“I’d appreciate that.” His father’s voice was stiff. Formal.
But there was also a tremor in it.
Because he was annoyed he’d called his son by mistake—or was there another explanation?
In the past, Richard Garrett—deemed the courtroom sphinx by his colleagues—had never let anything disrupt his inscrutable, in-control demeanor on . . . or off . . . the job.
“Is everything okay?” The question was out before Zach could stop it.
“Fine.” His father’s stiffness morphed to scorn. “How’s the little coffee shop doing?”
Zach bristled at the demeaning inflection.
Don’t let him rile you, Garrett. It’s not worth it.
He inhaled the fresh scent of the spruce and directed his gaze toward the calming expanse of open sea. “Also fine.”
“Are you ready to ditch your hobby yet and return to the real world? Get back to your business career?”
He mashed his lips together and counted to five.
“This is my business, Dad. I’m in for the long haul.”
A disgusted snort came over the line. “I’ll never understand what got into you two boys. First Joshua, now you. Wasting all that education on nothing careers. I didn’t send you to college to be a barista.”
Zach held on to his temper. Barely. “Most of my college expenses were covered by scholarships, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“There were other costs I picked up. For both of you. When your brother veered off track, I thought at least you’d amount to something. You were on the road to a partnership. How could you throw away success?”
That hurt.
“I didn’t. I found it elsewhere. But I suppose we all define success differently.” It took every ounce of his self-control to pull off a measured delivery. “I discovered a better life. And I have Josh to thank for it.”
“He didn’t do you any favor.”
“He did me a tremendous favor—but I’m sorry it took his death to help me see the light.”
“I don’t want to discuss your brother.”
“In that case, I’ll leave it at this. Moving out here, following my dream, has been the best decision I ever made. I have a balanced life in a beautiful place and time for the important things—which have nothing to do with ambition and power plays and clawing your way to the top, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Don’t lecture me.”
“I’m stating a fact.”
In the background, a ping sounded. “My dinner’s ready. I have nothing else to say.”
“Neither do I. I’ll tell Aunt Stephanie you called.”
No response.
Just a dead line indicating his father had hung up.
For several seconds, Zach remained frozen in place, fingers trembling, legs unsteady.
Why couldn’t his father try to understand that choosing a different path than he had didn’t mean his sons were ungrateful, lazy, irresponsible slackers?
It was a question without an answer.
And after tonight’s conversation, it seemed unlikely the elder Garrett’s attitude would ever change.
Exhaling, he shoved the phone back in his pocket.
He had to let it go. Get over it. Kill the tiny ember of hope that continued to flicker deep inside.
Except for his relationship with his dad, his life was perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
Finding a special woman to share it with would seal the deal—and there was a much higher probability of that happening than reaching a reconciliation with his father.
Even if the only potential partner who’d caught his eye in Hope Harbor didn’t appear interested in playing a starring role in his life.
Katherine signed the thank-you card, slid it into the envelope, and sealed the flap.
Pen poised, she started to address it.
Stopped after writing Stephanie’s first name.
What was the point of mailing a card to the house next door? Why not drop it off? Hadn’t Stephanie invited her to stop in anytime?
Besides, hand delivering it gives you an excuse to see Zach.
“Oh, shut up.” She quashed the smart-aleck in her head and slid off the stool at the kitchen island.
If Zach was there, fine. If he wasn’t, that was also fine. Any company would do after the past two and a half solitary days of candy-making. Afternoon tea with Stephanie on Sunday and her chat with Zach on the beach last Friday felt like a lifetime ago. She’d put a hefty dent in the new supply of chocolate that had arrived bright and early Monday morning, but much as she enjoyed her hobby, a little human interaction would be welcome.
She circled the island . . . hesitated on the threshold of the living room . . . and detoured to the master bath, stopping in front of the full-length mirror to survey her attire.
Leggings with a hole in the knee and a too-big button-down shirt sporting a chocolate stain, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, weren’t exactly a go-visiting outfit.
On the other hand, dressing to impress could be a mistake. After the kiss she and Zach had shared, sending any signals that implied she wanted to pick up where they’d left off would be reckless. Her situation was too up in the air.
The chemistry between them was already potent, and getting up close and personal again could set off reactions neither of them were ready to deal with.
So if she followed through on delivering the note in person, she’d go as she was—and she wouldn’t add any lipstick or mascara either.
But there was no rush to traipse next door. As long as Stephanie’s rental car was visible through the trees, the woman would be available for a chat.
Why not spend a few minutes reviewing her lavender truffle notes and fine-tuning her scribbled, much-modified recipe? She was getting closer to a satisfactory outcome, but a bit more experimentation and tweaking were needed.
If she was still tempted to go visiting in half an hour, she’d consider it again.
And if she chickened out, it would cost her nothing but a postage stamp.
“Aunt Stephanie?” Zach pushed through the door from the garage into the kitchen, dropping his keys on the counter as he called out to his houseguest.
“In here.”
He continued to the threshold of the living room. “Sorry again about being late. Thanks to the crumb brigade that stopped in near closing, cleanup took longer than usual. I love our kiddie customers, but they tend to leave a mess in their wake.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She waved his apology aside. “My days of having every second of my life booked—or overbooked—are gone forever, thank the Lord.”
“Give me five minutes to change into old clothes and I’ll be with you.”
“Don’t rush on my account. My book will keep me entertained.” She held up the new Irene Hannon suspense novel she was reading.
Despite her reassurance, he hustled. Being at Hope House by two, as he’d promised, wasn’t going to happen—but they ought to be able to get there by two thirty.
In three minutes flat, after exchanging his work clothes for worn jeans and a paint-splattered T-shirt, he rejoined her.
“Wow.” She set her book down and gave him a once-over. “What did you do, shift into warp speed?”
“Close. Listen—are you certain you’re up for this? From the quick walk-through I did Sunday afternoon, we’re going to have to put a ton of muscle into stripping wallpaper and drywall prep before we can paint. I know you’ve done your share of rehabbing and remodeling, but I hate to put you to work on your vacation.” He snagged his keys off the kitchen counter.