More to Give (An Anchor Island Novel) Page 9

  Unsure how to express what he was thinking, Sam blurted the words, “You’re pretty well adjusted considering that woman raised you.” Not exactly the best way to put it, but the words were true.

  Callie took a deep breath. Her shoulders rose, then fell. She kept her eyes on her knees for several seconds, then faced him again, with a sad, self-deprecating grin this time. “Therapy does wonders.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe I should try it someday.”

  “Let me know,” she said, reaching for the handle on her door. “I can recommend a good one in the Charleston area.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, you aren’t the only one with a hard-to-please parent.”

  Callie’s door remained closed as she turned back to him. “Oh yeah?”

  Tapping on the base of the steering wheel, Sam nodded. “Yeah. Eugenia Edwards has some pretty high standards.”

  The snort was unexpected. “Then you must have been her dream child. Intelligent. Handsome. Total overachiever.”

  “True,” he said, attempting to make a joke. Callie’s laughter felt like a prize. “But I’m an overachiever out of necessity, not natural tendencies.” Sam didn’t know why he was telling her all this. He never talked about his childhood. To anyone.

  But for some reason, he desperately wanted to make her feel better.

  “I suppose I should thank her, though. Who knows what I’d be today if it weren’t for Mother’s high demands?”

  “You call her Mother?” Callie asked, her blue eyes sparkling like icicles in the sunlight.

  With a grin, Sam leaned toward her. “Not always.”

  Callie choked on a giggle as she reached for her door handle again. “Thank you,” she said. “For enduring lunch with my mother, and for trying to make me feel better.” One heel hit the gravel before she turned back his way. “And about thanking your mother? You’d still be the successful man you are today, Sam, no matter what she was like. I don’t doubt that for a second.”

  Sam watched Callie climb out of his car with a mixture of feelings—protectiveness and a sense of peace—two things he hadn’t felt in many years. As he watched her walk away, a feeling of unease came over him.

  The return of Callie Henderson into his life was turning out to be more dangerous than Sam had first suspected. He’d worried she’d churn up old memories. Open old wounds. But if he wasn’t careful, she might inflict some new ones.

  “You need to land that fish, young lady,” Evelyn yelled through Callie’s bathroom door. “While you still have the looks to do it.”

  Standing at the sink in nothing but jeans and a bra, Callie fought the urge to smack her forehead against the porcelain. Maybe she could knock herself unconscious and not wake up until after her mother had left the island.

  “I know you can hear me in there.”

  “Of course I can hear you, Mother. They can probably hear you in China.”

  “Don’t you sass me, Calliope Mabel.”

  What kind of name was that? Calliope Mabel. She’d come to terms with the Calliope part years ago, but Mabel? The two names didn’t even sound right together. If she ever had a daughter, Callie would name her something pretty. Like Olivia Jane or Isabelle Marie. No Mabels.

  “And hurry up,” Evelyn snapped. “We’re going to be late for dinner.”

  Saturday morning could not come soon enough.

  Out of spite, Callie took another fifteen minutes. She spent most of that time reading a magazine article about the newest trends in interior design. When she emerged from her private powder room, she found Henri sitting on her bed, reading a magazine of her own.

  “You abandoned me today,” Callie said, not yet ready to forgive her cousin for leaving her and Sam in Evelyn’s clutches.

  “If you think I can in any way control your mother, I’m going to suggest you cut back on the crack.”

  “At least with you around she has someone other than me to criticize.” Expecting anyone to volunteer to spend more time with her mother was mean, but Callie was feeling too bitter and embarrassed to care.

  “And I have to endure that criticism for nine hours tomorrow.” Henri snapped the magazine shut. “Whatever she did must have been bad, to get you this pissed. Do I even want to know?”

  Callie gave Henri a droll look. “She insisted Sam come to lunch with us.”

  Henri gasped. “No. And he went?”

  “She didn’t give him much choice.”

  “The poor guy.” At Callie’s glare, she added, “And you. Poor you.”

  Callie tossed her work clothes into the hamper. “When she wasn’t hitting on him, she was suggesting that he and I would make beautiful babies together. She kept asking about his vast holdings of hotels and all but demanded to know his net worth.”

  Henri cringed. “That sounds like Evelyn.”

  “And then . . .” Callie hesitated, steeling herself against the image playing on a loop in her mind. “She grabbed his ass on the way to the car.”

  Her cousin had the gall to collapse into fits of laughter on the bed.

  “I’m glad you find this amusing.”

  “Come on,” Henri said, returning to a sitting position. “That’s cheeky even for Aunt Evelyn. How did Sam take it?”

  Dropping onto the bed, Callie smiled. “Oddly enough, he found it hysterical.”

  “He is the perfect man,” Henri murmured.

  “Not at first, of course,” Callie said. “But after we dropped her off, we were sitting in his SUV and he started laughing. Out of nowhere. Uncontrolled mirth!”

  Henri bumped Callie with her shoulder. “You have to admit. It’s kind of funny.”

  Callie bumped back. “I was mortified. I still can’t believe she did it.” She fell back on the bed with a moan.

  “Come on, Cal,” Henri said. “She’s done worse.”

  Eyes shut tight, Callie answered, “Never to one of my bosses.”

  “Sam isn’t just another boss,” Henri reminded her. “You’ve boffed him.”

  Callie jerked upright. “Shhhhh . . . My mother doesn’t know that, and neither does anyone else around here.”

  “Except me.”

  “A confidence I’m starting to regret now,” Callie said, rising to her feet. “Come on,” she said, offering Henri a hand. “We might as well get this over with. One more meal, then she’s gone in the morning.”

  “Then I’m stuck with her in a confined space,” Henri added. “Which is why you’re once again buying the drinks.”

  “Too bad the restaurant is too far away for us to walk,” Callie lamented. “I wouldn’t mind getting liquored up myself.”

  Callie had never been so happy to be alone. Though Cecil was still with her, he wasn’t going to tell Callie that her ass was getting too big or that she was going to die childless with a shriveled-up womb, denying him the rightful grandparrots he deserved.

  At least she hoped a few days with her mother hadn’t been long enough for him to pick up these particular lines. Though she loved her parrot dearly, a window might get accidentally left open if her feathered friend started talking that much like her mother.

  After watching the taillights of Henri’s truck fade into the distance, Callie poured herself a cup of tea, dragged a blanket out to the deck, and watched the waves pound the sand for a good hour. Watching the seagulls diving at the water or hovering on the wind, wings spread wide and strong, she breathed in the salt air and felt a vivid sense of home.

  As if this was where Callie was meant to be. Which she was, for at least the next three months. Longer if Sam would keep her. Once she’d turned the inn around, and in record time, surely he’d ask her to stay.

  Best to play it by ear. Something she’d learned in therapy was to take life one day at a time. And that was exactly what Callie was thinking about as she pulled into the
parking lot in front of Sweet Opal’s Bakery and Confections.

  The building looked like an old, two-story house that had been converted into a storefront. A long, narrow porch ran across the front, with a door to the right and two Adirondack chairs on the left. An elderly couple occupied the chairs, the woman eating what looked like an éclair and the man some kind of pie.

  Stepping onto the porch, she smiled at the woman, who offered up a salute with her treat. Callie assumed they were late-season tourists, since the man wore sunscreen on his nose and a camera rested on his large stomach, as if ready to catch a memory for the folks back home.

  Entering the shop, Callie took in the large display case filled with an endless array of treats. Everything looked decadent and able to put ten pounds on her hips by Christmas.

  “Callie,” a voice yelled from her left. “Down here.” Will Parsons waved from a table in the corner that she was sharing with a pretty redhead and a gorgeous brunette. It was official: Anchor Island was a refuge for incredibly beautiful people.

  CHAPTER 10

  Hi there,” she said, stepping up to the table.

  “Glad you could make it,” Will said with a smile. “This is Beth Dempsey,” she offered, motioning toward the redhead. Then she nodded toward the brunette. “And the little tugboat in the corner is Sid Navarro. The one I warned you about.”

  Sid was a woman?

  “What do you mean, you fucking warned her about me?”

  With brows up, Will didn’t give her friend so much as a glance. “And now you know what I meant. Guys, this is Calliope Henderson.”

  “Please,” she said, “call me Callie.”

  “That’s right,” Will said. “Callie.” Scooting over to the chair against the window, she tapped the one she’d vacated. “Have a seat.”

  Callie hesitated. “Are you sure I’m not intruding?”

  “Of course not,” the one named Beth said. “Will has been telling us that you’re an old friend of Sam’s. He’s a bit of an enigma around here, so we find this fact highly intriguing.”

  If this meeting was to coax facts about Sam’s past out of her, Callie would not be sticking around. “I wouldn’t say old friends. We were more acquaintances.”

  Which was true. She’d been best friends with Meredith and therefore acquainted with Sam. But they didn’t know each other that well. At least, they hadn’t before that last night.

  “We aren’t going to grill you,” Will said, offering her the chair once again. “We’re discussing Beth’s baby shower.”

  The redhead sat back with a smile, and Callie noticed her enlarged belly for the first time. “Oh, wow. Congratulations. Now I know I’m intruding.”

  “Nonsense,” Beth said. “The more the merrier. Really.”

  “If you’re sure.” Callie settled into the red, retro-style seat and noticed each woman had a dessert in front of her. “Those look good.”

  “Opal is the best,” Sid said. “She can bake anything. What’s your favorite? Prego here will eat anything.” She pointed a thumb in her friend’s direction.

  Beth looked slightly offended, then shrugged. “That’s true right now. Bugger isn’t choosy.”

  “Bugger?” Callie asked.

  “That’s what they call the munchkin,” Sid answered. “The selfish asses won’t find out if it’s a boy or a girl so the rest of us can know what the hell to buy.”

  “For the umpteenth time, we want to be surprised!”

  “That doesn’t mean the rest of us should have to stay in the dark,” Sid argued, sliding a fork into the chocolate cupcake in front of her.

  “Yes,” Beth said. “It actually does.”

  Sid huffed and Beth sighed and Callie wondered if these women were really friends.

  “Besides,” Beth said, cutting what looked to be a slice of carrot cake, “it’s not as if you’re going to buy anything other than tool toys, regardless of what gender it is.”

  This time Sid snorted. “That’s true.” The women laughed, and Callie realized this was more than friendship. Though she was an only child, she recognized what she and Henri had. These women were more like family.

  Now she really felt like an outsider.

  “We’ve already settled on yellow and green for the party colors,” Will said, bringing Callie up to speed. “For obvious reasons. And we’re having the shower at the Anchor Inn. We’d use Dempsey’s, but Beth doesn’t like the idea of having a baby shower in a bar.”

  “As a woman raised in the South,” Callie said, “I thank you. That always bothered me, too.”

  “You see?” Beth said, glancing between her dark-haired friends. “She agrees with me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Callie said. “I don’t want to step on toes.”

  “Stomp away.” Will slid her fork into a slice of rhubarb pie. “You won’t hurt our feelings. She’s the mom and what she says goes.”

  Sid rolled her eyes. “I don’t give a shit where we have it.”

  Callie almost wished she could introduce this pint-size profanity machine to her mother for the shock value alone. The conniption would be epic.

  Before Callie could ask what else they needed to work out, a short woman with gray hair, round cheeks, and a friendly smile stepped up to the table. “Hey there, darling. You must be the new gal fixing up the Sunset Harbor. Rosemary said you were pretty as a button, and she was right.”

  “Rosemary said that?” Callie asked, struggling to imagine the preservation patron saying quite those words.

  The older woman waved a hand in the air. “Not exactly, but that’s what she meant. I’m Opal,” she said, wiping her hand on her apron. “Tell me your favorite dessert ever, and I bet I have it.”

  Callie smiled. “You probably don’t.”

  Opal looked as if she’d been insulted, and the ladies at the table exchanged surprised glances.

  “I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just that my favorite dessert is an English dish, and I rarely find anyone in America who makes it.”

  Well, this was going well. She’d managed to offend a sweet old lady and look like a pretentious ass to the women who were befriending her. Why couldn’t she have asked for apple pie?

  Opal put a hand on her hip. “What’s it called?” she asked, the friendly smile no longer present.

  “Eton Mess,” Callie replied, longing to disappear under the table.

  With pursed lips, Opal seemed to be searching her memory banks. Then she said, “I’ll be right back,” and disappeared behind the counter.

  Silence reigned until Callie said, “I should have asked for pie. I didn’t mean to offend her.”

  Sid laughed. “Are you kidding? You made her day.”

  “I what?”

  “You gave her a challenge.” Sid stabbed a piece of cupcake with her fork. “No one has stumped Opal yet. Kinzie—that’s her granddaughter—says Opal prides herself on knowing every dessert out there. You’ll have your mess thing in no time.”

  “Oh,” Callie said, not sure how to respond. She would love to have the dessert, since she hadn’t been to England in nearly ten years, but she didn’t want to put anyone out. “It really isn’t that complicated. I didn’t mean to make any trouble.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Will said, sharing a look with her friends that Callie couldn’t interpret. “Now that we’ve all settled into domestic bliss, so to speak, things have gotten boring. We could use a little trouble around here.”

  “Yeah,” Sid agreed. “Stir shit up.”

  Callie felt the need to be honest. “I’m not really the shit-stirring type.”

  Beth tapped a fingernail on her glass of milk. “A gorgeous blonde harboring secrets about the island’s most eligible bachelor?” A tapered brow danced over sparkling green eyes. “Don’t underestimate yourself, Ms. Henderson. You could stir all sorts of shit.”
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br />   And they were back to Sam again. “I’m not harboring anything,” she said, knowing it for a lie as soon as the words were out. “Sam is my boss, and if he wants anyone to know about his past, he’ll have to be the one to share.” Knowing the more folks believed there was some deep, dark secret—which, in all honesty, there wasn’t—the more they’d push for answers, Callie offered one caveat.

  “I can say that whatever folks around here are imagining, it’s probably nowhere near the truth. He’s a nice guy who runs hotels.” She shrugged. “There’s nothing sinister to tell. No secret identity. No big bad lurking anywhere.” With a laugh, she added, “That stuff only happens in the movies.”

  No one cracked a smile as Will murmured, “Not always.”

  “I’m sorry?” Callie asked, but Opal returned to the table before Will could explain.

  Opal set a glass bowl in front of Callie. “There you go,” she said. “I even tossed in a dash of port like the website said.”

  Everyone at the table grew silent, staring at the bowl as if it might explode.

  “No fucking way,” Sid said in hushed tones.

  “Well?” Opal snapped. “Try it.”

  The concoction looked accurate, with the whipped cream and strawberries mixed together, and even a sliced strawberry on top. Callie removed the spoon stuck in the side and braced herself before sliding a bite between her lips.

  And then her taste buds did explode. “Oh my God,” she said around the sweetness in her mouth. “You did it.”

  The cheerful baker returned, clapping her hands in excitement. “I’ve been trying to think of something new I could add to the menu.” Opal hugged Callie’s shoulders. “Now I have it. Thank you, darling. You’ve got a free dessert here anytime you want it.”

  “Hey,” Sid said, “you don’t give me free desserts.”

  “Shush,” Opal said, waving a hand at Sid. “What’s your name, honey child?” she asked Callie.

  “This is Calliope Henderson, Opal,” Will answered for her. “But she goes by Callie.”

  “Calliope’s Eton Mess,” Opal said. “That’s how it’ll appear on the menu.”