style="font-size:15px;"> At a rare lull in the conversation, Cooper stood. “I hate to do this, ladies, but I’d better get going. I’ve got a real estate closing at three, and I need to go over my notes.”
From her chair upholstered in threadbare needlepoint, Mavis pointed up at him. “You tell your mother I’m still expecting her for bridge on Saturday. I’m not pairing up with any amateur against the Marlowes. They cheat if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Turning to Bree, he added, “Your stuff’s still in my car. I’ll bring it in for you.”
Despite her insistence on doing things for herself, this chivalry thing was starting to grow on her, and she was just tired enough to take him up on his offer. Then her brain kicked into gear, reminding her that depending on others to help you gave them a chance to let you down.
Determined not to make that disastrous mistake again, she forced herself to her feet. “I can get it.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“It is for me.” For Mavis’s benefit, Bree used a sugary voice. But to be sure he didn’t misunderstand, she gave him the very stern look she trained on anyone with the gall to make her life difficult. Which was most people, she realized suddenly. That probably explained why she’d perfected that look.
Pushing the uncomfortable revelation aside, she followed him through the kitchen and down the stone steps.
“Something wrong?” he asked as he handed her bags out to her.
“No. Why?”
Turning, he leaned back against the fender and crossed his arms. “That was about the biggest sigh I’ve ever heard. Look, I know this place isn’t what you’re used to, but under the circumstances, it’s the best I could do.”
“Oh, it’s not that.” A curious dragonfly chose that moment to hover in front of her. Shooing it away, she decided to come clean with the man who’d been so nice to her. “I’ve got some things to sort out, I guess, and that makes me pensive.”
“Professional things or personal things?”
It was absolutely none of his business, and she almost told him so. But his somber expression made it clear he wasn’t being nosy, but was actually concerned about her. A complete stranger who’d barreled into town and hijacked his day. It was hard to believe, but here, on the edge of nowhere, she’d come across a truly nice guy. It had been so long since the last one, she’d almost forgotten what they were like.
Shrugging, she admitted, “A little of both.”
“And that makes you sigh.” When she nodded, he said, “A word of advice?”
“Sure.”
After he swung into the driver’s seat, he continued, “If you want folks around here to open up to you, don’t use words like ‘pensive.’ It makes you sound like a poet.”
Nick had told her pretty much the same thing while critiquing her portfolio, and she couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Meantime, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. I can tell you how the lighthouse got its name.”
Bree was fairly certain she’d have that tidbit after another round of tea and gingerbread with Mavis, and she almost said as much. But something made her stop.
It had been a long time since someone had been as kind to her as Cooper had. He was sweet and easy on the eyes, and she wouldn’t mind spending the evening with him. She could get some vivid details for her story while enjoying the evening with a handsome man. Where was the harm in that? “That would be great. But I have to warn you, I didn’t bring my cocktail dress and high heels.”
“That’s good, ’cause I was thinking we’d meet the boats at the dock to pick our lobsters, then walk up to The Crow’s Nest for dinner.”
She’d spent plenty of time in harbor cities all along the East Coast, and she’d eaten tons of fresh seafood. Never had she chosen her own meal, and she doubted any of her dates had even considered asking her to. Apparently Cooper took her slow response for hesitation.
“Unless you’d rather not,” he added quickly. “We can order at the restaurant instead.”
“Actually I’d like to see the wharf up close. Would the crews mind if I take pictures?”
“Mind?” Laughing, he started the engine. “They’ll be falling all over themselves to see who can impress you the most.”
When she heard herself laugh, it almost surprised her. With her life crashing down around her ears, she hadn’t done much of that recently, and it felt good. “That sounds like fun.”
“How about if I pick you up just before five? They’ll all be coming in around then, and you can meet them. You’ll find enough characters down there for a whole string of articles.”
“That sounds great. I’ll see you then.”
As he drove away, she watched him with honest appreciation. That he’d devised another way to help with her work touched her in a totally unexpected way. Despite what he knew about her sketchy judgment, Cooper was treating her like a pro. Her confidence was still in tatters, but the respect he was showing her made her think she just might be able to turn the page and start a new chapter in her career.
She certainly hoped so. Because all through college and the past few years, she’d put every ounce of talent and energy she had into her journalism.
Since first learning to write, she’d loved nothing more than spinning stories. As she got older, she discovered she had a knack for describing things she saw and heard, and that people seemed to like talking to her. A well-placed question or two usually got them started, and all she had to do was listen. That, her father informed her, was a valuable skill, and he’d mentored her with great enthusiasm for her growing ability. As she’d progressed from local papers to national coverage of truly important issues, his pride in her had increased. He’d taken her recent fall from grace almost as hard as she had.
For his sake—and her own—she was determined to wrestle her career back on to its upward track. Without it, she was nothing.
Pessimism had gotten to be a nasty habit with her, and she consciously pushed the defeatist thought aside. She’d promised to call her mother when she got settled, so she pulled out her cell phone to check the signal. It wasn’t great, but good enough for a quick call, so she thumbed the speed dial for the number.
When her mother answered, Bree put on a smile she hoped would reach through the connection. “Hey there. I’m set at the hotel, so this is me calling you like I promised.”
“Thank you, sweetie. I know it’s silly, but I appreciate you calling.”
“No problem.” Bree craned her neck for a look at the mirrored light rotating overhead. “You should see this place, Mom. It’s an old lighthouse a stone’s throw from the water. Very Wuthering Heights.”
“It sounds wonderful.” An art teacher at a small college in Connecticut, her very creative mother admired anything with character. “Send me some pictures if you
