Nick gazed outside. “How do you think they would have come here?”
“Once they got across the Pacific, I would imagine they might have come through Mexico. Maybe even by boat.” He lifted his chin toward the ocean. “They could have come fairly close to the shore and rowed in under cover of a dark, starless night.”
Inclining his head, Nick seemed to take this plausible idea under consideration.
Bennett turned his attention back to the fireplace. The newspaper burned quickly, but the kindling was slow to ignite. Possibly too green. He blew on the flickering fire, sending up embers like confetti, which fluttered and sizzled on the hearth.
Picking up a poker, Bennett adjusted a log and went on. “During the holidays, it’s said that Amelia and Gustav Erickson would have an open house for the entire community. They were a special part of Summer Beach.”
“Much like Ivy,” Nick said.
Bennett smiled at the thought. “Maybe in her way, Ivy is carrying on Amelia’s work.” He quickly added, “You’re doing a fine job around here, Nick, helping Shelly with the grounds. You have many talents we could use here in Summer Beach if you’d like to stay on. Look at what Mitch has accomplished.”
Nick gazed at the fireplace as if mesmerized. “Well, now, that’s an interesting thought.”
Slightly frustrated, Bennett poked the logs again. He couldn’t coax a blaze from them.
Nick put a hand on Bennett’s shoulder. “May I try?”
Bennett shrugged. “Have a go.” He straightened and sat back on his haunches, watching for a moment. He’d have to get more kindling to start this fire.
Nick squatted on the hearth. With a long, steady breath, he blew gently toward the kindling, although Bennett couldn’t see any promise of fire there. Nick held his hands over the logs as if in a trance.
Noticing Nick’s breath control, Bennett thought of the flute that the young man had played with such expertise, passion, and heart. He needed to go out for kindling, but Nick’s patient, determined actions were intriguing, so he waited.
Within a couple of minutes, a flicker of orange appeared, and Nick continued his steady ministrations.
Before long, Nick had coaxed the fire from its lethargy. Flames began to lick over the logs, igniting the bark and settling in.
“That was quite the trick,” Bennett said, rubbing his hand across his chin. He prided himself on starting a good fire, but somehow Nick had brought forth flames from a seemingly cold fire. “Must have been a hot ember back there.”
Nick turned a corner of his mouth. “Perhaps.”
Just then, Bennett and Nick turned at the sound of heels tapping across the floor. Ivy and Shelly were walking toward them.
Bennett rose. “Ivy, Nick has a question for you.”
Pausing, Ivy raised her hands to the fire. “What a lovely fire. What can I help you with, Nick?”
“Bennett tells me you have an attic with an intriguing history behind it,” Nick replied. “I would be so grateful if you could show it to me.” His voice held a distinct note of hope.
“It’s truly fascinating,” Ivy said. “I can show you tomorrow.”
Shelly and Nick began talking about yoga, and the new guest, Kristy, meandered downstairs and joined them. Soon the conversation turned to the possibility of having relaxing evening yoga in the ballroom since more guests had signed up than they could fit in the room Shelly used as a yoga studio.
“Since you teach in the morning, I’d be happy to lead the evening session,” Nick said.
“You’re on,” Shelly said. “Any problem with that, Ivy?”
Ivy quickly agreed. Bennett gazed around. Between the crackling fire, the glittering Christmas tree, and the soothing sound of the ocean just beyond the glass doors that opened onto the beach, the setting was ideal. “I might join you, too,” Bennett said.
“Let’s start tonight,” Shelly said, and Nick and Kristy agreed.
“I’ll tell Ophelia and Molly Ann and Rosamie,” Kristy said, smiling at Nick. “Wait for us, will you?”
“Of course,” Nick replied. He watched her hurry away.
As tempting as it was, Bennett had something else in mind for this evening. Ivy had mentioned that she missed ice skating in Boston. He touched Ivy’s hand. “Want to go for a ride?”
“Let’s take the old Chevy,” she replied, her face lighting. “Where would you like to go?”
Bennett turned up a corner of his mouth. “Do you have a pair of thick socks and gloves?”
Ivy looked confused for a moment, and then she broke into a wide smile. “The ice rink?”
When he nodded, she pulled him by the hand. “I’ll grab my gear and meet you by the garage.”
Outside, Bennett rushed upstairs to his apartment over the garage to get his jacket. They’d talked about the outdoor skating rink at the historic Hotel del Coronado, a landmark on Coronado Island that locals referred to as The Del.
Soon, they were ensconced in the old Chevrolet Deluxe convertible—cherry red with a cream convertible top.
Ivy slid across the red leather bench set and rubbed her hands. “This is so exciting. I loved ice skating in Boston. I used to take Misty and Sunny to the Frog Pond at the Commons or Kendall Square. How do they get the ice to freeze here, I wonder?”
Bennett turned the key in the ignition and rested a hand on the large steering wheel. “The Del has a special system to create an ice rink on the beach, like an Arctic blast under the ice. Axe Woodson explained it once to me.”
“I can hardly wait,” Ivy said. “Let’s put down the convertible top so we can watch the moonlight on the ocean as we drive.”
“As the lady wishes,” Bennett said, getting out to tuck down the top. “I remember cruising the Pacific Coast Highway in the winter with the top down and the heater on. This is winter, Southern California-style.” He brought out a plaid lap blanket they’d discovered in the trunk for Ivy.
She looked up at him and kissed his cheek. “Can’t you just imagine Amelia and Gustav on holiday from San Francisco doing exactly what we’re doing?”
“That would’ve been in their old Duesenberg roadster probably, not this new baby from the 1950s.” He tucked the blanket over her, rolled up the windows to reduce the draft, and shut her door.
With stars twinkling overhead, they cruised the coast highway, watching the waves breaking onto the sand. Ivy turned the dial on the old radio to a station playing holiday music, and on the way there, they sang Jingle Bells and Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree.
As they turned into the Hotel Del Coronado, an expansive wooden structure built in the late 19th-century, Ivy sighed happily. A vast display of lights outlined the Victorian rotunda at the entrance and stretched around the structure’s perimeter. “All we’re missing is the snow.”
“I’ve found that if you squint your eyes, you can almost imagine that the sand dunes are mounds of snow.” Grinning, Bennett pulled into the valet area, where the vintage car drew a lot of attention.
They wound their way through the gaily decorated grounds until they came to the ice-skating rink on the sand, where families and couples were spinning around the ice to holiday tunes.
Once they laced up their skates, Bennett glided onto the ice, holding Ivy’s hand. Right away, he stumbled, and she held him up.