Stranger on the Shore (Mirabelle Harbor, Book 4) (11 page)

“So, when you were in the backroom with Joy, the ladies told me that you all had just met today. That you came down from Mirabelle Harbor for the summer.”

“That’s right,” I replied, but something about the way he phrased the question snagged at my memory. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it poked at me.

“Do you have family in the area?” he asked.

I shook my head. “My sister and her husband live in New Haven, Connecticut, and my daughter is up in Ann Arbor, Michigan going to college. My ex-husband is somewhere in California,” I added, trying to drain the natural tension that crept into my voice at the mere mention of that asshat. “That’s the only family I have left.”

Not that I really considered Donny my
family
anymore, of course, but I was aware of wanting to let Gil know that, once upon a time, albeit a long while ago, someone had wanted to marry me. And that, despite surviving the hellfire of divorce, I was also strong enough to have weathered it. That I’d now moved beyond it and, maybe, was even on amicable terms with my ex. Joy’s brother wouldn’t have to know the whole truth. Wouldn’t have to fully understand how the demise of those illusions of everlasting love still ripped my heart to shreds. And, honestly, I wouldn’t be in Florida long enough for it to matter.

“Ah,” he said, not unkindly. “Most of my family is here now. Sister in Sarasota, as you know. Our mom, too. A few relatives back in Texas.” He shrugged. “It’s easy to keep track of the important ones when there are only a few.”

I nodded in agreement, but didn’t fail to notice that he didn’t mention a wife—past or present. I also noticed there were no references to a girlfriend. Interesting. I never would have imagined someone so attractive would be single.

“A couple of my employees have a bunch of siblings and at least a hundred cousins. I have no idea how they deal with that family craziness over the holidays.” He smiled as we strolled by the fudge shop, and he pointed down the street. “You still further down the block?”

“Yes,” I said, finally recalling both the general area of my parking spot and the odd thing about his phrasing. Unlike Joy’s style of talking, there were no “y’alls” in his speech. And the way he pronounced his words didn’t sound remotely Texan either. That was odd. “Joy has more of a Texan accent than you do,” I observed. “It’s not an overwhelming drawl in her case, but it’s noticeably there. Did she live in Texas for longer than you?”

He eyed me carefully with those curious baby blues, taking several long strides before he spoke. “Our parents divorced when she was eleven and I was eighteen,” he explained. “She was a minor, and I was a legal adult when our mom moved us to Florida. So, I actually never went back to Texas, whereas Joy was shuttled back and forth to San Antonio for seven more years.”

I tried to process this new information, conscious of the fact that there had to have been details he left out. He’d
never
been back to Texas...in over twenty years? Did he see his father only when the man came to Florida then? “So, uh, does your dad still live there?”

There was a lengthy pause yet again as Gil made a show out of scanning one of the side streets for parked cars. He was
stalling
. Fascinating! I couldn’t help but wonder why.

Finally, he glanced over at me and nodded. “Yes, from what I hear,” he said briefly, not allowing time for follow-up questions. He cleared his throat and with an abrupt change of subject said, “I have a present for you.” He thrust the plastic Castaways bag at me.

I squinted up at him as I took it. These Canton siblings were very generous people. I’d gotten more gifts from Gil and his sister that day than I’d gotten from anybody other than Olivia, Ellen, or Kathryn in several years. “Thank you,” I murmured.

“Open it.”

So I did. Inside, under a layer of tissue paper, was the beach towel with the picnic scene on it. “Oh! I was admiring this one today,” I told him. “I loved it. It’s so creative. But, um—” I paused. “You really don’t need to give me—”

“Marianna,” he interrupted, his voice strangely stern. “I’m the owner of the store. I can give away whatever I want, to whomever I want, whenever the mood strikes me.” Even in the dark, I could see his blue eyes glinting and his attractive features forming an expression of amusement. “I’d sort of tricked you into visiting Castaways. If you’d come in there while I was working, I would have insisted on giving it to you then, just for taking a chance on my place. New customer special.”

He stopped at the next corner and waited as I glanced down the side street in search of my Civic. “I appreciate that you took my advice that day at the beach. That you bought something you needed at my shop. And that you’ve been kind to my sister. She seems very open but—actually—she doesn’t take easily to many people,” he said. “I like seeing her happy.”

“Joy is wonderful,” I told him with feeling, finally spotting my car and pointing to it. He followed me as I turned to walk toward it. “And so are her friends. I’ve never met people so warm and welcoming.”

He assessed me silently as we sidled up to my car. “She’ll be thrilled to hear that you think so.” He paused. “I know people are supposed to say nice things about their sisters but, in Joy’s case, I happen to mean them. You won’t find a more kindhearted person on the planet. Or a more artistically talented one.”

This was refreshing to my ears. Incredible, really. To be around a pair of siblings who loved and respected each other this much. Who genuinely seemed to want to build each other up in the eyes of the world. I loved my sister but—let’s face it—I didn’t always like her. And vice versa.

I nodded at the sketchpad he was carrying. “Joy’s pretty impressed with your artistic talents as well,” I told him. “And so am I. I truly enjoyed looking at your paintings today in several of the shops, and your sister is awfully proud of your work. I could tell by the way she talked about you.”

I noticed Gil swallowing, and I saw an expression I couldn’t identify flashing across his face. At first I thought it was pleasure, but I soon realized it was more than that. It was gratitude.

“Well, thanks,” he said. “I like to paint seascapes with some surrealistic images. It’s relaxing for me.”

“How many have you painted?” I asked him. “Just the ones at the shops I visited today—yours, your sister’s, and The Golden Gecko? Or are there a lot more?”

He laughed. That deep, throaty laugh I remembered from our meeting at the beach. “Oh, I’ve got a bunch. If you’re coming to the Craft Festival this weekend, you won’t be able to escape seeing them. I’ll have a box of my painted greeting cards in the same booth as Joy and her bracelets. And she’ll outsell me a hundred to one.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “So, if you were only being nice by complimenting my artwork, you’re stuck pretending to love it. At least through the weekend.”

I laughed in return—feeling younger, suddenly, as if two decades had just melted away and I was a nineteen-year-old girl again. My daughter’s age. Talking on a hot summer night to the charming lifeguard at the community pool. Daydreaming secretly about what it might be like to date someone smart and funny like him...someone so different from Donny...even though I was already a married woman back then and not free to act on those fantasies. A window to a world of brand-new possibilities had been flung open for me on that long-ago night. But, after my quick peek out into that exotic landscape, the blinds were snapped shut again.

Then, I remembered something rather significant.

I was no longer that young girl. I was also no longer married. I was free to fantasize about any foreign world I wished to imagine. Without embarrassment. Without restrictions. Even one inhabited by The King, who was apparently alive and well and living in Sarasota.

“I’ll definitely be seeing you and your paintings this weekend,” I informed him, proud of how confident I sounded. How calm and sure. “And I promise to disguise how dreadful I think your artwork is.” I feigned a bored shrug. “I mean, I’ll tell everyone I meet what a talentless hack you are, of course, but only behind your back. To your face, I’ll be sure to fake it
really
well.”

He grinned at my obvious sarcasm. “I guess I deserved that. I should have left it at ‘thanks,’ shouldn’t I?” 

I grinned back at him. “Yes,” I said, unlocking my car. “And thank you, Gil, for the coolest towel I’ve ever owned and for walking me here. I appreciate it.” I slipped into the front seat and he shut the door for me. A gentleman, just as Joy had said.

We waved good night and I drove—no, I floated—away. Back to the mausoleum of silence that was bungalow #26, which, for the first time since I’d arrived in Sarasota, I didn’t mind at all.

~*~

G
il strode back to his car and sat in it, mentally painting a portrait.

Honey-blond hair with streaks of light chestnut—wavy, mid-length, braided hastily. The flyaway strands that escaped were like wispy baby hair. Uncurled ribbons.

Creamy skin, merely a shade darker than it had been when they met. Sun-kissed on her cheeks, perhaps, but still a Snow White level of fair.

Hazel irises with curious tints of gold, green, and cinnamon. Smile lines at the outer corners of her eyes, but faint, as if not often used.

Lips...falling somewhere between dusky rose and cerise. Soft and sans lipstick. Who’d kissed her last?

She had a grown-up daughter, he reminded himself, which she seemed too young to have. And an ex-husband, which always equaled baggage. But then, who at thirty-five or forty didn’t have a shitload of that, whether they’d been married before or not?

He wasn’t pleased to admit this to himself, but he liked her, dammit. A lot. And the strength of his attraction surprised him, especially given their whole twenty or maybe thirty minutes of acquaintanceship. Being around her had even brought out a few college-boy feelings in him. Carter would be so proud. But Marianna wasn’t quite as transient a visitor as he’d initially thought. She’d be in Sarasota for much of the summer.

Huh. Didn’t know if he should be more excited or worried by this.

Though Joy liked her—that much was obvious. For his sister’s sake, he hoped Marianna might stay even a little longer than expected. For his own sake, well...it was far too early to say.

His cell phone rang.

“Speak of the devil,” he said to his sister, grinning into the receiver. Although, really, in Joy’s case it was more like “speak of the angel.” He hadn’t been exaggerating one iota when he told Marianna what a good person his sister was.

“You were talking about me to Marianna?” Joy asked, unable to disguise her delight. “Is she still there? Are you two going out? Should I hang up?”

He snickered. “You and Ma use slightly different tactics but, really, you are the same sneaky animal.”

There was an offended huff on the other end of the line. “You
offered
to walk her to her car, Gil. I didn’t suggest it. And, anyway, the difference between Ma and me is that I know when I’m right.”

At that, he burst out laughing. “I stand corrected, Sis. You are far, far worse than even our mother. And, no, Marianna is not still here, and she and I are not going out.”
At least not tonight
, he added to himself. Hey, he wouldn’t rule it out. “But she’s very nice, and she said several sweet things about you. I’m glad you have a new friend.”

“You two share a color vibration,” Joy said smugly. “You should know about it. The two of you go together like peanut butter and cucumbers.”

To anyone else, this would sound incredibly unappetizing, but Gil knew his sister well. It was one of her favorite food combinations.

“Enough with the matchmaking, Veggie Girl. I’ve had my dose for the day already.” He relayed all the gory details about their mother’s event up in Tampa that afternoon. “Next time, she can pick on you. Try to set you up with her chiropractor or her lawn guy or whatever barista made her latté that morning.”

Joy groaned. “You think she hasn’t tried that already? But don’t worry. I’ll escort her to whatever event comes up next. I just...I just wanted to say thumbs-up, Gil. I think the summer is going to be more fun now—for both of us—with Marianna here. Don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. Your instincts are usually on target.” He paused. “Except when it comes to food.”

His sister laughed, just as he’d hoped. It always made his heart dance a little whenever he managed that. She’d lived in sadness for too long, and he’d never tire of seeing her basking in the light of levity and acceptance. It was good for her.

As for him? Well, life had just thrown something intense and interesting his way, but he’d reserve judgment on whether it was good or bad for him until he saw what happened next.

~*~

I
was not prepared for the blinking red light of the unit’s landline indicating a message awaited me. Nor was I expecting the intermittent beeps of my cell phone, which I’d left to charge on the kitchen counter, telling me there were voicemails on that, too.

I checked the number of messages. Five unanswered calls on the landline. Three on the cell. My first impulse was, naturally, one of fear:
Who died? Or was it just Donny again with more threats?

I listened to the first landline message and discovered it was my daughter, Kathryn. Parental concern immediately intensified.
Oh, no. What could be wrong?

“Hi, Mom. It’s about noon. I need to talk with you. Can you give me a call right away? I’m at home until three.”

She didn’t sound panicked, just in need of something. My anxiety lessened a tiny bit.

The next message played. Kathryn again. “Did you get my call, Mom? It’s two forty-five.”

Then, “Mom, it’s
six o’clock
and I haven’t heard from you yet. I’m at work now. Call me here. Please.”

Two more calls on the landline, one at seven thirty and one at eight fifteen—both hang-ups.

On the cell, all three were from Kathryn, and the last one, time-stamped at 9:27, simply had my daughter asking in a shrill voice, “Where. Are. You?”

I checked my watch. It was already after ten p.m., but Kathryn and I were in the same time zone, so I had no doubt my little night owl would still be awake.