Sea of Love: A Bayberry Island Novel (15 page)

“That’s it. I’m calling Clancy.” Mona reached for her cell phone.

“Sure! Go ahead!” Sally’s voice was so loud many people stopped to watch the altercation. “It’s nothing but a monopoly on this island, anyway. Always has been. If you dare cross Mona Flynn, she’ll go crying to her son, the big, bad policeman!”

Ash put his hand on the shiny fabric of the fairy’s shoulder. “How about we—”

“I said, back the hell
off!
”

“I’m so sorry,” Darinda said, looking at Ash with embarrassment. “It’s kind of a long story. The Haven Cove Landowners Coalition is in favor of the development.”

Ash nodded. “I only want to prevent anyone from getting hurt.”

“Oh yeah?” The fairy looked up at Ash, tears of rage in her eyes. “It’s a little late for that, I’m afraid, tourist guy!” She pointed at Mona. “This lady is holding everyone hostage. The only reason why we’re all still scrounging and scraping for every dollar on this lonely rock is because Mona Flynn thinks she knows what’s best for all of us, like we’re imbeciles who can’t make decisions for ourselves. In the meantime, people’s lives are falling apart!”

Ash saw two uniformed police officers jog up toward the tent, hands on their billy clubs. Sure, he’d thought it might be fun to witness a fairy-versus-mermaid event, but he hadn’t pictured it being quite this gritty. Once Ash was sure the police had the situation in hand, he stepped away and disappeared into the crowd.

It took him a moment to get his bearings. The whole concept of the Mermaid Island Resort now made him slightly nauseated. And though Ash had intended to find Rowan, what he needed now was open air and relative peace so he could sort out his uneasiness. He began to walk, realizing after the fact that he’d veered from the noise of Main Street and was headed to the docks. Instinct was sending him to the
Provenance
, because what he really needed was to be far out at sea, salt spray and wind on his face, slicing through the water with uncomplicated precision. He laughed at the irony of his situation—because he’d intentionally crippled his boat, that was the one thing he couldn’t do.

“I
appreciate your help, Zophie.”

“Yez, yez!”

Rowan had to admit that the two of them had managed to communicate rather well in their three hours inside the Safe Haven booth. Liberal use of pointing, facial expressions, and basic charades had done the trick. So far, they’d sold about a hundred and fifty clambake raffle tickets, which would definitely help with costs. The B and B sponsored the event every year, and despite the steep cost of one hundred dollars per ticket, it had never been much of a moneymaker. It was never meant to be. Long before Rowan was born, the Flynns started the tradition as a way to welcome visitors to the Mermaid Festival. Over the years it became more elaborate—and costly—but her parents insisted on keeping up the custom. With a single ticket good for an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet with all the trimmings and up to four beers, there wasn’t much room for profit, especially once all the other costs were factored in—liability insurance, the disc jockey, lighting, and the rental of tables and chairs.

Rowan once made the mistake of pointing out to her mother that if they endorsed this contrived, behemoth of an island “clambake,” they might as well endorse the development deal. Mona nearly bit her head off. “This is tradition! It’s one night during festival week—not every day and night of the tourist season!”

She sighed. Like everything else about festival week, Rowan tried her best to stay focused on the task at hand while her brain simply longed for the clambake to be over. In fact, her carrot-on-the-stick was the idea that at the stroke of noon on Friday, the closing ceremony would end the festival and the whole damn thing would be behind her.

“Prrehteh.” Zophie touched the hem of Rowan’s sleeveless blouse and smiled. “Many clohz today?”

It took a moment, but Rowan realized Zophie had noticed she’d changed clothes twice since breakfast. She laughed and nodded, a little embarrassed.

“Nize. For Mr. Vahllahz? Zo much hot, yez?”

Rowan noticed someone glance toward the booth and, in order to avoid Zophie’s question, she waved her arms around to catch his attention. Never in her life had she been so happy to sell four raffle tickets. Once he’d gone, Rowan decided to keep Zophie occupied, hoping she’d forget the subject of Ash. So she told her to deliver the cash deposit bag across the street to Annie’s shop, where the receipts would be locked away in the safe until day’s end. Then Zophie could take her break.

Rowan pulled her cell from her skirt pocket and called Annie to give her the heads-up.

“Yep, she’s coming in the door now. I’m waving her over to the cash register.”

Rowan could tell her friend was frantically busy. “I appreciate it. Talk tonight, maybe.”

“Wait! What did you decide with Poseidon?”

Rowan chuckled. Annie had the ability to wring every last drop out of even the lamest joke. “I think we’re doin’ the do over.”

“Ohmigod! Wait. Hold on. Hold on.” Rowan heard Annie speaking to Zophie for a moment before she resumed her squealing. “That’s great! Wow! So when do we get to meet him? I’m dying!”

“Well, I’m thinking of inviting him to be my date to the clambake tomorrow. He asked me to dinner tonight, but I told him the restaurants were closed.”

“He asked you to dinner? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah. So what do you think of the clambake idea? Too much? Too soon?”

“It’s perfect, Row. Seriously. Just relax and enjoy. Gotta go.”

“Bye.”

With a sigh, Rowan propped her butt on the high wooden stool and took a moment to relax. She should be pleased to see so many people crammed onto Main Street for Island Day, because she knew each body translated into income for the B and B, either directly or indirectly. She’d been schooled in the dynamics of microeconomics from early on. Once the fishery closed its doors, she’d watched her family and all Bayberry residents struggle to survive on tourism-related income alone, and there was an obvious lesson—if anyone here was going to make it, everyone had to work together. Islanders pitched in to paint the outside of a new restaurant because who knew? Maybe if it got off to a good start, a few more day-trippers would decide to get off the ferry and give it a try. While they were at it, they might pick up a Mermaid Festival brochure, wander into Annie’s shop, and stop in the museum. They might even be interested enough to walk down the road a half mile until they came upon Rutherford Flynn’s Safe Haven and its spectacular views of sea and sky.

Though the tourist season lasted only from May to September, every day of every year was spent in pursuit of the tourist dollar. Sure, the Internet and social media had put a technological spin on the marketing approach, but it didn’t change the fact that the island’s economy was about one thing: attracting visitors and convincing them to return.

Rowan knew that’s why Mona didn’t have many friends left on the island. Her mother’s rabid opposition to the resort appeared at odds with that shared goal. Most seemed to agree that more money would make life easier for everyone involved, but Rowan wasn’t entirely convinced it would make life better. Maybe her mother knew something she didn’t.

Rowan wished she were wiser. She wished she knew the answer. For the time being, anyway, all she could do was give her best to the B and B, and by doing that, give her best to her family. She’d never been very good at having faith, but at this point she knew she had no other option—she was just going to have to believe things would work out the way they were supposed to.

“May I buy a raffle ticket?”

Rowan pasted a smile on her face and absently reached under the counter for the roll of printed tickets. She looked up and gasped.

Ash.

She’d blown it. Her plan had been to keep an eye out for him, fluff her hair, appear to be busy, then act pleasantly surprised when he arrived at her booth. Instead, she’d been daydreaming and had then become dorkishly alarmed to see him standing there. “Hi.”

“Hi, Rowan. Are you busy?”

“No. Yes.”

Ash placed his hands on the booth and leaned in. His sparkling eyes narrowed and he scrunched up his lips as he studied her, the way he might examine one of the taxidermy yellowfin tunas on display at the museum.

“You’re a fascinating woman.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Oh, it was definitely a compliment.” She watched as his shoulders relaxed and his expression softened. “Look, before another minute goes by, I want to apologize for what happened in the carriage house the other night.”

Because Ash kept his voice low, Rowan had to lean forward to hear him. At that close proximity, she could smell his skin—clean and hot in the summer air. But why was he apologizing?

“I don’t know what I was thinking. It was completely wrong of me to take advantage of you like that, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Wrong
. Right. But what Rowan needed to clear up was why, exactly, he thought it wrong. Did he think it was inappropriate to jump into sex the way they had, when all she knew about him was his AmEx expiration date and all he knew about her was that she could be bribed? Or did he just regret it, period? Or . . . She felt her eyes go wide as the worst-case scenario dawned on her.

“You’re married, aren’t you?”

Ash pulled away, a look of surprise on his face. “Uh—”

“Oh my God!” Rowan cupped a hand over her mouth.

“No. No. Hold up. I am not married. Never have been.”

Relief rushed through her, and she felt her hand fall away from her mouth. She thought she heard a whispered obscenity escape her lips, but then again, it might have been Ash’s whispered obscenity. Regardless, she still needed to press the point further. “You’re not involved with someone back home in Boston?”

“No, I’m not. Not for over a year.”

Rowan didn’t know what to say next, so she just sat there like a doofus, her fingers still clutching a clambake raffle ticket.

“Why do you ask?” He let one corner of his mouth quirk up. “Are you forbidden to sell raffle tickets to men who aren’t single? Is this a singles-only clambake?”

Rowan blinked and pulled herself together, giggling slightly. “No, I’m allowed to sell raffle tickets to anyone who’s gullible enough to buy one. It’s just that I’m not supposed to . . . you know . . .” She glanced around to be sure no one was eavesdropping. “I’m not supposed to
sleep
with the ones who are already spoken for. I’m kind of a stickler like that.”

“Ahh.” He leaned even closer. His lips were right next to her ear and his breath tickled her. “Technically, sweetheart, neither of us did any sleeping.”

She turned to him so she could whisper her response. “It’s all coming back to me now.”

He breathed out the barest, softest laugh, so deep and sexual that Rowan did that gripping thing with her thighs again.

“So you’ll sell me a raffle ticket?”

Rowan wasn’t imagining things—Ash just gently bit down on her earlobe when he spoke. So she returned the favor, leaving a delicate kiss right behind his ear. “I won’t sell you one.”

“Why not?” He briefly flicked his tongue where he’d just bit her.

“Because you don’t need one.”

“Why is that?”

Rowan realized that she was squeezing her thighs so tightly she was in danger of cutting off the circulation to her lower extremities. “Because I’d like you to be my date to the clambake.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“I am.”

Ash began to pull back, and as he did so, he turned just enough that his lips got dangerously close to hers. She knew she was in trouble. If anyone were to see the notoriously imprudent tourist-loving Rowan Flynn kissing a festival-week visitor in the middle of Island Day, there might be some complications.

But Ash seemed to know better than to go too far, and he continued to draw back, smiling at her. He raised an eyebrow devilishly. “Run away with me, Rowan.”

She nearly fell off the stool.
Run away with me, Rowan?
Of all the flirtatious and fun sentences he could have chosen from the English language—and there had to be thousands of those, right?—he chose the one that had nearly ruined her life! She stiffened. Then trembled. It was all she could do not to smack him. Or burst into tears.

Ash’s eyes widened with alarm. “Oh my God.” He swallowed hard. “I am so sorry for saying that.”

She shook her head, still reeling, unable to reply. Besides, something bothered her about this whole exchange, tempting her to resurrect her wall of caution. But she couldn’t put her finger on what it was . . .

Ash straightened, his expression serious. “What I meant was, well, obviously, I just said something I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you, but I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Rowan took a deep breath and tried to smile. She’d overreacted. This was her issue, not his. He couldn’t know how much his words hurt or why, so she couldn’t be angry with him.

Still, something troubled her . . .

“I only wanted to ask if you’d like to get something to eat. Can you get away for a little bit?”

Rowan sensed her muscles relax. She felt bad for freaking out on him like that, for being paranoid. And now Ash looked so guilt-ridden that she was tempted to apologize to
him
. “I’d like that. As soon as Zophie gets back, I can take a break. Can you stop back in about a half hour?”

“Of course. See you then.” Ash gave her a quick smile, shoved his hands in his pockets, and turned to go. Though he got swallowed by the crowd, his blond head bobbed along above most everyone else, making her smile.

The smile didn’t last.

Damn you, Frederick.
Rowan shook her head, as if that would get rid of the sour taste of fear on her tongue. She could not let that jerk hold her back, make her afraid of life. It was time to send him packing—once and for all. Silently, she told him how it was going to be.

You’re not allowed to crush my happiness, got it? You don’t get to decide what I feel or who I trust. I won’t let you.

*   *   *

“Don’t go anywhere! We’ll announce our winner as soon as the judges calculate their scores!”

Ash hung back on the edge of the chili cook-off crowd, arms crossed over his chest, watching Frasier Flynn in action. The mayor obviously preferred double-grip handshakes. He seemed to enjoy patting people on the back, too. But Frasier doled out bear hugs and hearty laughter to a select group, people he seemed genuinely thrilled to see. From what Ash had been able to gather, the residents of Bayberry Island held their regular visitors close in their collective heart. The island’s gregarious mayor was no exception.

The concept fascinated Ash, really. He wondered what it would be like to live in one place your entire life, a place with an unchanging seasonal rhythm, where tourists flowed in and out like the tides. He supposed it would allow you to share a history with people from all walks of life, people you would never meet otherwise. Just watching Frasier, Ash could tell he shared memories that stretched over decades with these tourists-turned-friends. He likely remembered what they looked like in their prime. He probably knew their struggles, their children and grandchildren, their achievements and disappointments.