Snowflake Bay (27 page)

“Doesn't seem right,” Kerry said, but she wasn't looking at Fiona any longer, and seemed lost in her own thoughts.

Fiona slipped her hand out from under Kerry's and touched her arm. “You okay?”

Kerry blinked her thoughts away and immediately gave her sister their patented
Seriously?
look. “Why wouldn't I be? I mean, other than constantly wanting to strangle the one man in my life I love above all others, what could be wrong?”

“Well, you've been Stateside now since summer. That's a record.”

Kerry snagged her rag from her apron and turned back to the sink. “I haven't figured out what's next. The list, it is long,” she said blithely, maybe too blithely. “I've got a sister to marry off, an uncle to get back on his feet.” She tossed a wry look over her shoulder and scrunched her nose. “And another sister to knock some serious sense into.”

“There's nothing to knock. It is what it is.”

“Well, before you go writing off your future, at the very least, tell Ben how you feel. And see what comes of that.”

Fiona had thought of that. Had thought of almost nothing but that. But when she played out the scene past telling him how she felt, there was no scenario that ended up with both of them getting to do what was personally fulfilling for them, what they'd worked hard to have and enjoy. She knew that even if she was willing and did make the sacrifice, being with Ben—or any other person—was not going to be enough to overcome getting up every single day to go do something she didn't want to be doing. And so she surely wouldn't ask the same of him, because the end result would be the same. Happy together, miserable inside their own hearts. “It's very romantic to think the happily ever after just happens, Kerry,” she said. “That love is big enough to conquer all. But the reality is, sometimes, there is no way to pull that off.”

“So you keep saying,” Kerry said. She paused long enough to look at Fiona again. “But here's what I say. Tell him you love him between now and when he leaves to see his folks and make the big decisions that need making. Give him that chance. He deserves that much. And so do you. Besides, if you don't tell him, I will.”

“I'm so happy for you, honey,” Ben's mom trilled over the phone. “This will make your dad's year.”

“I haven't asked her yet. Don't say anything to him until—”

“No, no, of course not. But . . . she'll say yes, won't she? I'm just so tickled, I can't even—” She broke off, sniffled.

“Mom,” Ben warned. “Don't get all—”

“Oh, you'll just have to put up with some tears. We girls are like that. Well, hurry up and get it done so I can talk to Fiona and we can start planning.”

“Oh Lord,” Ben said. He hadn't really put that part together. “Mom, don't go all full tilt.”

“Honey, honey,” she said, breaking in. “It will be beautiful. I love Fiona. All the McCrae girls. They're like extended family.” She sniffled again. “And now one of them really will be. Oh, I can't wait to tell your father.”

Ben was starting to regret having told her before popping the question, but he'd had to. Wanted to. “Thank you,” he said.

“For not telling—”

“No. For your blessing. And for Nana's ring.” Which was the actual reason he'd called.

“You're trying to make me into a blubbering fool—then what will I tell your father?”

“That you were watching a greeting card commercial. He knows you cry at the drop of a pin.”

She let out a watery laugh. “Well, that's true.”

“I'll let you know.”

“I haven't taken that ring out in ages,” she said. “You'll probably need to get it sized. And cleaned.”

“Why didn't you have it with you?” he asked. He'd been surprised when she'd told him it was still at the house. He'd assumed he'd have to have her send it to him. Which was the other reason he'd called. He didn't know when he was going to ask Fiona, but he wanted to have the ring here, with him, when he did.

“Because it was for you,” she told him. “I mean, I didn't know when, or who—though can I just say how relieved I am that it's not—”

“Mom, you don't have to. I didn't mention it earlier, but when we were in Portsmouth, Fiona even had the chance to meet her.”

“Oh?” she asked, with barely disguised rabid curiosity. “And how did that go? I swear, I move south and I'm missing all the good stuff.”

Ben chuckled at that. “It's a longer story than I can get into here, but I think it's probably just the first of many classic Fiona stories. It was the moment I knew for sure I wanted to marry her.”

His mother laughed. “Sounds delicious. I'll have to wheedle it out of you sooner than later, then. Or wheedle it out of her when we chat. You have her call me the minute she says yes.”

He laughed. “I'll be sure to do that. I appreciate your confidence.”

“Well, I might be a bit biased, but why wouldn't she?”

“Love you, Mom,” he said, grinning.

“Love you back.”

Ben hung up the phone, but didn't get up from the kitchen table right away. It was one thing to have a momentary epiphany in the middle of his company Christmas party and think, hey, I'm in love, I want to marry the girl. But he'd been back in Maine now for five days. Christmas was just around the corner, which was the deadline of sorts for him to make a decision on what he wanted to do with his life. Or, at least, with the responsibilities that had entered his life a month or so ago. And instead of freaking out wondering what in the hell he'd been thinking, he was on the phone to his mother—his mother—asking her for his grandmother's wedding ring. And feeling perfectly fine about it.

He hadn't even told Fiona he loved her. Much less made up his mind what he was going to do about The Decision.

He set his phone on the kitchen table, then leaned forward all the way until his forehead touched his curled hands, resting on his great-grandmother's linen tablecloth. “You are so seriously not right in the head. Being home, being around Fiona, it's warped you, man. Straighten up. Fly right.”

He sat that way for another thirty seconds or so, then sat up. And grinned. “Nah, I still wanna marry her.”

He slapped his palms on the table, shoved his chair back, and stood. His only decision now was, should he call Paul first, and tell him that their earlier conversation was no longer a “what if” hypothetical, but quite possibly an “oh shit, we're going to do this” reality? Or, should he go find Fiona and make sure she was going to say yes—and maybe, while he was at it, find out if, oh, you know, she loved him back—before turning his life completely upside down.

He looked around the kitchen, at the surroundings of his childhood. And it had been a really, truly wonderful childhood. He listened to the noise filtering in from outside, of the cars coming and going, people laughing, shouting, and, at the moment, even singing Christmas carols. Really badly, as it happened, which just made it all the better. There was the tractor engine humming, chain saws whirring. And above it all, the laughter, the chatter, the people who came, year after year, and chopped down Christmas trees that would show up in photos for years and possibly even generations to come. The noises of his childhood. The noises, he'd come to realize over the past month—a realization that had crystalized that night in Portsmouth when he could actually see that part of his future with real clarity and belief—that he wanted to be the sounds of his children's childhoods as well.

So it didn't really matter whom he called first, because, even if he was really, really way off and Fiona wasn't interested in being part of that noise, in generating her own brand of noise to entwine and entangle in his memories of this house, this place, this life . . . then he was still going to be here.

Maybe not exactly as his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and even great-great grandfather before him had been here, but with the same spirit, the same love, and the same dedication they'd had. He was going to be here, in Snowflake Bay.

It had just taken coming home and falling in love with exactly the woman he was supposed to be in love with to put all the pieces into the right spaces. And, okay, a few that didn't quite fit, but between him, Paul, Stephanie, and a crew of the best people anyone had ever had the chance to build a business with, he was going to pound those pieces into place until they fit, too.

Yeah. He needed to get that under way, so when he did do the big getting-on-one-knee scene, he could make Fiona understand he wasn't doing this for her, or even for them. He was doing it for himself first and foremost. Just as she'd done, in coming back to the Cove, to her home.

“I should be writing this down,” he thought, then laughed at himself. “What the hell, you're winging everything else.”

He grabbed his phone up, hit Paul's number on his speed dial, and headed to the back door, back to the work that was going to continue to be part of his life for as long as he was able to do it. He hadn't told his mom this part yet. He needed to make sure it was going to happen first. It would be his Christmas present to them both. Well, that and maybe an engagement announcement.

“Paul,” he said, when the younger man picked up the phone. “So about that talk we had. I think I want to try and make that work.” He held the phone away from his ear when Paul hooted. Loudly. When he was done, he tucked the phone close again, and said, “You talked to Stephanie? She's on board? It's a lot. I really need to know—”

“We're ready for the adventure, boss.”

“What time frame do you figure? Spring? Early summer? I haven't looked over all the files you sent me yet, but—”

“If the winter isn't too bad and we can get an early spring start, then I think early May is very doable. Bad winter, it might push us to June.”

“I can live with that.” If a person could hear another person smile, Ben could hear Paul's ear-to-ear grin like it was a full on howl. “You're really sure about this?”

“What, say no and have you hire someone else to have all the fun? Hell no. I want in, ground floor. Then I'll be sure you'll never get rid of me.”

Ben chuckled. That sounded exactly like Paul. “And Stephanie?”

“Her only question was how upset you were going to be later on when we wanted to pass our part in the business down to our children, you know, regardless of where your potential future offspring might figure in to all this.”

“Maybe we'll let them figure that out. It would be a pretty sweet problem to have.”

“You know, you're right. I'll start pulling a list together, who we need to call first, second, third. And I'll get Steph on calling your new work appointments and regretfully cancelling. Unless they want to go to Maine, too.”

“You're pawning that part off on Steph?”

“Bad news comes a lot easier from her sweet voice than my lumberjack grumble.”

“Wise choice,” Ben agreed with a laugh.

“Indeed. I'll get files to you tonight, and we can talk again tomorrow once you know how you want to proceed.”

“Deal.”

Paul paused, took a deep breath, then said, “How cold is it up there again?”

Ben just laughed. “Ask Santa for long johns,” he said. “Really good long johns.” He ended the call on Paul's laughter.

Okay, then.
Ben took his own deep breath. “And so it begins,” he murmured, then headed out, letting the porch door slap shut behind him as he started toward the fields. He pulled his elf hat out of his pocket, pulled it on, and grinned. “Let's help some folks find the perfect Christmas tree.”

Fiona wedged herself further into the cabinet under the sink so she could get better leverage on the wrench, and gave it one last tug. “There,” she grunted, as the—thingamajig thingie, whatever it was called, finally turned a squeak. She held her breath, listened intently, then grinned in triumph and slumped back against the interior cabinet wall. “No more drip,” she said, feeling pretty satisfied with herself.

She liked to sit in the little kitchen and work. She liked to get the wood-burning stove chugging, make a pot of coffee, then spread out on the small round table whatever the business of the moment happened to be. This evening it was the newly revised chart for where everyone would stand inside Pelican Point for Hannah's wedding. The obvious entrance would be for the bride to come down the stairs to the ceremony being held below, but that wouldn't be good for Fergus, so she'd had to do some creative thinking. “Good thing that's why I get paid the big bucks,” she muttered.
Bridesmaid Rule No. 97: When your sister offers to pay you to plan her wedding, take the money.

She carefully lowered the wrench and held it against her chest, as she tried to turn a bit so she could wriggle back out. Only, the turning point proved to be problematic as some part of the back of her clothing was caught on some part of the pipes that ran behind her head. She tried to wriggle and tug, but that just made it worse. And the space was too tight to reach back and free herself. She debated for two seconds how much she'd miss the blouse or sweater she had on, then figured she could probably have it mended, so she started to wriggle again, then just tugged. Hard.

Which proved to be a mistake. A very wet mistake. Something behind her made an ominous creaking noise, and a second later, water began spraying into the small cabinet, plastering the back of her head and shoulders. What it didn't do was free her. “No!” she cried out. “No, no, no.”

Like that did any good.

She heard banging on the back entrance and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. “Beanie!” she called out. “It's unlocked! Come in! Help!”

Only, for once, it wasn't Beanie.

“Hey there,” came an amused male voice.

She managed to turn her head just enough to see Ben crouching down next to where her legs were sticking out from under the sink cabinet

“Lucky thing you're a good designer,” he said. “Because you'd go broke as a plumber.”

She was soaked and spluttering at this point and possibly said a few words that she normally didn't use in mixed company.

He just chuckled, slid the wrench from her grasp, nudged her shoulders forward a bit, and two seconds later, the water stopped.

“Oh thank God,” she said, panting. “I was having
Poseidon Adventure
flashbacks. Only I was going down under my own kitchen sink.”

“I've told you since we were kids that those old movies would give you nightmares. Come here,” he said, reaching in a hand.

“I'm caught on something behind me,” she said. “I got the drippy part to stop, but then jerked something else loose with whatever part of me is hung up on whatever part of it.”

He carefully nudged her head forward. “Ah,” he said. “The sweater that ate—”

“Very funny, just—” A second later she was free and he was sliding her out. “Thank you,” she said, as she sat sprawled and soaked in the puddle that was now the kitchen floor. “We need towels.” She looked around at the mess. “Lots of towels.”

“You said there's a bedroom and bath upstairs?”

“Yes, yes! Go grab the bathroom towels. All I have in here are dishtowels. Thanks.”

He stood, then reached down a hand and helped her get upright. He smiled into her sodden, soggy, plastered-with-hair face. “I'll see if I can't save a few for you. Maybe a shower is a good idea.”

She smiled overly brightly at him. “What do you mean? I just had a shower.”

He chuckled and she laughed. Somehow he made even the frustrating things amusing.

“Don't even think of taking a picture of me right now,” she said when he pulled his phone out.

“I wasn't,” he said, then winked at her. “But thanks for the idea.”

“Ben!”

He just put the phone to his ear and lifted a finger. “Jim, hey, it's Ben. Can you grab some of those old rags and towels out of the trailer and get one of the kids to bring them over here to Fi's place? We had a little plumbing issue. And have them bring the toolbox, too, will ya? Thanks.” He slid the phone back in his pocket.

“I thought Jim was on the Machiasport tree lot for the duration.”

“I pulled him down here today. Come here.”

She jerked back. “I'm soaking wet.”

“I'm a landscaper and a tree farmer. I've been worse things than wet. Come here.” He tugged her against him, pushed the wet hair from her face, even ran a thumb under one eye, than the other. “You'd make a great raccoon for Halloween,” he murmured with a small, rather sweet smile. “Just sayin'.”

“So maybe you knowing me as long as you have isn't the fabulous thing I thought it was,” she muttered, even though she actually was enjoying his little ministrations. “It breeds way too much familiarity. Normally this early in a relationship, we'd still be struggling to always say the right thing and not risk a fight or, you know, a knee in a tender place, by picking on each other.”

He just tugged her more tightly against his tender places and wrapped his arms around her. “I happen to like being overly familiar with you. In fact, I was planning on being exceedingly familiar and joining you in the shower. Just to make sure you don't take out the pipes up there, too. Public service, really.”

She tipped up on her toes and nipped his chin. “You're a real funny guy,” she said, but then found herself nudging his head down so she could taste his mouth.

“I'm here all week,” he murmured, then kissed her back.

The clearing of a throat a few minutes later had them breaking apart to see a young guy standing just inside the back door to the kitchen with a stack of ratty towels clutched in one arm, and an old-fashioned wood toolbox tray in the other. “Sorry, boss,” he said, looking more than a little uncomfortable. “I knocked.”

“That's okay, Andrew,” Ben said easily, stepping around Fiona to take the toolbox. “You can just set those on the counter there,” he added, nodding toward the towels. “Thank Jim again for taking over today.”

“No worries.” He took a step back. “Sorry, Miss Fiona,” he said to her, trying not to look directly at the loveliness that was presently her sodden, makeup-streaked self. He dumped the towels on the counter and turned to go.

“No problem, Andrew,” she said. “Thanks for the help.” She waited until the back door was closed behind him before daring to look at Ben. “Wasn't that the same guy who turned your truck into a seesaw?”

Ben nodded and Fiona spluttered a laugh. “That explains the rather terrified look in his eyes. Poor guy can't catch a break.”

“He did when I didn't fire him and let him come back from the farm and work at the tree lot.” He took her elbow and turned her neatly back into his now equally damp and soggy arms. “But he gets a pass on this one. He could have probably sounded a fire alarm and we wouldn't have heard it.”

Fiona smiled. “Yeah, well, I blame having water in my ears . . . or something.”

“Or something,” he said, already lowering his mouth to hers.

She pushed at his chest. “If you were serious about that shower, why don't we mop up this water, then go do that? When he opened the door, it let the cold in. I think I'm starting to get frostbite in these wet clothes.” She wrapped her arms around her middle.

When he didn't move right away, she turned and sloshed over to the towels. “Wow. There's more water on the floor than I thought. We might need more towels than this.” She got the biggest one and put it down right in front of the cabinet where there was the most water, then stepped on it with her feet to soak the water up. “I guess we could just wring them out and use them like mops until we—” She stopped and looked at him. “Are you just going to stand there and stare at my admittedly drop-dead gorgeous self, or are you—?”

He took the two steps needed to close the distance between them, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her like . . . well, images of that train ride flashed through her mind. She was breathless and no longer shivering when he lifted his head. “As a way to warm me up, you're better than a wood stove,” she said, a little breathlessly. “What was that for?”

“I just want you to know up front, I had a completely different plan all figured out,” he said, one hand still cupping her face.

“What plan? For what? I thought you were covering the lot next door for the evening shift, then we were going to have a late dinner at the Puffin, maybe see Fergus if he's not sleeping.”

“I got Jim to cover the lot because I thought maybe we'd take a drive around the Cove, see the Christmas lights, then head out along Pelican Bay, do more of the same.”

She beamed. “That sounds really lovely, actually. I like that plan.”

“I was going to lure you to the farmhouse with a pot of my mother's beef stew. She stocked the freezer with containers of stew and chili before she left. Apparently she thinks I can't cook for myself.”

“Can you make her stew?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then I vote with your mom. And that sounds really, really good, too.” She gestured to herself. “Especially at the moment. And your kitchen has the added benefit of not being under an inch or two of water.”

“That is true.”

Fiona slid her arms around his waist. “Was I going to be invited to a sleepover? It's been a long time since I had a sleepover at the Campbell house.”

“That might have been in the back of my mind. Once I got you buzzed on beef stew, maybe some fresh-baked biscuits.”

She went limp in his arms. “Take me, I'm yours.” She added a dramatic hand to her brow as she splayed herself over his arm.

He leaned down and took full advantage of her exposed neck, until her laughter turned to little moans.

He pulled her upright into his arms, and pushed her hair from her face, looking into her eyes, with a quite serious look in his own, though he was smiling. “Are you mine, Fiona?”

She started to make some kind of responding quip, as they were wont to do, but she stopped when she realized he was being serious. “I—”

“I am yours, you know,” he told her. “Head to toe, head to heart,” he added, pulling her in close again. “Yours.”

Her breath caught. So did her heart. “Yes,” she said. “Me, too.” She tipped up on her toes and kissed him, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes. “Me, too,” she whispered against his lips.

Their kiss this time was more like a promise than a seduction.

He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. “I love you, Fiona Mary Margaret McCrae.”

She smiled, then laughed, glad for her soggy hair and face, so maybe the tears in her eyes didn't stand out so much. “I love you right back, Benjamin Thomas Campbell.”

And then he was fishing in his pocket and looking all . . . well, not like the confident and cocky Ben Campbell that she'd always known, and always loved, and always would. “What—?”

“I was going to wait,” he said. “I had it all planned.”

And when she realized what he was about to do, her heart just stopped. No more beating. No more breathing either. “Ben,” she gasped, then looked wildly around the room. The flooded room, and her, a soaking, sodden mess. This wasn't at all how she'd have pictured this moment happening, if she'd ever let herself picture it. Which she most definitely hadn't. “It's—the floor's wet. And I'm a disaster. You—you shouldn't, you're not really going to—” And then her heart kicked back in, double time, and she was pretty sure there were little twinkly lights in her peripheral vision and her knees weren't all that steady. Because he was kneeling.
Kneeling.
Right there in front of her. In two inches of busted kitchen sink water. “You should wait,” she said, almost begging. “Until it's perfect. This isn't—”

“This is perfect,” he said. “I don't want to tell our kids I proposed to you next to some perfectly set table for two, in front of a neatly stoked little wood stove. I want to tell our kids that I proposed to their mom while standing in the middle of chaos.” He grinned. “Because, somehow, I think our kids will get that that's a lot more typical of the life we'll be having.”

Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut again. Then she spluttered, and laughed, until she had to clap her hands over her mouth to keep from crying.

“Fiona McCrae, would you do me the supreme honor of becoming my wife, and making sure my life is full of burst water pipes and man-eating scarves, and fantasy train rides, and more laughter than I could ever have hoped to have?”

And she watched as he opened an old, scarred blue velvet box, to show a ring that wasn't bright and shiny and new. It was an antique, in need of a little cleaning, and it clearly came with a long history behind it. It was perfect. “It's beautiful,” she said.

“I was going to have it cleaned. It's Nana's ring.”

Fiona's gaze flew from the ring to Ben. “Oh, I loved your grandmother,” she said. “I—” She looked back at the ring, then back to him. “Are you sure? Does your mom—?”

He stood then, and took her hand. “I am, and she does. She's thrilled.”