Love on Lavender Island (A Lavender Island Novel Book 2) (13 page)

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to clean my room.”

Adam knew she simply said that anytime she wanted to
escape
to her room, but he let it go.

He’d thought things were going so well. But now he ate the rest of his fritter in silence.

Paige drove back up the road in the golf cart, the wheels straining on the hill, and put her hand on her packages so they didn’t fly out. She’d decided she couldn’t go another day without a few more hardware supplies, or else too many of her projects would fall behind schedule. But she still hadn’t wanted her sisters to know she was on the island. She’d grabbed a wide-brimmed baseball hat, shoved on a pair of large Jackie-O sunglasses, and hoped for the best.

Mr. Clark at the hardware store hadn’t even given her a second glance, and, because of her success, she’d decided to make a quick stop at the market to get a few more groceries and snacks.

Now she jiggled Gram’s kitchen door with one hand while balancing her bags with the other.

Suddenly she sensed a figure over her shoulder.

She whirled into one of her self-defense moves.

“Whoa!” Adam moved out of her elbow’s range as her bag went flying.

Her granola bars skittered across the dirt, her orange and apple rolled off the edge into the grass, and the fresh flowers she’d bought from Clark’s fell in a heap.

Adam put his hands up in apology. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He lunged off the porch to pick up the runaway fruit.

“I didn’t expect anyone here.” She bent for the granola bars and then lifted and shook out the poor flowers. “I guess . . . I guess I’m still a little jittery about intruders.”

He took two of the bags, dropping the collected fruit into one. “It
is
quiet at this time of day,” he said. “I usually like it.”

He looked as good as he had that morning—still in faded blue jeans, but now with a fresh gray T-shirt that outlined his muscles. His hat sat familiarly low on his forehead, and the look he gave her out from under the brim didn’t seem as scowling. It looked 
curious
, maybe. Confused. Probably at the weird woman he didn’t really know how to deal with. She was trying to do business with him, but also flirting with him. Now he knew she was cursed. He knew she was prone to stumbling. And talking too much when tipsy. He knew she’d had a crush on him when they were younger, and that she acted just as silly and giddy now if the moonlight hit him in a certain way. He knew she couldn’t fit through a window and that she attracted bats and insects. And that she might kiss him at any given moment.

“That’s not all you’re eating, is it?” he asked, scowling at the granola bars.

She turned to work her key and jiggle the door. “Is there something you want, Adam?”

The door gave way, and she lunged inside, unloading her bags onto the dining table. Once her arms were empty, she turned to find him hesitating in the doorway. “You can come in.”

He entered as if the house were haunted and added the other two bags to the mix, staring at them as if searching for something to say. He probably didn’t know how on earth to deal with her at this point. She should put him out of his misery.

“Is this about MacGregor?” she asked.

“No. That’s not why I’m here. I did talk to him today, but he’s remaining tight-lipped about his plans. He said he wants to experience the dude ranch first. So I don’t have an answer for you yet.”

“Is this about that almost-kiss last night?” she blurted.
There.
That should get rid of him.

He rubbed the side of his nose and avoided her eyes. “That’s no problem, Paige. I knew you had too much to drink.”

She began organizing the few food items. “It won’t happen again. I mean, the blathering and the trying to get you to kiss me and everything—that won’t happen again. The having too much to drink might, if we’re being honest.”

“Not a problem.”

“Well, I have been a problem, right?”

She watched him squirm. This was always where her conquests usually ended. Adam would never be interested in her because she was the comedienne. The Lucille Ball. Guys found her fun to hang out with, but she wasn’t the elegant, classy woman men fell in love with and wanted to get into bed with and wanted to see again. Why couldn’t she
ever
be the classy, sexy Lauren Bacall?

“You weren’t a problem,” he said. “You were fun.”

She started slamming her groceries onto the cupboard shelves. “Even this past week—the house, the electricity, the shattered window, the bats.”

“You’re not a problem, Paige. Fixing the house up can only help me sell, too. And I came to say thanks and ask you a favor, in fact.”

Her hand stalled halfway to the cupboard with a jar of peanut butter.
A favor?
She half wanted to know what it was and half wanted to drag out the suspense for a few more minutes so she could enjoy this new Adam—this one who was perhaps a little embarrassed and damned cute. She turned toward him.

“First, I need to thank you,” he said.

“
Thank
me?”

“For what you said about Amanda last night. You were right. She needed to hear me talk about Samantha.”

“You talked with her about Samantha?”

A flash of pride shot through her that he’d listened to what she’d said last night, and that he’d acted on it, and—most important—that it had worked. Paige was glad that Amanda probably got to hear a little affirmation and love. But then, as he nodded, a crushing sense of jealousy pervaded her. And, of course, embarrassment came right on the heels of that. She was happy for Amanda and didn’t want to deny the girl any happiness, but her old childish jealousies about what Adam loved about Samantha were shoving to the forefront again.

Paige unloaded her cans of green beans.

Adam, meanwhile, tapped his finger on the edge of the table in a distracted, erratic rhythm. “So the favor. I, uh . . .” He shrugged.

She folded her paper bags and stared at him, waiting. Whatever it was, it might work to her advantage. If she could help him with a second thing and prove she wasn’t a complete fool, he might more seriously consider helping her with the whole Dorothy Silver situation. Even if MacGregor was planning on buying the property, maybe she could still borrow the meadow for a short time. If they timed it right, she could have the whole gazebo deconstructed again by the time he moved in. She just had to figure out how to ask Adam about it.

“Do you know what a flatiron is?” he suddenly asked.

The question startled her for a second, but then she remembered the conversation she’d overheard in town the other day. She smiled as she folded the last bag. “Yes, I do.”

“Is there any chance you could help me find one for Amanda?”

She looked at him sideways.

“It’s for her birthday. I’m thinking you understand her, and I don’t know what I’m looking for. I know you just got back from town, but I’ll drive. And I’ve got faster wheels. I’ll even throw in dinner.”

She tucked the bags into the pantry. It
would
be nice to spend more time with him. She could maybe have a second chance at a first impression. Or was it her fourth chance at a second impression? Or her third chance at a third impression? Either way, she was trying to impress him in a business sense now, not trying to get him to notice her body. Right?

But she shouldn’t go back into town. She’d barely gotten through town those first two times without being spotted.

“I’d like to help,” she said. “But honestly, I’m trying to keep from being seen. I don’t want my sisters to know I’m here yet.”

“Ah. That’s right. The long story. Maybe you can explain all that to me.” He wandered into the kitchen and looked around a little. “I can help you keep a low profile. And we don’t have to eat dinner there—we can bring something back.”

“What about the dude group?”

“I have three more hours while they’re out on a practice ride. We can have dinner—just us. I’ll make something at my place.”

Paige was surprised that he wanted to spend so much time with her after her revelations last night. Maybe he didn’t think she was crazy.

“You cook?” she asked.

He gave her a crooked grin. “I didn’t say I’d
cook
something at my place. I said
make
. I’m thinking sandwiches.”

“Sandwiches are part of your repertoire?”

“It’s a pretty limited repertoire. It’s that or eggs or salsa.”

She smiled. She felt as if she’d received a second chance. “Sandwiches sound fine. You’re on.”

CHAPTER 13

They rumbled back to town in Adam’s Ford F-150. Paige had to admit it felt good to be in a car with some power again, versus those wimpy golf carts. And sitting so close to Adam’s flexing forearms didn’t hurt, either.

“I thought cars weren’t allowed on the island,” she said.

“In town.”

“But we’re going to town.”

He threw her a sly smile. “We’ll park on the outskirts.”

“Are you
always
a rebel?”

He looked truly surprised by that. “There may or may not be a rebel in this car, but it certainly isn’t me.”

“Aren’t you the one who smoked the cigarettes behind the Industrial Tech building and flew the fast plane?”

“Those were my young and stupid days. And planes are supposed to fly fast. I’ve never been called rebellious in my life.”

She turned to gawk at him.

He glanced over at her. “What?”

“Are you forgetting who you’re talking to here? Remember, I knew you when you were a teenager.”

He stared out the window for a minute, then laughed. “You probably remember more than I do. Maybe you’re right. Okay, I haven’t been called rebellious since I was twenty. How’s that?”

She sat back in her seat. “I’ll buy that. Do you miss it?”

He kept his eyes on the road for another two turns, then shook his head. “I’ve had a lot of people to take care of. My brother, Noel, got to be the rebellious one. Or the irresponsible one, I guess. And everyone loves him. So maybe I’m a little jealous of that, but I don’t miss being rebellious.”

“You wear the cloak of responsibility well anyway,” she said. “Thank you for taking care of me last night. You were very honorable.”

She thought she saw him lift his eyebrows at that, but he didn’t answer.

But she felt as if she could move on now.

“I’m glad you talked with Amanda,” she said.

His smile came back. “She gave me about ten minutes of her time. But that was ten minutes more than usual. And only because I talked about Samantha.”

Paige took a deep breath. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to know what good things he’d said about Samantha or not. But maybe she could be the better, more mature Paige. She dove in. “What did you tell her about her mom?”

“For some reason, I remembered that Samantha always painted her toenails and fingernails wild colors. Amanda was painting hers, and it triggered the memory. And then I remembered that Samantha liked horseback riding. And I told Amanda that her mom was pretty and looked like her.”

Paige nodded. That wasn’t so hard. “That sounds perfect. How did she react?”

“Like I said, she only gave me ten minutes. But she smiled once. And she looked right at me. And she shared half a dessert with me. I call that a huge success. I can’t thank you enough.”

They pulled into a dirt parking lot at the base of the mountain and readied to walk the block over from there. The lot was huge—designed to hold tourist buses and other large vehicles that were used on the back canyon roads and throughout the hilly interior. Paige glanced around as they crossed the street into the main part of town, hoping not to see Olivia’s or Natalie’s golf carts.

“She asked if Samantha had any other friends on the island,” Adam said as they shuffled along Main Street. “Would you consider yourself a friend?”

Paige blinked back her surprise. A
friend
? Not at all. Samantha was the source of every one of Paige’s first bouts of jealousy.

“I didn’t really know her,” she said to get out of it. “She was a lot older than me. You older kids hung out pretty separately.”

Adam nodded. “That’s true. Do you remember anything about her, though? Maybe you could say a few things to Amanda?”

“I could try.”

Damn.
Insult to injury. But Paige would do it for Amanda. She felt so sorry for her.

Paige yanked her sunglasses out of her bag and shoved them onto her face, ducking once more to make sure she didn’t see anyone she knew.

Adam slid a grin down at her. “I hardly recognize you.”

“Yeah, this isn’t working. It probably wasn’t a good idea to chance this twice in one day.”

“Wanna wear my hat?”

“I didn’t think that thing ever left your head in the out of doors.”

“Special circumstances.” He plopped it onto her head, and it fell slightly over her eyes. She pushed it back a little, but—between it and the sunglasses—it did a decent job of hiding her face. Plus, her sisters would never in a million years think to look for her under a cowboy hat. Or walking alongside Adam Mason.

“So what’s this long story that’s causing you to hide from your sisters?” he asked as they arrived at the market.

“Maybe I’ll tell you at dinner.”

Adam opened the front door for her, the bell jangling their arrival. Mr. Fieldstone looked up from the counter. He seemed to be reading one of the romance novels Doris had been recommending the other day, and he marked his halfway spot with a Lavender Island postcard.

“Hey, Adam,” he said.

Adam nodded. “Mr. Fieldstone.”

“Come back for that curling iron? Oh, hey, is that the little lady who wanted it? I’ve been hearing you might have a new girlfriend up there.”

Paige dashed behind the first aisle.

“Uh, no. That’s . . .” Adam glanced up at her and pointed lamely while he let the thought trail off.

Paige made a shushing pantomime and motioned frantically with her hand to follow her.

He ducked behind the aisle with her, barely suppressing a grin. “Is this your idea of not calling attention to yourself?” he whispered.

She tugged his arm toward the hair supplies, and they landed in front of the display together, investigating the flatirons. Paige was surprised there were so many.

“Let’s go with this one,” he said.

“Why that one?”

“It’s the most expensive. It must be the best.”

“Wait. It depends on her hair. Let me read the boxes.”

Paige studied each model, then found the one that would suit Amanda’s hair texture best and shoved it at him. He asked about the magnifying mirrors, brushes, and hair bands next, so she picked out an array of items that seemed like things the teenager would want or need, then tucked them into his waiting arms and sent him to the counter.

“Wait. Gert says I need a card.”

They made their way to the other end of the store, Adam grabbing a few more things on the way, like luncheon meats and a loaf of bread. Watching his arms get more and more loaded, Paige found a basket to hold everything; then she let Adam read the cards while she selected wrapping paper.

“Do you like this?” she asked, holding out a tie-dye pattern that looked like Amanda.

He nodded absently as he kept reading.

She thought it was sweet that he took the birthday cards so seriously. After reading four or five more, he shook his head. “None of these seems right.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t even know her. These are sentiments a dad would have if he knew the slightest thing about his daughter.”

Paige reached out to put a hand on his forearm. Once she realized how intimate it seemed, though, she quickly jerked it away.

But not before he had traced all her movements.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Gert said I should write something. I’d find something plain, but I want something that doesn’t have flowers on it. That doesn’t seem like Amanda.”

“You’re right. She did have a Grateful Dead T-shirt on the other day—does she like music?”

He seemed to think that over. “She does have her earbuds in all the time.”

“You said she was painting her nails?”

“Yes.”

“How about this one, then?” Paige selected a card that had a picture of bluish-silver nail polish bottles and a pair of headphones on the front, with a simple “Happy 16th” on the inside.

“Perfect.” Adam nodded and turned toward the counter.

As they rounded the side, though, Paige spotted Olivia coming through the door with eight-year-old Lily.

“Oh no!” She flattened herself against the chip display.

Adam slid back with her. “Sister?”

She nodded.

He peered through the stems of some balloon bouquets. “Niece?”

Another nod. She was too afraid to speak and have her voice carry. Lily would probably notice her before Olivia did—they’d spent so many weekends playing together when Paige visited, so many evenings rubbing each other’s backs and singing songs. Lily had called her cell just yesterday expressing disappointment that Paige wasn’t visiting this weekend.

Adam leaned down toward her ear. “Slide out around the back of the aisles.” He slipped his car keys into her hand. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

His deep, whispered voice, combined with his warm breath dancing along the edge of her ear, sent a soft shiver down her arms. His hand spanning the small of her back solidified the thrill. But she felt the shove. She scurried down the aisle, toward the back, and crossed carefully past the paper plates, the canned-soup display, and an impressive sculpture made with Gatorade bottles. She tugged the cowboy-hat brim lower over her eyes and readjusted her sunglasses.

At the main aisle, she took a few more peeks around the corner and then made a dash for the glass door. Just as she barreled through—the bell bouncing chaotically against the glass—she thought she heard Lily say her name.

She moved faster down the sidewalk until she could cut across the alley behind Once Upon a Toy. She knew a shortcut back there. Once in the alleyway leading to the parking lot, she broke into a jog across the pavement as her cell phone began ringing out the chorus of “Dancing Queen.”

Damn.
Olivia’s ringtone.

Adam found his little masquerader crouched in the front seat, ten-gallon hat pulled low over her eyes as she peeked over the dashboard.

“Good work, Bonnie.” He couldn’t quite contain his grin as he tossed the bags in the back.

“Not bad yourself, Clyde.”

Adam gunned the truck out of the parking lot, dust flying behind them.

“Though you were a little slow to the getaway car,” she said. “What took you so long?”

“Mr. Fieldstone decided he needed to interrogate me on my new girlfriend.”

“Ah. Yes, apparently you and your other new girlfriend are the talk of the town.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When I was down here a couple of days ago, a few of the locals were discussing you in the market. Doris and Marie, I think, and Kilner.”

“Oh God, Kilner.”

“I know. He’s the worst gossip ever.”

“What were they saying?”

“Well, Kilner had apparently glimpsed Amanda and was speculating on who she was.”

Adam looked over at her with a wince of disgust. “Do I want to know?”

“No, you don’t.”

“He’s such an idiot.”

“Agreed. I would have defended you and explained that she was your daughter, but I didn’t know what you wanted them to know.”

“And you’re trying to keep a low profile.”

“I would have defended you anyway.”

He glanced at her again and lifted an eyebrow.

“Seriously. I don’t like gossips,” she said.

“Well, that wasn’t the girlfriend Mr. Fieldstone was talking about tonight. He meant you.”

They bounced over some uneven terrain, and Paige’s heartbeat escalated—she wasn’t sure if it was the bumping tires, or the fact she was sitting so close to his thigh and forearm, or the fact that he’d just mentioned her and “girlfriend” in the same sentence, but she was enjoying herself.

“I’m sure you had a wonderful time explaining that,” she said. “You didn’t give
me
away, did you?”

“Nah. I said very loudly that you were my mistress.”

Paige’s pulse accelerated even more.

“Did you seriously say
mistress
?”

“Yeah.” He laughed.

“Who uses the word
mistress
these days? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“That’s your main objection? My word choice?”

“You’re going to set off a whole new slew of rumors, you know. No wonder everyone talks about you—you’re probably feeding them all kinds of stories.”

“No one needs to feed them stories, Paige.”

They stared out separate windows for a second, possibly thinking about the rumors that had spread about each of them so long ago.

“But that
is
kind of funny,” Paige admitted. “Mistress.”

Adam met her smile. “Your sister and your niece were both staring out the window after you left, though. I don’t think my ploy worked, and you might have been noticed.”

“I know. Olivia called my cell. She left a message that Lily thought she saw me. But then she had a good guffaw over the cowboy hat and seemed to dismiss the whole preposterous notion.”

Adam frowned. “What’s wrong with cowboy hats?”

She laughed. “Nothing, Mr. Mason.” She plucked his hat off her head and set it back on his own.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Reminds me of my dad.” He readjusted the hat lower toward his eyes and then glanced over and soothed his harsh tone with another playful grin that sort of melted her for a second. “So if we go back and I make you dinner, will you tell me the long story?” he asked.