Rose Harbor in Bloom (10 page)

Her hand tightened around her cell. With a click of one button the phone number to George’s office showed on the screen. If he knew she was in the area or even close, he’d want to know. Wouldn’t he?

“He’s married,” she muttered.

“Did you say something?” Conner asked.

Her head shot up; his question had alarmed her and taken her by surprise. “Just talking to myself,” she said, while her eyes remained focused on George’s office number.

“My grandma does that.”

Did she look the same age as his grandmother? This young man was starting to depress her.

“You okay?” Conner asked.

Mary glanced up. “What makes you ask?”

“It’s the way you’re looking at your phone like … I don’t know, like it’s about to tell you something you need to know.”

“I was thinking about calling an old friend.” Mary couldn’t
believe she was discussing this decision with a teenage boy she’d just met.

“What’s stopping you?” Conner braced his elbows against the counter and leaned forward. “Wouldn’t you like to hear from an old friend?”

“That depends.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “On what?”

“This friend and I didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

“Then make it right.”

The teenager seemed to have a quick answer to everything. He made it sound so easy.

Mary continued to stare at the phone.

“Do it,” Conner urged. “You won’t be sorry.”

Wanna bet? Mary looped the long purse strap over her shoulder and started toward the door. “Thanks for the coffee and the conversation.”

“Make that call,” Conner said, stretching out his arm and pointing at her.

Mary stepped outside and headed back to the waterfront. Maybe she should phone George. Really, she had nothing to lose and certainly nothing to gain. If she was being honest with herself she’d admit he was the reason she’d boarded the flight to Seattle.

But not the only one.

Before she could change her mind, she pushed the button that would connect her with George’s office.

On the second ring a woman answered. “George Hudson’s office. How may I direct your call?”

“Hello,” Mary said, struggling to find her voice. It didn’t take her long to get ahold of herself. She straightened and squared her shoulders, and when she spoke again her voice betrayed no hesitation. “This is Mary Smith, an old friend of Mr. Hudson’s. Is he available?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Smith, but Mr. Hudson is in court all day today. May I take a message?”

“No, no, that’s fine.”

“Can I tell him you phoned?”

“No, don’t bother, I’ll try again later.” Without pausing to say good-bye, she disconnected the call. Her hand trembled as she replaced her phone. The fact that George wasn’t available was answer enough. She wouldn’t try again. This was fate. They weren’t meant to reconnect.

Because the climb up the hill to return to the inn would have sapped her of all her strength, Mary returned to the Java Joint and asked Conner to call for a taxi.

Within five minutes a car pulled up in front of the coffee shop. Conner walked her outside and held the car door open for her.

Mary leaned in and gave the driver the address.

“Lady, it’s not that far,” the cabbie complained.

“I’ll pay you triple what your normal fee is,” she assured him, expecting that he would complain.

“If that’s what you want, but I’m telling you the inn is only about four blocks.”

She didn’t wait for him to finish, but climbed into the backseat and closed the door. Taking a twenty-dollar bill out of her wallet, she waved it at him, and he took off without bothering to argue further. When he pulled in at the inn, Mary saw another car had parked outside. More guests, she had to assume.

The excursion had worn her out. She was ready to claim the same chair she’d occupied the day before and sit in the sunshine and rest.

After paying the cabbie, she headed toward the house.

Her cell phone rang, and she automatically reached for it. “Hello.”

“Mary? Is that really you?”

It was George.

Rover greeted Annie when she returned from chatting with the florist, wagging his tail in welcome. As Annie shut the front door behind her, Jo Marie came out of the kitchen.

“Your grandparents arrived with their friend,” the innkeeper told her. “Oliver asked that I give them the room off the living room area.”

Their friend, but definitely not hers
.

“Oh, good.” It was thoughtful of him to make sure her grandparents didn’t have to climb the stairs. Annie wished she had thought of that. Rather than dwell on her dislike of her grandparents’ next-door neighbor, she refocused her attention on Jo Marie. “Aren’t my grandparents amazing?” she asked, although she didn’t really expect a response. Her grandparents were such a loving,
generous couple, she thought Jo Marie couldn’t help being impressed once she’d met them.

The innkeeper’s response was a decidedly weak smile. A timer dinged from inside the kitchen. “I need to get cookies out of the oven,” she said, and excused herself. Rover followed Jo Marie.

Eager to connect with her family, Annie went down the long hallway to their room. Her one wish was that Oliver had chauffeured her grandparents from Portland but had no intentions of lingering for the anniversary party. Casting her eyes toward the ceiling, she prayed Oliver would leave in short order.
Please, God
, she begged, as she knocked against the hard wooden door.

Her grandmother’s voice rang out: “Get that, would you, Kent?”

“Get what?”

“Someone’s at the door,” Annie’s grandmother said, louder this time. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Hold your horses,” Kent shouted.

A couple of moments later the door was thrust open. Annie’s grandfather squinted at her. “Annie?” he asked.

“For the love of heaven, put your glasses on,” Julie cried, coming out of the bathroom. “Oh, Annie, it is you.” She rushed forward and enveloped Annie in a tight hug.

“Grandma,” Annie whispered, hugging her back. Next she hugged her grandfather.

“Do I get one of those?”

Annie whirled around. Sure enough, just as she’d feared—Oliver Sutton. He was the last person she wanted to see this weekend. Their history was long and troubled. At one time she’d had the biggest crush on him, but he’d killed that. He was her older brother’s age and had teased her mercilessly the entire time they were growing up. Because of his close proximity to their grandparents, Oliver had somehow become part of every holiday function held at their Portland home.

From the time Annie was five until age thirteen she couldn’t remember a Christmas or Easter without Oliver teasing her about her red hair … and that was only the beginning of their unpleasant history. He’d been unrelenting. If she’d ever come close to hating anyone, it would be Oliver Sutton.

“No hugs for you,” she told him, doing her best to let him know she’d rather grab hold of a porcupine than be in his vicinity.

“Oliver was kind enough to drive us up from Portland,” her grandmother explained.

“I could have driven without a problem,” Kent complained. “But if Oliver wanted to escort us, I didn’t mind.”

“If you wore your glasses the way the doctor ordered you to—”

“I mislaid them,” Kent muttered, looking to Annie. “Which is something your grandmother is far too willing to forget. I can’t see worth a darn without them.”

“Grandma could carry a spare pair with her—”

“I refuse to baby your grandfather,” Julie insisted, cutting Annie off. “He’s a grown man. It’s not my responsibility to make sure he has his glasses.”

“I was available, so I agreed to drive,” Oliver said, diverting the conversation from her grandparents.

Annie looked away, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, which unsettled her far more than it should have. He made her feel like she was thirteen all over again.

“I have to say Oliver has been just wonderful,” her grandmother continued, seemingly unaware of Annie’s tension. She never knew what her grandparents found so wonderful about their pesky neighbor, and she wasn’t about to ask. From her earliest memory, Oliver had been nothing but an irritation. Since she had a brother and another male cousin, she was the only girl, which made her fair game for their nastiness. Oliver had been their ringleader.

“You’re looking good,” he said.

A natural response would be to thank him, but she refused to do it. As it was, she did her best not to squirm. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. It was all she could manage not to glare right back. He had to know how much she disliked him.

“Aren’t you going to thank Oliver for the compliment?” her grandfather asked.

She managed to mutter an unintelligible reply. She’d fallen prey to Oliver’s so-called compliments before, and she wouldn’t again.

“I was just about to suggest we all go to lunch,” Oliver said.

“What a lovely idea.” Her grandmother seemed far too willing to fall into Oliver’s schemes.

“What is?” her grandfather asked.

“Kent, please put in your hearing aids.”

“I hate those things. They make my ears itch.”

“You know how it irritates me to have to repeat everything I say.”

“What’s that?”

Her grandmother exhaled a sharp breath. “Never mind.”

“Anyone hungry yet?” Kent asked. “It’s got to be around lunchtime.” It was all too apparent, her grandfather was truly in need of those hearing aids.

“Give me ten minutes,” Julie said. “I have a few things to unpack yet, and I’d like to freshen up a bit.”

“Of course,” Annie agreed.

Annie and Oliver left the room together. She refused to look at him and started down the hall, wanting to escape him and willing to make up an excuse if necessary.

It felt as if his eyes bore into her. It’d always been like this between them. Oliver Sutton was the most unpleasant man she’d ever known.

“When was the last time I saw you, Annie?” he asked, in an attempt to make casual conversation.

“Whenever it was, it wasn’t nearly long ago enough.” Annie remembered, but she wasn’t saying. Actually, she remembered everything about Oliver Sutton, although she’d rather not. It didn’t help that he was so good-looking. His features were classic—tall, dark, and handsome as sin. The problem was he knew it. According to her grandfather, who often mentioned Oliver, he was quite the ladies’ man. Well, all those other women were welcome to him. And if he left a string of broken hearts wherever he went the way her grandfather insinuated, good for him, but Annie was determined not to be one of them. Early on, Annie had learned her lesson, and she wasn’t looking for a repeat performance.

He laughed as if she’d made a joke. “Oh, come on, now, you can’t still be mad over me pulling your pigtails. You were eight years old.”

She glared at him. “If that was all you did …” She stopped abruptly, mid-sentence. It did no good to rehash past offenses. Oliver would only be amused by her litany of wrongs, and she wasn’t about to give him that kind of power over her.

“It’s a wonderful thing you’ve done for your grandparents,” he said, switching the subject. “This anniversary celebration is all Julie could talk about for weeks.”

“I am a party planner. It was the least I could do.” She didn’t mention how throwing herself into this family gathering, keeping herself focused, had seen her through the bleak period after breaking up with Lenny.

“You’re looking good, Annie—I mean that. I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.”

Another compliment from Oliver?

Annie folded her arms around her middle and confronted him. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

He blinked as if the question surprised him. “Your grandmother …”

“You know how I feel about you.”

“Yes, unfortunately, I do. Julie asked me to drive her and Kent, and seeing that I had the time, how could I refuse?” He grinned and crossed his own arms. “I can see you still have that red-headed temperament.”

“The color of my hair has nothing to do with my disposition.” Dropping her arms, she tightened her hands into fists.

Oliver’s hands flew up in a defensive stance. “Don’t tell me you’re going to slug me again.”

She’d been thirteen, and he’d deserved it. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Ah, but you do,” he whispered. “You always have.”

That was an unlikely story. Oliver had been a tease, but Annie wasn’t putting up with it any longer. “Don’t get in my way, understand? I have a lot to think about, and I don’t have time to play silly games with you.”

His lower lip jutted out. “That’s a shame.”

Annie glanced at her wrist. It seemed to be taking her grandparents an inordinate amount of time. Although she had everything for the party under control, she could always use it as an excuse to escape this lunch, especially with Oliver there. All it would take was a word or two, but she’d wait until …

“How’s Lenny?” Oliver asked.

The question came out of left field. “Who … who told you about Lenny?” To this point she hadn’t even had time to tell her own grandparents that the engagement was off.

“Your grandmother, naturally. She mentioned him when the two of you got engaged.”

“As you very well know, the engagement is off …”

His brows arched as though he was surprised. “Since when?”

“For quite a while now, not that it’s any of your concern,” she snapped, unwilling to fill in the blanks. The less Oliver knew about her personal affairs, the better.

“Is he the reason you’re so prickly?”

“You’re the reason, and I’m not prickly!” she insisted. “I wish you’d take the hint and just leave.”

“No way. This is getting more interesting by the minute. So what happened between you and Mr. Love of Your Life? That’s how your grandmother described him.”

Annie would stake her life savings on her grandmother saying no such thing. Although she’d talked to her grandparents any number of times while planning this anniversary celebration, Annie hadn’t mentioned Lenny. He was a subject she’d looked to avoid, assuming her parents had told them of the broken engagement.

“Lenny drinks too much?”