Chapter Three
Riley
My hair was a wild tangle, my eyes still puffy from tears, and my linen blouse was a criss-cross of deep wrinkles. Hiding out in the corner of a dark bar was just what I needed.
Unfortunately, when I’d hurried toward the end stool, a tall man materialized from a narrow side door. He settled onto the stool I had chosen and picked up a conversation with the bartender as if he had always been there.
A strong clash of attraction and hatred had tripped me up. He was over six feet tall with the kind of wavy dark brown hair that was always perfect. When he surveyed the room, I caught a flash of his electric blue eyes. His faded button-down shirt opened over a clean, tight white t-shirt that clung to his hard abs. Even in rumpled jeans, the man's good looks were magnetic, and I hated how his handsomeness exacerbated my already paralyzing self-consciousness.
Here I was stranded in a drive-by town so small I would have passed it in under a minute if the rental car hadn't died. I cursed the rental car clerk for getting that word in my head. Died, dead, gone. Now all I could think about was my grandfather. I should have been alone on a beach, watching the sunset as I remembered Grandpa, not stuck here.
I sniffed back tears and picked another bar stool. Then I glanced around the small bar. It was nowhere I wanted to be, but a small voice in my head reminded me Grandpa would have loved it. He would have loved the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner, the red vinyl booths, and the long brass rail along the foot of the bar. My grandfather would have rapped a complicated rhythm on the worn bar with his knuckles before ordering a whiskey neat. God, I missed him so much I couldn't breathe.
At least the bar atmosphere was relaxed. The bartender seemed to know everyone except me. He talked to the handsome man on the end stool as if they had known each other forever. I bit back a scowl. It didn't matter if that was the guy’s regular stool —I disliked him just for being there and especially for daring to smile. He looked relaxed, at home, and he made my discomfort even more obvious.
Glancing up at me, the bartender asked, "What can I get you, miss?" His dark brown eyes were soft and his thick beard couldn’t hide his friendly smile.
"A whiskey, on the rocks." Maybe the ice would keep Grandpa’s drink from being too strong for me.
"Anything else?"
I shook my head, aware I was making the tangles in my hair worse.
"If you change your mind, don't be shy. Name's Andrew," he said.
"Thanks, Andrew," I mumbled, feeling his friend's electric blue eyes on me again.
The bartender moved away and left me with an open view of my reflection in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair and yanked out the low ponytail that had done nothing to help. Free, the tangled mess fell across my shoulders and down the rumpled front of my linen blouse.
What are you looking at? I asked my own brown eyes in the mirror.
Not much. Not only was I stranded, but even if I had a working car, my destination was only temporary. A year after my grandfather's death and I still hadn't gotten anywhere.
"Have you seen what’s happening down at the hotels?" Andrew asked his handsome friend.
"I bet there isn't an available room within fifty miles at this point," the friend said.
I stifled a groan and ducked as both men glanced over. A search on my phone had shown me websites for two hotels about three miles from The Sand Dollar, but neither one had a vacancy. I opened the search up to a ten-mile radius, but there wasn’t another hotel. At twenty-five miles, I found a bed and breakfast for sale, but it was boarded up while it waited for new management. Within fifty miles, the town of Half Moon Bay had a wider selection of hotels, but it was useless. How could I make it that far without a car?
"You in town for the big event like my friend here?" Andrew asked me.
I blinked, surprised. "No. What event? Is that why all the hotels are booked?"
Andrew looked amazed at my ignorance. "It's a great event. A big charity gala. My friend over here could tell you all about it."
I shook my head. "I have somewhere else I have to be." I snatched up my phone and did another desperate search.
"Did you try Half Moon Bay? My buddy here is partial to the Ritz-Carlton." Andrew leaned on the back counter and watched his friend and me.
"The Ritz is probably full of the kind of guests that have private drivers to bring them up to Michel's Beach," the blue-eyed man said. "Maybe one or two of the motels might have a vacancy."
I ignored him but took his suggestion. When the internet search turned up nothing, I tossed my phone down on the bar. The handsome man cleared his throat and tried to get my attention, but I wasn’t in the mood for someone like him. I knew men like him, good-looking and well aware of it. All they cared about was having an audience, and I was sure plenty of women were content to just sit and stare at him. Instead, I turned my attention to my whiskey.
Grandpa wouldn't have cared that the nearest person to talk to was too attractive to look at. By now he would have heard the blue-eyed man's whole family history, and they would have been fast on their way to becoming friends.
I looked around again, away from the handsome man. Grandpa would have turned this unfortunate detour into a happy memory. I pressed a fist hard to my heart and wished he were sitting on the barstool next to me. I finished the last sip of the whiskey and rattled the remaining ice cubes.
The swinging door from the kitchen slammed open and a murderous-looking man with a cleaver stomped to the bar. "Andrew? A word?" he barked.
"You know, I find conversations are easier to start without the giant knife, Ruiz. What do you think?" the blue-eyed man asked with a crooked smile.
"Stay out of it, Landon. You probably know the jelly-spined excuse for a customer," Ruiz snapped. "He sent the pork chop back twice. He made his wife come into the kitchen to suggest how I might cook it better. Couldn't even face me himself."
I lowered my empty glass and swallowed my request for a refill. Andrew let out a long line of curse words as he untied his apron and marched through the kitchen with the fuming chef on his heels. The door swung shut and it dawned on me that Andrew was not only the bartender but the owner of The Sand Dollar.
"Want me to get you a refill?" The blue-eyed man jumped up from his stool and slipped behind the bar with apparent ease. "I don't know if you heard, but my name is Landon."
I gave his extended hand a short shake. "Riley. I don't think you're supposed to be back there."
"It's all right, I practically own the place." He plucked the bottle of whiskey from the array of bottles in front of the mirror and started the pour close to the lip of my glass and then pulled it high into the air.
I watched the stream of whiskey hit the glass without splashing. "Seems like you're taking advantage of your friend, Landon."
He leaned both elbows on the bar and brought his face close to mine. "Are you a reporter, Riley?"
I narrowed my eyes. "No, I'm not a reporter."
"And you're not in town for the big event?"
"I'm not here for whatever big event you're talking about. Is this place even big enough for an event?"
Landon smiled and stood up, his wavy hair brushing the hanging glassware above the bar. "So you really don't know? The gala doesn't take place in town."
"People really call this a town?" I jabbed back.
Butterflies turned in my stomach as I listened to his laugh. He slipped back around the bar and took a new seat next to me. "Just passing through, huh? On your way to, what? Searching for a new job?"
"You don't think I look like I have a job?" I snapped. I didn’t know what possessed me to push him away, but it felt necessary. "That's pretty arrogant coming from a man who clearly doesn't have a regular job himself."
The insult backfired as Landon laughed again. "You're right. I don't have a regular job, or any job for that matter. So, you don't want to talk about work. How about you tell me why you’re choking down whiskey? Doesn't seem like your drink."
I winced as I swallowed another sip of the brown liquid. "Fine. I'm drinking it to honor my grandfather's memory. He died a year ago today."
Landon grabbed the bottle he had left on the bar and poured himself a shot. "Then here's to your grandfather. Tell me about him."
I accepted the knock of his shot glass against mine and found it was easy to think of something to say after I had another bracing sip of whiskey. "He would have liked this bar."
"Loved the finer things in life," Landon said, nodding.
I fought back a laugh at his comment. "No. He worked really hard, and so did my mother, but neither of them spent a dime. All they ever wanted was for us to be together."
Landon cocked his head in interest. “What kind of things did you guys do?”
"Family dinners, trips to the shore, playing Scrabble at the kitchen table."
Landon leaned one arm on the bar and faced me, his voice quiet. "And how is your mother?"
I straightened my shoulders. "She got sick when I was in high school and passed away before I graduated."
"I’m sorry to hear that. My parents are both gone."
Landon's curt confession softened the stiffness in my back, and I reached for my whiskey. "I'm sorry. It's never easy."
"Thanks. I think I had it a little easier because they were almost strangers to me. They weren't really the 'family dinners' kind of people. My father worked non-stop and my mother always had a cause or an event to champion." Landon swirled the whiskey in his glass, then finished it in one gulp. "Though Andrew’s been around long enough that I count him as family. Speak of the devil."
We both watched as Andrew backed out of the swinging door with two plates of appetizers. He smiled when he saw us together.
"You mean the friend you steal drinks from?" I asked.
Landon chuckled and snagged a French fry from one of the plates before Andrew could set them down in front of us. "I added a couple more whiskeys to my tab."
"And here are some snacks to add on top of that. Good thing I know you're good for it, Landon." Andrew rolled his eyes.
"So you mooch off your friends and your family?" I opened my wallet, took out my debit card and forced Andrew to take it. "Sorry, but I, for one, like to pay my own way."
The men exchanged a coded glance, and I decided it was best to ignore them and get back to figuring out where the hell I was going to stay for the night. There was no way I was going to sleep in that damn rental car.
In the midst of my desperate online search for available rooms, a long string of texts from Owen appeared. The rapid succession meant that I couldn’t ignore them, not if I wanted to get anything done.
"A persistent admirer?" Landon asked.
I felt my face twist into a grimace. "More like a persistent borrower. Here, do you want to talk to him?"
Landon held out his hand. "Who knows, maybe he's changed his ways and is planning to surprise you."
I yanked the phone back out of his reach. "Or maybe he's saying the same thing over and over again."
"Not everyone has a way with words. I mean, I do. Every word I speak is pure poetry." Landon laid a hand on his heart and cleared his throat.
I clapped both hands over my ears despite still holding my phone and laughed. The repetitive chiming of my text alert felt like an insect boring through my skull, but Landon was an excellent distraction. "No, thanks! Unless you know a great poem about an available hotel room."
"Well, it just so happens I know there is an empty apartment above the bar. Not sure how to put that in rhyme or, what is it? Pentagram Meter?"
"Iambic pentameter," I said. "Wait, is there really a place above the bar?"
Landon nodded. "A little apartment complete with kitchenette and a bathroom with one of those claw-foot tubs that ladies love."
I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know that ladies love the bathtub up there?"
He ignored me and flagged down Andrew. "You can stay there. It's no problem."
An acidic wave of doubt washed through my stomach. Not only was Landon too handsome for his own good, but now he was too helpful and a little too charming. He probably lured women upstairs all the time.
"How does that saying go? Never a player or a borrower be?" I asked.
"Not sure you got your Shakespeare right, there," Landon said with a smile that wobbled my resolve. "Andrew, will you tell this nice lady there is a room available above the bar? Apparently, when I say it, she thinks I'm being a creep."
Andrew gave me an appraising look and laughed. "There is an apartment up there. I'm not saying it's the cleanest, but it’s there if someone needs it."
I nodded. "I can make a good case. I flew in from New York this morning on the red eye. My friend is graduating from UC Santa Cruz, and I thought it would be fun to drive down Highway 1. And it was until my rental car started acting up."
"Acting up how?" Andrew asked. He did his best to look skeptical about how much I needed the room upstairs.
"There was a knocking sound in the engine, the car shuddered every once in a while, then there was this burning smell. Now it won't start at all." I produced the car keys and held them out to Andrew. "Go ahead, try it."
"Is it a maroon convertible?" Landon asked. When I nodded, he laughed. "Nice parking job."
"I had to coast in."
Andrew crossed his arms. "And you've never heard of the Michel's Fund?"
"Who's that? Wait, does it have something to do with the beach I passed?" I asked.
Landon rolled his eyes. "This town, or 'place' as you call it, is called Michel's Beach. Never thought much of the name myself."
Andrew glared at Landon before turning back to me. "So you've never heard of Golden Bluff Estate?"
I frowned. "Did I mention I'm from upstate New York?"
"Come on, Drew, she has no idea about the gala. Stop thinking everyone's a reporter trying to sneak a peek inside the gala." Landon poured himself another shot of whiskey.
"The big event for me is my friend's graduation,” I said, “and now I'm going to miss it because the rental place can't send their mechanic with a new car until Monday."
"So, not only do you need a place to crash tonight, but you need a way to get to Santa Cruz?" Landon set down his drink without taking a sip. "I think I might have an idea."
"Hey, Lan, looks like you've got some hands to shake," Andrew said as he motioned his head in the direction of the balcony.
Landon groaned even though he wore a charming smile. Standing up, he wove his way through the balcony crowd that was now escaping the ocean chill and inundating the bar. I watched as he shook hands with a clearly wealthy couple.
"Let me guess, he takes care of their fancy beach house while they’re away?" I asked Andrew.
Andrew furrowed his brow and studied my face. "You're serious, aren't you? This is just too funny."
Before I could ask him what was so funny, a young couple took the barstools to my left. The woman had perfect, platinum hair, and a rope of pearls the size of gumballs. The man wore a navy blue blazer and a watch that glinted with diamonds.
"Nice to see you again, Mr. Wyatt. We are so excited to be heading up to the Golden Bluff Estate tomorrow night," the woman gushed in a British accent. She turned to me and laid a manicured hand on my arm. "The mansion is absolutely breathtaking, isn't it? I really think it should be classified as a castle but Americans shy away from that term, don't they?"
"There's a castle up the hill from here?" I asked Andrew.
"Oh, darling, she's never been to Golden Bluff," the woman exclaimed. "Don't you remember our first time there? It was like driving into a fairy tale."
Her husband indulged his wife. "It was foggy our first gala, but the farther up the driveway we went, the clearer the air became."
"Then the castle —I mean, mansion —appeared all bathed in sunlight." The woman fluttered her hands. "I told Chaz I was too nervous to go inside. The palm trees, the gold-leafed motifs, the carved archway above the door. It truly is like a fairy tale."
Andrew poured them two glasses of wine. "So glad to see you again. Enjoy."
I gaped back and forth between the jubilant couple and the bartender. "There's really a fairytale castle, mansion, something up there?" I pointed past his head.
"Yes," Andrew said slowly as if I was having trouble understanding. "Maybe you've heard of it? Golden Bluff Estate?"
I put both hands to my mouth. "Oh, god. Is this the part where you think that all New Yorkers are such snobs they don't think there's a world outside Manhattan? That's not me, I promise. I just have no idea what you're talking about."
Andrew chuckled again. "I believe you. Just like I believe you about the rental car breaking down. Ruiz and I watched you coast in earlier."
Landon loped up behind me and brushed his hands together. "Well, now that's done, I can tell you about the solution to your travel problems." He paused as his phone rang then threw his head back and swore at the ceiling. "Damn. Sorry. I have to take this. It's Lyla."
Andrew backed away with his hands up and I returned to my whiskey. It was impossible not to hear Landon as he whispered loudly into his phone.
"I told you I would be back and I'll be back. I don't care what color the napkins are. No, I'm not even supposed to care. Lyla, that's ridiculous. Do you think my father ever answered questions about napkins clashing with tablecloths?" Landon ran a hand through his dark hair.
I watched with disgust as he mussed his hair and it ended up looking better than before. He was one of those people who got away with everything. It seemed obvious he was having an argument with his girlfriend or possibly wife. Instead, he was at The Sand Dollar having drinks with his buddy. My stomach turned as I realized he had been flirting with me and had someone else at home waiting on him.
So far I had seen Landon taking drinks and food from his friend with no attempts to pay him back. Now he was arguing with his girlfriend over something despite the fact that she clearly needed his help. I refused to look at him again and concentrated on my whiskey. There was no denying the current of attraction I felt around Landon, but he was just like Owen —avoiding any kind of work or responsibility. That made Landon exactly the type of man I had vowed to avoid.
The quiet bar filled up quickly as the sea breeze got the better of the clientele. Landon finished his phone conversation and slumped over the bar even as he smiled at me. He sat exactly the same way as I had when I had first come in and didn't want to be noticed.
Despite his posture, a steady stream of people smiled and nodded at Landon as they passed our bar stools. I made a game out of watching them in the mirror until I realized the whiskey made their faces blur. I was getting drunk, and it was getting harder to convince myself that Landon was to be avoided.
Andrew swung back when he could and held out a set of keys. "I'm sorry I can't take you up there myself."
"I will." Landon snatched the keys out his friend's hand and stood up. "I've got to get out of here. Come on, Riley."
I thanked Andrew and told myself I could handle going upstairs with Landon, despite who I believe he was. He was just going to show me the apartment and leave. Besides, I thought as we passed a reflective beer sign, I looked like hell, and there was no way that the tall, handsome man was attracted to me, nor going to get me if he was.
“Problems with the girlfriend?” I asked as we walked up the stair. I couldn’t help but try and call him out on his indiscretion.
“Hell no!” he snapped back quickly. “That would be easier to deal with. Lyla is my cousin and a real pain sometimes.”
Landon had to duck as he led me up a narrow staircase to the upper level. He unlocked the door, reached in for the light switch, and then held the door so I could go in first.
"Thanks," I said, skirting by as if he might bite me. The tension eased over my body when I realized that he could be telling the truth about the phone call. Not that it really mattered much to me. I stepped through the doorway and looked around the room.
The apartment had soft white walls, a thick rug in shades of blue, and large glass terrariums filled with seashells and driftwood. A white wicker settee with sinfully soft cushions stood at an angle looking out a bay window. The queen-sized bed had a four poster frame and gauzy netting strung between the posts.
"Here's the part most women love," Landon said. He flicked on the light in the bathroom.
The claw foot tub almost elicited a squeal of delight from me. "And what part do you love besides being able to hide when your cousin needs your help?"
"Man, you are hard on me. I kinda like it." Landon gave me a wicked smile. He pointed to a little balcony outside one of the windows. Curious, I followed him outside to stand on the balcony. He pointed at a ladder that led up to the roof. "My favorite part is up there."
I looked at the ladder and shook my head. "No thanks."
"You won't get hurt, I promise," he said.
I took his hand, not sure what had possessed me to trust him. He helped me up the ladder and chuckled when I gasped.
"It's a widow's walk," he explained, climbing onto the roof behind me. "This is where I hide out when I want to be alone."
Far below, the ocean hummed and sighed, while above us the stars were so bright I blinked in shock. As I craned my head back to take in the dazzling display, I stumbled back against Landon's chest.
He caught me with strong, sure hands. "Welcome to Michel's Beach."