Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze (165 page)

What was wrong with her? Bella wondered as she drove toward her mother’s shop. She was irritable and critical and edgy. She could call it spring fever, but it was June, the air thick with summer humidity and the sky an endless blue.

Of course, she knew exactly what was wrong with her: Natalie. Sophisticated, chic, citified Natalie. Bella liked Natalie, and Natalie was nice to her, so why did Bella feel so uncomfortable around her? Why did Natalie make Bella feel so lame?

Last night had been great fun, drinking those daiquiris with Natalie and Morgan. There hadn’t been much alcohol in them, and what there was was soaked up by the cheese, crackers, nuts, and olives Natalie had set out, so this morning when Bella woke, she hadn’t had the slightest hint of a hangover. So it wasn’t the booze that conjured up the instant sense of camaraderie among the three of them.

Except they weren’t old friends, and something about last night had gotten Bella’s hair on backward this morning. Was it Natalie’s art? Natalie had real talent. Her still lifes were better than her abstracts, or maybe Bella thought that because she didn’t
get
abstract art. Natalie had rushed them out of the studio before they could study any of her work, but Bella had had time to be impressed.

Natalie had her art. Morgan had her science. And Bella had … 
this?

Barnaby’s Barn sat next to the road, with space for cars off to the
side so the charming façade wouldn’t be obscured. Bella parked. Instead of walking straight to the front door, she crossed the road and allowed herself a moment to stand considering the shop’s appearance, trying to see it with a fresh eye.

The barn was white clapboard. The windows were framed by blue shutters with cutout hearts. The Dutch door was blue, and blue window boxes were filled with real flowers in the summer and giant Louise-made striped lollipops and gingerbread people in the winter. Slate steps led in a crooked path from the parking lot to the blue front door. When she was a girl, Bella had believed the place was enchanted.

Her mother had created a magical universe. Louise had delighted in crafting Lake Worlds and seeing children enter the shop—the way their eyes widened with happy surprise.

That was sixteen years ago. These days, Louise didn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm for making the miniature worlds or for running the shop. Barnaby’s Barn was showing definite evidence of decline.

Was there anything Bella could do to fix the situation? She crossed the road and the raked gravel of the parking lot, unlocked the blue door, and stepped inside. It
was
adorable.

The ceiling was a pale sky blue, the walls a sunny yellow, the floor tiled in light green. Louise had painted enormous tulips and daisies, smiling cows, and leaping lambs on the four walls, and wind chimes and mobiles hung from the ceiling, tinkling and glimmering whenever the door opened. The display cases for the Lake Worlds were the first thing you saw when you entered, and other cases were set around not in rows but at odd angles, making the entire space a kind of maze. Shauna Webb’s handmade pottery was sold here, with a special “Cow Jumped over the Moon” set for children. Elizabeth Lodge’s handmade, embroidered, and smocked children’s clothing shared a case with Lorelei Jenkens’s hand-knit cashmere blankets and soft cotton baby clothes. Jim Harrington built cradles for real babies and smaller ones for dolls; he carved hearts and flowers and other designs into them and sold them here along with high chairs and stools. A sweet older woman named Lucy Lattimer made stuffed
dolls with stitched faces and Victorian milkmaid dresses. These seldom sold. Louise had no idea why, and she felt so bad about it, she always bought two or three a year to give as gifts, and told Lucy customers had bought them. In one corner was a playhouse complete with table, chairs, sink, stove, and tea set, where customers’ children could occupy themselves while their parents shopped.

Bella dropped her purse in the back room, grabbed a spray container of glass cleaner and a roll of paper towels, and began to polish the display cases. Outside, the day was golden with sunshine. She’d be surprised if she had any customers. Everyone would be out enjoying the good weather.

Bella didn’t mind working. Her mother had made other plans, and Bella was glad Louise could take a break. Anyway, Bella had always enjoyed running the shop. It allowed her a chance to dream a bit, to remember. She was not drawn to the dolls or blankets or even the Lake Worlds. No, it was the furniture displaying the objects for sale that drew her eye and filled her with an enigmatic pleasure.

Her father’s family, the Barnabys, had come over from England around the turn of the twentieth century, bringing with them most of their furniture. As a child, Bella had spent her happiest hours roaming through her grandparents’ house, hiding inside the gargoyle cabinet when playing hide-and-seek with her older sister and brother, or reclining on a velvet, claw-footed settee, reading Sherlock Holmes while rain streaked down the windows. A magnificent “bench” stood in her grandparents’ front hall, soaring almost to the ceiling, built from dark walnut; intricately carved with scrolls, leaves, and berries; inlaid with ivory cherubs floating upward along the back of the bench and around a beveled glass mirror. Her grandparents had perched there to remove their rain or snow boots, then lifted the bench’s lid and stashed the boots inside. That had been a good place for hide-and-seek, too. Armoires, desks, vanities, chairs—all the furniture in the house had a
Secret Garden
kind of feeling about it that Bella loved.

And
that
was what it was—for Bella, each piece of antique furniture was like a novel, rich with layers of history, the patina, chips,
and scratches all bearing witness to lives full of adventure, mystery, desire, and drama played out by people she’d never met. Bella daydreamed about what those drawers had once held: lace handkerchiefs, lawn “waists,” cravats and watch fobs, straw boaters, tiaras, jewelry, face powder, and tucked beneath it all, she was certain, love letters. With just one piece of antique furniture in a room, the room was connected to endless histories.

Long ago, when Louise started her shop, she’d asked her in-laws if she could use a few pieces for display purposes, and they had readily agreed. “Old elephants gathering dust,” Bella’s grandmother called them. When her grandparents died, they left everything to Bella’s parents, who promptly put most of the antique furniture into a storage unit, sold the old Victorian in Northampton, and used the money from the house to pay for college tuition for their three oldest children.

Her parents thought the furniture was too dark and impractical. They filled their own home with light, bright, easy furnishings that children could bump their plastic fire trucks into without Louise worrying about damage. In Barnaby’s Barn, Louise had mixed a few pieces of the most useful old furniture with inexpensive tables she’d found on sale at Target or Walmart. The furniture didn’t matter to Louise; it was the displays that counted for her.

But the furniture mattered to Bella. She loved those old elephants. When Bella was in college, she’d taken a few courses in interior design and art history, although she’d had no real idea what sort of job this might lead to. She was well aware of her father’s unspoken hope that one of his children would follow his lead and become a teacher. Her older sister, Beatrice, had married young and now had three children. Ben had gone into science, and her younger brother, Brady, also seemed a scientific type, when he didn’t seem like a typical loopy adolescent. Bella was fond of children and she worshipped her father, so in her junior year she declared her major in education and became a third-grade teacher. Teaching had been pleasant enough, but for her it wasn’t the passion that it was for others.

On this quiet morning as she walked around the shop, she admitted
to herself that her mother wasn’t as absorbed with Barnaby’s Barn as she’d been before she broke her leg. Louise had joined a bridge group and a book club; both met once a week. It had invigorated her, Louise confessed, to be with friends her own age, to discuss ideas, to use her mind at cards. She’d started collecting brochures about European cruises.

What did that mean for Barnaby’s Barn? Bella wasn’t sure. Her mother hadn’t yet said she wanted to close it.

Did Bella want to take it over?

If she did, she would certainly change it. Right now it looked tired to her, outdated. The best thing about Barnaby’s Barn for Bella was that it was where she had first met Aaron Waterhouse, when he entered the store in December looking for a Christmas present for his niece.

The bell above the door tinkled and a plump white-haired woman entered, wanting advice about a gift for her granddaughter. Bella smiled and gladly went to work.

At noon, the bell tinkled again, and Aaron walked in. He wore khakis and a red rugby shirt and moved with his usual tightly controlled energy. “Lunch!” He held up two white paper bags.

“Aaron, how wonderful.” Bella slid out from behind the counter to kiss him lightly. “I didn’t think I’d see you until tonight.”

“You have to eat, I have to eat, perfect solution. Let’s sit outside.”

“Oh …” Bella thought quickly. “The shop, the phone …”

“We’ll sit on the bench under the tree. If a customer comes, you can go in. Take the phone with you. If it rings, answer it.”

Bella kissed him again. “That’s what I like about you. So practical.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Is that the main reason?”

She allowed herself a moment’s surrender to desire, leaning against him, before pulling away. “You know it’s not.”

Beneath an old apple tree Louise had placed a wrought iron bench; they settled there. Aaron took out his offerings and set them
on the bench between them. “Cheddar with chutney. Turkey with honey mustard. How about we take half of each? Chips. Juice.”

“Chocolate?” she asked.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” he teased.

They ate lunch, chatting companionably. Bella leaned back on the bench, gazing up at the pure blue sky. “I’m glad you got me out here. This is the first perfect day of summer.”

“Summer doesn’t actually begin until June twentieth,” Aaron told her.

“Stop that.” She slugged his shoulder in pretend irritation. “Feel the air. Look at the sky. It’s summer!”

“Look at the flowers. The lilac bush is still blooming. And over there, peonies. Both late spring plants.” He was trying not to grin, but this was a game they played often. Aaron couldn’t help it; he had a mind that retained absolutely every fact in detail. When they played Trivial Pursuit or watched
Jeopardy!
, he never missed.

Bella nudged his foot with hers. “You have no soul,” she carped, but they both knew she was lying. Aaron had a huge soul; furthermore, Bella admired him for knowing so much. “If tomorrow’s this nice, let’s get the canoe out on the lake in the afternoon.”

“Good idea.” Aaron stuffed the used papers into the bags. He brought out a small box and offered it to Bella.

“Godiva!” She gave him a suspicious look. “What does this mean?”

“It’s our dessert.”

“Aaron.” He had plenty of money, but he was frugal, and she liked that about him, and he knew she liked that about him. A Hershey bar would have been just fine.

“I got the call. I’m going out for the interview next Thursday.”

Bella’s appetite vanished. She stared down at the small gold box without seeing it. “That’s great, Aaron.”

“But?”

“But California is so far away.”

“I don’t have the job yet,” he reminded her. Reaching over, he held her hand. “Bella, we can work things out.”

A silver Range Rover pulled into the parking lot.

The perfect moment for an interruption
, Bella thought. “Oh, look. I’ve got a customer. Can we discuss this tonight?”

“Sure,” Aaron replied amiably.

Bella and Aaron stood up. Recognition of the Range Rover suddenly hit her: It was the car Eleanor Reynolds had left for Natalie, and it was Natalie who stepped out of the passenger seat. Her brother, Slade, his eyes hidden by black sunglasses, stepped out from the driver’s side.

Bella hadn’t expected to see Slade and Natalie again so soon. She’d never expected to see Slade anywhere near Barnaby’s Barn. In the glare of the bright June sunshine, next to the silver Range Rover, Slade didn’t seem real; he was like a Transformer in a farmyard.

“Hi, Bella! Hi, Aaron.” Natalie was in black, too: tight black pants, black tee shirt, black sandals. “Isn’t it a great day? Slade and I thought we’d explore the area, and we saw your shop. Aaron, this is my brother, Slade.”

The two men shook hands. Bella and Natalie led the way into Barnaby’s Barn, Aaron and Slade behind them. The four stood just inside, looking around.

“It’s sweet,” Natalie said, but her compliment seemed forced.

“It needs a lot of work,” Bella admitted. “I hadn’t realized how shabby it’s gotten.”

“It’s not
shabby
,” Natalie protested. She walked over to the display of Lake Worlds. “These are your mother’s? Oh, they’re darling. Slade, come look at this beaver family. Perfection. The teeny buck teeth. The flat tail. Incredible attention to detail.”

But Slade stalked on his long legs clear to the back of the room and dropped down in a squat. Bella looked at Aaron with an inquisitive arched eyebrow. Aaron’s mouth quirked up and his expression clearly read:
I couldn’t tell you what the guy’s doing
.

Lucy Lattimer’s hand-painted stuffed dolls were arranged on the table as if at a tea party, their flounced pinafores and long dresses spread around them. Not, Bella thought, quite what she would have picked for Slade’s interest. But really, she noticed, his interest wasn’t
in the dolls but in the table, painted cream with an edging of ivy and daisies. Slade reached under the drop leaf and pulled out the gateleg. Without saying a word, he lay on his back and scooted beneath the lifted table leaf.

“Slade!” Natalie threw her hands in the air. “I can’t take you anywhere!” She turned to Bella and Aaron. “I told you Slade works in an antiques shop? He’s mad about restoring antiques.”