Granddad's House (On Geneva Shores) (13 page)

Sally continued. “The end of the story is, he called off the wedding in favor of watching her get convicted of fraud and a bunch of other stuff a few months later. One of my buds at the paper interviewed him. He said all Beau talked about was how he would never trust a woman in
business. I can see why he’d come to that conclusion. The way he looks I’ll bet he’s never lacked for female attention, if you know what I mean.” Sally poked Olivia. “So, is he hot? In the lip-lock department? What was it like?”

She opened her eyes and balled up the napkin she’d been holding. “I was surprised, Sally. That’s all. It was an accident. Let’s talk about something else. It’s Saturday and the sun feels good.” No more thinking about left- at-the-altar, correction, left-
her
-at-the-altar Beau. She had to decide what she was going say to Ned. Various options meandered through her brain. Voice mail and see him that night, or maybe just a quick, cool email?

Sally’s suggestions ranged from hilariously outrageous to downright mean. When Olivia and her friend left the lake, she still hadn’t decided.

The calls and emails that came in from other agents and clients were a distraction that prevented Olivia from calling Ned while she worked at home through the rest of the afternoon. She finally decided to simply tell him good-bye to his face. Even if he didn’t appreciate the courtesy, she decided she deserved the satisfaction.

She put on the sundress Sally said was perfect for the Sea Shanty and slipped her feet into her favorite leather sandals. To make sure she wasn’t tempted to sit down and eat with him, she made herself a quick dinner and forced herself to eat slowly, practicing what she was going to say so that she wouldn’t stutter if she got nervous. That had never been a problem with Ned before.
Why do I keep doing that now? So embarrassing.
Except she knew it wasn’t Ned who’d gotten under her skin and was making her jumpy.

Sounds of revelry typical of the Sea Shanty on a Saturday evening greeted Olivia when she was within half a block of the entrance. People queued outside were craning their necks to see
some kind of action within when she arrived. Maybe a hot dart game? She eased her way through the crowd to the person at the outer desk and gave her name and Ned’s, knowing he’d be recognized as a regular.

“Go on in. Ned’s one of the reasons we’ve got so many people waiting for a table.”

“Oh?”

“See for yourself. He challenged some guys to arm wrestling. They’ve been going at it for the past fifteen or twenty minutes. I saved you a spot at Ned’s table when he said you were coming. Unless someone swiped your chair, you’ll have an up-close look at the action.”

Cheers went up followed by groans. Olivia heard Ned’s name called out from different quarters, probably people he drank with. She moved slowly through the throng, until she had an unobstructed view. Ned was at their usual table, the strain of the action on his face as he sought to force the other man’s arm closer to the table, the other man with dark wavy hair, the other man … Beau? She gasped. What is
he
doing here?

She angled closer to the table and remained standing beside the table just to one side and slightly behind Ned. As if he sensed her presence, Beau’s eyes flicked upward. The look of concentration on his face deepened and his jaw muscles clenched. In a movement that began slowly and then picked up speed, he moved his arm from bent back and losing to the winning position as he slammed Ned’s arm onto the table. Cheers erupted from behind him, and several people slapped him on the back. He smiled broadly at Ned, shook out the tension in his arm, and offered his hand to his opponent as he stood up.

Ned took it with reluctance. “I’ll get you next time,” he said.

“Maybe,” Beau was wearing different shorts than those Olivia had seen earlier that day, and a sleeveless T-shirt with the logo of a Florida fishing shop. It strained to cover his chest and
shoulders. He allowed some newfound friends—two women and a man—to hustle him to the bar for a beer. The blonde was practically draping herself onto Beau’s shoulder. So tacky.

Olivia didn’t see Fiona anywhere.
Smart girl.
She couldn’t imagine any woman worth her salt would find the Sea Shanty a fit place to eat
.
She sat down in the seat across from Ned after he rose and kissed her on the cheek.

No
zing, no loss of lung power. Nothing. Not even a reacting twinge in her core. Olivia reached for her napkin, wanting to wipe her cheek clean.

“You missed all the action,” he announced, his non-combat hand in the air, waving for another beer.

“If you mean the arm wrestling, I came in at the end—right before he beat you.” She stopped talking when Beau, now sitting on a bar stool between the two women, turned in her direction, raised his beer, and mouthed something she couldn’t quite hear.

“What are you looking at?” Ned demanded, when she felt her face flush.

She looked back at him. “Uh, nothing. Nobody. How many rounds did you lose, er, go with him—the other guy? Do you know him?”

“I beat the first guy. Some doctor. This guy won both times, barely the first time. He must have figured out my strategy and taken me by surprise. Or because I was tired from the first round with the other sucker.” He handed her a menu. “He looks familiar. Wonder where I’ve seen him before. Want a beer? What do you want to eat?”

“I can’t stay. And I already ate. I just ca—ca—came—”
Damn—
“You asked me to meet you here, so I’m here.”
Just say it. Get it over with.
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore, Ned.”

His eyes stopped scanning the menu and narrowed when he looked back at her. He put down his beer stein. “What do you mean? Just ’cause I lost at arm wrestling?”

“That has nothing to do with it. You can arm wrestle all you want. We don’t have anything in common. You like Boston. You may even move there. I don’t and I won’t. You’re still looking for a job—since, you know …”

“Don’t remind me. Can I help it if the recession makes it harder to find work?” His voice took on that whine she had never liked. It reminded her of a cranky child whose toy had been taken away.

He covered her hand with his. She felt the grease on his fingertips and moved her hand out of reach.

“But, we … you know. Those other times. I like being with you.” He leered at her.

“Yes. Well.” Your kisses are boring, your conversation is boring, you’re boring—even in bed.
Why I thought you were ‘the One’ totally escapes me. Stable?
No.
Boring?
Definitely.
She hurried on so he wouldn’t interrupt her. “You and I, we don’t like the same things, and I think you need to move on.”
There, I said it.
She stood up. “It was fun for a while, Ned, but I need to move on, too. Have a nice life.”

She was almost out of the crowd when a hand pressed against the small of her back and someone wearing sea breeze-scented aftershave leaned close to her right ear.

“Why are you leaving?” That sexy Southern growl.

“I didn’t plan to stay. What are you doing here?”

“Fiona’s brother heard about the place from a pal at the hospital and wanted to check it out, but he had to leave when his beeper went off. He’s a resident of some kind—didn’t catch his specialty,” he explained. “We were getting ready to leave, when Ned challenged Brian. He had to take off after the first game, so I took his place. Don’t you want to congratulate me?”

Her back stiffened and she took in another breath. Beau’s lips were way too close to hers when she turned her head to look at him. She tried to move faster to get away, but the press of bodies entering the bar prevented her from escaping the feel of his hand on her back. She remained where she was, forced to wait for the crowd to move so that she could exit the building, aware of the rapid drumbeat of her heart.
If he kisses me here and Ned sees it, he’ll cause a scene.
Except I’ll want to kiss him back, Ned be damned.
Except we’d be in public.

But he simply smiled at her and somehow opened a path through the crowd for her to leave. When she was outside, the light evening breeze cooled her overheated cheeks and she picked up her pace until his hand was no longer touching her bare back. But now he was walking next to her, one hand brushing hers, though he didn’t try to grasp it.

Olivia couldn’t prevent her eyes from slowly traveling up his body from his toes, lingering on his hips and lower regions before moving to his magnetic green eyes. “Congratulate you for what? You have to be twice as strong as he is.”

He smirked at her and his eyes widened ever so slightly
.

“Maybe. But how would you know that—unless he’s your boyfriend?” He continued walking with her as she headed for her car. “So … is he?” he repeated.

“None of your business.” She stole another sidelong glance at him and saw that he was still grinning at her. Had he seen Ned kiss her?
She shrugged her shoulders. “He used to be. He isn’t anymore.”

“At least that shows you have good taste.”  He stopped walking. “See you around, Olivia. I’ll be in touch—about our dinner. Between friends.”

When he was no longer in close proximity, she felt cooler than she wanted to be, and shivered involuntarily before she reached her car. She sat there for a minute or two, trying to figure out what had just happened. Then she drove home, relieved that she had ended whatever relationship she had with Ned. At least that was done. But she wasn’t at all sure what to expect the next time she was in the presence of Beauregard Elias James’s infuriating, presumptuous, bedroom eyes.

Fiona pointed Beau in the direction of the conference room. Robert Brown was seated at the table sipping his coffee and nibbling a chocolate-covered cookie.

“Mr. Brown. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The old man peered at him from over his glasses. “I need to ask you a couple of questions. You don’t mind that I’m here without my agent, do you?”

Beau smiled. “No, but what is she going to say when she finds out?”

“Who’s going to tell her? Not me!” Robert laughed and pulled the contract from his coat. “At least not right away. I just need some clarification.” He pointed to the line where sixty days had been crossed out and ninety days had been inserted, his initials just above the spot.

“Did you offer this new closing time when you talked to
Livvy about the permits and things?”

Beau put down his coffee cup. “No. I offered sixty days. The permit office doesn’t give us that much time to act on an approval. That’s the reason I couldn’t sign your counteroffer. George, my partner … Just a minute.” He rose and went into the other room, returning with George. “George Dunston, this is Robert Brown, the owner of the Victorian on Highland. Mr. Brown, George was just getting ready to go to the county to see if we can secure an extension.”

Robert shook hands with George.

“If we can’t get an extension and you insist on ninety days, I’m afraid we won’t be able to come to agreement on this transaction,” George said.

“I see.” The older man looked at Beau and then at George. “Well, I won’t hold you up—going to find out and all, but I’d appreciate it if you would let me know what they tell you.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Brown. I’ll get back to you on my cell, Beau—as soon as I know what’s possible.” George left.

“You want me to call you, not your agent, with that information?” Beau asked.

“You can tell her, too, but I want you to call me first—directly. Sometimes, she tries to protect me—too much, if you get my meaning. Olivia means well, but there are times …”

“Like now, when you want to sell the place and she doesn’t?”

“Oh, she wants to sell it. She’s busy as a bee, that girl, doing her marketing and everything. And I agree with her that it’s too big for me to manage now. But for some reason, she doesn’t want
you
to buy it. Actually, I’ve thought about that and I think it would make a great B&B, and whoever manages it would have to live there. Isn’t that what you said?”

Beau nodded. “They wouldn’t have to, but most people who run
B&Bs prefer to live in or near the premises. That’s one of the appeals of a bed-and-breakfast. Live-in service, kind of like a family away from home.”

“Maybe I should remind her of that.” Robert seemed to study Beau’s face for a moment, then blurted out. “I think she doesn’t want you involved in the sale because she’d rather be getting to know you personally, if you get my meaning.”

Beau’s eyebrows rose. “Come again?” She certainly hadn’t given him that impression.

“You know what I mean. You’ve got her all
flibbertigibbeted. That’s what my wife called it. I could see it the first time she mentioned your name. But she won’t admit it, at least not to me, maybe not even to herself. She has very high standards for her business, you know. Her dad, my son, taught her that. One rule she lives by is she doesn’t get involved—personally, anyway—with clients. Since you came to her to buy the place, you’re now a client. Which probably means she can’t consider any other relationship with you. You know, thinking of you some other way.”