The One Real Thing (Hart's Boardwalk) (6 page)

“I think you need to find a new word.”

“Turd!”

“Careful, your maturity is showing.”

Cooper laughed softly, but his amusement fled at the continued knocking on his door.

“Cooper!” Dana shrieked now.

He winced at the sound. Seriously, what had he seen in her?

“Cooper! Open up!”

“Well, that’s enough of that,” a familiar voice admonished.

Iris.

Cooper tensed.

Iris and Ira owned the Italian pizzeria next to Paradise Sands. They’d opened it twenty-five years back and named it Antonio’s because they reckoned no one wanted Italian food from “Iris and Ira.”

Iris and Ira were like family to him.

“Iris, this isn’t your damn business,” Dana snapped.

“Cooper is like a son to me so it is my business. You’ve done enough damage here. You are not going to harass that boy. Now go away. You are not wanted.”

“I need to talk to him. Cooper!”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you, by the looks of it, so get going. Get going before I call the cops.”

“Stay out of it, you nosy bitch.”

Enough was enough. His blood turned hot as he marched across the room. No way was he going to continue hiding in his own bar, and no way in hell would he stand by and let her talk to Iris like that.

He shoved open the door and Dana skittered back as it caught her elbow.

“Cooper.”

“Don’t you ever fucking talk to Iris like that again. You hear me?”

She licked her lips nervously, a gesture she thought got to him. “Coop, please. I just really need to talk to you.”

“About what, Dana? About us getting back together? Are you out of your mind?”

“Cooper, if you just forgive me—”

“It’s not about that anymore. I don’t want you. I see you now. And I’m so grateful I’m free of you. You get that? I don’t want you.”

Tears spilled down cheeks he’d once found pretty and she let out a harsh sob before pushing past Iris. She half marched, half ran down the boardwalk in her four-inch high heels and Cooper was pissed off all over again because he could feel a twinge of guilt in his chest.

“Crocodile tears.”

He looked back at Iris, who was staring at him sternly.

“Don’t you feel guilty for anything, Cooper Lawson. Everything that woman does is a manipulation.”

The reminder eased his guilt somewhat and he stepped forward to press a kiss on Iris’s forehead. “Thank you.”

Her eyes were bright when she smiled up at him. “Always here, you know that.”

“Back at you. Say good morning to Ira for me.” He pushed open the bar door.

“Will do. See you later.”

Cooper walked through his empty pub, trying to will the tension out of his muscles. He took a beer out of one of the fridges and sat down at a table.

Thirty-six years old. Thirty-six goddamn years old. Just a little over ten years of those he’d spent with Dana. Ten years of his life gone. Thirty-six and divorced. A crazy ex-wife. No kids. No dad. No mom.

But he had his sister.

He had his nephew.

He looked around the pub.

He had his bar.

And he had friends on the boardwalk and they were like family.

If it felt like something was missing from his life, then Cooper guessed that just made him ungrateful.

Or maybe just human.

Finishing his beer, Cooper let all the crap of the morning disappear as Crosby came in to prep for the lunch service, and as he opened the bar it started filling up. The tourist season hadn’t quite hit yet, but his place was never empty. He had his regulars, and as those people filled his bar, the emptiness left him for a while and the tension eased.

The two-hour drive to Hartwell had taken it out of me, but that wasn’t surprising. I suspected my singular focus on my work had kept my body going for as long as it had. As soon as I’d decided on Hartwell for my vacation I’d felt myself growing more tired, as if just the thought of vacation had caused my mind and body to go,
Hey, thanks a lot; we’ve only been waiting forever for you to notice we’re fucked.

Two weeks I had to wait for vacation and it had felt like the longest two weeks of my life. Stress could be underlying. Sometimes you didn’t even realize you were as stressed as you were. I should have known that. And as a doctor I should have been taking better care of myself mentally and physically.

Now was my chance.

I was at once kind of excited to take some time out, and also to see the town where Sarah had grown up, but also scared that all this vacation was going to do was prove that I didn’t like the life I was living.

God, I hoped that wasn’t true.

Those worries drifted away, however, when I began to smell the salt of the sea through the window I had rolled down. The closer my GPS took me to my destination, the stronger the ocean smell grew as I drove through the town of Hartwell. I seemed to be driving through the center—it was all shops, restaurants, and parking lots. The GPS turned me west and that took me into a residential
area that was interspersed with a few restaurants. I drove slowly down the dark, tree-lined streets, my headlights catching on the white-clad homes with their brightly colored awnings and old-fashioned porches that reminded me a little of the neighborhood where I’d grown up. The smell of the sea got stronger and when my GPS announced I had reached my destination I swung into a nearby parking lot, my headlights catching on a sign that stated
For Hart’s Inn Guests Only
, and relief moved through me that for once my GPS really had led me to my destination.

I got out of my car, glad for the streetlights that guided me (and my heavy suitcase) straight onto the boards of the boardwalk.

I stopped.

Lights lined the boardwalk and when I looked right I could see all along it. It was dark but not late enough for people to have gone inside for the night. Not quite tourist season, yet it didn’t seem to matter. The boardwalk was apparently popular with locals. It wasn’t heaving, but it was busy enough to feel alive with energy. Couples, groups of teenagers, and clusters of friends and family were laughing and talking as they strolled by the hodgepodge of architecturally different buildings. Bright Vegas-style lights glittered in the dark, announcing to the people, and to the ocean beyond, the names of the buildings housed on the boardwalk.

Waves crashed gently behind me and I turned to look out at the dark sea.

Was there anything more relaxing in this world than the sound of the surf? My body seemed to melt under its spell and just like that I felt exhaustion hit me.

It was only nine o’clock in the evening, but I was ready for bed.

On that thought, I turned left and looked up at Hart’s Inn. It was a large version of the houses I’d passed—white-painted shingle siding, gorgeous wraparound porch, and blue-painted shutters on the windows. I knew from the photos I’d seen on the Internet that there was even a widow’s walk on top of the building.

Rather than a bright neon sign, there was a beautiful hand-
painted sign that rose up by the porch. A light had been attached to it so that it was lit up in the dark.

Lights glowed from behind the windows and I felt myself drawn to the warmth of them like a clichéd little moth. I was so damn tired.

I hauled my suitcase up the porch stairs and pushed open one of the beautiful double doors with its stained glass window inset. An old-fashioned bell tinkled above me, announcing my arrival.

A grand staircase rose ahead of me and a cute waiting area and reception desk lay to my left. To my right was a sitting area with a beautiful open fireplace. Bookshelves packed with reading material lined the walls on either side of the fireplace. Everywhere I looked there were signs the inn was all about quality and comfort, which was one of the reasons I’d decided to stay there rather than at the more contemporary Paradise Sands Hotel just down the boardwalk.

Beyond the reading nook area, a large archway led into a dining area, and from what I could see it looked pretty busy that night. I wondered how long it would take the manager to notice my arrival. At that thought, I immediately homed in on the waiting area and its comfortable-looking chesterfield sofa.

I’d just rest my legs and possibly my eyes.

“I thought I heard the bell!” a cheery voice called out, jolting me, and I turned from my journey to couch heaven and watched as an attractive redhead hurried toward me. She was smiling brightly and held out her hand as she reached me. “I’m Bailey Hartwell. You must be Jessica Huntington. Welcome to Hart’s Inn.”

I took her hand and managed a tired smile. “Thank you. Your inn is lovely.”

She beamed at my sincerity and even in my tiredness it nearly knocked me over. Bailey Hartwell was pretty, with deep auburn curls that tumbled to the middle of her back. Her light green eyes were tip tilted, giving them an almost feline quality, and she had a cute button nose with a smattering of freckles over it. Pretty. Adorable even. But her smile was her best feature. It was so warm I had no choice but to smile in return. She was about my height, but in
her skinny jeans and tight green thermal I could see she was more slender than me.

I curbed my envy at her elegant figure, blaming the flare of jealousy on my exhaustion. It had nothing to do with being a normal female with insecurities like everyone else. Nope. Not. At. All.

Bailey’s smile wilted. “Oh, jeez, you’re tuckered out, sweetie. Let’s get you checked in and to your room.”

I loved her.

“Thank you.”

As she checked me in, Bailey informed me, “Breakfast runs from seven to ten a.m. We serve hot food and Continental and, best of all, great coffee.”

I smiled at that. “Sounds like heaven.”

Smiling back at me, she took my suitcase from my hands and I marveled at the way she hauled it up the stairs like it weighed nothing, considering it was probably heavier than she was.

“I’m so excited to have you here for three weeks,” she said as she climbed, her breathing coming a little shorter, suggesting she was human after all. “I hardly ever get guests for that long. You’ll feel like family by the end of your vacation, I have no doubt.” She laughed and it sounded so musical I started to wonder if maybe Bailey Hartwell was part fairy.

I suddenly pictured her with little glittery wings on her back.

“I need sleep,” I muttered.

“Sorry?” she said as she came to a stop at a door on the second floor.

“Nothing.” I shook my head and followed her inside the room.

As she put my suitcase by the bed I stared in awe.

Decorated in a contemporary style with a nautical theme, the room was beautiful. But I barely took in the soft furnishings, the huge four-poster bed covered in inviting scatter cushions, or the living room area. I was too busy staring at the French doors that led out to a small balcony facing the sea.

“It’s the best room in the inn,” she said. “I thought you should
have it since you’re staying three weeks. I originally had you in another room, but we had a cancellation for this room for the week so I was able to bump you into here.”

I turned to her and saw she was looking around at the room with pride and satisfaction. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Bailey grinned and dropped the key in my hand. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll get to know each other.” She said it like it was a no-brainer, like all innkeepers set out to make their guests their best friends.

Honestly I didn’t mind the thought of Bailey trying to get to know me.

At that point I was too exhausted to mind anything.

“Good night,” she said as she closed the door.

“Good night,” I called back.

That was when I really noticed the bed.

“Come to Mama.” I gestured to it at the same time I stumbled toward it.

When I woke up the next morning, I was on top of the covers still fully clothed.

The first thing I did after I showered was open the French doors in my room. I stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the boardwalk and the ocean beyond and I didn’t even care that it was a cloudy, gray day above me.

Instead I enjoyed the wind blowing up off the water because it carried with it the smell of sea and the sound of the surf. I closed my eyes, listening to that gentle rush, the lap of water against the beach, the cry of gulls in the air, and I felt a moment of complete peace.

I’d been so concerned about what this vacation meant because, like always, I was overanalyzing it. Maybe it didn’t have to be this monumental trip that would somehow change my life. Maybe it would just be a vacation. Three weeks of peace and contentment.

I reluctantly walked back into my room, closing the doors and shutting out the sounds of the ocean. Digging through my purse I pulled out my cell and sent Matthew a text.

You were right. I needed this. x.

Once I was dressed, hair dried and styled, makeup on, I headed downstairs for breakfast. It was nine thirty, so I’d just make it.

The dining room was empty when I took a seat, other guests having gotten up way earlier than I had, or having slept in even later.

I was looking at the menu when a door at the back of the cozy room swung open, revealing a kitchen beyond it. The door slammed
shut and I lifted my gaze to the person who was striding out of the kitchen toward me.

Bailey grinned at me. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” I smiled back at her.

“You slept well?”

“Yes, thank you. I feel so much better. I’m sorry if I was a little out of it last night.”

“Don’t even apologize. I could see you were dead on your feet. Will we start you off with some coffee?”

“Please.”

“Okeydokey. I’ll let you look over the menu.”

Bailey was back a few minutes later with my coffee. I wanted to snatch it desperately from her hands but somehow managed to refrain from doing so, waiting impatiently for her to take my order so I could descend on the coffee like the caffeine fiend I was.

“I’ll have the scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes, please.” My stomach practically growled just thinking about it.

“Great choice.” She cocked her head to the side. “I haven’t eaten yet. You mind if I join you? And please feel free to tell me ‘hell no’ if you want some peace.”

I laughed, surprised by her request but definitely not annoyed by it. “I’m happy for the company.”

“Great! I think I’ll have what you’re having.” She strode back to the kitchen, calling out as she pushed her way inside, “Hey, Mona, two scrambled eggs, bacon, and—” The door slammed shut behind her, completely silencing the room.

Not too long later, I’d had my first shot of heavenly caffeine and Bailey was back with both of our meals. She sat down in the chair opposite me to dig into hers.

I shoveled a forkful of pancakes and egg into my mouth as soon as the plate was put in front of me.

“So,” Bailey said once she’d swallowed, “I’m usually not this weird innkeeper who crashes her guests’ breakfast. My alarm didn’t go off this morning.”

I snorted, unable to laugh without spraying my breakfast everywhere. Once I’d swallowed, I said, “I really don’t mind. It’s nice, actually.”

“Good.” She grinned. “Tom would say this is so unprofessional.”

“Tom?”

“My boyfriend. We’ve been together for nine years. He’s the yin to my yang. Although yin is getting a little annoyed with the yang lately. I lost my deputy manager to New York last month and so I’ve been running around like a headless chicken while I try to find someone I trust to do the damn job, and Tom is all ‘Slow down, Bailey, before you kill yourself.’”

I blinked at her rambling.

She laughed. “Sorry. He also says I talk too fast sometimes. He says it makes me sound twelve. I’m thirty-three.”

I was surprised. She looked younger than me. “We’re the same age.”

“We are? What do you do? Say innkeeper and it’ll freak me out.”

Smiling, I shook my head. “No. I’m a doctor.”

Bailey’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yup.”

“A doctor? In a hospital, or do you have your own practice?”

“I’m a physician at a prison, actually. A women’s prison.”

“No way!”

I laughed. “Yes way.”

“Well, I was impressed by doctor, but I’m even more impressed by doctor in a women’s prison. That is hard-core. You know, this town could do with a hard-core doctor. You lookin’?” She winked teasingly.

“Unfortunately, not at the moment. Hartwell,” I said before she could ramble on again. “Your name. Does that make you a descendant of the founding family?”

“It does.” She nodded, suddenly looking serious. “We used to own a lot of this town, but over the years the family lost most of it. My parents sold what was left with the exception of the inn. Boardwalk
properties are prime real estate here. I offered to run the place because my brother and sister weren’t interested. My parents are retired in Florida.”

“Do you like running the inn?”

“I love it.”

I could tell she meant it.

“Do you like being a doctor?”

“I do.”

“How could you not? You’re saving people’s lives.” She ate a piece of bacon. As soon as she swallowed it she said, “So what made you want to vacation here?”

I contemplated Bailey because as someone who had lived here her whole life, and whose family had lived here generations before, I could only assume she was pretty familiar with most of its inhabitants. “Would you happen to know George Beckwith?”

“Sure. How do you know George?”

“We have a mutual acquaintance,” I said, evading the question. “Anyway, this place was recommended to me and I thought I’d stop in to see George while I’m here. He owns property on the boardwalk, right?”

Bailey wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, but George closed up shop a few weeks ago and took off for Nova Scotia. His daughter, Marie, lives in Canada with her family and George decided to spend the summer there.”

For a moment all I heard were the names George and Marie. Sarah’s story suddenly became even more real, hearing Bailey talk about the people mentioned in her letters.

That made the disappointment that flooded me even worse.

I hadn’t even considered that I might not actually get to pass the letters on to George.

“So what’s it like working in a women’s prison?” Bailey interrupted my thoughts and I remembered why I was here.

To vacation.

I had to put Sarah’s situation out of my mind and force the ache she’d caused out of my chest.

“It’s like anywhere. You get used to your environment.”

“Is it scary or am I being judgmental?”

I smiled at her wince. “We learn quickly if an inmate is going to be a problem, and there are always guards on hand. Mostly they’re fine with me because I’m usually helping them out, but there is the minority . . . I’ve been spat on before.” I wrinkled my nose, remembering the charming incident.

“Ugh, charming.”

I laughed at her using the same word I’d been thinking.

“As I said, there are dangerous criminals in there and the not so dangerous. Many of those women are just people who have made mistakes and are now paying for them.”

“I guess. Still, it must be stressful sometimes.”

“I’m not sure running an inn isn’t any less stressful.”

“Running an inn
can
be stressful,” she agreed. “But I love this place. I love Hart’s Boardwalk.”

“Hart’s Boardwalk?”

“That’s what the locals call this place because of the legend.”

“What legend?” I leaned forward, intrigued.

“That if you’re destined for true love, you’ll find it on the boardwalk.”

I grinned. “How romantic.”

Bailey smiled softly, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I know it sounds cheesy, but the legend grew from something kind of beautifully tragic, actually. Back in 1909 my great-grandmother’s sister, Eliza, was the darling of Hartwell. Our family still had wealth and power and Eliza, being the eldest, was expected to marry well. Instead she somehow crossed paths and fell in love with a steelworker from the Straiton Railroad Company, which was based just outside of town. Jonas Kellerman was considered beneath Eliza and also a con artist. Her family tried to convince Eliza that he was only using her to gain her wealth.

“But Eliza didn’t believe her family and she and Jonas made plans to marry in secret. Her father, my great-great-grandfather, found out their plans and he threatened harm against the Kellermans if Eliza didn’t marry the man he had chosen for her. To protect Jonas she agreed to marry the son of a wealthy Pennsylvania businessman. But, devastated, on the eve of her wedding Eliza snuck out and went to the beach late at night. She walked right into the ocean. By chance Jonas was up on the boardwalk with some friends, drowning his sorrows, when he saw Eliza. He rushed down to save her and his friends say they saw him reach her. But the ocean carried them away together and they were never seen again.”

Jesus Christ
. This place was just brimming over with heartbreaking love stories. Now my heart broke for Eliza and Jonas as well as Sarah and George. “Wow.”

Bailey gave me that sad smile again. “Over the years people have grown to believe in the legend that Jonas’s sacrifice and the purity of their love created the magic. Also because townies who fall in love on the boardwalk stay in love their whole lives. There’s a spot on the boardwalk near the bandstand with a brass plaque for tourists about the legend. It says if they walk the boardwalk together, and they’re truly in love, it will last forever. Tom and I are of course evidence of its truth.” She grinned.

“As for my great-great-grandfather,” she continued, “he made a few bad investments and lost a lot of his wealth. People believed the Hartwells were being punished for what happened to Eliza.”

“So you guys are big on fate here, huh?”

“Fate. Magic.” She shrugged with a grin.

“It sounds to me like a lot of drama. I’m not too big on drama.”

“That probably means you need some in your life.” She winked at me playfully.

I decided to explore the boardwalk after my interesting breakfast with Bailey.

Despite the dark clouds above, the weather outside was mild with only a gentle breeze whispering up from the water. I strolled along the wooden planks. A mammoth sign above the porch door of the building next to the inn proclaimed in feminine script
Hart’s Gift Shop
.

The gift shop was currently closed. I hoped it was on off-season hours and would be open sometime during my vacation. I wanted to buy something for Perry and there were beautiful dolls and jewelry in the windows.

After the gift shop were a candy store and arcade, and from there the boards ran along the main thoroughfare. A large bandstand sat at the top of Main Street. The street was wide enough for cars to park in the middle of it, and along either side were commercial buildings. Trees lined the street, where restaurants, gift shops, clothes stores, fast-food joints, spas, coffeehouses, pubs, and markets were neighbors in a well-groomed tourist environment.

I decided to explore Main Street later and kept heading along the boards. I passed a small ice cream shack, a surf shop, an Italian restaurant with a neon sign proclaiming
Antonio’s
, and then the largest building on the boardwalk—it seemed to rise up among all the others like a giant of contemporary architecture. Whitewashed walls and lots of glass. There was no gaudy neon sign for this building. Huge gold metal letters three stories up spelled out
Paradise Sands Hotel
and smaller gold letters subtitled underneath it,
And Conference Center
.

I stared up at the mammoth place, wondering how it could contrast so sharply with everything else on the boardwalk and yet somehow add a quality to the place that I personally thought benefited it rather than detracted from it. I took a step back and turned toward the ocean. There were only a few people walking along the beach today because of the complete lack of sun. Even without the sun turning the sand what I assumed would be a spectacular gold, the beach was lovely. The sand was soft, rockless, and inviting. I couldn’t wait for some sunshine so I could lie on a lounge chair out there.

But there was no sunshine and I could do with another coffee. On that thought, I continued my journey down the boardwalk, when the heavens suddenly opened.

My eyes darted for the closest available shelter and I dashed toward it—a closed bar that had an awning. Soaked within seconds, blinded by rain, and irritated by the icky feeling of my clothes sticking to my skin, I wasn’t really paying much attention to anything else but getting to the awning. That was why I ran smack into a hard, masculine body.

If the man’s arms hadn’t reached out to catch me I would have bounced right onto my ass.

I pushed my soaked hair out of my eyes and looked up in apology at the person I had so rudely collided with.

Warm blue eyes met mine. Blue, blue eyes. Like the Aegean Sea that surrounded Santorini. I’d vacationed there a few years back and the water there was the bluest I’d ever seen.