First Comes Marriage (Aster Bay #3)

Chapter Two

“Aunt Lucy!” Sabrina shouted, the screen door slamming behind her. “I’m home!”

Her great aunt’s house was creaky and badly in need of updating, but the sunshine streaming through the oversized windows danced on the dust in the air, and the faint smell of potpourri permanently emanated from the curtains and cushions in the living room.

It felt more like home than any place she’d lived, including her parents’ Brookline estate. Even the little house she and her ex-husband had shared in Kennebunkport for the last four years hadn’t felt like home. Not like Great Aunt Lucy’s house did. Not like Aster Bay.

Sabrina stepped out of her tasteful flats and slid them into position on the mat by the front door like her mother had taught her. “Aunt Lucy!” She plucked a thumbprint cookie off the plate on the counter, dipping her finger into the raspberry jam in the center and sucking the sugary gel from her fingertip.

At the edge of the kitchen, the curled cord of the wall-mounted telephone disappeared around the corner into the sunroom. Grabbing a second cookie and grinning to herself, Sabrina followed the cord into the airy room where her father’s aunt preferred to take her afternoon tea. There, on the small loveseat facing the picture window overlooking her garden, sat Aunt Lucy, the banana yellow phone receiver pressed to her ear.

“Oh, Ruthie, she just got home,” Aunt Lucy said into the phone. Then, tilting the mouthpiece away from her lipsticked smile, she said to Sabrina, “Come in, dear. Ruth Greene is telling me about the Bazaar.”

Sabrina flopped into the floral-patterned armchair at the side of the room as her aunt “uh-huh”ed and “mm-hmm”ed her way through the next few minutes of her phone call. Aunt Lucy’s eyes flitted towards Sabrina, her brow wrinkling. “Yes, very interesting.”

Sabrina mouthed “What?” but her aunt ignored her, choosing to instead run her eyes appraisingly over Sabrina’s outfit.

She shifted uneasily in the seat, popping a cookie into her mouth to have something to do as she felt her aunt taking silent inventory of her appearance. The tailored khakis and sage green silk blouse were exactly the kind of outfit her mother would have approved of, but she wasn’t supposed to worry about that kind of thing. She and her therapist had agreed that, at age thirty-one, it was high time she stopped concerning herself with what her mother might think.

So why had Sabrina hesitated when faced with the option to wear jeans and the comfortable crochet crop top she’d originally pulled from her closet that morning? Why had she instead ironed her trousers and fussed over how many delicate gold chains to string around her neck before going to a church bazaar?

Because you can still hear her voice in your head, even if you know you shouldn’t care.

Sabrina slouched a little in the armchair, because she knew her mother would have hated it if she’d been there to see. Which, of course, she wasn’t. Sabrina had chosen to move in with her great aunt after her divorce precisely to avoid the kind of running commentary on her life choices that would have dogged her steps in her parents’ home .

“I certainly shall,” Aunt Lucy said into the phone. “And tell Norm it’s settled. I’m sure Sabrina will be more than happy to help. Thank you, Ruthie.”

Sabrina waited while her aunt returned to the kitchen to hang up the phone, reappearing in the sunroom with two glasses of iced tea. “What’s settled?”

Aunt Lucy pursed her lips in that way she did when she was keeping a secret. It was the same look she’d give Sabrina when, as a child, Sabrina asked where her parents had hidden the Christmas presents. But Aunt Lucy could never keep a secret for long. Sabrina just had to be patient.

Aunt Lucy eyed her over the top of her iced tea as she took a long sip before firmly changing the topic. “Apparently there was quite a stir at the Bazaar. You didn’t happen to notice a commotion at the dunk tank, did you, dear?”

Sabrina’s stomach clenched, reminding her of the knots that had formed there that afternoon and refused to budge since. “No, I don’t think so,” she lied.

“Hmm. You might be the only one.”

“Did something happen?”

The image of Sebastian Graham, dripping wet and staring daggers at her across the fairgrounds, came to her unbidden. He’d always been attractive in that tall, dark, and broody way, but she was surprised to learn the simmering anger in his gaze had a rather inconvenient affect on her ability to form complete thoughts. Her therapist would have plenty to say about that, she was sure. Sabrina forced herself to focus on her last cookie, dragging her finger through the jam as though baked goods could make her forget the look in his eyes.

“Well, you see, for several years we’ve had a mystery man in the dunk tank. In costume. And today, he was unmasked.” Sabrina hummed in acknowledgment but kept her eyes on her cookie. “You’ll never guess who it was.”

“I don’t know many people in town anymore, Aunt Lucy. ”

“You know him.”

Sabrina shot her aunt a warning glance. “No, I really don’t anymore.”

Aunt Lucy sighed. “Once upon a time you used to think he was a very nice man. We could hardly get you to stop talking about him. Why, if he hadn’t been engaged to Holly, I almost would have believed that you—”

“Yes, Auntie, we all know how much you like Sebastian.” Best to put an end to that line of conversation. No good could come from revisiting what Sabrina may or may not have felt about her sister’s former fiancé.

Her aunt sniffed the air and resettled in her seat. “He’ll make someone a fine husband one day.”

Heat crept up Sabrina’s neck. She knew everyone blamed her for turning her sister into a runaway bride, and she’d never be able to convince them it hadn’t been her fault. Holly was the perfect daughter, the picture of Ivy-league propriety, the beautiful one, the successful one, the sensible one. Everything Sabrina wasn’t. No one wanted to know that Holly had been having an affair with a partner in her law firm. They would much rather believe that Sabrina was to blame for the embarrassment of Holly leaving her fiancé at the altar.

And for ten years she’d let them. It had seemed like a small price to pay for Sebastian’s happiness. Even if it meant he hated her.

But that was before he had looked right through her, as though he could erase her from existence with a glare.

That was before Sabrina had lost everything in a painful divorce and been forced to move into the spare bedroom at her great aunt’s house in a town far too small for her to have any hope of avoiding Sebastian Graham.

There had been a time when Sabrina had counted down the hours until she could see him again. When she would have done anything to make him happy, even confront her sister on their wedding day.

There was a time when she thought he would have done the same for her.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Aunt Lucy sighed. “Well, never mind. Let’s enjoy our night together before you jet off.”

Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “I just got here a few days ago.”

“Yes, well, when one is trying to start over, it’s best to dive right into the starting,” Aunt Lucy declared, as if she hadn’t spouted some kind of fortune cookie nonsense.

“I have started. Being here is the start.” An uncomfortable thought turned her stomach and she leaned closer to her aunt. “I thought when you offered me the guest room that you understood I’d be staying. Indefinitely. It’s going to take a little while before the studio can open and then probably even longer until it’s turning enough of a profit for me to get a place of my own. I guess if I wait to buy health insurance, I could probably move out sooner, but—”

“Don’t you worry about that, dear heart. You stay as long as you like,” Aunt Lucy said with an exaggerated flutter of her hands.

Sabrina smiled uneasily. “Thanks, Auntie. Now if I could just get my business permits—”

“Oh, did I not tell you?” Aunt Lucy’s eyes went wide in a poor approximation of an innocent expression.

“Tell me what?”

“Ruthie Greene and I have arranged a way for you to get into the good graces of the Merchants’ Association and speed up that pesky permitting. Think of it as a sort of extended play date.”

“Auntie, I’m thirty-one years old. You can’t arrange a play date for a woman in her thirties.”

“I can and I did,” she said smugly. “There’s a charming young woman who owns a lingerie shop in town, helped me figure out my correct bra size—did you know most women are wearing the wrong bra size? You see—oh, how did she explain it—it’s something about bands that are too large and cups that are too small. Or was it the other way around?”

“You want me to have a play date with the woman who sells you bras?”

“Natalia. You’ll love her. But no, dear, that’s not who I’ve arranged this meeting with.”

“I thought it was a play date.”

“Play date, meeting, they’re all the same. Anyway, last week when I was in Natalia’s shop getting fitted for a new bra, she mentioned that the Merchants’ Association was having a doozy of a time finding someone to represent the town at some sort of convention. To help with the tourism, you see. Someone to take notes at all the sessions and share what they’ve learned when they return. And I thought to myself, who do I know who has quite a head for these sorts of things? Who might, oh, I don’t know, have a somewhat risqué pottery studio they’re hoping to open sooner rather than later, who would benefit from making herself indispensable to that very same Association that needs to approve her plan before she can open?”

For all she pretended to be an unassuming old woman, Great Aunt Lucy could plot with the best of them. “Where is this convention?”

Aunt Lucy fluttered about as she gathered up their iced tea glasses. “The Association takes care of everything—your travel and hotel and food. And someone else will be joining you. A nice young man from town, if I’m not mistaken.”

Sabrina’s stomach dropped. “Who?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Natalia was a bit fuzzy on that detail, but I’m sure she said it was one of the young men who plays trivia with Ruthie and her friends every week, and Ruthie confirmed that they are all fine, upstanding gentlemen.”

“Auntie, I thought we talked about this. I don’t care how upstanding he is, I’m not looking to get involved with anyone. ”

“Yes, of course, dear heart. All I’m suggesting is that whoever is joining you, the two of you will have a wonderful time in Las Vegas. And if you happen to have a glass of wine together at the end of a long day, and he happens to be single and attractive—” Sabrina arched an eyebrow at her aunt. “Now don’t give me that look. Ruthie tells me the Association is so grateful for your willingness to step in—everyone else has a family or a shop they need to tend, you see—that you’ll have an answer about your studio by the time you return."

Sabrina sighed. “What a fortunate coincidence you just happened to hear that they needed someone to go to this mysterious convention.”

It wouldn't be the worst thing to spend a few days doing a good deed for the town she intended to call home. If it fast-tracked her approval to open Get Clayed, it would be worth it. And it would be nice to get to know another business owner in town, even if this whole thing reeked of a set up. The last thing she needed in her new post-divorce life was a ‘nice young man.’ She’d already had her rebound fling, thank you very much, and now she was ready to settle into spinsterhood.

“Make sure you pack something sparkly. Men like a little sparkle.”

“Auntie, I’m doing a favor for the Association, not looking for men.”

“Who says you can’t do both?” Aunt Lucy laughed. “You know, Aster Bay has quite a few eligible bachelors—and only one of them used to be engaged to your sister.”

***

The knocking on the door resumed, but Baz turned up the volume on his stereo, the music filling his apartment and bouncing off the steel and concrete finishes. He took another sip of his Scotch and slumped down in his chair, the glass dangling from his fingers as he closed his eyes and tried to sink into the sea of sound.

Maybe if he stayed this way long enough, he’d drown in it, inhale enough of it that he’d no longer see Sabrina when he closed his eyes, the shock and hurt on her face, as though she had anything to be hurt about. She was the one who’d betrayed him, goddamn it. Maybe if he had another Scotch, he’d stop thinking about the way her hair fluttered about her face and the full curve of her hips in pants that looked too expensive to wear while eating fried food sold from a roadside cart.

Maybe he could forget she existed altogether.

The sound of a key turning in the deadbolt on his front door broke through the music, but Baz ignored it. Ignored, too, the muttered curses and clomping of heavy shoes moving across his apartment. He took another sip of his Scotch, never opening his eyes, as someone turned off the music.

“So much for not caring,” Ethan muttered at his side.

“Fuck you.”

Gavin sighed. “I told you we should have come earlier.”

“I’ll make coffee,” Jamie announced from the open concept kitchen.

Baz slowly opened his eyes, keeping his gaze locked on the rolling waves of the bay through the wall of windows at one end of his apartment. He lifted his glass to his lips again, but Ethan snatched it from his hands. “I think you’ve had enough for one night.”

“I’m pissed off, not drunk,” Baz grumbled.

“We brought food,” Jamie said over the sound of Baz’s microwave whirring to life. “Pizza.”

“To soak up the booze,” Ethan said with a pointed look.

“I’m fine. You can go.”

“Doubtful. Besides, we need to settle this before the Merchants’ Association meeting tomorrow night.” Gavin held up a worn Scrabble box in one hand and a tin of Uno cards in the other. “What’ll it be?”

“Pain in my ass.”

“We love you too.” Jamie thrust a mug of coffee at him.

He accepted the mug and went to the wall of glass overlooking the bay as Gavin and Jamie set up the evening’s board game at his dining room table. Baz rested his forehead against the glass, letting the coolness seep into his skin. Ethan came up beside him, his hands dug into his pants pockets.

“You wouldn't be day drinking because of a certain redhead who happens to be back in town, now, would you?” Ethan asked.

If Ethan was surprised that Sabrina’s reappearance in town had rattled Baz, he didn’t show it, and Baz wasn’t sure if he was grateful or frustrated. He deserved to have someone call him out for the hypocrite he was, for tying himself up in knots after a fleeting glimpse of the woman he claimed to hate. Someone should point out that he hadn’t had a single feeling about a woman in a decade, and it was fucking ridiculous for Sabrina, of all people, to be the first to get under his skin. But he should have known Ethan wouldn’t be that person.

“I heard she’s staying with Mrs. Page,” Ethan offered.

Baz took a sip of the coffee, wincing as it burned his tongue. He glanced at Ethan, clocking the thoughtful narrowing of his eyes. “Just fucking say it.”

“Is all this, the Scotch and the music, because you’re upset she’s back, or because you’re upset you care?”

Baz ignored the question, which was its own kind of admission.

“She submitted an application to the Merchants’ Association for some kind of pottery studio. Seems like she might be planning to stick around for a while,” Ethan continued.

Baz snorted. “A pottery studio? Guess she decided not to get that MBA after all.”

“Maybe it’s time the two of you actually talked about what happened. You used to be friends.”

Again, he ignored Ethan. He didn’t need to talk to Sabrina to know what had happened. He had never been good enough to marry Holly Page. Everyone knew it. It had been stupid of him to have ever thought Sabrina felt differently.

“Are we playing or what?” Gavin called.

Baz took another sip of his coffee and turned to face his friends. “You ready for me to kick your ass?”

Ethan laughed. “Big talk from the guy who’s slurring his speech.”

“Even if I was drunk, which I’m not, I’m better at this game than you’ll ever be.” Baz took a seat across from Gavin at the dining room table.

“Prove it.”

Jamie slid a plate of pizza next to Baz’s elbow. “Standard rules—no proper nouns, and no words that aren’t in the dictionary.” He tapped a weathered paperback copy of the Miriam Webster dictionary that Baz kept in the game box. “No Dothraki, Quenya, Klingon, or any other made-up languages.”

“All languages are made up,” Gavin grumbled.

“Point of order—” Ethan began.

“Yes, the Portuguese names of foods count, but only if there isn’t really an English equivalent,” Jamie said. Ethan leaned back in his chair, mollified. “Mnemonic device acronyms are allowed but only if you have the entire acronym. Loser has to go to this convention next week. No rematches unless there’s a tie for last place. Did I forget anything?”

“Nope. Let’s play,” Gavin said.

“Aren’t you playing?” Baz asked, noting the lack of Scrabble tiles in front of Jamie.

“Tessa’s seven months pregnant. No way am I traveling anywhere. This is between the three of you.”

“And yet, you’re the one who promised Norm one of us would go,” Baz said with a shake of his head. “Isn’t that convenient? ”

“That’s my grandbaby about to be born. I think I should be off the list too,” Ethan said.

“Nice try.” Gavin shuffled the tiles on his rack. “You go first.”

Baz stared at his tiles, the letters blurring and shifting in front of him. He blinked but it was no use. Maybe he was a little drunk after all. And now he was going to lose this game.

Of course, losing might not be that bad. Then he’d be the one flying off to the small-town tourism conference in Vegas, putting a whole country between himself and Sabrina. It would only be a temporary solution, but maybe it would be long enough for him to figure out how to be civil to her when they inevitably ran into each other in the cheese aisle at the grocery store. Long enough to remember that he wasn’t supposed to be attracted to someone he hated.

“Didn’t Norm say something about sending two delegates?” Gavin asked. “Two of us have to go to this thing?”

Jamie shook his head. “Mrs. Greene said she’s filled the second spot already.”

“Then one of us has to spend a few days in Vegas with our former elementary school teacher. Nothing weird about that at all. You’re up, Baz.” Ethan leaned back in his chair with a smug smile.

Ethan and Gavin had already played their opening words, each one six letters and worth more points than Baz could calculate after drinking four fingers of Scotch. Squinting at the board, he lay down two tiles.

“That’s the best you can do?” Ethan laughed. “Do you want to go to this conference?”

Baz glared at him.

“If you’re only going to play swear words, you’re going to have to get more creative than that,” Gavin said, inclining his head towards Baz’s move.

“Shit isn’t a swear. They don’t even bleep it on TV,” Jamie said.

“Huh. I guess you’re right.” Gavin lay out his own tiles .

“I thought we said no made-up words.” Baz pointed at Gavin’s mess of consonants. “How the hell do you even say that?”

“Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge,” Gavin said. “Mnemonic device. Didn’t you take piano lessons with Mrs. Blumenthal when you were a kid?”

“I thought it was Every Good Boy Does Fine,” Ethan said.

Gavin shrugged. “Either way.”

It didn’t take long for his friends to completely destroy him, putting more than a hundred points between their scores and his.

Jamie clapped him on the shoulder as he stood from the table. “I’ll let Norm know to put the plane ticket in your name.”

Playing Scrabble when he was the only one who’d been drinking might not have been his best idea, but as much as he hated losing, he was starting to think that going to this conference might be exactly what he needed to get his head on straight. A few nights in the city of sin on the town’s dime, an anonymous out-of-town hookup or two, and by the time he returned to Aster Bay he’d be prepared to face his ex-fiancée’s little sister.