?

Friendships were something Esther didn’t have. Sure, she had co-workers and acquaintances, but friends? They didn’t seem to fit into her life…or was it that she didn’t fit into theirs?

She found Ian amiable and interesting—even attractive—but…a friendship could lead to more than she wanted. And being friends with a man who sailed? Why drag her fears out in public?

But that was foolish. Ian had offered her every safety precaution—sailing close to the shore and docking at the first sight of a cloud. What danger would there have been? None…except for her jangling emotions when she saw him.

The doorbell sounded and jerked Esther to attention. She drew in a lengthy breath, then rose and headed for the door. She could see Ian through the windowpane, his dark wavy hair tousled in the breeze.

Ignoring her charging pulse, she swung open the door. “Come in.” Her arm directed the way. “Have a seat.”

An uneasy look flashed across his face as he stepped past her and strode into her small office. Inside, he stood midfloor.

“Please have a seat,” she repeated. “I’ll work at the desk so I can take notes.”

He did as she asked and laid a notepad on the small table beside the armchair.

Feeling uncomfortable herself, Esther stood a moment, questioning her behavior. Ian was a client, and she should treat him as kindly as anyone who came to the door for her services. She recaptured her graciousness. “Would you like some coffee? Or tea?”

“Coffee sounds good,” Ian said, a hesitant look on his face. “Thanks.”

She turned and strode through the doorway and across the landing to her compact kitchen. Earlier she’d anticipated his preference, and with the pot ready to go, Esther punched the button on the coffeemaker with satisfaction. While the coffee circulated through the brewer, she pulled cups from the cabinet, then paused, pinching the bridge of her nose while she anticipated her next move.

Esther rarely made cookies. So why had she done so after work tonight? Because a man’s heart is through his stomach? Hogwash. She’d wanted a treat. That was her reasoning…and she was sticking to it.

Opening the cookie jar, she selected a few cookies and arranged them on a plate. Irritation riffled up her back. If she could only control her wavering emotions. She calmed herself as she poured the brew into the cups, and after she placed everything on a tray, she returned to her office.

“I could smell you before you came through the doorway,” Ian said. He hesitated, his expression wavering. “I mean…the coffee. I could smell the coffee. Not you.”

His discomfort caused her to laugh. “I realized you meant the coffee.” She set the tray on the desk and handed him a cup and napkin, adding the option of milk or sugar. He declined.

“Would you like a cookie?” She extended the plate. “Homemade.” She cringed, hearing her Betty Homemaker pride.

“They look good,” he said, and slid one from the plate. “I’m partial to peanut butter.”

“Take two…or three.” She shoved the plate toward him for encouragement.

He picked up a couple more and placed them on the napkin. “Thanks. I don’t get homemade often.”

“Same here,” she said, and wished she hadn’t.

Sliding into her desk chair, Esther focused on her drink. Silence hung between them as they sipped the coffee and bit into the sweets. Esther wrestled with what to say next. Should she ask about sailing? Maybe sticking to business would be less stressful. The unwelcome feeling of loneliness washed over her as she weighed her options.

“Did you enjoy sailing?” she asked finally. “How was that first weekend?”

His head moved at a snail’s pace to meet her gaze while a look of surprised pleasure settled on his face. “It was great. Thanks.” His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned forward, resting an arm on his knee, a half-eaten cookie dangling from his fingers. “You should have been there. She handles like a dream. I have to thank you for your help.”

She shook her head. “I only showed you where to
find the books. You did the research and worked the miracle.”

A faint grin curved his mouth. “It was a miracle of sorts. That poor lady was in bad shape. I didn’t know how bad until I got inside, but she looks great now.”

“Yes. She did when I saw her,” Esther said. “Just be…careful when you’re out there. Keep an eye and ear on the weather.” She swallowed her mothering thoughts. “You know…”

“I do know.” He set his cup on the table and brushed cookie crumbs from his fingers. “My dad and I sailed years ago. He taught me everything I know about sailing. Not only the skill—he pounded a lot of his insight into my head. Wisdom and caution when it comes to sailing.” He gave her a warm smile. “Each time I sail I hope to honor him.”

“Honor your father and mother,” Esther said. Hearing her voice surprised her. She cleared her throat and ran her fingers across the back of her neck. “I suppose we should get started.”

“Good idea,” Ian said, but his look let her know he suspected her comment had a deeper meaning.

She moved her mug aside and pulled forward a manila folder. Inside she’d made her notes, anticipating his needs. “Now…where should we begin?” When she lifted her eyes from the paper, she noticed his faint grin.

“I always think the beginning is good.”

His fleeting smile sent her heartbeat skipping for a moment. “You’re right.” Quieting her pulse, she took a minute to scan the information. “First, we
need to compile a list of all aspects involved in owning excursion boats. Purchase price, storage and maintenance, crew costs.” She lifted her gaze. “Their wages and benefits.”

Ian nodded, shifting his chair closer to eye her notepad. “Insurance.”

“Yes, definitely.” She jotted down his point. “We need to talk with dealers…but even more, we’ll want to speak with some charter companies. They’ll have the tried-and-true info.” She lifted her head from the notes.

“Right. The real lowdown,” Ian agreed.

Esther tapped her pencil. “Do you think Mr. Somerville is interested in fishing boats? Or just excursions?”

Ian shrugged. “I’ll have to get more from him on that. He owns a sailboat, so I think he has sailing in mind. You know…a sunny afternoon on the lake. But my guess is fishing charters would bring new business. That’s not a bad idea.”

“I’ll look at both, then. I’ve made a list of some of the charter fishing and excursion companies in the area.” She massaged the middle of her forehead a moment, realizing the research job would be time-consuming. Maybe more time than she wanted to spare.

“Is something wrong?” Ian’s concerned voice caught her off guard.

“No…well…I just realized this is a big project. I’m not sure I have the time to do a thorough job.” She dropped the pencil on the notepad and leaned back in the chair, wanting to laugh at herself. What
else did she do with her time? Cleaning her dresser drawers and kitchen cabinets took only so long. Then she thought of reading—one of her favorite solitary activities.

Solitary. That was her life, it seemed. She eyed Ian watching her from his chair. Flustered by his attentiveness, she bent over the desk and grasped the pencil. Having nothing to write, she twirled it between her fingers. Though she was uncomfortable, having a man look at her with admiration felt good.

Ian’s expression shifted through a kaleidoscope of emotions before he rose and rested his palms on the front of her desk. “I’m confident in you, Esther. Are you thinking you’re not capable of this job? I know you are.”

“It’s not my capability,” she said, wondering what was going through his mind. “It’s the number of hours it will take.”
Face it.
Her concern wrapped around spending time with Ian.

“Don’t worry about the cost. Somerville can afford it. And he’ll pay you well.” He straightened his back.

“It’s not the money. It’s—” She studied the wood grain on her desktop, afraid to look in his eyes.

“Me.”

Her head jerked upward, a scowl tugging at her brow. “You?”

Defensiveness settled on his tense face. “Ever since I asked you to go sailing, I’ve sensed—”

Aware of her behavior, Esther looked away and took a shuddered breath. She scared people away with her unyielding personality. “It’s not you, Ian.”
She paused, knowing that part of it was him. Still, that wasn’t fair to him. He’d done nothing. Nothing at all…except love sailing and, unknowingly, rattle her emotions. “I’m thinking about the amount of time I have to work on a project this large. I work full-time at the library. Remember?”

He circled the desk and stood at her side, resting his hand on her chair back. “I know it’ll take time. Just give me something to offer Somerville. A cost estimate and time factor, and I’ll talk it over with him. If he has any qualms, then I’ll look somewhere else.”

He slid off his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His intense gaze didn’t waver from her face.

Weighing her decision, Esther waited a moment to speak. “I charge forty dollars an hour, but I’ll have to give the time frame some thought.”

“That’s fair enough.” He slid on his glasses.

Surprising her, he leaned across her desk and fingered her Bay Breeze invitation. “Fourth of July?”

Afraid of what he’d see if he looked into her eyes, Esther focused on the card and nodded.

“It’s a good party,” Ian said. “I’m usually there…half working, half enjoying myself.”

“Half working?”

“I’m expected to keep things running smoothly for Somerville. Greet guests. Make sure everyone’s having a good time.” He stepped back and shrugged. “This is a public relations event as much as a celebration. City council, mayor, business people. You get the picture.”

Swiveling in her chair, she faced him squarely.
“Do you have any idea why I’d be invited? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Ian’s mouth opened, then closed without a word. He rounded her desk and picked up the invitation. “Why not?” he asked finally.

She knew why not. The invitation had been arranged by Jeff. Frustrated, Esther rose. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, wondering why in the world she’d asked him the question.

“For whatever reason,” Ian said, sinking into his chair, “come along. You’ll have a good time. Seeing the fireworks from the penthouse is a treat.”

Treat or not, Esther had no plans to be there.

Returning to his chair, Ian lifted the coffee cup.

Certain it was empty, Esther rose. “Let me refresh that for you.”

As she extended her arm toward the cup, Ian caught her hand. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier, Esther.”

She knew what he meant, but she didn’t want to talk about the sailing invitation. “No problem,” she said, grasping the cup and turning toward the doorway.

Ian watched her go and waited. Obviously she wanted to avoid the topic, but he needed to get things out in the open. He liked Esther. He’d always liked her…the way she smiled, the way she talked with people, the way she loved books. Now, when he’d finally made a little progress, she’d slipped through his fingers like an errant ice cube escaping the freezer tray.

He’d often thought about those little cubes plotting
amongst themselves. He could almost hear them whispering. “Wait until he opens the freezer door. When he goes for one of us, you jump.” The image brought a foolish grin to his face, and before he could contain it, Esther came through the doorway.

“Something funny?” she asked, crossing to him with the filled mug.

She hadn’t gotten a fresh cup for herself, and he eyed hers sitting on the desk. “I was thinking about ice cubes.”

She stopped and drew back. “Ice cubes?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Really?” She tilted her head, an amused look growing on her lips. “I’d like to hear it.”

He eyed her empty cup. “Only if you let me freshen your drink.” He rose and snatched her coffee mug from the desk, ignoring her startled expression. Before she could respond, he swept past her toward the doorway he assumed led to the kitchen.

He barreled through the doorway, finding himself in a compact galley as neat and organized as Esther’s library. Heading for the brewer, he snatched a cookie from the jar while noting her spice rack, each container lined up in alphabetical order. He suspected she cataloged her canned goods in the same way.

After filling the mug, he returned and found Esther standing in the same spot he’d left her. He set the coffee on the small table beside his seat and rounded her desk for her office chair. Rolling it to the table, he beckoned to her. “Sit in the armchair. I’ll use this.” Before she could argue, he slid onto the one she’d used earlier.

Dumbfounded, she sat.

He took a sip of the fresh brew. “Let’s forget the ice cubes and—”

Esther shook her head. “No way.”

He went ahead and told her his foolish notion about the ice cubes’ antics.

A smile blossomed on her face and a laugh bubbled from her chest. “I’ve had the same thought. I figured I was the only weirdo to think something that warped.”

Her laugh sounded wonderful, and he watched her shoulders relax. She lifted the mug and took a sip. “I have more cookies.”