The Abalone Shell Read online

“How do you make a living if you keep giving your products away?”

  “The best things in life can’t be bought.” He offered a tight smile. “Take it from someone who knows too well how precious and how brief those things sometimes are. There’s a mirror just over there, Daphne, if you want to look.”

  The little girl trotted away, and Hope stared at him. She snapped her mouth closed, and he could see the cogs working in her mind as she untangled his statement, searching for what he meant by it.

  “Besides,” he said quickly before she could ask, “this is probably the very least I can do to make up for my sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Erin. Your waitress. I don’t know what she said to you, but I’m sorry it upset you.”

  “It didn’t,” she said hastily. “She just caught me off guard.”

  He nearly groaned. “Please tell me she didn’t stick her nose completely in it.”

  “In what?”

  “For the last three years, her goal in life has become setting me up with a new woman.”

  Her gaze shifted to his left hand, and she frowned. The indentation from his wedding ring was still there; he’d stopped wearing it only a few weeks ago.

  “You’re divorced?” she asked.

  “Widowed.”

  Sympathy rounded her eyes, and when she replied, her voice was distractingly soft. “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded in acknowledgement.

  Abruptly, she straightened. “Wow.”

  “Hmm?”

  “This is a dark and rather deep conversation for a sunny day between two strangers.”

  “So it is.” Grateful for the proverbial open door through which he could escape the conversation, he walked through it with her. “How about those wind chimes?”

  By the time she and her daughter left the shop with a brand new set of sea-glass wind chimes for their family’s cottage—somehow he wasn’t surprised she was one of the St. Clouds who owned the cottage on North Point Loop just one driveway over from his—he was struggling to keep the memories at bay. He glanced at the abalone shell displayed on the wall behind his cash register. It wasn’t either of the two he’d found, but it brought them and the days he’d found them to mind.

  Suddenly, spending the afternoon gathering more sea glass and shells for his projects sounded like a fantastic idea. He called his lone employee, who was only too glad for the extra hours. Within half an hour, he was parking his truck in front of his house on the point. He grabbed his scavenging sack and headed along the gravel path that connected his home, the cottage next to it, and Hope’s to the stairs that led down to the tiny and aptly named Hidden Beach tucked away between two arms of the point. Compulsion drove him down the stairs and straight for the natural rock arch that, at low tide, provided a direct path to the main, mile-long beach.

  It was there in that tunnel of stone that he’d found the first whole, pristine abalone shell. Every other time he checked down here, he’d found only fragments of shells no larger than a couple inches across, and that’s all he expected to find today.

  He recognized the iridescent crescent sticking out of the coarse sand immediately and stooped to pick it up. It wasn’t a whole shell, but it was almost half of one and among the largest pieces he’d ever found on the beach of Sea Glass Cove. He skimmed his fingers over its shimmery interior as he strolled under the arch to the main beach, ignoring the sea glass littering the shore, and glanced up at the St. Cloud cottage perched high above him.

  The little girl Daphne was out on the deck—of course she was—and despite the distance, she spotted him. He returned her exuberant wave, absently turning and twisting the shell fragment in his hand. After three years without so much as a flicker of interest in a new woman, the immediate pull he felt toward Hope was as bright as the lighthouse’s lantern on the blackest night. How long were she and her daughter going to be in town? And would it be long enough to investigate this undeniable attraction?

  Three

  “He’s finally coming back.”

  “Who is, baby girl?”

  “Owen. He’s been out walking the beach a long time. What’s he doing?”

  “Probably looking for glass and shells.”

  “Ooooh, duh.”

  Hope shook her head in amusement. She finished chopping the celery and tossed it in the salad and then wiped her hands on the dishtowel before joining her daughter at the dining room window overlooking the main beach. Sure enough, there was Owen, picking his way slowly toward the arch. He was cutting it close. The tide, which had just barely retreated far enough for the tunnel to be passable when he’d gone out was now nearly high enough to block it again. And it was a long walk home along the road—about half a mile—if he missed the window of opportunity.

  Realizing she was staring at him again, she spun away from the window and poured herself a glass of iced tea from the pitcher she’d brewed as soon as they’d gotten home from their excursion. She squeezed in a healthy puddle of honey from the local bee farmer, added a few drops of fresh lemon juice, and purred with the first sip. She wandered over to the window above the kitchen sink, and her gaze drifted down to the beach. Owen had disappeared from view, and disappointment dampened her enjoyment of her drink.

  “Can we invite him to dinner, Mom?”

  Ice tea sprayed all over the sink and the backsplash, and Hope mopped it up while she recovered from her shock. The memory of their first meeting and her embarrassment at the hands of the man’s sister were still fresh in her mind. There was absolutely no way they could invite him to dinner after that. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to say no to her daughter.

  “We just met him, baby girl.”

  “So? He’s really nice.”

  Hope couldn’t argue with that. “That may be, but we can’t invite strangers to dinner simply because they’re nice.”

  “Why not? Isn’t that how you make friends?”

  How was she supposed to answer that? Every excuse that came to mind—it was too soon after her divorce, Daphne’s father wouldn’t approve, and the sneaking suspicion that if she invited the attractive gallery owner to dinner it wouldn’t end at simple friendship—were all too complicated and abstract for Daphne’s innocent young mind to fully grasp.

  Finally, she came up with a compromise. “He may not want to, sweetie.”

  “Can’t we at least ask?”

  “I suppose.” Hope sighed, resigned. “It’s the neighborly thing to do, and since we’re going to be out here all summer, it might be nice to have some friends. You’re right, my darling.”

  Beaming, her daughter continued to stare out the window, waiting for Owen to crest the stairs from Hidden Beach. Hope couldn’t deny that she was curious to see if the man would accept their invitation and more than a little hopeful that he would.

  “There he is!” Daphne cheered and zipped out the French doors.

  Hope followed her out onto the deck, equally amused and dismayed by her daughter’s giddiness. The girl bounced with excitement as she waited for Owen to reach the main trail that connected the houses of North Point Loop to the stairs.

  “Owen!” Daphne called, waving exuberantly.

  He didn’t hesitate even a beat before he turned toward their cottage as if that had been his intended destination even before Daphne’s greeting. His long strides eroded the distance between them with remarkable speed, and Hope watched him, entranced. He had to be a couple inches over six feet, and the power and grace in every movement of his body had her pulse humming.

  When he reached the bottom steps, he grinned, and Hope’s heart tripped over itself.

  “Hiya, Daphne St. Cloud,” he greeted the girl. “I found something on the beach you might like.”

  He reached into the canvas sack hanging from his shoulder and pulled out a large fragment of abalone shell. Daphne’s eyes lit up, and she glanced at Hope, asking permission to take a look at it. Hope nodded.

  “What is it?” the girl asked.
/>   “It’s an abalone shell,” he replied. “Well, part of one.”

  “It’s beautiful. It looks like the shells on my necklace.”

  “That’s because the shells on your necklace are abalone. There are tons of small pieces like those all over the beach, but one like this is a lot harder to find.”

  “Are there any whole ones?”

  “Sometimes, but they’re incredibly rare.”

  “How come?”

  “They usually break against the rocks when the waves carry them to the beach.”

  “Have you ever found a whole one?”

  “Just two.”

  “I want to find one. That’d be so cool.”

  Owen laughed indulgently. “I hope you do.”

  He raised his gaze to Hope, and his smile was slightly warmer than she would’ve expected from a man she’d met only hours ago. It did funny things to her heartbeat, and the husky tenderness in his voice when he spoke made her quiver deep inside.

  “Hello again, Hope. Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

  Unable to tear her eyes from his sea-green ones, she nodded. “Beautiful.”

  She wasn’t referring entirely to what was indeed a stunning evening, and there was a gleam in his eyes that told her he was aware of her double meaning. Suddenly realizing he was still standing at the bottom of the steps, she invited him up to the deck.

  Swallowing the sudden and unexpected flare of desire, she put on the most gracious and welcoming smile she could manage. “Daphne would like to invite you to join us for dinner.”

  “Oh, yeah!” the girl piped. “Sorry. I forgot to ask. Will you come for dinner, Owen? Please?”

  Lord almighty, he was sexy, and his physical attributes weren’t half of his appeal. The way he focused on her daughter when he spoke with her was such a stark contrast to her ex-husband’s detached parenting style that it left her a little breathless and dizzy.

  “That’s very kind of you, sweet pea,” he said, “but I don’t want to impose on you and your mom.”

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hope wondered if she should’ve taken the easy out he offered, but before she could stop herself, she said, “It’s no imposition. I still haven’t mastered the art of cooking for one less, so we have plenty of food. It’s nothing fancy. Just spaghetti, garlic bread, and salad.”

  “If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind, that sounds a lot better than the leftovers I was planning to reheat for myself.”

  “And maybe after you can help us with the candles,” Daphne said. “Mom bought a bunch at the supermarket today, but she won’t tell me what we’re going to do with them. She just says I have to wait until tonight.”

  Hope frowned at her daughter, folding her arms across her chest and giving her daughter her best mom glare. “Daph, you’re being a pest.”

  The little girl ducked her head. “Sorry.”

  “She’s fine, Hope,” Owen said with a gentle smile that disarmed her. “Honestly. I don’t mind.”

  “Well, all right. Come on in.”

  Daphne raced into the house ahead of them still gripping the broken abalone shell. Hope and Owen followed at a more sedate pace, and she was surprised when he joined her in the kitchen and asked how he could help. He might’ve asked merely to be polite, but he said it so automatically that she doubted it.

  “As my mom always says, the first time you eat over, you’re a guest. After that you’re family.”

  “Are you planning on having me over more than once?” he asked.

  Oh, he was quick. Blush warmed her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze. “Maybe. We are neighbors, after all. Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all. But, since we’re neighbors, I think we can do away with the formality. So, how can I help?”

  “There’s not much else to do. The noodles are cooking, the sauce is done and simmering, the bread is in the oven, and the salad is tossed. Besides, it would be rude of me to invite you over and then put you to work.”

  “Psssh. It feels ruder of me to not help. It’s weird sitting back and watching someone else cook.”

  “Did you do all the cooking….” She started to say when your wife was alive, but stopped herself in time and let her question hang as it was.

  “No, Sam and I used to have so much fun cooking together.”

  “Sam? Your wife?”

  He nodded. “Samantha.” He shifted his gaze out the window and his expression turned softer, poignant. “We spent so many nights just like this in the kitchen together. I loved it.”

  “So many but not nearly enough,” she surmised.

  “No, not nearly enough.”

  She couldn’t imagine Dan ever making such a statement, let alone with such genuine fondness and longing. As soon as the thought entered her mind, she shoved it right back out. She was done thinking like that, and she had promised herself she wouldn’t compare her ex to the man or men she dated after him. She’d needed to end her marriage to him for the sake of her sanity, not because he was a bad man. She would not be one of those ex-wives, the kind fixated on destroying the men who wronged them.

  Suddenly, Owen turned his attention back to her and smiled brightly. “All right, since there isn’t anything for me to help you with here, it’s only fair if I have you and Daphne over for dinner sometime.”

  Habitually, Hope said, “We couldn’t impose.” She started to say something else, but the look he leveled at her—brows lifted, eyes narrowed, and the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement—silenced her. Laughing, she held up her hands. “We’d love to. Thank you. And actually, I do have something for you to do.”

  She pulled out plates and silverware and handed them to him. As he took them, something stirred in the back of her mind. Three settings… and not because she’d once again fallen prey to habit. Sensing his eyes on her, she looked up to find him watching her with a faint, understanding smile. He turned away and asked Daphne if she would please give him a hand. The girl eagerly complied.

  Hope frowned. What was she doing? She’d barely been divorced six months. She shouldn’t be contemplating things like adding that third setting back to her table, and she certainly shouldn’t be fantasizing about a man who was little more than a stranger… no matter how attractive and considerate he was. She’d just freed herself from one burden, and there was no way she was going to saddle herself with another any time soon.

  Owen returned to the kitchen, and she could only stare dumbfounded as he slipped the garlic bread out of the oven, grabbed a bread knife from the block on the counter, and sliced it. As if he’d cooked a hundred meals in this kitchen. As if he belonged in it. She was still staring with her mouth hanging open when he carried the bread and salad to the table.

  “I don’t know how you prefer to serve the spaghetti,” he said from the dining room. “Sam and I always just mixed the noodles and sauce together.”

  “Uh… yeah,” she said slowly. “That’s how we do it, too.”

  Hope shook herself out of her stupor and finished the spaghetti with a sly smile, determined to put away her doubts and appreciate a man who seemed to enjoy her company as much as she enjoyed his. Besides, a man who still missed the little pleasures like cooking dinner with his wife wasn’t the kind that would ever be a burden.

  Four

  They remained at the table long after they’d finished eating, listening to Daphne chatter about the million things that fascinated kids her age, and Owen’s heart was lighter and freer than it had been in too long. He loved his mother and sister dearly, and he was grateful they’d gone out of their way to try to fill the void in him, but it wasn’t the same. Dinner was delicious—probably more so because of the charming company—and the resulting languor settled over him. He leaned back in his chair with his hands knitted behind his head and his legs stretched out in front of him, utterly content.

  “She’ll go on all night unless we stop her,” Hope murmured as her daughter regaled them with a lengthy description about the baby goats their neighbo
r in Montana had asked her to help bottle feed earlier in the spring. “Especially about Pam’s farm. I swear, she talks about it in her sleep, too.”

  “Let her talk. I’m enjoying it.”

  Hope lifted a brow, and a moment later, she frowned.

  “What?” he asked.

  Her quizzical expression was adorable, and it was all he could do not to smile in response, but he tried because he didn’t think she’d appreciate him jesting when she was being serious.

  “You love kids.”

  “What’s not to love?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied slowly. “It’s just that I haven’t met many men as patient and natural at dealing with kids as you are.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice.” He shrugged and glanced out the window. The sun drifted near the horizon. “If you want to get your candles set up before nightfall, we might want to get dinner cleared and the dishes done.”

  “You’re going to stay for that?”

  “Daphne invited me, and as long as you don’t mind, I’d love to.”

  Owen rose to help clear the table and she flashed him an uncertain smile. With that and the way she’d reacted earlier when he’d taken the bread out of the oven, he was beginning to suspect she and her ex-husband hadn’t shared the household chores like he and Sam had. Was that part of the reason their marriage had ended? She seemed like a strong and independent woman, and she was clearly capable and comfortable with caring for her daughter on her own. It was easy to see her as the breadwinner of her family, and if she was, it wasn’t hard to imagine her being frustrated with a spouse who didn’t pick up the slack on the household side of things.

  He filled the sink with hot water and squirted dish soap into it while she told her daughter to bring out all the candles they’d bought and the boxes from the closet under the stairs marked “lanterns”. He scraped the plates she brought in into the trash and sunk them into the water. She positioned herself next to him with a dishtowel over her shoulder, and seamlessly they worked as a team with him washing and her rinsing and setting the dishes in the drainer on the counter beside the sink.