Brooke halted with a drinking glass poised over the sink, staring at Emily as if to gauge the legitimacy of the question. “Sure,” she said dryly. “I’m dating twins. Their names are Slim and None. How about you?” She opened the dishwasher and started loading the glasses in.
“Nope. I’m too busy working and taking care of Chloe.” And she was, so the fact that Ryan Taggert popped into her mind just then meant nothing. Even though she could very clearly picture the red tie hanging around his neck, and the day’s worth of stubble that covered his face as they’d stood in the hall of that hotel last night. But so what? He hadn’t come down to the bar to have dinner with her and Chloe, and he hadn’t been on the ferry this morning either. If he was interested, he wasn’t making much of an effort. So, yeah. It meant absolutely nothing at all.
She scraped away the thought of him along with the leftovers on the plate she was holding over the trash bin.
“I’m pretty busy working, too,” Brooke said. “And . . . I’m thinking about running for mayor.” The comment was tossed out with nonchalance, as if she’d just mentioned how she’d bought a dozen eggs from O’Doul’s grocery store.
Emily looked up from the plate in her hand. “You are? Isn’t Harry Blackwell still the mayor?”
“Yes, and he’s about a hundred and forty years old. Just because this island is historic doesn’t mean the mayor has to be, too.” That was said with a little more passion, like maybe that dozen eggs had cost twice as much as she’d expected.
“That is an excellent point. What about your job at the school? Wouldn’t you miss teaching?”
Brooke was the one and only science teacher at the one and only school on the island. Grades one through twelve all fit inside the same building with about 150 kids attending each year. Academics had come naturally to Brooke, so it was a surprise to no one when she went into teaching. In fact, it was often said of her that the only time she’d ever been sent out into the hall, it was for extra credit.
Brooke turned on the faucet to rinse the knives and forks. “Sure, I’d miss academics, but I think being the mayor might be a nice change of pace. I could use a little of that, you know? I’ve got lots of ideas, and I think I could have a positive impact.”
That was Brooke. It wasn’t enough that she’d taken care of her family or even her students. Now she wanted to take care of the whole island. And if anyone could, it was her. “I think you’d be great at it. You’re great at everything.”
Brooke chuckled, brushing away the comment with a wave of her hand. “I know a thing or two about a thing or two, but I seem to be good at herding cats, so if I can handle a classroom full of noisy kids, I think I could manage this island’s government. But I don’t know. I haven’t decided for sure yet.”
It wasn’t like Brooke to be indecisive, and there weren’t that many times in their lives when Emily was the one to offer reassurance. Here was a chance. “I think it’s a really good idea, Brooke, and I’m not just saying that to be nice. You know I never say stuff just to be nice. I think if you want to be mayor, you’d be a fantastic one.”
Brooke fussed with the faucet handle and blushed. Accepting compliments was nowhere on her résumé.
“And besides,” Emily teased, “Mayor Blackwell used to pinch my cheek every time he’d see me and I hated it. For that reason alone, you have my vote.”
That got a laugh from her sister. “Good to know you’re willing to stand up for your convictions. I promise to never pinch your cheek.”
Chapter 6
The sun was low in the sky, casting pink and purple shadows as Ryan climbed aboard a horse-drawn taxi to head to the cottage his father had rented. They’d spent the afternoon shopping for all the stuff Tag had insisted he’d need in order to fully experience the island. He now had new hiking boots, thick socks, waterproof pants that zipped off at the knees to turn into shorts, a hat with a wide brim, and several T-shirts depicting the various and supposedly appealing aspects of Trillium Bay. One shirt simply said Up North. Apparently that was a place. At any rate, he’d bought so much damn stuff he could stay the entire summer and never have to find a Laundromat. In fact, they’d shopped so long that they ran out of time to go hiking.
“See?” Tag had said as he’d left Ryan at the Rosebush Hotel with his arms full of new merchandise. “I told you that you’d be busy here. We’ve already had to postpone something.”
Shopping was not Ryan’s idea of being busy. Being busy involved work, and as of yet he hadn’t seen the hotel project his father was currently involved with, nor had they discussed the hush-hush project that Tag wanted Ryan to consider, and it was hard to consider anything when he had literally no details. That was something he fully intended to address tonight. Tag was cooking him dinner. Because apparently that was a new thing for him, too. Cooking.
Cooking?
What the hell had happened to him?
A woman. That’s what had happened to him.
As the horse-drawn taxi meandered down Main Street, they passed a few more fudge shops, a tiny grocery store called O’Doul’s, and a library painted a bright aquamarine blue. Ryan breathed in and tried to calm his mind. He had a million and twelve things he should be working on right now. A million and twelve reasons why he wanted to be back in California, but his task here was important. Taggert Property Management needed its president back, and obviously his dad needed his help. Not with the job, but with the bimbo. Bryce and Jack would never let Ryan hear the end of it if he couldn’t make this right.
Competition among the Taggert brothers came as easily as breathing, and as the youngest of the three, Ryan often felt the need to catch up and prove he was just as good as they were. At everything. Just by virtue of being the last one born, Ryan was at a disadvantage, but he made up for that in tenacity and drive.
“That’s the fort, up that way,” the taxi driver said. He was a young guy, probably just shy of twenty, with a mangy head of light brown hair and a day’s worth of scruff.
“The fort?”
“Yeah, you know. Fort Beaumont. Built in 1780 by the British. Wenniway was considered a strategic military location on account of the straits.”
The kid rattled on with a dozen more historical details about the fort and the island, but Ryan blanked on most of it. “And then Chief Eagle Feather rode through the town in his altogether, warning the Americans that the British were coming. Or so the story goes.”
The kid looked back at him, so Ryan smiled and nodded. He’d learned a long time ago how to at least appear to be listening. Especially because he didn’t choose to not listen. It was just that his brain was busy doing other things. “How much farther is it to Beech Tree Point?” he asked.