Chapter Two

Cat

This has not been my week. Three lost potential clients. I like to think of myself as an entrepreneur, building my empire, doing what it takes to become successful. That’s what I tell myself as I pull my Chevy truck into the local bakery, Pretty Pastries, to pick up a breakfast delivery for Mr. Donovan. What I'm really doing is trying to make a place for myself in this world, and it takes money to make money. So, when the sun is barely peeking over the mist covered Redwoods on Saturday mornings, and the air is still brisk, I log into my DeliciousnessDelivered app and become Ferndale, California’s breakfast bitch. You do what you have to do. My earnings are deposited directly into an account to expand my landscaping business. This morning, I overslept. So people either fended for themselves or went hungry.

“Morning, Cat,” the owner greets me when I step inside.

“Hey, Susan. I'm here for a pick up.”

“Let me grab what I have for him.” Her petite frame disappears into the back.

The chime tinkles above the door, and a man in jeans, black tshirt, and a ball cap steps up to the glass case. The swinging door opens, and she re-emerges to slide five pink donut filled cardboard boxes embossed with ‘Pretty Damn Good’ on the countertop. And they are. Better than good. I spot one lone chocolate covered donut, resting amid dabs of chocolate where it's companions were plucked, and decide to rescue it from its solitude.

“What can I get you?” she asks the man.

“Chocolate glazed and a coffee,” his husky voice answers, dashing my dreams.

Like I said, not my week. My sigh of disappointment is louder than I intended, and soft brown eyes land on me.

Him.

The rock thrower.

Not only did he take my rock, he has now taken my donut. Who is this thief?

“That was mine,” I mutter, stepping around his tall frame, gathering all the boxes at once, so I don't have to make two trips.

His thieving hands slide in his jeans pockets. “Is this about the rock?”

So, he remembers me. Most important, he doesn't apologize.

“Thanks, Susan,” I call out, ignoring him.

Before I can maneuver to hip bump open the door, an arm slides around me, pushing it open.

Rock thrower smirks at me as I brush by.

He watches as I load my truck and pull away. When he is a speck in my rearview mirror, I give him the finger.

I drop Mr. Donovan’s donuts off and the kind man that he is, insists on tipping me with a glazed donut. Not chocolate, just plain, but close enough.

An hour later, I pull into the driveway of my dad’s home and grab my bag of rocks. Minus the one I really wanted. As much as I wanted that rock, I wasn't about to let him see me search for it.

Vibrant blossoms—dahlia, irises, and even a jasmine bush—smile at me as I weave up the cobblestone path. I did this. I created this beauty.

Before I can raise my hand to knock on the strong, Victorian-style door, my father swings it open, his gray eyes shimmering with love. A huge smile tips the edge of his lips upward. I'm swept into his arms before I have time to smile back.

“My kitty Cat, glad you're here.” He takes the bag from me as Bruno, the lovable, pit wags his black-and-white tail behind him. “Did you hire anyone to help you yet like I suggested?”

He’s also still under the notion that I’m eight, not twenty-eight.

“No, dad,” I tell him. “I don't mind getting dirty or doing the work.”

“I know. I know.” He swings the door wider, pushing Bruno aside as I enter. “Just seems like you’d want a nice, strong man helping you.”

I pat Bruno on the head, rolling my eyes at my father’s millionth attempt to bring in a guy to help with the labor of my fledgling landscape design business. His ulterior motives are pretty obvious—he doesn't just want a helper to lift and carry the heavy things; he wants a man to take care of me.

“Are those your work boots?” he asks.

I glance down, kick my heels together like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, and smile. “Doc Martens. I love them.”

“Very you,” he says, unphased by my shoe choice.

“Where’s Cooper?” I inquire, following him into the sun filled kitchen.

“Out back. Waiting on you.”

I walk over to the sink and give a little knock on the window above it. Cooper’s dark head looks up and he rushes inside when he spots me.

“Did you get the good rocks?” he asks, overly excited, practically jumping up and down.

I point to the bulging burlap bag on the counter. “Would I let you down?”

“Nope,” he says, untying the string and peeking inside.

“Why don't you get started, and I'll be out in a minute?”

Like any six-year-old, that’s all the encouragement he needs to grab the bag and race outside, slamming the door behind him.

Poppy, my father's live-in girlfriend, saunters into the kitchen. “Did you hear they're putting that Jennings place on the market,” She stops when she sees me. “Oh, hi, Cat.” She steps closer to wrap me into a hug, then pulls back, her green eyes fixed on me. “Actually, you should be interested in this house.”

“Oh, why's that?” Sure, my cottage isn't the biggest in all the land, but it suits me just fine.

She eyes my father with a conspiratorial look. “My firm says they're doing a complete remodel.”

My eyes spark, ears burning for more information.

Having Poppy work as the town's leading real estate agent comes in very handy in scouting possible jobs.

“I'm listening,” I say.

“Well, word is,” she leans in, “the house hasn't been touched since the family lived there back in the 90’s.”

“I wonder why they're selling now?”

Poppy with her long dark hair, and perfect posture, flexes her hand with her long red-painted nails. “Well, it was a family: husband, wife, and their little boy. After the dad died, the mother took the kid and left town.”

“Oh,” I say as I listen.

“Apparently, the whole town's gossiping about the son coming back to sell it. A Booker Reed. Hmm,” she muses, “I guess the mother remarried, or something.”

“And the yard’s a mess?”

She smiles wide. “And the yard’s a mess.”

I purse my lips, wondering how on Earth I can finagle my way into this remodel.

She grabs her handbag and keys, then kisses my dad’s cheek. “I'll be back in a few hours after the Blaine showing.” She smiles at me. “Bye, Cat.”

After she's gone, my father focuses back on me. “I have a boat tour tonight. Cooper can stay with us when I'm done, if you want to go out.”

Did I mention my dad is obvious? He means well. This man, with his soft, trusting eyes and graying dark hair, is a saint. Not once did he falter when a mother I was too young to remember left without looking back, leaving him alone to raise a toddler girl.

I lean against the counter. “Why are you determined to get me to go out?”

He turns from me and rummages in the fridge, avoiding my stare. “Drink?”

“Daddy? You’re avoiding me.”

He grabs an Evian water bottle, unscrews the cap and chugs before answering. “Well, I think it's good for you to get out. Date a little. You haven't been on a date since Austin.”

“I know,” I tell him. “It's not easy, and besides, I'm busy.”

“You work too much. You should have some fun.”

I push off the counter. “I have lots of fun.

What's so wrong with me focusing on more important things besides finding a man?”

I peer out the window at Cooper’s little frame, examining and stacking stones, not wanting him to feel the disappointment of someone coming into his life and leaving.

He sets the water bottle down, crunching the thin plastic in his hand. “Don't worry, Kitty Cat, you're not your mom,” he says, gently.

I sure hope to god not.

“How's business?” I ask, opting to change the subject to lighter, less soul sucking things.

“Busy,” he answers. “Always busy.”

“I can run more tours in my down time,” I offer, emptying the sink of their breakfast dishes and loading the dishwasher. “I miss the whales.”

He smiles. “Luckily the tourists in this town love them as much as you.”

Tourists. I wonder if rock thrower/thief is a tourist.

Cooper peeks his brown-haired head in the back door. “You coming, Mom?”

“Sorry,” I tell dad, “I've got a waterfall to build with my son.”