Feels Like the First Time Page 6

  Ali could hear Loraine running her nails along the PO boxes in the background.

  “You know you can just leave the package on my front stoop, like they teach you to do in postmen school.”

  “Now what kind of service would that be?” Loraine said, as if they’d never had this talk before.

  Loraine wasn’t just the postmaster; she was also the delivery man, a stamp philatelist, and the town’s biggest busybody. If it happened in Destiny Bay, Loraine was the first to know—and the first to blab.

  “Plus, I didn’t get a chance to finish looking at the new Victoria’s Secret before I had to get the mail delivered. There’s a pretty pink lace bra and pantie set I marked on page seven that would go lovely with your skin tone. And it’s guaranteed to bring the boys to your yard, or your money back.”

  Ali flipped to page seven and rolled her eyes. The only boy she wanted in her yard would burst out laughing if she showed up wearing pink anything.

  “I’m not really a pink girl,” Ali said. “And next time keep the magazine if it means avoiding B and E.”

  “Then how would I have separated the bills from the junk mail,” the older woman asked as if Ali were the unreasonable one. “Or know to tell you that your aunt Sue sent you a card. It’s to congratulate you on getting in the magazine. She sent you a twenty-dollar gift card to the Coffee Hut. Last time she sent thirty; I wonder if she’s having financial troubles.”

  “Sue is fine,” Ali said, closing her eyes against the growing headache.

  “Good to hear. After that business with your uncle and that showgirl, we were all concerned.”

  “And would you please stop telling everyone I got in the magazine? I haven’t gotten in anything yet,” Ali said. “I am just one of many they are considering.”

  “You’ll get it, honey,” Loraine said. “Oh!” Loraine snapped her fingers. “There was a package for your dad. I set it by the fridge so you’d see it. It’s next to my note about needing more milk.”

  Ali hopped off the counter and walked over to the white shipping box. It was from Seattle, stamped EXPRESS MAIL, and had a signature-required space on the label, with a really badly forged Marty Marshal scrawled across it. “Why did you drop it off here?”

  “Your dad opened it, took one look, and started mumbling about fishing and his boat, saying he was going to take a sail up the coast. He was so upset he forgot the box.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “How would I know? Opening your dad’s package would be unethical.” Loraine lowered her voice, as if she were imparting a national secret. “I did peek at the letter inside, though, and saw that it’s from your sister.”

  “This can’t be good.”

  “When Marty starts mumbling about sailing up the coast, it’s never good, honey.”

  Didn’t Ali know it. When her mom left, Marty took Ali out for an afternoon sail—which lasted three days. When the divorce papers came in, he took Ali out on a semester at sea. And when Ali went off to art school, he sailed solo around the tip of South America.

  Twice.

  Bottom line, when things got complicated in Marty’s world, he stocked up the boat with Corona and Jimmy Buffett tunes, and went in search of Gilligan’s Island. Only, the Buffett lifestyle wasn’t conducive to daily sugar logs and insulin therapy—so Marty couldn’t just pick up and sail off into the sunset anymore.

  “Since I wasn’t sure if he was taking a day sail, or going to Mexico, I brought it to you.”

  “Thanks, Loraine,” Ali said, emptying the box on the counter.

  “My pleasure, honey. And next time you go to the market, can you get one percent milk? You got in another movie from Netflix, the new Bond film I’ve been dying to watch. But Single and Ready to Mingle is this weekend at the senior center, and I need to watch my waistline.”

  Ali would have told her she was changing the locks, but she was too busy staring at the contents of the envelope. “One percent. Got it.”

  Ali hung up and immediately called the one person who would know what to do with all of the frilly shit staring back at her.

  “Glad to know you’re done avoiding me,” Kennedy said in greeting.

  “I wasn’t avoiding you.” Ali pushed the collection of magazines cutouts aside and picked up a bubblegum pink silk with her thumb and forefinger. “I’ve just been busy.”

  “Busy avoiding me. I haven’t heard from you since I made that special pie for your dinner.” Kennedy gasped. “It was the pie, wasn’t it? Sugar-free isn’t in my vocabulary.”

  “The pie was amazing,” Ali assured her. “Marty gobbled down two slices and didn’t even suspect a thing. And Bridget was so impressed she asked if you did Paleo wedding cakes.”

  “I haven’t done a wedding cake since college, and I have been tampering with coconut and almond flour—wait. Your sister’s getting married?”

  “I’m looking at swatches for bridesmaid dresses and tablecloths right now.” Ali saw an itemized list titled, HOW TO THROW A POSH AND PROPER ENGAGEMENT SHOWER, and dropped the fabric. “She wants us to wear fascinators, and play Pin the Fascinator on the Bride.” She thumbed through the clippings. “There’s a list of foods I can’t even pronounce, with recipes and instructions and— oh God!” Ali took a huge step back, her stomach churning with nerves. “There’s a note to my dad, thanking him for throwing her the best engagement shower ever. My dad can’t even throw a dinner that doesn’t include a grill and the Margarator. Why would she send him all of this?”

  “Maybe because she wants to include him in her big day,” Kennedy said softly.

  “No, this is her getting back at me for the other night. She knows that Dad will do anything to make her happy, but that he can’t handle putting something this elaborate together, which means I will have to make this perfect or my dad will be crushed.”

  “What happened the other night?”

  Ali pressed her lips together. She was already stressed out over this party; there was no way she could talk about her and Hawk right then.

  “Okay, this deserves an emergency chocolate fix. Friends don’t let friends have a freak-out on an empty stomach. Come over, I just pulled a batch of chocolate-filled croissants out of the oven. And I know everything there is to know about throwing a shower,” Kennedy said.

  “You do?”

  “Well, no, but I know my way around a kitchen, and I know the best way to a solution is through chocolate.”

  “I already have pie.”

  “One can never have too much chocolate in these kinds of situations. Get your butt over here.” Kennedy ended the call before Ali could argue.

  Not that she would have. Kennedy was a great sounding board, and Ali’s closest friend. The two had met last year when Kennedy had first moved to Destiny Bay. They had immediately bonded over a common love of sweets and loathing for the two owners of Two Bad Apples Hard Cider.

  And there they were, a year later—Kennedy was engaged to one of the owners, while Ali had engaged in a two-minute fauxmance with the other. And now she was about to host his ex-wife’s engagement shower.

  Ali put the pie in her fridge and hopped in the shower. Five minutes later, she locked up her shop and, sure to look both ways for good Samaritans, scurried down the sidewalk, past the Penalty Box, and through the front door of Sweetie Pies.

  Even though the morning pastry rush had already ended, the bakery was still a hive of activity, with a lively coupon bingo game taking up most of the front of the shop, while a line of late-wakers wound their way past the display case, seeing what was left to sample.

  “I was about to send out a search party,” her friend said, coming out from behind the counter.

  Kennedy wore a light blue cardigan with a coordinating sundress, pearl buttons, shoes fit for a stripper, and what looked like a glob of chocolate on her butt that matched the tray of treats in her hand. A tray that came with five delectable selections, two forks, a mountain of whipped cream, and extra hot fudge on the side—just in case
.

  “I thought I was here for breakfast,” Ali said. “That looks like a tasting to me.”

  “Just a few ideas for a high-society cocktail party. And enough sugar to make the impossible seem possible.” Kennedy set the plate down at the far end of the counter and pulled up a stool. “Dig in, but I warn you, Destiny Bay’s Bible group has labeled my chocolate truffle cake one of the seven deadly sins.”

  “Death by chocolate doesn’t sound all that bad right now.” Ali took a forkful, keeping a careful eye on Bitsy Cunningham, the pastor’s wife, just in case she had her handbag ready to swing. She took a bite and the rich chocolate and bitter hints of espresso exploded in her mouth, making her moan—loudly. “Sinful indeed.”

  “Are you serving some of your gateway treats, Miss Sinclair?” Bitsy said, her voice half condemnation and half envy.

  “No, Ms. Cunningham. I’m doing a tasting for Ali.”

  “Is it for her big reveal party? I heard about that; the town’s been talking of nothing else since it was posted in the paper.”

  Ali had been so caught up in Bridget’s drama, she’d completely forgot about her own party. A party like Bridget’s, which would consist of close friends and family.

  Unlike Bridget’s, though, Ali’s gathering would be a cozy party of seven—thirteen if she included the old farts from the welding club.

  “No, it’s for my sister,” Ali said, forcing a smile. “She’s getting married.”

  “Again?” Bitsy eyed the plate one last time. “Well, then you might want to skip the two pieces on the right, since you’re already on the weekly prayer circle for tangling with Hawk and his stick.”

  “What?” Ali inhaled and some of the chocolate powder stuck to the back of her throat, choking her. She reminded herself that all of the witnesses to their kiss were in Seattle or out on their sailboat playing skipper, but it did nothing to tame the thundering in her chest. “I didn’t go anywhere near his stick!”

  “That’s not what I heard from the Senior Steppers,” Bitsy said. “According to Fi, Hawk came out swinging with purpose last week right before he stormed into your shop. Gave everyone a good scare.” Ali wanted to argue that he’d given them a good show, but was still working to dislodge the cake—and panic—from her throat. “He said something about stolen merchandise.”

  Ali relaxed. “It was a simple easement issue. All resolved now.”

  Kennedy snickered and Bitsy didn’t look convinced. Thankfully Ms. Collins started screaming bingo and waving her card in Fi’s face, so Bitsy had to drop the inquisition and go into mediator mode.

  “And Friday night,” Kennedy asked with a laugh. “Was that an easement issue, too? Because from what I heard, you had your hands all over Hawk’s property.”

  “I kept my hands to myself,” Ali pointed out. “And where did you hear that?”

  “Judy Baker was bird-watching through her binoculars again, and saw the whole thing.”

  “She also says Larry at the Gas and Go looks just like Channing Tatum.”

  Judy was nearsighted, nosy, and lived across the street from Marty. She ran the local chapter of Single and Ready to Mingle, and the only place she ever aimed those binoculars was through Marty’s bathroom window—right at shower time.

  Kennedy rested her palms on the counter and leaned in. “And what about your lips, did you keep those to yourself?”

  “Are you always this nosy?”

  “Only with my friends.”

  “This is why I don’t have many friends,” Ali mumbled.

  “You love me, and I love you, which is why…” Kennedy’s smile faded and she lowered her voice. “I wanted to make sure that you didn’t—”

  “Make it into something more than it is?” Ali said on a sigh. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  She loved turning discarded materials into something beautiful and meaningful. And yes, she might have given in to a daydream or two over Hawk. But Ali was a realist, and there was no reality where she and Hawk could ever be more than they were.

  Friends.

  No matter how great that kiss had been.

  Kennedy was looking at her strangely. “I was going to say, you didn’t let Bridget get between you and Hawk.”

  Ali rolled her eyes. “The only thing between me and Hawk is an unlikely friendship based on irritation, distrust, and childish pranks.”

  “Huh, I’ve been watching you two circle each other since I moved here, and I’ve always thought it was chemistry that was one admission from combustion. And according to June, that kiss was more of a mauling.”

  “The kiss was pretend.” Ali let out a breath, but it didn’t help. She had made a rash decision, then let things get out of hand.

  Not intentionally, but a huge miscalculation all the same. That kiss, which she was sure had been a joke to him, scorched her so hot she could still feel the burn. Everywhere. Which was why she should have never instigated it. Hawk loved a challenge, Ali was pretty sure she might still love Hawk a teensy bit, and both of them loved Bridget.

  Queen of her own world aside, she was still Ali’s sister—and the one person Hawk couldn’t manage to get over losing.

  “Bridget was about to drop the marriage bomb and I knew how much it would hurt Hawk, so I panicked—”

  “And kissed him?”

  “I know, it wasn’t the best idea, but it distracted Bridget enough to make the announcement and then leave the topic of how in love she is with her new life and new man alone.”

  Kennedy’s smile was back. “And what if it backfired and now Hawk won’t leave you alone?”

  Ali laughed. “The only reason Hawk went along with the stupid plan was because I backed him into a corner.”

  Kennedy lifted a brow. “Then why did Hawk buy a single slice of your favorite pie this morning?”

  “Because he felt bad that my dinner turned into an episode of Bridezilla.” He’d also wanted to make her know that, in the whirlwind that was Bridget and Gail, he was proud of her.

  “It’s been three days and she managed to assemble and send me this.” Ali opened her backpack and pulled out a swatch book, the dreaded How To list, and enough clippings to equal six wedding magazines.

  “Her ideas are actually pretty impressive.”

  “Bridget has always known how to pretty up a room.”

  “Maybe so, but these lamp decorations are creative and stunning. If she was going to be in town next summer, I’d hire her to plan Luke’s and my wedding,” Kennedy said, flipping through the clippings.

  “She’s been planning weddings since she was five. Barbie always had the most elaborate receptions.”

  “I bet.” Kennedy stopped halfway through, and met Ali’s gaze. “Wow, she’s invited half the town. Who is she looking to outdo? Princess Kate?”

  “Herself,” Ali said, knowing that Bridget needed this time to be bigger and better than the last. The more elaborate the party, the more right her decision would feel. Until it was all over.

  And then her sister would feel lost and empty. And start looking for the next high. Bridget was in love with the idea of love. But she didn’t know a thing about creating lasting relationships.

  Sadly, neither of them did. Which brought Ali to the most important reason why that kiss could never go anywhere. Life had taught her that, for whatever reason, she wasn’t the kind of person who inspired lasting love.

  Her friendship with Hawk was too important. She wouldn’t dare risk asking for more, only to wind up with nothing. She’d been there, done that song and dance before. Wasn’t interested in a repeat.

  Just like she wasn’t interested in a repeat of how broken up her dad was when Bridget invited him to her first wedding—as merely a guest.

  “You know you can count on me to help,” Kennedy offered, and Ali felt a strange pinching in her chest. “I suck at decorating and themes, but I can make that menu with my eyes closed.”

  “Thanks,” Ali said, putting the papers back in the envelope. “But first I need
to find out exactly what my sister’s intentions are.” With her dad—and with Hawk.

  Because his name was at the top of Bridget’s guest list.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Ali pulled up to her sister’s house. It was a three-story colonial that was all rose-covered lattices and Burberry drapes. So polished and showy, it was more George Washington than Washington State—and hard to believe Hawk ever lived there. But he had; for five years he and Bridget had spent the off-season in that house.

  Together.

  Ali sighed at the reminder, then walked up the front steps, where she could see her sister inside—entertaining a group of suits. Ali glanced down at her faded jeans and BITE ME tee and considered leaving and coming back another time. But it seemed that she’d used up all of her stealth moves on Hawk, because Bridget looked right at her through the window and motioned for her to come to the door.

  The front door opened and Bridget stood there looking like a model from one of the magazine clippings Ali had in her hand. She also looked genuinely excited to see Ali.

  “Thank God you’re here,” she said, slipping out on the porch and closing the door. “Jamie’s colleague Stew was trying to explain to me how he was the reason that Y2K never happened.”

  “Stew, the not-as-handsome-as-Jamie guy you were trying to set me up with?”

  “Mom tried to set you up with,” Bridget said, then looked behind her again at the crowd inside.

  “I didn’t know you were having an announcement party or I would have just called.”

  Bridget waved a hand. “This isn’t for the wedding, it’s just Jamie’s monthly mingle night for his clients. They talk tech, trends, and—”

  “Croquet?”

  “I was going to say zoning laws.”

  Three things Ali couldn’t see Bridget being interested in. “Sounds thrilling. I won’t keep you.”

  “Don’t worry, he won’t even notice I’m gone,” Bridget said as if that wasn’t another reason to kick the pecker to the curb. “Are you here to tell me that you talked to Nolan Landon?”