6
After breakfast, Paige got back on her bicycle and rode the main highway up the shore, the wind whipping around her as she pumped the pedals hard. It wasn’t just her sister starting over here; it seemed like every other person she met had decided to make the Cape their new home. On a day like this, with clear skies and the ocean stretching out to the horizon, she could see why. There was something about getting out of the hustle of the city, with all its noise and distractions, that made her feel free of the usual stresses and strife, like work and errands, and Lexi’s absurd demands were a thousand miles away.
But that was what vacations were supposed to do, she reminded herself. A break from reality, a chance to recharge your batteries before heading back to the real world again. And speaking of the real world . . . When she arrived back in town and stashed her bicycle in a rack by the beach, she found a voicemail waiting from an unfamiliar Boston number.
“It’s me, Lexi!” the high-pitched voice on the other end of the line exclaimed. “I just had another genius idea, Robert totes flipped for it. Two words for you: adult rompers! We do, like, a matching mommy-and-me set, for all the hot moms who want to strut their stuff! Like bathing suits, but for every day! I want to see some designs by Monday, so can you like, mock something up ASAP? Call me!”
Paige stifled a groan and hung up. The jailbait line, and now this? Soon, they would be emblazoning their toddler line with eggplant emojis and cockerels. Subtle, Lexi wasn’t. Paige knew that Robert was under Lexi’s spell, but would he really throw away the company’s reputation just to keep his new bride happy?
Paige had a terrible feeling he would.
Which meant she had a choice: keep dutifully churning out designs to keep the bosses happy, or . . .
Paige felt a glimmer of excitement. She would never have admitted it, but she’d slipped into a rut with her designs this past year. Woodland animals may have been cute, but she could have sketched them in her sleep. It was a good job, with steady pay and decent benefits, so it would have been crazy to walk away of her own accord. But if the writing was on the wall—or, the adult romper—then maybe it was time for her next step. That adventure she’d been promising herself. A new job in adult fashion, maybe, or swimwear, or . . .
Aphrodite Designs.
Paige realized she was back on Commercial Street, and she found herself strolling in the direction of that empty storefront she’d seen the other day. Just to look, she told herself. Curiosity’s sake.
This time, the red door was ajar, and when she peeked her head in, she found the tiny front room swept and empty, and a petite woman in her twenties flipping through a file. “Are you my ten o’clock viewing?” the woman asked, brightening. “Please, come in.”
“Oh no, I’m not . . .” Paige started to reply, but she stepped inside anyway. “Is this place up for rent?” she asked, looking around.
“Just on the market. Prime location, too,” the woman said. “It won’t last long. I’m Marissa Santos,” she added, holding out her hand.
“Paige Bennett,” Paige shook it. “Don’t let me take up your time. I’m just . . . looking.”
“Feel free.” Marissa gestured behind her. “There’s a workshop in back, and the apartment upstairs, too. Bijou, and full of potential.”
Paige chuckled at her real-estate speak. “And by that, you mean it’s tiny and needs a ton of work.”
Marissa’s professional smile spread into something more genuine. “Should I dial it down? This is my first solo listing,” she confided. “And I know this place is rough around the edges, but there is potential here, for the right person.”
“Has there been much interest?” Paige found herself asking as she picked up the flyer.
Marissa paused. “It’s a very . . . specific space,” she said, in a tactful tone. “I mean, you can barely swing a cat in here, and most stores want more space up front, you know, for people to browse. But I do have one guy coming later, he makes these sculptures out of recycled garbage.” Marissa wrinkled her lip. “He said something about a new installation, made up of tuna cans?”
“Fragrant,” Paige cracked, and Marissa laughed—then quickly stopped.
“Shh, that’s him, I think.” She nodded through the dusty window to an older guy with long gray hair in a ponytail and chunky turquoise jewelry.
He stepped through the door and took out a crystal on a piece of string. He dangled it as the rock swung back and forth. “Good vibes,” he said approvingly, and Paige smothered a laugh.
“Good luck,” she murmured to Marissa. “I’ll go take a look around.”
She left them and headed into the back, where a narrow hallway led down a couple of steps and then opened out into a cozy, clean studio space.
Now, that was more like it. Paige looked around, feeling that shiver of anticipation again. The floors were bare, honeyed boards soaking up the sun that fell through the tall, dusty windows, and a set of French doors opened out into the shady private courtyard. Or, at least they would, with some oil on the rusted hinges. There was a wood-burning fireplace in the corner, a little washroom in back, and in the corner of the room, a narrow staircase climbed up to the second floor.
Paige ignored the grime on the bannister and headed upstairs. The small apartment stretched the length of the building, a glorified studio with just a screen separating the main room from a slim galley kitchen, and a bathroom that had seen better days—twenty years ago. But it was bigger than the shoebox she was squeezed into in the city, so Paige ignored the dirt and dust and lingered by the windows looking out over Commercial Street. If she leaned out just right, she could see the glint of the ocean between the storefronts opposite, sparkling blue in the summer heat.
“What do you think?” Marissa greeted her as Paige went back downstairs again.
“It’s . . . promising,” Paige answered absently, looking around. She could see it all now. This space would be her design studio, with her sewing machine set up by the window and a table for cutting patterns. There would be pretty wallpaper, a sofa for clients, and a changing area cordoned off with silk curtains, something that felt luxurious but welcoming. She didn’t need the storefront space, not when she would be dealing with private clients most of the time. Just a single outfit displayed in the middle of the window, discreet gold lettering tempting customers inside . . .
“What business are you in, anyway?” Marissa asked.
Paige turned back to her. “I’m a . . . fashion designer,” she said, coming back down to earth.
Design studio? Private clients? She was spinning daydreams here, and wasting this nice woman’s time.
“I’m sorry, I’m really not looking for a space,” Paige apologized quickly. “Sorry for the bother.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble. Here, take a flyer in case you change your mind,” Marissa insisted, pressing one into Paige’s hand. “Although, I think tuna guy is going to take it. Apparently, the ley lines are very creative in this part of town.”
“Lucky for him.” Paige smiled and stuffed the paper in her purse. She headed out via the courtyard alleyway, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt leaving the place behind. She’d let herself get swept up in a crazy fantasy, but the realities of striking out on her own and starting a business were more than just pretty wallpaper and silk curtains.
Even if it was a perfect location, with tourist foot traffic passing right outside the door. And if she was working on Aphrodite full-time, she could fill those extra orders she’d been turning down all year. Not to mention charging private clients a premium for custom-fitted, one-of-a-kind sets . . .
Paige shook her head, as if she could dislodge the vision from her mind. She wasn’t about to uproot and change her life like that, she wasn’t the impulsive one in the family. When she talked about adventure, she meant a daring new haircut, or a week’s vacation in Mexico, not exposing her secret design identity.
What would people say if they knew she designed all those sexy, sensual garments? Her mom would freak out, her colleagues would gossip forever, and as for the men she dated . . . ? Doug had made it clear that Aphrodite wasn’t wife material, and as much as Paige wanted to flip the bird in his direction, she had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t the only guy who would think twice.
The whole thing was a pipe dream.
Right?
Declan sauntered down Commercial Street, trying his best to put Paige Bennett out of his mind. Weekend? Check. Relaxing morning surfing out by the breaks? Check. It was a lazy Saturday morning and he wasn’t due at the restaurant for hours, but he still felt edgy and off balance, like he was forgetting an important meeting or had just rolled out of the wrong side of bed.
An empty bed, too. Maybe that was his problem. Paige was putting a serious dent in his usual extracurriculars. He had a contact list full of potential partners-in-crime, but after running into her again the other night, he didn’t feel the urge to give any of them a call.
Who was going to measure up now that she was back in town again?
He exhaled, remembering how her cheeks had flushed that irresistible pink when he’d flirted—and how casually she’d laughed off his usual lines, leaving him feeling like a green kid again, laying it on way too thick to impress someone out of his league.
Any other woman, and he would have launched a full campaign to win her over by now—Cal and his bro code be damned. Candlelight meals, romantic music, and champagne chilling on ice . . . Just because he preferred jeans and a T-shirt around the kitchen didn’t mean he couldn’t scrub up nicely, given the chance. But something told him all the champagne in the world wouldn’t make a difference to Paige. She seemed completely, frustratingly immune to his charms.
Except . . .
There was something there between them. He wasn’t just imagining it. Up on that Ferris wheel, the chemistry between them had burned hotter by the minute, until he was sure she was about to melt into his arms and kiss him again.
But he’d been wrong.
Declan strolled past a group of women, just out of yoga it looked like. He flashed them a smile and was rewarded with blushes. So, he hadn’t lost his touch overnight. It was just Paige who wasn’t buying it.
So what would it take to change her mind?
Declan puzzled over it, and when he looked up to see her on the street in front of him, he did a double take. Paige had materialized as if he’d summoned her: drifting through the crowds of tourists towards him with a far-away smile on her face.
And just like that, Declan’s bad mood melted away.
She was wearing a breezy summer shirt and cut-offs, looking tanned and golden in the midday sun. Declan waited for her to catch his eye, but she was almost on top of him without noticing before he spoke up.
“Hey.”
Paige blinked, looking startled. Her cheeks flooded with color. “Oh. Hi. I didn’t see you.”
“You were miles away. Penny for your thoughts. Or maybe a quarter,” Declan offered. “They looked pretty intense.”
She smiled. “It’s nothing, I was just . . . No, nothing.” Paige shook her head, still looking distracted. “What are you doing?”
“Besides stalking you?” Declan replied lightly. “I have a standing appointment with some crustaceans. Want to join me?”
Paige looked blank. “Lobster,” he explained. “I’m heading over to place an order, and Eddie always throws in a couple of rolls. Best on the Cape,” he added, not expecting her to agree, so it took him by surprise when Paige brightened.
“I love lobster rolls.”
“Who doesn’t?” Declan said, and if you’d waved a live snapper in his face, he would have kissed it. He offered her his arm. “Right this way.”
Paige didn’t take his arm, but she fell into step beside him as they navigated the packed streets, heading to an old shack on by the pier. “Eddie’s is an institution, or so I’m told,” Declan explained. “He’s one of my best suppliers, but he claims they have no more inventory this week.”
“And you’re here to convince him otherwise?” Paige asked, laughing.
“I figured I could flutter my eyelashes and see if we can’t come to some arrangement,” Declan grinned.
“Is there anyone around here who’s immune to your charms?”
“You mean, besides you?” Declan shot back lightly, and Paige laughed.
“Right. Besides me.” She had to duck out of the way to dodge a group of eager cyclists, and Declan grabbed her arm to steady her. “Sorry.” Paige flushed, stepping away. “I forget what a hazard this place is around the fourth.”
“Here, I know a shortcut.” Declan led her down a passageway between the buildings, down onto the beach. The swells he surfed were on the Atlantic side, over by the dunes, but on this side of the cape, the bay was flat and peaceful, gold sand curling around the shoreline, and sailboats cluttering the harbor, bobbing on the tide. He kicked off his sandals, and Paige followed suit, walking barefoot along the high-tide line past picnicking families and kids, charging into the surf.
“Tell me about your designs,” Declan said, enjoying the feel of the sand beneath his toes.
Paige looked over, surprised.
“You said the other night that you were a designer,” Declan explained. “What kind?”
Paige smiled. “Fashion.”
“Really? I would never have guessed.” Paige paused, and he realized how that might have sounded. “I don’t mean . . .” he fumbled. “You look great, stylish. I just meant, fashion people tend to stride around all in black, with a stern look. Stern and hungry.”
Paige giggled, relaxing. “You’re right, I don’t exactly look like a fashionista,” she agreed. “I was always the odd girl out at fashion school. Everyone had crazy-colored hair and these wild outfits, but I never felt like I needed to dress all wacky just to make a point.”
“You prefer to put it in your work instead?” Declan asked, wondering what kind of clothes she designed. Elegant dresses, maybe. Something clean and refined.
“Not right now,” Paige said. “I work for a children’s clothing company,” she explained. “If there’s a cute romper out there, I’ve put a raccoon on it.”
Declan smiled. So, she was creative, but didn’t feel the need to broadcast it. Interesting. “And what about the rest of your days?” He shot her a sideways glance. “Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Illicit polyamorous affairs?”
Paige looked startled. “No! I mean, I wouldn’t . . .” She shook her head quickly. “I wouldn’t have, you know, with you if I was seeing someone.”
“That was months ago,” Declan pointed out, feeling cheerful. “Things change.”
Paige shook her head again. “I guess I don’t move that fast.” She paused. “Should I even ask you the same question?” she asked, a playful smile teasing on her lips. “Or will you just give me a line about how you don’t like to put labels on things and prefer to just let things happen.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Declan protested, even though that line sounded awfully familiar to him.
She laughed. “Busted! You guys all say the same thing. You just want to keep your options open in case another pretty girl walks by.”
“Or maybe I just don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up,” Declan corrected her. “I’m not in the business of breaking any hearts. Ask for no promises, and I’ll tell you no lies,” he quipped, repeating a catchphrase of his father’s.
Paige paused. “No you’re right,” she said, with a thoughtful look. “I’m sorry. You’re not leading anyone on. You’re free to do whatever you want with whomever you choose.”
Declan should have been pleased with the apology, but instead, it felt like a slight. Sure, he kept his options open, but right then, he wanted to do very specific things with this one specific person.
They reached Eddie’s place before he needed to reply.
“Is this it?” Paige looked dubious, and Declan didn’t blame her. Unlike the packed, touristy seafood spots that played up the beachy theme, Eddie’s was a dive through and through: dark wood, no sign out front, and just a screen door that always stuck on its hinges.
“Trust me,” Declan promised, holding the door open for her.
“I knew you couldn’t stay away,” Eddie’s voice boomed out from behind the bar. He was a third-generation fisherman, with the best lobster boat around. Usually.
“What did you expect?” Declan asked, sauntering closer. “Your guy told me you were out this week.”
“ ’Fraid so.”
“What happened, the boat sink?” Declan asked.
“Near enough. My idiot boy lost the traps. I’ve barely got enough to keep them happy here.”
“So my happiness doesn’t matter to you?” Declan rested his elbows on the pock-marked bar. He was keeping his tone light, but lobster was no laughing matter—not when he had a saffron sauce just begging to be drizzled over the finest tail meat. “C’mon, Eddie. Hook me up. I’m dying out here. You know what the customers are like this time of year. They only want one thing.”
“Wish I could help you.” Eddie shrugged. “But Beachwood took everything extra I had.”
Declan tried not to curse. “Those hacks? They’ll broil them to death and drown them in drawn butter.”
“Sorry,” Eddie said, unapologetic. “They offered me double.”
“What about langoustines?”
They both turned to Paige in surprise.
“What about them?” Eddie asked.
“You’ve got them available, haven’t you?” she nodded to the chalkboard menu propped by the ice-chest in back. “They’re a close relation. Aren’t they?” she asked Declan, and he paused.
“Hmm . . .” Declan ran through the possibilities. “I could do the saffron, maybe in a light broth. Something Spanish-inspired, with chorizo, and a red pepper jam . . .”
“Sounds delicious,” Paige said, and that decided it.
He smiled. “Someone just saved the day. Thank her, Eddie. I would have taken my business elsewhere.”
“Bullshit.” Eddie grinned. “But I’ll give you a discount, for the trouble. Delivery this afternoon?”
Declan nodded. “And throw in a couple of rolls, too, to go. I told her yours were the best in town.”
Eddie laughed, already heading into the back. “Watch out for this guy’s sweet talk,” he called through the kitchen hatch to Paige. “He can charm the spines off a porcupine.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I can handle him.” Paige shot Declan a grin, and he just about stopped himself from falling to the floor in front of her.
Please, he wanted to say. Handle me any day.
Eddie ran the order and sent them off with a couple of fresh rolls, wrapped in greaseproof paper. They found a spot on the sand and sat there, eating in the sun.
“You’re right,” Paige exclaimed through a mayo-smeared mouthful. “This is amazing!”
“Believe me, I’ve tried to copy the recipe.” Declan munched happily. “He won’t tell me the secret, but I think it’s chives. Or maybe buttermilk in the mayo. One of these days I’ll figure it out.”
“You really love food, don’t you?”
When Declan looked over, Paige was watching him. He swallowed his bite, trying not to seem like a total heathen. “Would’ve been a bad career choice if I didn’t,” he quipped.
Paige gave him a searching look, and Declan suddenly wanted to tell her something real. “I do,” he answered honestly then. “An empty plate . . . it’s a canvas. You can eat to comfort, to inspire, to arouse the senses . . . I get to tell a story, or take you on a journey, just with the flavors I choose.”
“You like the power?” Paige smiled.
“Yeah, I do,” Declan chuckled. “But it’s more than that. There’s no limits, aside from your imagination. You can give a hundred chefs the same ingredients, and they’ll all come back with a different dish. If they’re any good, that is.”
“And you are?”
“Yes.” Declan nodded, then he paused. “It’s funny, my dad hated my cooking. He thought it was beneath me, serving somebody else for a living.”
He stopped, surprised by the confession. He never talked about his father, or the fraught relationship they shared.
“I don’t think it’s demeaning, making something that someone enjoys,” Paige said, furrowing her brow. “I mean, look at me. Someone could say that sewing is menial, but I’m proud of the work I do.”
“You should be,” Declan said. “So, when do I get to see some of your designs? Maybe you can model them sometime.”
For some reason, Paige blushed even redder than he’d seen before. She coughed. “I don’t know about that.”
“Well, my offer stands to come by the restaurant one night,” he said. “Special chef’s tasting menu.”
“Hmmm,” Paige recovered, that teasing note back. “You’ll have to be pretty spectacular to beat out Eddie.”
“Oh, believe me, darlin’. I am.” Declan’s reply came out smokier than he intended, and when he caught Paige’s gaze, she blushed pink all the way to the tips of her ears.
Damn. Declan loved seeing her emotions written all over her face like this, but she’d already as much as called him a lothario. “Sorry,” he said, chastened. “I know you told me to dial it down.”
“No, it’s my fault, too,” Paige said quickly. “I don’t know what it is. I’m never usually like this.”
“Like what?” Declan asked.
“I don’t know.” She flushed again. “Flirtatious. Playful. I guess you just bring it out in me. Because I know you’re not serious,” she added, and Declan was torn between putting her at ease and showing her exactly how serious he could be.
“I guess we’ll just call it our thing,” he said at last.
Paige smiled and polished off the last of her food. “Flirting, and the lobster rolls,” she agreed. She screwed up the wax paper and looked around. “I should probably check in with Eliza, I’ve already wasted enough of your day.”
Declan wanted to tell her that he’d happily blow of work and waste the rest of his life with her, but he got to his feet instead, and helped her up like a true gentleman. They put on their shoes and headed back to the street.
“Listen, if you’re around later—”
Paige stepped off the sidewalk, just as a hoard of bicyclists came streaming straight for her.
“Look out!” Declan grabbed her arm and yanked her back out of the way just in time as they pedaled past, their bells ringing.
He set her down on solid ground again. She looked shaken, and he felt pretty off balance himself. “Close call,” Declan said, catching his breath. “You must have nine lives.”
Paige blinked, still looking dazed.
“Did I hurt you?” Declan asked, suddenly concerned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I just grabbed you. They came out of nowhere.”
“No. Yes. I mean, I’m fine.” Paige shook her head. “I just . . .”
She stared off into space for a moment, then her expression changed. “I have to go,” Paige said, seeming to come to life again. “I’m sorry, but . . . This can’t wait!”
She leaned up on tiptoes and dropped a kiss on Declan’s cheek. “Thank you!” she called behind her, already racing away.
He stared after her. Now he was the dazed one; he could still smell the faint brush of rose and lilac from her perfume and the gentle touch of her lips to his skin.
Damn, she knew how to leave a man hanging.