ridiculous,” he said. “I’ve been getting up at four and having dinner at the farm most nights. Dating hasn’t been a priority at all. In fact, I mostly avoid women.”
“Whatever,” she said, picking up the spreader.
But she was right. That’s why he kept the apartment he hated, to have a little privacy. He’d been whoring around since the day his divorce was final and he wasn’t sure why. Oh, he had a healthy libido, he knew that. He came by it honestly—his people were like that. But it was possible he was trying to change the taste Natalie left in his mouth. He might also get a little satisfaction from thinking it would make her unhappy if she knew, but then he never prowled around in her territory. Or maybe he just wanted to prove to himself that he could get along fine without a steady relationship because taking a chance on another marriage was out of the question. And sometimes when he had a woman under him, he forgot. After what he’d been through with Natalie, he didn’t even feel guilty. He did have the courtesy to warn them, however. He was temporary at best. It was amazing how many women were of a like mind.
“Come on, my hours are too long and dirty for women,” he told his sister.
“Right,” she said. “Be nice to Ginger or you’ll be answering to me.”
“You don’t want to be answering to her,” Scott said from somewhere. “She’s relentless. She forgets nothing!”
Matt looked around. “Where is he?”
“Under the table,” she said. “In the fort.”
He heard giggling, and Matt went to the dining room table, which was covered with blankets. He pulled aside the flap and there were Scott and his kids, Will and Jenny. “You are a strange, strange man. Aren’t you a little big for this?”
“We’re all getting a little big for this,” Scott said.
“Come on, you guys,” Peyton said. “I told you to put the fort away so we can eat at the table.”
“I’m not leaving for a little while. Want me to make you some bruschetta?” Matt asked.
She smiled. “That would be nice. You can have half of this baguette.”
It was his peace offering to Peyton, his favorite sister, and he had four to choose from. Matt didn’t need to be reminded that no one got away with anything with Peyton, nor that she was relentless and had the memory of an elephant. He grew up in that house, after all. Ginny was too bossy, Ellie was too critical and Adele was too much like him. But Peyton, several years older than Matt, had always seemed wise and he loved her independence, her strength. But she happened to be closest to George and Adele. And young Mike, who was getting his postgrad degree, worshipped Matt. Ginny, who got on Matt’s last nerve, adored and pampered him and called him Mattie. And so it went in big families. Feuds, alliances, shared failures, victories, spats, celebrations and reconciliations. But they were family and Matt would go balls to the wall for any one of them.
After supplying the bruschetta, he chose to walk down to the marina. Though it was Friday night, crowded and the closest thing to fine dining Thunder Point had to offer, at least half the people present were dressed as casually as he was. He took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer and asked if he could get a table for two in about fifteen minutes. The man behind the bar said it was no problem.
It was only five minutes later that Ginger walked in, also early. And if possible, prettier than before. She looked a little fresher, like she’d fluffed her hair and wet her lips. She’d changed clothes. Still jeans, but this time with a jacket and boots with heels instead of clogs. He stood and smiled at her and checked her hands. They weren’t green. He waved her over. “We’re ready whenever you are,” Matt said to the guy behind the bar.
“Hey, Ginger,” the man said.
“Hey, Cliff. How’s life?”
“Always good. Always. This a friend of yours?”
“This is Peyton Grant’s brother Matt. Matt, this is Cliff. This is his restaurant.”
After a little chat, mostly from Cliff about how grateful they all were that Peyton worked with Scott and that Scott had had the wisdom to marry her, though probably not for the sake of the town, he took them to a table in the dining room. He bragged a little about the lobster bisque, said anything on the menu with crab was outstanding and that there was mahimahi on the specials tonight. Ram—presumably the chef—didn’t fry too much, he recommended the blackened salmon or Cajun ahi.
Then they were alone.
“I see you got the green stains off your hands,” Matt said, smiling, making her laugh.
“Flowers are dirty work,” she said.
“Tell me about dirty. I’m in fruit. And potatoes. And sometimes sheep.”
“Sometimes?”
“I work with Paco on the farm and George, my oldest brother, he has the sheep end of the business. When it’s time to shear or breed or anything real busy, I help. Everyone helps. And Uncle Sal has the vineyard—we go to the wine harvest on and off between August and the end of September, the same time we’re bringing in the pears. The whole extended family is running around the state—grapes here, sheep there, pears and potatoes.”
“That orchard,” she said. “One of the most beautiful places on earth.”
Cliff brought a glass of wine for Ginger, and they both ordered the same thing—Cajun ahi. “There’s a small butcher shop in Portland where you can get ahi steaks. They cost the moon but you can eat them with a spoon, they’re that fresh and good.”
“Portland? You live in Portland?” he asked.
“It’s where I’m from. I live here now. I really hope it works out and that I can stay. At least for a long time. I love the town, the shop.”
“Tell me about flowers,” he said.
“What can I tell you? I work for Grace, who owns the shop. I’ve only been there a short time but I’m learning to make very nice displays—bouquets, centerpieces, wreaths, wall hangings. I love it when she gets an order from a big hotel or resort and we do something huge, like an underwater obsidian stem in a tall cylinder glass vase. It’s more of a sculpture than an arrangement.”
“How’d you know you wanted to do that?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” Ginger said. “I was visiting with Ray Anne, just sitting around completely unmotivated while she went to work, and she told me I had to do something, no matter how small it was. That very day Grace asked me if I’d consider her shop. She was in desperate need of help and I had absolutely no experience. Honestly, I took it because it was there. I had no idea I’d like it. I shouldn’t be surprised—I like all those sorts of things.”
“What sorts of things?” he asked.
She laughed a little uncomfortably and looked down at her hands. “For lack of a better description, girl things. I’ve worked in retail, in clothing, in housewares, in domestics. I’m the youngest of three with two older brothers and am the only member of the family who doesn’t work in the family business, my dad’s trucking company. Small but pretty successful. My dad runs it, my oldest
