7.

 

“It was a mistake, what happened between us…”

I obsess over Ash’s distance all night. I can’t believe he’s acting like the time we shared never meant anything, as if he wasn’t right there with me, gazing into my eyes as we pushed each other over the brink of pleasure.

Fine, I decide angrily. If he wants to pretend like I don’t exist, I’ll just do the same. Luckily, I have way too much work to do to dwell on him for long. The first guests are arriving in just a few days, and I have to make sure everything is ready for them. The next morning, I drive out to the superstore a few towns over and stock up with supplies, then I set up shop in the big, sun-drenched kitchen. I put the radio on, tie Nana’s favorite rose-print apron around my neck, and pull down her huge, dog-eared recipe file.

It’s time to see if I really can live up to the promise I’ve made everyone about her perfect home-baked goods—starting with her famous apple cake.

Setting out the sugar, eggs, and familiar ingredients, it all comes rushing back. The hours I spent here as a kid, watching her sift flour into a huge cracked porcelain mixing bowl; sneaking fingerfuls of the sweet batter. Now, as I carefully read her lopsided handwriting off the yellowed recipe cards, I can hear her voice, updating me on every step.

“Now here’s the trick, you want to stir in some of the apple chunks, right into the batter, and let the rest caramelize on top.

It’s finally sinking in, that she’s gone—and I’m here in her place. But instead of feeling sad, it’s a comfort: using the same old hand mixer to combine the sweet batter, mixing in crushed walnuts and fruit, then scraping them all into a ring pan to top with more fruit and golden sugar grains. She always let me lick out the bowl, and now I savor the taste of the batter, standing alone in the middle of the warm summer kitchen with scent of baking cake wafting in the air.

“Hello?”

A voice comes from the front of the house.

“In here!” I call back. I check the timer, and rinse off my hands. Juliet comes through the doorway, wearing cutoffs and a cute peasant top.

“Hey you,” she smiles, “I heard you were back in town.”

“Hi!” I exclaim, happy to see a friendly face. “Can I get you some lemonade?”

“Thanks, I’d love some.” She pauses, sniffing the air. “That smells amazing! What is it?”

“Apple cake,” I reply. “Should be done soon, if you want to stay for a slice?”

“Are you kidding?” Juliet laughs. “You don’t need to ask twice.”

I take the pitcher from the fridge and pour us a couple of glasses. Then we head outside to the back garden and settle at a table there under the roses.

Juliet takes a long sip and lets out a contented sigh. “I’m hiding,” she confides. “There’s a game on, and the guys have all colonized the house. I knew getting a big-screen TV would come back to bite us in the ass.”

I laugh, kicking off my flip-flops. “Well, you’re welcome to hang here. I’m trying to perfect Nana’s recipes before the first guests arrive.”

Juliet gasps. “You mean you’re taking this place over? Congratulations!”

“It’s a bit early for that,” I warn. “I’ve never done anything like this before. In fact, part of me wonders if I’ve completely lost my mind.”

Juliet shakes her head. “No way. I could tell, we hadn’t seen the last of you. You had this look in your eyes, when you were here the other week.”

“Like a ‘I’m going to quit my corporate job and risk everything by moving to the middle of nowhere’ look?” I quip.

Juliet laughs. “It’s not so crazy. I’ve been there,” she adds. “I thought I had my life all planned out, and then I came back here, and everything changed.”

“Because of Emerson?” I ask, remembering her husband.

“Partly. But also, I realized that the things I thought I needed out of life weren’t what I wanted, after all.” Juliet rolls her eyes, self-deprecating. “It sounds cheesy, I know.”

“No, it doesn’t!” I protest. I’m relieved that somebody else seems to understand the crazy change I’m embarking on. “That’s what’s happening with me. I spent all this time trying to be the best lawyer in New York, but then I came here, and it just didn’t make sense anymore.”

“Well, good luck to you,” Juliet smiles warmly. “It’s a big change, but I couldn’t imagine life any other way. Only you know what’s going to make you happy,” she adds. “Nobody else can make that choice.”

I raise my lemonade glass, and toast her. We laugh.

“Look at us, turning our backs on the rat race,” I smile.

“I don’t know about that.” Juliet gives me a look. “When we’re slammed at Jaybird, I feel plenty rat-like.”

“That’s right,” I realize, “you guys have a restaurant. So how does that work, do you split your time between the city and Beachwood Bay?”

She nods. “We managed to find an amazing manager, so hopefully we can take a step back this summer. My sister had a kid, so it would be great to spend more time here, as a family.”

“Well, anytime you need someplace to hide—or some fresh pie, you know where to find me.”

“I’m so going to take you up on that,” Juliet grins.

A buzzer goes off inside. “Cake time!” I announce. We head inside, and I open the oven. The scent of vanilla and caramelized fruit hits me, intoxicating and rich.

“Oh my God, I’m drooling already.” Juliet peers over my shoulder. “That looks amazing.”

“Let’s just hope it tastes amazing too. I’m pretty rusty at this,” I confess. I lift the pan from the oven and carefully turn the cake out onto a wire rack to cool.

There’s a second’s pause. We both gaze at the cake, still steaming.

“You know, some things taste better when they’re hot,” Juliet points out with a wicked grin.

I laugh. “Let’s do it.”

I cut a slice and pass it to Juliet. I watch her bite into the fluffy, moist cake. “What do you think?” I ask nervously. “Did I get it right?”

Juliet chews thoughtfully. “It’s good,” she says slowly, “but not quite like Mrs. Olsen’s.”

My hopes fall. “But what’s missing?”

I cut one myself and bite into the fluffy cake. This time, I rack my brain for the memory of Nana’s recipe. Nutty walnut, the tart bite of apple, and…

Juliet and I both look at each other at the same time. “Orange zest!”

We laugh. “That’s it,” she nods. “There was always this zesty tang to the cake.”

“She must have added it on a whim, and just never written it down.” I put the recipe card aside, and reach for the mixing bowl again. But as I do it, I’m struck with the humor of the situation. Last week, I was obsessed with fact-checking a deposition, and now I’m getting stressed over cake.

“I know it’s crazy, caring so much about a recipe,” I admit. “But everyone I talked to has such great memories here, including the food. I want everything to be right for them.”

“So what are you going to do with this cake?” Juliet eyes it hungrily.

“It’s all yours.”

“Really?” She snags another slice. “Are you sure?”

“Please.” I laugh. “If you don’t take them, I’ll have to eat it all. By myself.”

“When you put it like that…” Juliet grins. “What kind of woman would I be to abandon you to such a terrible fate?”

“Aren’t you generous?” I laugh, but the happiness is real. I’ve only known Juliet a few days, but already, it feels like we’re going to be friends.

“So what’s the plan with this place?” Juliet leans against the counter and looks around.

“Well, I managed to get back some of the original bookings for the summer, so they’ll start arriving next week.” I fill her in on my calls. “But I’d love to book more. I’m not sure what Nana did to get the word out about this place.”

“I’m not sure she did anything, she might have just relied on word-of-mouth.” Juliet finishes her second slice. “I don’t think she ever advertised, or even has a website.”

“A website?” I repeat, the idea taking hold. “That’s a great idea! I bet there are tons of people who would want to come once they saw the place.”

“It is pretty idyllic,” Juliet agrees. “Except…” She pauses reluctantly.

“What?” I ask.

“Well, it’s great here, but it is kind of ragged around the edges. I know it’s all part of the charm,” she says quickly. “But tourists can be picky.”

“It could use a bit of sprucing,” I agree, looking around. The chipped ceramics and cluttered photographs may be full of memories to me, but an outsider might just see them as musty and old. And the wallpaper is fading in places… The fireplaces could use a sweep… The roof might need some new tiles… The cost quickly adds up in my mind and I panic. I have some savings tucked away, but not enough for a major renovation.

My fears must show, because Juliet quickly reassures me. “Don’t worry. Just a freshening up would make a ton of difference, make it more beachy and modern.”

“You mean those china figurines from the living room aren’t modern?” I joke, relieved I’m not looking at a major project.

“She did love those,” Juliet laughs. “But maybe it’s time for Little Bo Peep and friends to retire. My brother-in-law is a contractor,” she adds. “I can give you his number if you need anything done, he’d be happy to help out.”

“Thanks, that would be great.”

“And my sister is in PR,” Juliet adds. “I’m sure she’d have tons of ideas about getting the word out.”

“You’re so connected,” I grin.

Juliet giggles, “Everyone’s family in this town.”

For a moment, I wonder if she knows Ash—or his family. But I quickly push the thought aside. I can’t sit around thinking about him all day, not when there’s so much to do.

 

After Juliet leaves, I make a list of the easy—and affordable—updates I can make to the house before I put the photos up online. Clearing out the cluttered decor will be easy, and even switching out Nana’s old framed pictures for some simple beach scenes would make it look fresh and breezy. The exterior is my main challenge. The house paint was blue originally, and salt air and sunshine has faded it to a soft, greyish hue, but the trim on the windows and shutters is a grubby yellowed white, and begging for a refresh.

I have my first task.

I drive into town and pick up a couple of cans of glossy white paint, plus some painter’s tape and brushes. Back at the house, I drag an old step-ladder out of the garage, fill a bucket with soapy water, and set to work, scrubbing down the shutters and window frames along the back of the house. It’s a hot, sweaty job in the midday sun, so I prop the radio on the window ledge and grab a cold beer from the fridge to help me along.

The breeze dances lightly around me, carrying the sound of vacationers and seagulls from the beach. Up on the ladder, I can see the whole curve of the bay: the deep blue ocean edged with golden sand, and the town just half a mile away. I feel light, buoyant, and as I wash each frame in turn, I picture everyone back in New York: cooped up in the office, or snatching a quick twenty-minute break on a bench in a crowded, bustling park.

Here, there’s nothing but open space. Sand dunes, and wide ocean, and the glint of sunlight on the waves. It fills me with a sense of possibility like nothing before, and every minute that passes here makes me believe I’ve made the right decision.

Soon, the prep work is done—and I’m covered in paint splatters. I grab another beer to help me along with the painting, starting with the highest shutters while I still have the energy to hold on tight to the ladder. By the time I’m done with the first row, the difference is clear: with a crisp, white trim, the house looks ten times more quaint and inviting.

I climb halfway down and start on the top of the ground-floor shutters, dabbing happily from the paint can I’ve balanced on the ledge of the ladder.

“Here’s your one chance, Fancy,” I sing along, barely in tune. I’m light-headed from the beer, but it doesn’t matter. This is a vacation, right? “Do-do-do, la la la, don’t let me down!”

“I haven’t heard that one.” An amused voice comes from nearby.

I twist around to look.

It’s Ash.

I grab hold of the ladder to steady myself. He’s standing in the yard of the house next door, looking up at me with a smirk on his ridiculously handsome face.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. “Are you stalking me now?”

“Easy there.” Ash doesn’t answer. He just watches me, effortlessly cool in an Oxford shirt and jeans. “You missed a spot.”

“Did not,” I retort, turning back to my painting. “I’ll have you know, I have a system.”

“A painting system?” Ash still sounds amused. Well, I guess I’m one big joke to him.

“Yup.” I focus on daubing white paint along the window frame—and not splashing it over the crooked line of painter’s tape. “So you can see, I’m pretty busy right now. No risk of me kissing you, or causing another lapse in judgment.”

There’s a long silence, until I can’t resist turning to look. Ash is still there, but now he’s smiling even wider, like he knows he caught me.

“Can I help you with something?” I call down, trying to sound detached and aloof. Like him, with his perfect hair, and perfect mouth, and perfect tongue…

I catch myself, unsteady. Maybe that third beer was a bad idea.

“No, I’m good,” Ash replies. He crosses his arm and leans back against a tree, watching me.

“Don’t let me keep you,” I snap. “I’m sure you have to be somewhere, doing—whatever it is you do. Building skyscrapers, and taking over the world.”

“Actually, I have the day off from world domination.”

I turn in time to catch Ash’s wide smile. Even from up here, I can see the glint of flirtation in his eye.

What the hell? He acts totally aloof before in the diner, and suddenly turns back into the charming guy, when there’s nobody around to see it?

“Well, it’s just great you managed to get that stick out of your ass,” I say sunnily, “but I’m kind of busy. And you’re trespassing right now, so you might want to get out of there before the owner catches you.”

“That would be me,” Ash replies. He keeps smiling, that infuriating, all-knowing grin. “I just bought this place, so I guess we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other. Neighbor.”

The news is too much for me. Ash. Here. All the time?

Looking at me with that face. Hanging around with that body.

I take a step back, forgetting that I’m ten feet off the ground. My foot hits empty air, and I grab frantically for the ladder, but it’s too late. My balance is gone.

Me, the ladder, and half a can of paint go crashing to the ground.