The House on Blackberry Hill: Jewell Cove #1 (Jewel Cove) (32 page)

He sat back on his heels. “Why on earth would you want to hold a garden party when you’re selling this place anyway?”

This was the tough part, because she wasn’t sure she was ready to lay all her cards on the table yet, to just come out and tell him—and everyone—that the party was her own personal housewarming. She twisted her fingers together. “I think it’s a good way to erase the bad … I don’t know, karma, maybe, of the past. You worked so hard to restore the house and everyone talks about how it used to be in its heyday. Why shouldn’t I throw a party? What better way to … send it off into the future?”

Except the future wasn’t quite what he thought it was. The
FOR SALE
sign was still up and would remain up—but only for the time being. Tom thought that the party was a last hurrah before she sold, but really, it was a new beginning. For her. And maybe for them …

She took a step closer to him. “Think about it. White tents on the back lawn, vases of flowers, ladies in long dresses. We could polish up the good silver and serve tea on that gorgeous Wedgwood china. I counted, Tom. The Fosters had service for a hundred. Can you imagine? China for one hundred people!”

Tom shut the cupboard door, stood up, and tucked the screwdriver into his back pocket. “So you’re what, throwing a going-away party for yourself?”

So much was at stake but she’d never been more determined to succeed. The time for running was past.

“Something like that,” she answered, crossing her fingers behind her back. “Anyway, I was wondering if you knew who to contact. I’d like for the historical society to be a part of it.”

“Talk to Gloria Henderson. She’s the organist at the church. If she can’t help you, she’ll know who can.”

“We’ve met. Thanks, Tom.” She turned toward the door but then spun back. “You’ll be sure to come, won’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Me? At a garden party? Are you serious?”

For a second Abby felt a flash of panic at the thought that Tom wouldn’t be there. She couldn’t imagine doing this without him, not when he’d been here every step of the way. It was because of him this was even possible. “But of course you’ll be here. You’re the reason this place looks like it does. Everyone will want to ask you about the restoration. It’s good advertising for your business.”

“I’m not dressing up in some silly suit.”

She smirked. “Of course not.” She tried to picture Tom in an elegant day suit of cream and white and it wouldn’t gel. “Just say you’ll come and soak up all the compliments on your fine work.”

He sighed. “Me coming, is that the favor?”

“Not quite. I was hoping you could tell me where to rent the tents and a good garden center to buy the bedding plants,” she nudged again.

“Brian Wilson has a greenhouse out on Oaklawn Road. I’d go with him rather than some of the bigger garden centers.”

“Thanks, Tom.”

“Anytime. And there’s a place in Rockland where you can probably rent the tents. I’ll text you their info. I know I’ve got it at home.”

She smiled. “You’re a gem, Tom. I appreciate all your help.”

“You’re welcome. And you’re all set here, so unless there’s something else…”

“You want something to drink? I can put on some coffee, or there’s iced tea in the fridge.”

“I’d better get back. I’m putting together a bid on a new project.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be in touch soon, though. See ya, Abby.”

He picked up his tools and the old cupboard door and slid past her, his boots making thumps on the hardwood floor.

Abby bit down on her lip as she rested against the woodwork of the door frame. She had her work cut out for her, didn’t she?

*   *   *

Art Ellis was more than happy to help with the gardens. Abby spent several pleasant hours listening to him recall stories about Marian’s time in the house and how she loved her garden. Petunias, marigolds, pansies, and alyssum filled out the flower beds, but Abby also took care to add some new perennials that would last from year to year—lilies, phlox, and her personal favorite, cheerful red bee balm. She knelt in the dirt and Art supervised nearby. By the time they were done Abby was stiff but pleased. The garden was alive with color and scent, and as she put her hands on her lower back and stretched, she watched a butterfly alight on one of the crimson blossoms.

Help in the form of Gloria Henderson also made things come together. She volunteered her services along with that of the churchwomen to prepare the food for the event if Abby bought the groceries. Together they decided on a very garden party-ish menu of finger sandwiches, petits fours and cookies, punch, and of course, tea.

Jess was enlisted to help with the table decorations, details that Abby left in her capable, creative hands. Tents were rented from Rockland. It was all coming together beautifully.

It was Jess’s idea to ask Sarah to help with the invitations. Ever since arriving home from the hospital, Sarah had been withdrawn. It wasn’t unexpected but it was increasingly worrisome as the days went by. Jess had somehow acquired a pen-and-ink sketch of Foster House. They scanned it into Sarah’s computer, and with the first real energy she’d shown for days, Sarah added the details in an elegant font. Eighty invitations were sent out to local businesses, civic figures, and anyone who’d had a personal connection to the Fosters.

The only thing left was to decide what she was going to wear.

And for that, she needed to make another trip to the attic.

*   *   *

Tom wasn’t prepared for the red, white, and blue bunting hanging from the pillars of Foster House. Coming up the drive he could already see the white tents set up in the back, festive and pristine against the blue of the sky. Abby couldn’t have better weather if she’d ordered it especially for the day. Tom did a double take as he realized there was a man directing the parking, and that he was dressed in what Tom suspected was the old Foster livery—not a re-creation, but the original, real deal.

How on earth had she come up with that?

There were at least a dozen cars all lined up along the side of the lane, their hoods partially shaded by the row of birch trees. Tom got out, glad for once he had put away his work boots and jeans for something slightly dressier. Maybe he’d had to dig into the back of his closet, but the light blue shirt and charcoal suit pants had seemed far more appropriate. The dress shoes pinched his toes a bit but were livable. He wasn’t dressed like some Edwardian dandy, but he figured he’d do all right.

Everything was happening in the backyard, but Tom went to the front door instead. Abby had been right. He should be here because it would be good for business. And since his business had involved the house and not the backyard, he figured he’d better make a showing there first. Besides, he was feeling slightly proprietary about it all today. Abby hadn’t changed her mind about selling. Quite the contrary, in fact. Ever since that day at the hospital he’d been waiting for her to take down that blasted sign, but it stayed stubbornly in place, a glaring reminder that her feelings hadn’t changed.

She was really going. It was time he accepted the truth and quit waiting. Tom had finally gone into town and put his offer in this morning before the place sold from under his nose.

The door opened before he could raise his hand to knock, and feeling foolish he stepped inside. He felt even more foolish when he saw the man behind the uniform. “Mayor,” he said drily.

“Just the butler today, Tom. The historical society is helping out.” Luke Pratt winked. “Welcome to Foster House.”

Abby had gone all out, hadn’t she? As Tom made his way through to the back of the house, he noticed that every inch had been polished until it gleamed. The new drapes she’d ordered had been delivered and hung precisely in place, and the sliding pocket door he’d installed in the kitchen was closed, blocking it from the view of the guests. He stood aside as it slid open and a maid in black and white came out carrying a silver tray.

He’d stepped back in time.

“Tom.”

Abby’s voice was a welcome distraction from feeling like he’d fallen down a rabbit hole, but when he turned around it felt like all the air had gone out of his lungs.

She looked beautiful. Timeless. Like a picture out of the old Foster photo album only in living, breathing color. “Wow,” he managed.

She grinned and spun in a circle. “Do you like it? It’s got to be over a hundred years old. When I first discovered it the shirt was a bit yellowed and it smelled like the cedar chest. It dry-cleaned beautifully though, don’t you think?”

He swallowed. What he was thinking had little to do with the state of her clothing but with her. The full navy skirt fell in soft folds clear to the floor, and the white blouse was tapered and tucked in all the right places to make her waist look tiny and her breasts …

Well. He swallowed again. He’d have to lock that down tight, wouldn’t he?

A red, white, and blue sash ran from her shoulder to her hip as well, to celebrate the occasion. “You’re looking very festive,” he answered. “This is quite the event.”

“Come look,” she replied, taking his hand and tugging him toward the porch. “The historical society has worked its magic.”

What Tom thought was that Abby had been the one to work magic. She had no idea how much she belonged here. Or that when she went away, they were all going to miss her terribly.

*   *   *

Abby’s heart pounded and she forced herself to keep her composure. Tom looked delicious today, out of his customary jeans and into what she’d consider business casual. The way his trousers hugged his hips and the blue shirt spread across the wide expanse of his chest …

Time hadn’t taken away the attraction, the need for him. It made the stakes today even greater.

She led him through the sunny porch and down the steps to the backyard. Several tents were set up, and beneath their shade were tables with blindingly white cloths. Each table held a bouquet of flowers in patriotic colors. Abby tilted her head up at him, her heart full of gladness that he’d actually come. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t. “What do you think? Red roses, white carnations, and blue irises—those for my gram.”

His gaze met hers. “It’s beautiful, Abby. Your gram would have loved it, I think. But it must have cost you a fortune.”

She lifted her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “It was worth it. Besides, I wanted it to be an event worthy of the house, you know?”

“Especially if it’s the only one you ever have, right?”

She looked away, inexplicably stung by the way he said the words—almost like an accusation. “I should go,” she said, some of her enthusiasm dimmed. “More people are arriving and I need to be a good hostess. Excuse me, Tom.”

She made her rounds, ensuring the food was circulated, tea was served, and the punch bowl always filled. She never lost sight of Tom, though. The light blue fabric of his shirt emphasized his summer tan, and he’d left the top button undone. She swallowed thickly. She did like the look of an unbuttoned man. But today it wasn’t just any man. It was Tom Arseneault and frankly she was terrified that at the end of it he was going to drive away in his truck and never darken her door again.

He’d put an offer in on the house. The Realtor had wasted no time calling her up and giving her the news. He’d hedged when she’d asked the name, but he’d given in eventually.

Tom was so sure that she was leaving that he was going to buy her house himself, just like he’d proposed that very first day. She leaned against the trunk of a tree and looked out over what had been a pasture decades before. The grass grew tall and wild there. He expected her to sell him the house and hit the road as she’d always intended. Go back to her life and her job. Play it safe.

But he was in for a surprise. She’d done a lot of soul-searching since that afternoon at the hospital, surrounded by Tom’s family. She wasn’t that scared girl any longer. Sure, she’d been a little slow on the uptake, but looking around her house filled with laughter and friends, Abby knew she was right to refuse the offer, take it off the market, and finally make this her permanent home. She laughed a little to herself. When she’d first driven into town, she couldn’t wait to get back out again. Now she could admit to herself that she loved Jewell Cove. Abby was finally being honest with herself, and the house wasn’t the only reason she had for staying in Jewell Cove. She wanted a life here, and there was no way she was going to sit back and live here, seeing Tom day in and day out, without first fighting for them. She just had to get the courage to actually say something first.

“Penny for your thoughts,” a voice said.

Josh stood at her shoulder. “Oh, goodness,” she gasped. “You startled me.”

He smiled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t expect to see you here today. It’s not generally a guy thing.”

“Sarah made me promise to come with her. She said she would if I would. She needed to get out of the house, so…” He let the thought hang.

“What about Mark?”

A cloud darkened Josh’s face. “He took the kids somewhere. It’s been rough on the whole family. And Mark thought that Sarah needed a break.”

“I’m sorry.” Abby turned a little and rested her shoulders against the tree. “They’ll be okay, though, right?”

Josh’s eyes were somber. Abby realized she’d never really seen him smile or laugh. “I hope so,” he answered. He lifted his chin at the activity behind them. “This is quite something, you know. Foster House has been quiet for as long as I can remember. The town’s going to be talking about how you brought it back to life for a long time. Too bad you’re not going to be here to enjoy it.”

His gaze was just a little too knowing and Abby made sure she focused her attention on the guests and not him. “Ah, well. A last hurrah for the Fosters, I guess.”

“How long are you going to torture him, Abby?”

Her gaze snapped to his before she could think better of it.

“I know what Tom looks like when he’s in love,” Josh said. “And I know what he looks like when it’s killing him and it’s right there in his expression today.”

She saw Tom standing on the perimeter of the lawn, talking to someone. He had one hand stuck casually in his pocket. “He looks fine to me,” she replied coolly, but she probably wasn’t fooling Josh any more than she was fooling herself.