to their parents.”
Covertly I studied her. Julie is a pretty woman, if one can see through the premature frown lines and deeply carved grooves around her mouth. She doesn’t seem a likely candidate to own a toy store but she certainly knows how to devise a charming one.
“What made you come to Shoreside and start an old-fashioned toy store?”
I felt, rather than heard her hesitate.
“We needed a change of scenery and I wanted to do something fun.”
“Well, you got that part right, I…”
The back door opened and closed again with a slam and a teenage boy bolted into the room. He wore baggy jeans with more pockets than there were in my entire closet, a black T-shirt with some bizarre figure on the front with its mouth open to reveal fanged teeth and a hairdo that spiked into needle-sharp tips embellished in orange. All he needed were the fake monster fingertips to complete his ensemble. He opened his mouth to say something to Julie, saw me and snapped it closed again. Without a word he clomped on heavy black boots to the back and up a set of stairs to the second floor. Had I not known it was a fifteen-year-old boy on those stairs, I would have thought it was a team of Clydesdales making their way up the flight of steps.
“Your son?” I ventured. The stricken look on Julie’s face told me it could be none other.
“You’ll have to excuse Bryce. He can be…difficult.”
Bryce looked as if he were born to be “difficult.” The creases and worry lines on her face began to make sense. I’d have them, too, if I had to live with an attitude like the one I’d seen in the few seconds Bryce Morris and I had been in the same room together.
I didn’t speak, sensing that there was more that Julie wanted to say.
“We’re hoping that this move to Shoreside will be good for our family. A fresh start.”
She saw the question on my face.
“We…Bryce…needed to start over…another school district.” She looked pained. “He got in with a bad crowd. We felt it would be a good idea to move someplace farther out of the city. You understand, of course, that we don’t want this to be public knowledge. He’s a good boy, really. A kind heart.”
I squeezed Julie’s hand and silently determined to put the Morrises at the top of my prayer list.
Connor was sitting at a small table in front of the Java Jockey, sipping espresso from a small china cup and staring toward Lake Zachary. When he saw me, he waved me over, jumped to his feet and gestured toward a wrought-iron chair.
I hate the cliché “Curiosity killed the cat.” Violence of any kind toward animals is abhorrent to me. But I figure curiosity isn’t going to get me without a fight, so I pulled up the chair and sat down.
“Funny, but even now I can’t get enough of the lake—or any water for that matter,” he said. “Sitting here, looking across it is still a delight to me.”
“It couldn’t hurt that you have six luxury cruise boats moored at the dock.”
He smiled and his even white teeth flashed in the sun. Tucked as they were into a handsome face with a perfect golden tan, it was quite a sight. I understand why Lilly hears wedding bells when she looks at him.
“Have you taken one of my cruises, Norah?” He said it so casually he might have been asking if I’d ridden one of his bicycles.
“A few times, for weddings.”
People around here often rent cruise boats for anniversary and wedding receptions. It’s a perfectly self-contained, no worries, floating restaurant. Only one time did I see a problem with having one’s wedding reception on board. We were sailing nicely around the lake celebrating the nuptials of our friends when someone realized that the bride and groom had not made it to the dock. They had become so lost in each other’s eyes that they also lost track of time and, literally, missed the boat. By the time the captain had turned the ship and sailed back to pick them up, the bride, still in her white dress, and the groom, looking like that little banker, Mr. Monopoly on the board game, appeared pretty dismal. She had tears tracking down her face while her groom was obviously trying to answer that age-old question of newly married men—What have I gone and done? Fortunately, a standing ovation, striking up the band—okay, string quartet—and a buffet cheered them considerably.
“I’d like to have you join me sometime. As my guest. Would you consider that?”
“How generous of you! I’d love to….” My brain went into gear two beats behind my mouth. Recalling Lilly’s building infatuation with this guy, I wanted to make sure she got the attention, not me.
Although he is probably asking me just to be sociable, Connor’s reputation for enjoying beautiful women precedes him. And I’m no doubt worrying prematurely. Look at Lilly and then look at me. Unless he gets a thrill out of women wearing their hair in an aquatic animal imitation—my whale spout of a ponytail—I’m not in danger of holding his attention for long.
“Will there be many of us from Pond Street on board?” I asked innocently, hoping he’d get the hint.
I could read nothing in his well-bred features. His tone was pleasant. “What a fine idea. A party. Brilliant. That would be a good way for all of us to get acquainted.”
A high, sharp sound coming from my shop caught our attention. Bentley stood in the doorway of Norah’s Ark holding his dog dish in his mouth, making the high-pitched squealing noises and staring accusingly at me, eliciting guilt in me from every pore. Little stinker.
“Looks like your dog is hungry,” Connor pointed out unnecessarily. “And who is minding the store?”
“Annie. Sometimes she works at the Java Jockey. Joe and I share her.”
“You love what you do, don’t you?” Smile lines crinkled pleasantly around Connor’s eyes.
“I do. I grew up knowing that I wanted to live with a menagerie around me and the more the merrier. Especially dogs. Norah’s Ark is perfect for me.”
“I felt the same way about the water,” Connor admitted. “I couldn’t get enough. I was sailing things in the bathtub before I could talk. It’s as though I was—” he fumbled for a word “—created to sail.”
“We’re all created for something,” I agreed affably, “there’s no doubt in my mind about that.” I glanced toward the store. Bentley was now lying on his back, legs straight in the air playing dead doggie, bowl still clutched in his teeth.
“I suppose I should take the hint and go feed my dog before rigor mortis sets in.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t come running over here to get you.”
“Bentley? Oh, no. He’d never do that. He doesn’t like to cross streets.”
Connor looked at me incredulously. “A dog that refuses to cross streets?”
“It must have had something to do with his life before I got him. Bowled over by a car, maybe. A near miss of some kind. Of course, Bentley doesn’t like a lot of things.”
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