Buck's Landing (A New England Seacoast Romance) Page 3

  Sofia Buck. He should have known that rearview. He jogged ahead and took the door from Sofia’s companion. “Ladies.”

  “Thank you.” The ponytailed friend had a million-watt smile.

  “Silas.” Sofia nodded.

  Her friend stuck out a hand. “Judy Dunaway. I went to high school with Sofia. You know,” she grinned, “last year.”

  “You’re not both seniors?” He laughed. “Sofia had me convinced.”

  Judy’s answering laugh was bell-like and musical. He liked her immediately. “Silas Wilde, proud owner of the Atlantis Market.”

  “Oh, perfect,” Judy said. “You’re neighbors!”

  “That we are,” he replied. “I’ll let you two get to your pampering. Judy, it was a pleasure. Sofia, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  “I’m sure,” Sofia said, and followed her friend inside. Regally, he thought.

  He tipped an imaginary hat as they entered the salon. The chemical-and-air freshener scent that whooshed out behind them stung his eyes.

  As he headed for the pet store, he wondered idly if Sofia’s friend was related to the Chris Dunaway who fixed his Jeep. His thoughts wandered to Sofia. She was so aloof, but there was something vital and warm about her. He filled a shopping basket with a wide variety of catnip toys. He understood his cat’s obsession. He found he wanted to get past Sofia’s tough outside, was convinced the good stuff was there under the surface.

  Shaking his head at his own train of thought, he paid for Houdini’s treats and headed to the Jeep.

  ~~~

  “Silas Wilde, hmm?” Judy dropped her feet into the soaking tub and fiddled with the remote for her massage chair.

  “Arrogant,” Sofia said, fishing in her bag for a ponytail holder. She wrapped her hair up into a messy bun. “I met him last week. He came by the Landing looking for his lost cat.”

  “He’s got a cat?” Judy arched a brow. “He doesn’t strike me as a cat guy.”

  “And yet,” Sofia said lightly, “he has one. A gray kitten. Whom I rescued twice that day.”

  “Oh,” Judy smiled softly. “A kitten. That’s cute.”

  “Yes, well,” Sofia said dryly. “He got a good look at my ass while I was attempting to get the thing down from the Easter Island head on the seventeenth hole, and the little monster just climbed down to go to Silas.”

  To the amusement of the nail tech, Judy broke into snorting laughter.

  Sofia attempted a half-hearted glare. “I’m glad you’re amused.”

  “Oh, yes.” Judy regained her breath. “You up there trying to save the cat, and your hunky neighbor hauls up and the ‘stuck’ cat just helps himself down? Comic gold, old friend.”

  “You suck.” Sofia flipped open a People magazine and pretended to sulk until Judy smacked her with Real Simple. “Ow!”

  “So, is he single?” Judy apparently had a one-track mind.

  Sofia peered over her magazine while the nail tech scrubbed her feet. “I have no idea.”

  Judy flipped open her phone’s keyboard and started typing. Within a moment or two, text message pings started coming in. Judy giggled.

  “What are you doing?” Sofia’s heart sank. “Jude?”

  “He’s single. New in town. Drinks at The Salty Cod, plays darts with Chuck Kellogg and Marty Swanson when there’s a game going. Generally considered hot.”

  “Generally?” Sofia couldn’t help it.

  “And I quote Meg Lafferty; you remember Meg? Um…” She squinted at her phone as if it held the answers. “She was Meg Carson? She works at the Town Clerk’s office. She says, ‘If you like that bed-head, surfer thing.’”

  Both women laughed out loud.

  “If?” Judy was chortling away again. She settled down with an audible sigh, fixing onto Sophia the frightening matchmaking gaze of a happily married woman. “You should go out with him.”

  “Yes.” Sofia snorted. “I’ll just knock on his door and haul him off by his hair.”

  “Mmm. Yep.” Judy dipped her feet into the warm water. “It’s a mane, isn’t it?”

  “You’re impossible. Were you always like this?”

  Judy flashed her a grin. “I’m getting worse in my old age.”

  “Oh, god. Stop,” Sofia moaned. “We’re only thirty-two.”

  “Shh!” Judy giggled. “I’m still twenty-nine.”

  “Liar.”

  The nail techs asked them both to hold still for polish.

  “He asked me out the other morning,” Sofia said quietly. “After the whole kitten thing.”

  “What?” Judy squealed so loudly the manicurist nearly painted her ankle. “Sorry,” she said. To Sofia she added, “And you said, ‘Yes, please, now, oh god, take me?’”

  “I said, ‘No.’”

  “So-feee-yah…” Judy drew out the syllables like she had when they were teens. “When a generally understood to be hot guy asks you out, you say, ‘Yes.’”

  Sofia gave her a withering glance.

  Judy ignored her. “I’m serious. So what if you’re only here for the season or whatever. He’s gorgeous and funny and wants to go out with you. What could possibly be wrong with this scenario?” She swung her polished, separated, and flip-flopped feet over the side of the pedicure chair and waddled towards the drying benches. “And I have to know how he kisses. I bet he does things Christopher forgot about years ago.”

  “It wouldn’t be a good idea, Jude. Really.” Sofia followed suit.

  “One of these days,” Judy said solemnly, “you’re going to have to stop running away from your father.”

  Judy saw past the carefully constructed version of herself she presented. Shame, guilt, and anger swirled up, and Sofia bit her tongue to keep from screaming at her childhood friend.

  Instead, she tapped Judy’s phone. “So, you have any pictures of your kids on there? I’m so bad about checking online.”

  ~~~

  Judy’s last warning stayed with her for the rest of the afternoon. When the July sun began to sink in the West, the Landing came alive. She sat behind the register, admiring her newly polished toenails between ringing sales and handing out colored golf balls. Behind her, she could hear her two teenage employees behind the snack bar. Gavin and Charlotte’s flirtation was getting serious. They’d gotten to the giggle-and-bicker stage; it would only be a matter of time before she started stealing his baseball hat and he started trying to read her texts.

  When Sofia had worked there, there hadn’t been mobile phones, but she’d certainly stolen her fair share of baseball caps.

  “What color did you pick?” Silas’s voice pulled her out her speculative reverie.

  He was in plaid shorts and a navy blue tee with “Maine” printed across his chest in academic lettering. She hadn’t noticed his clothing earlier outside the nail salon. Of course, then he hadn’t been standing under the flood lights, the sun-bleached streaks in his shoulder-length hair emphasized by the clear light, a day’s stubble shadowing his jaw. Which she wasn’t noticing now.

  “Violet Crime,” she replied. He had a hungry way of looking at her, like she was a pastry on a dessert cart. “Don’t you have a business to run?”

  “Theo’s got the till for a minute, then I’m sending him out into the world. He’s got tickets to some loud show at the Casino Ballroom tonight.” He leaned over the counter. “And I did promise to come see you another time.”

  He smelled like laundry soap and cloves. She tried for cool. “Was that a promise or a threat?”

  “Definitely a promise.”

  A group of golfers came through. Silas stayed casually to the side, making small talk with some of them.

  Sofia was incredulous. “You really do flirt with everyone.”

  “It’s just called manners,” he said easily, “and being interested in people. It’s good business.”

  “Is that it?” She asked dryly.

  “Flirting aside, I’d like to buy you a drink, or dinner, or lunch; whatever’s easiest.”
>
  “You aren’t going to say, ‘or breakfast?’ and wink outrageously?” she countered snidely.

  “I’d love to buy you breakfast,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “but even for me, that’s presumptuous. We haven’t even had a first date.”

  “Are you always this arrogant?”

  “Are you always this prickly?”

  He’d gotten close. Dangerously close to the wall she’d only finished repairing after Judy’s assault, temptingly close to her suddenly dry mouth and thudding pulse.

  “Listen, Silas,” she said. “I appreciate you being neighborly, and I’m glad you found your cat the other day, but I’m not interested in dating you.”

  She didn’t expect the cocky smile. “Now who’s being arrogant?”

  “What?”

  “I asked you out for a drink; you’re already breaking up with me. Maybe I won’t want to date you after we have drinks.”

  He was challenging her. She couldn’t help taking the bait. It had been a long time since a man had gotten under her skin so quickly. “Trust me. If I wanted you to want to date me, you would.”

  Another group of prospective mini-golfers came through. Again, Silas chatted them up, finding out in the time it took to process a debit card where they were from, and how long they were staying.

  When they’d left, he closed in on her again. “So what you’re saying is, when we have drinks, if I come away wanting to date you, it’s because you want me to?”

  She smiled smugly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Then you’re saying yes to getting a drink with me.” He looked positively triumphant. “I knew I’d talk you around.”

  “Wow.” Sofia shook her head and frowned. “And no, that’s not what I’m saying.”

  “When you frown like that, I want to kiss you.”

  He’d let his voice go husky, leaning across the counter. The breath left her lungs, and a delicious, anticipatory flutter raised gooseflesh on her arm.

  “I’ve got to get back to the store. Theo’s going to want to get going.” He pushed away from the window. “Think about that drink, Sofia. I know I’m going to.”

  THREE

  Sofia woke to the crash and screech of the 5:00 a.m. garbage collection. By the time she parked her car in the High Hanover Garage in Portsmouth, she’d been up and busy for six hours. The quick walk from the garage to her real estate agent’s storefront office gave her a few moments to soak in the near-forgotten ambiance of the seaside city.

  “I’m reasonably confident we can sell quickly, especially with the property priced to move.” Kevin Landry tapped a sheaf of paper on the desk, filed it in a binder, and slid it across his desk to her. “I’ve been selling commercial properties in this area for fifteen years, Ms. Buck. I’ve got a good sense of the market.”

  “I’m sure.” She forced a smile, taking the listing contracts and stowing them in the briefcase tote she hadn’t touched since she’d arrived in Hampton. The image of a briefcase in conjunction with the Landing gave her pause. There had been a developer with a briefcase once. He’d wanted to talk to her father about selling; Jimmy Buck had been sleeping off a case of Schlitz upstairs. Sofia had taken the man’s brochure and promptly run him off.

  “Mr. Landry, is there any way to guarantee the new owners won’t make significant changes to the property?”

  Kevin Landry templed his fingers. “That’s a tricky question. They can’t violate zoning, and I’m sure the property is grandfathered in to some old laws, but that’s not to say with some wheel greasing it couldn’t be torn down and rebuilt, or adapted into more of a condominium set up, even with the golf course.”

  She blew out a breath. Once it sold, it wasn’t her problem.

  He was watching her with concern. “I’m not sure why you’re asking.”

  “I don’t know. I was just curious.” She trilled her fingertips on the desk, surprised not to hear the click of manicured nails. She’d been keeping them short and unpolished for a few weeks. The constant work of running the Landing wasn’t kind to a manicure, and the only salon experience she’d had all summer was the recent pedicure with Judy. She stood, smoothing the hem of her top. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Landry. I look forward to closing this sale.”

  “Please, call me Kevin. Can I interest you in lunch?” He blushed, and Sofia really saw him for the first time that morning.

  If Kevin Landry had been selling real estate for fifteen years, he must have started in his mid-twenties, she thought. He couldn’t be more than forty. There was a sparkle in his blue eyes, hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses and a serious expression, and there was a hint of ropy strength in his tanned forearms, visible below the rolled up cuffs of his blue, Oxford dress shirt.

  An excuse formed on her tongue. She was tired of fending off the men of southern New Hampshire. For a moment the night before, she’d honestly thought of giving in and taking Silas Wilde up on his obnoxious offer. At least Kevin Landry had asked her out like a gentleman. So, why not? How better to break the strange spell Silas had woven the night before?

  “I’d like that.”

  Kevin blinked. His smile curved wide.

  The diner next door to the real estate agent’s office was new since Sofia’s college days. It was decorated as if a three-year-old’s imagination ran away with a ’60s garage sale. It should been at odds with its boutique and gallery neighbors in the stately block of brick and stone offices, but it fit. The same way Colonial architecture rubbed up against the late nineteenth century, and the modern world slipped into the spaces between.

  Over truly exceptional sandwiches, she answered his questions. “I’m an event planner for the DeVarona in D.C.” She swirled a hand cut French fry in chunky homemade ketchup.

  “But you grew up in the area?” Landry rattled the ice slightly in his iced coffee before he sipped.

  “In the apartment on the third floor at Buck’s Landing.” She sniffed wryly, but a smile pushed at her cheeks.

  “I love Hampton,” he said. “I take my kids down on my weekends. We get fried dough at Blink’s and they wear themselves out in the water.”

  She couldn’t help looking at his left ring finger. He stretched out his naked hand.

  “I’ve been divorced for five years. I’ve got a seven-year-old son and my daughter’s eleven. My ex lives over the bridge in Kittery.”

  Sofia laughed at her own reaction. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  Kevin’s smile turned tentative. “I wouldn’t mind if it were.”

  Sofia sighed. He was a sweet man. “I’m flattered, Kevin. But I’m not staying. We’re going to get Buck’s Landing sold, and I’m going home to Washington.”

  “I understand.” He delivered the reply with a professional smile.

  The server came to take their empty plates. When dessert was offered, she declined.

  “Thank you for lunch. I enjoyed myself, but I do need to get back to Hampton.”

  “It was my pleasure, Sofia.” Kevin took the check from the server. “I’ll take care of this. And I’ll be in touch.”

  Sofia had a momentary flutter of guilt. Amy wasn’t expecting her for another few hours. Outside, the sun was high, the sky azure and clear, the heat easy. A sudden craving for ice cream had her consulting her smartphone, not for the four dozen generic soft-serve flavors she sold at Buck’s Landing, but real cream, hip-expanding ice cream piled into a sugar cone.

  The contract in her bag weighed heavily on her as she walked. She’d surprised herself, with both the memory of the developer and the pang of guilt over the future of the Landing, followed by her refusal of Kevin Landry’s kind and reasonably attractive offer for more than just a casual lunch. Her concern for the Landing’s future, she could write off as mindful business practice, but it was Silas that kept her from saying yes to Kevin’s quiet advance.

  At the small ice cream parlor on Ceres Street, she ordered a double scoop of mint chocolate chip and decided to treat herself t
o a walking tour of Portsmouth on her way to the car. She hadn’t been back to New Hampshire’s port city in a decade, though it seemed little had changed except for a few newer businesses. As she walked, she considered Silas, trying to pinpoint how he’d gotten past her defenses.

  She put him at just under six feet, with an athlete’s body and a surfer’s collar-length, shaggy blond waves. His blue-gray eyes were long-lashed, and his smile easy. More than the sum of his parts, though, she thought, pausing to look at a fuchsia dress in a shop window.

  It was long, nearly floor-length on the mannequin, and the fabric looked soft and cool where it gathered at the empire waist. A summer vacation dress if ever she’d seen one. Taking a bite of her cone, she looked it over with a critical eye, but the dress invited fantasy. The skirt would flirt with her ankles, play peek-a-boo with her toes. The V-neck and high waistline would emphasize all her best curves. Slim satin straps would show off the rather impressive tan she’d gotten working her off-hours in a tank top all summer.

  She tamped down the vision of an appreciative fire in Silas’s eyes. Then she finished her ice cream and walked into the shop.

  It was a summer for surprises, she told the cashier who rang up the sale. She hadn’t come to Portsmouth to buy a dress. She hadn’t come to New Hampshire to enjoy herself. She certainly hadn’t come to Hampton to flirt with her next-door neighbor, but Silas hadn’t gotten the memo. Ever since his troublesome cat had arrived at the Landing, he crept into her idle thoughts. His arrogant teasing, his determined flirting, ought to have set her teeth on edge, but she kept returning to how his gaze softened when he looked at her, to the humor in his eyes when he talked to his rebellious pet.

  With her wallet lighter and her belly pleasantly heavier, she found her car and headed for the interstate. At the first red light, she rolled down the BMW’s windows and leaned her arm on the door, breathing in the salt and hot pavement scented air. Interstate 95 would bring her back to Hampton in half an hour, but the coastal road would only take fifteen minutes longer.