Bobbi leaned over Louise and peered at the two men walking through the manicured park at the charming center of Bayberry Cove. Old Mason, who’d vacated his personal bench in the park, had his cane in one hand and the other firmly clasped around the elbow of a younger man. They were heading directly for the Kettle.
“Who is that guy?” Vicki asked.
“And why haven’t we ever seen him before?” Louise said. “Do you know him, Bobbi Lee?”
“I don’t think so…”
She stopped midsentence and squinted. “Wait a minute. Is that…? No, it couldn’t be. He hasn’t been back in years.” But it was him. Bobbi recognized the sun-streaked brown hair, the self-assured walk and the athletic build of the teenage boy who’d been the target of her adolescent infatuation twenty years ago. “It’s a sin against nature for a fella to look that good after all this time.”
Louise chuckled. “I agree, sister. The town doesn’t know what it missed.”
“Why would he show up now, though?” Bobbi said. “He’s only made a few trips home to Bayberry Cove since his aunt Buttercup died.”
“Buttercup?” Louise said. “That’s Mason’s pet name for his deceased wife.”
“It is. Nobody around here even remembers her real name. We all just called her Buttercup.”
“Buttercup Cottage is named for her,” Vicki added, glancing at Louise. In two weeks, Louise would be living in Buttercup’s famous home as Mrs. Wes Fletcher, the wife of Mason’s grandson.
“So the guy with Mason is Buttercup’s nephew?” Louise asked.
“Great-nephew,” Bobbi Lee said. “He used to spend his summers here when he was a boy. I think he was twenty the last time I saw him. That was the year his aunt died.”
“That would make Mr. Gorgeous about forty now,” Vicki said.
Bobbi Lee nodded. “Four years older than me. There was a time those four years might as well have been a hundred for all the attention he paid me.”
“Do I detect the resurgence of a schoolgirl crush in your voice?” Louise asked. “If so, no one would blame you.”
“Hush up now,” Bobbi Lee warned. “They’re coming in!”
Bobbi almost wished she hadn’t spoken so sharply. Because when Zach Martingale came through the door with his great-uncle Mason, the diner went stone silent. The last impression Bobbi wanted to give Zach was that he was still handsome enough to suck the air out of a room.
He led his uncle to a booth, but stopped when he saw Bobbi Lee. “You’re right, Uncle Mason. She’s changed.”
I would hope so, Bobbi Lee thought. I work my tush off to get this hourglass figure, and I’ve paid plenty to maintain this hair. Twenty years ago I was a dishwater blonde and dumpy, and you never gave me a second look.
He turned to her. “Uncle Mason says you’re the best waitress the Kettle ever had,” he said. “I hope you’ll continue to work here once I take over.”
I hope you’ll continue to work here once I take over.
There had been a time when Bobbi Lee might have raised a ruckus over the news that Zach Martingale was planning to yank her restaurant out from under her, but not today. She was a businesswoman now. And she would handle this in a businesslike way.
She sidled up to Zach, flashed her red-lipped smile and said, “Zach Martingale, as I live and breathe. You’ve come back to Bayberry Cove.”
“I have.” He took a deep breath as if he were still inhaling the fresh air of the park and said, “I never knew coming home would feel so good.”
“That’s because in the past twenty years you haven’t tried it much.” Frown lines appeared on his forehead and she pointed to a booth. “You have a seat with your uncle, and I’ll bring y’all some pie.”
“Don’t scrimp on the ice cream, Bobbi Lee,” Mason said. “This is a celebration.”
Her businesslike attitude slipping, Bobbi Lee narrowed her eyes, placed her palms flat on the booth between the two men and said, “What are you celebrating, Mason? Zach was a bit vague a moment ago when he made his offer of employment.”
Mason straightened his stooped frame and grinned at his nephew. “I’ve talked the boy into moving back here, Bobbi Lee. Cinched it by offering him this whole block of prime Cove real estate. It’s what Buttercup would have wanted.”
The boy? Bobbi Lee almost choked. From all she’d heard, this boy had been in Chicago for two decades buying and selling Lakeshore Avenue properties and making a fortune. She glared at Zach. “Is this true, Zach? You own this building now?”
“I’ve agreed to pay Uncle Mason a fair price for the entire 200 block of Main Street,” he said.
Mason waved his hand. “We’ll settle on the money details later. The important thing is that you’ve come home before I’m six feet under. I’ve told Zach that the Kettle is perfect for his plans.” He beamed with pride. “Just what this little burg needs. New blood and a few new choices on the menu of our favorite restaurant.”
Bobbi Lee stood straight and placed her hands on her hips. She wanted to glare at Zach until he flinched, but she didn’t trust herself. He still held some stupid, inexplicable power to interfere with her ability to reason. So she zeroed in on his blissfully ignorant uncle.
“Here’s something you might want to think about, Mason,” she said. “There’s some old blood in town that might have a problem with this plan.”
“What are you talking about, Bobbi Lee?”
“Speak to Max before he leaves town,” she said. “He’ll tell you the Bayberry Cove Kettle already has a new owner, and you’re looking at her.”
The Bayberry Cove Kettle already has a new owner, and you’re looking at her.
Zach’s eyes widened to the size of silver-dollar pancakes, and Mason’s whiskery gray jaw dropped.
“How could you own the Kettle, Bobbi Lee?” Mason asked. “Where would you get the money to buy this place?”
Her scalp warmed to the roots of her red hair. “Have I ever asked you where you got your money?”
“Everybody knows where I got mine. It’s the stuff of legend. Your money’s the mystery.”
“And it’s going to stay a mystery. All you need to know is that I made a deal with Max. The
