Love Starts with Elle (16 page)

“Kelly, breakfast is getting cold. Come on, sugar.” Mama’s face
appeared over the banister. “Are you wearing a sweater? Kelly, it’ll
be a hundred degrees today.”

“Be right there, Mama.” A hundred degrees? Not this early in
June. But it would be hot. She’d wear the sweater anyway, at least
until she got to work at the
Gazette
.

Before going down, she pulled out last night’s letter to Chet. It
was short and full of all the news going on around Beaufort, but
not with her. She promised herself she’d tell him the next time she
wrote. Or the next.

Are you well, Chet darling? Warm and dry, well fed and comforted?
Do you have time to laugh or even cry?

She certainly did.

Heath looked up from the story, picturing Kelly, a mixture of imagination and Elle Garvey. His initial boating-day research had turned Elle into his muse. She had all the qualities of a great heroine—beauty and angst.

But did he want to write a love story? Set in Beaufort? In his head, it made no sense, but when he started writing Kelly’s point of view, his heart shifted to her. She had a story to tell.

Nate’s definitely going to have a coronary.

It was late and Heath decided to call it a night. Shutting down his laptop, he lay in bed on top of the sheets. Tracey-Love slept on the other side, curled and hidden under the covers.

For a long time, he chased sleep as words and ideas rattled around his head, every once in a while bumping into the vision of a strawberry blonde with green eyes and an armful of bracelets.

He couldn’t forget the feel of her back under his hand as they danced, nor the fragrance of her hair. Something like a meadow, warm and earthy.

Since their dance, however, his dreams of Ava had returned, and often he woke up restless, feeling guilty.

He punched the pillow behind his head and clicked on the beside lamp. A yellow glow illuminated his corner. Checking on Tracey-Love, he peeled back the sheet, pressing his palm to her golden but strawlike hair.

You’re missing her, Ava. She’s beautiful.

In the last eight months, he’d experienced a lifetime of emotions, ending with him uprooting his career and child, returning to a place of his childhood innocence. Even though his new life without Ava took him farther away from the life they’d shared, in the quiet moments he missed her and wished he could hold her one more time.

In the expanded dining room of Frogmore Café, Beaufort’s little dining treasure on the corner of Harrington and Bay, Penny Collins sang from the middle of the fresh lumber stage as Elle slid into the booth in the back with Julianne, Rio, and her friend Jessica Cimowsky for a girls’ night out.

Elle liked the homey familiarity of the Frogmore. When Caroline owned the place, she’d spent weekday afternoons in the quiet dining room, talking with her friend, eating from Andy Castleton’s yummy menu.

“Jess, where was it Stu Green dumped the ladies’ room toilet when he was fixing the plumbing?” Elle asked.

Jess laughed, pointing. “Somewhere along the back wall. Oh, that was funny. And when he could spell
renaissance
?”

“Never judge a book by its cover,” Elle said, reaching for a menu.

Caroline had insisted Elle add Stu to her Operation Wedding Day list. “Sure,” Elle had agreed. “But he has to be able to spell
renaissance.”

Stu Green not only spelled
renaissance,
he spouted its history.

“The question now,” Julianne said, peering over her menu, “is if Heath McCord can spell
renaissance
.”

“What?” Elle balked. “You’re crazy. One, I’m sure he can. He’s a lawyer and a writer. Two, I’m not asking him,
hint, hint.
He’s a friend. Period.”

“Heath McCord?” Jess echoed. “The man renting your cottage?”

Julianne nodded with pinched expression. “Have you seen him? Dang handsome.” She arched her brows. “Sexy.”

Elle stopped her with a hard glare. “He’s a friend.” She’d kept her wedding night dance with Heath a secret. What would Jules do with that information?

“Good-looking how?” Jess wondered. “In a classic Hollywood way? Or more like Matthew McConaughy?”

“More like former jock turned single father with a touch of sophistication.” Elle stopped, shifting her gaze between her sister and friend.

Jules made an “Oh my” face. “Someone has thought a lot about this.”

Elle studied the menu she already knew by heart. “I have a lot of time on my hands.”

Just in time, Mercy Bea, the Frogmore’s senior waitress, set down a basket of Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits, cracking her gum. “Y’all ready to order? Elle, darling, I sure am sorry about the wedding.”

She closed her menu, putting it back in the holder. “Sometimes things don’t turn out like we plan, Mercy Bea.”

The blonde-bombshellish waitress pointed to herself with an exaggerated movement. “You’re looking at the queen of things not turning out. The pot roast is really good tonight. Andy outdone himself.”

Elle’s stomach rumbled, but she wasn’t quite ready for pot roast casserole. “I’ll have a salad and grilled chicken.”

“All righty.” Mercy Bea scribbled their order while chatting about her young sons and how much teen boys cost. On her way to the kitchen, she greeted a new customer.

“Danny Simmons, sit. Take a load off. Good to see you. What’ll you have to drink?”

“Tea sounds good, Mercy Bea.” Danny started for the table adjacent to the back booth. “Hey, Elle, Julianne, didn’t see y’all there.”

“Evening, Danny,” Elle said. In his mid-forties, Danny Simmons was a Beaufort County businessman, philanthropist, and golfing buddy of Daddy’s. His blue eyes crinkled beneath Ralph Lauren-like silver hair. “Are you by yourself? Care to join us.”

He stood stiffly, like a little boy unsure if he wanted to sit at the adult table, gazing at Julianne—who seemed intent on jellying up a biscuit for Rio—then at Jess. “Looks like you’re full up here.”

“I don’t mind scooting around.” Elle shoved against Jess.

Jess shoved against Julianne. Who did not budge. Instead she spread jelly on another biscuit. Rio had three on her plate already.

“Thanks, but I’ve got some work to do.” Danny backed away. “So I’ll just sit over here at this table here. Nice to see y’all. Sorry to hear how things went with Jeremiah, Elle.”

“Thank you, Danny. I’m healing.”

Elle pinched Julianne’s arm when the man moved out of earshot. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Ow, Elle.” Jules jerked her arm away with enough force to swing her dangling earrings against her neck and hair. “What did you want me to do, jump up and down?”

Elle looked at Jess, whose expression reflected her own. “Do you have a problem with Danny Simmons?”

“Now why would I have a problem with the man?” Julianne broke open another biscuit.

Elle snatched it from her. “Rio has three already, Jules, and you have one. Are you seriously going to eat five jellied biscuits?”

Julianne wiped her hands on her napkin. “Scoot around, Rio. Mama needs to go to the little girl’s room.”

“Something’s bugging her,” Jess said as Jules disappeared around the stone fireplace toward the restrooms.

“A lot’s been bugging her. She’s more secretive than ever.”

“Won’t say what’s up?” Jess searched the biscuit basket. Empty. She angled over the table for one of Rio’s biscuits. “Can Aunt Jess have one?”

Rio nodded. Her lips were ringed with purple jelly.

Mercy Bea came around to refill their teas. “Gracious, y’all need more biscuits?” She snatched up the basket, then stopped by Danny’s table. “What’ll you have, Danny?”

He was mid-I’ll-have-the-Frogmore-Stew when his cell went off. When he answered, he faced the wall and talked in a low tone.

“Did you find a new gallery location?” Jess scooped most of the jelly from the biscuit, then took a bite.

Elle broke from observing Danny. “Yes, second floor of the Bay Street Trading Company.”

Jess’s eyes grew round. “Elle, really? How perfect. Look, sweetie, I know Jeremiah broke your heart, but I’m so glad you didn’t move away.” She winced. “Beaufort is not Beaufort without you. When you were gone for a year, studying in Florence, then in New York, Caroline and I sat around Saturday nights asking, ‘What would Elle do?’”

“I hardly feel like that girl any more.” Elle gave Jess a weak smile. “But I’ll find her again. Remember when
Forrest Gump
was filming here, and we tried out as extras?

Jess choked on her biscuit. “Caroline kept sneaking into the scenes with Tom Hanks?”

In many ways, Caroline was the most courageous of them, though she’d never ventured farther than Florida until she moved to Barcelona. Now she flew to places like Thailand and Belgium. She handled life with grace instead of fighting it.

Behind them, Danny was in motion, rising, clapping his phone closed. “Elle, please tell Mercy Bea I can’t stay. Need to take care of something.” He dropped a twenty on the table. “Have her box up my dinner. One of y’all can take it home.”

“Is everything all right?”

His smile lacked light. “Could be better. Night, ladies. Good night, Rio.”

“Night, Mr. Danny.”

Thirty seconds later, Julianne reappeared. “The ladies’ room had no toilet paper or towels. I had to hunt down Russell in the kitchen before I could pee.”

“What’s up with Danny Simmons?” Elle asked.

“How should I know? Ask him if you want to know what’s going on in his life.” Julianne checked out his table. “Oh, he left.” Her shoulder’s visibly relaxed.

“Here you ladies go.” Mercy Bea set down their supper, and Elle’s window of opportunity with Julianne was closed and locked.

Rio pointed, jumping up on the booth seat. “Hey, Tracey-Love.” She waved her tiny hand in the air. “Tracey-Love!”

“Shh, Rio, sit down. Stop hollering across the café.” Julianne jerked her bottom to the seat.

Elle gazed around Jess to see a dapper-looking Heath holding Tracey-Love’s hand.

“Who is that?” Jess asked with too much pitch in her voice.

“Elle’s new renaissance man,” Julianne said, clearly glad to move the focus off of her.

Jess turned to Elle. “And you used to accuse Caroline of getting all the good-looking men. First Jeremiah, now him. Go for it.”

“First of all, there’s nothing to go for. Second of all, he’s a widow and in the healing process himself.” Elle picked out a biscuit. “Besides, he’s too old for me, like thirty-eight. So, leave it be, y’all.”

“Too old?” Jess echoed. “If Jules here can date a married forty-somethin’—”

“Jessica Cimowsky. Bite your tongue. I am most certainly not.” Every ear in the café heard Julianne’s rebuke. “Take it back.”

Jess’s eyes darkened. “Then what was with the shifting in your seat, suddenly running to the ladies’ room when Danny appeared?”

“It’s nothing, Jess. Drop it.”

Jess’s shoulders surrendered. “Jules, you’re right. I’m sorry. Guess I read into things.”

No, she read the situation right, as far as Elle could see. The trouble was getting her sister to admit it.

Julianne shoved her plate forward, her casserole untouched. “It’s okay, Jess. I’m tired and edgy.”

Jess ducked her head. “No, my bad, Jules.”

“Forget it, I’m fine.”

But something was eating her. Elle talked when things bugged her. Julianne closed up shop and hid.

Mercy Bea was leading Heath toward them. “Y’all got room here? Seems Rio knows this little gal.”

Heath glanced around the table. “Evening, Elle, Julianne.”

“Tracey-Love, sit by me.” Rio pounded the seat with her palm.

Heath checked with Jules. “Is it okay?”

“Yes, Heath, please sit.” Julianne shoved against Jess, who slid over.

Heath swung Tracey-Love into the booth next to Rio, glancing at Elle. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” She hadn’t seen him since the night of their dance, and now suddenly the booth’s atmosphere changed with his presence. Her molecules seemed to be morphing and blipping.
Settle down in
there.

“You look good.”

“You too.” Elle glanced away when his gaze lasted longer than the ring of his compliment.

“By the way”—Jess offered her hand—“I’m the friend, Jessica Cimowsky.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Hey, girls, where’d Danny go?” Mercy Bea paused at their table with a loaded dish of Frogmore Stew.

“He had to go.” Elle pointed to the twenty. “He said to box it up—or, Heath, you want a plate of Frogmore Stew?”

“The reason I’m here.”

“Well, hallelujah.” Mercy Bea set down Danny’s plate. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Sweet tea sounds good, and for this little beauty”—he touched Tracey-Love’s head with his palm—“a salad and fries with a glass of milk.”

“Can do. Mercy Bea Hart.” She shook Heath’s hand.

“Heath McCord.”

“Pleasure is all mine. Now if these gals get too rowdy, you just let me know.” Mercy winked and wiggled away.

“Jess, look at the time. We’re going to be late for the meeting,” Julianne said, shoving out of the booth, clutching her purse.