“After my money? What?” Tag glared at him. “She’s not after my money, Ryan. That’s ridiculous. Now you owe her two apologies. And you owe me one, too.”
What? How the hell was he ending up as the bad guy in this scenario? He was only trying to help. Only trying to protect his dad and the company. Ryan could usually think pretty fast on his feet, but this situation had him at a complete loss. What was the protocol here? The beekeeper sidestepped closer still, holding a pie in front of his chest like a cartoon character trying to hide behind a too-small decoy.
“Chloe,” Emily said, staring at said beekeeper. “How about if you take Mr. Krushnic to that cash register over on the other side of the tent and let him pay for that pie he’s manhandling.”
“But this is more interesting,” Chloe said, earning her a hard stare from her mother.
“Oh okay, fine. Come on, Mr. Krushnic. We’ve been shunned.”
Emily pointed at her daughter’s retreating form, and the beekeeper’s shoulders drooped as he turned to follow.
“You guys need to leave,” Lilly said quietly, staring over at Tag. “Please. We’ll talk later, but we can’t stand here. Everyone is trying to eavesdrop.”
Tag started to reach toward her but dropped his hand before actually touching her. “Are you sure? I don’t want to toss you to the wolves. I don’t need to keep this a secret if you don’t.”
“I do need to keep this a secret. I mean, at least until I’ve had a chance to talk to my dad.”
“Oh my gosh,” Emily said. “Dad is going to have a coronary, Lilly. Holy shit. Do you realize this guy is the same age as him?”
“Shhhhh! Keep your voice down and listen to me. Tag and I have a right to some privacy, so please respect that. And you two”—she tossed a glance at the men—“you both need to get out of this tent.”
Ryan could not agree more. He needed to get out of this tent and find the damn beer tent. Maybe there was even a whiskey tent someplace? That would be even better.
What. The. Hell.
“That was completely uncalled for, Ryan,” his father said as they strode from the tent. “Lilly doesn’t deserve that, and if you think she’s just after my money, well, then you’ve insulted me as well.”
Ryan stopped walking and turned to face his father. “I’m not trying to insult anyone here, Dad, but that girl is half your age. Less than that, even, and I’m worried that you’re not thinking straight.”
“Why? Because I’m enjoying the company of a beautiful young woman?”
“Because you’re talking about quitting your job and moving across the country for some woman you hardly know. A woman who is younger than I am. How do you think this . . . this relationship is going to play out?” He called it a relationship for his father’s sake, but it still seemed like too substantial a word to assign to this midlife crisis masquerading as a love affair.
His dad was flushed, his face stern. “I don’t know, Ryan. I don’t know if it’s going to last a month, or a year, or a decade. I’m not really thinking that far out. What I do know is that I feel alive again. Lilly is sweet and funny, and she makes me feel happy. We’re having fun. I’ve earned that. If I learned anything from losing your mother it’s that fun, just for the sake of fun, is a worthwhile thing. Work is important, too, but it shouldn’t come at the expense of enjoying life. Fifty-nine is not that early to retire, you know. And it’s not as if I’m letting the company fold. I’m leaving it to you boys. You three are more than capable of running the show, so how about you get off my back, huh? How about you mind your business and leave me alone.”
Tag turned on his heel and stomped off toward Market Street, and Ryan watched him go, his mouth opening to say . . . something. But what? What could he say that his father didn’t already know?
He stood there a moment, letting tourists flow around him like water encountering a rock in the center of a stream. He needed to think, because what this situation called for was some good old-fashioned mulling, and nothing helped with mulling like a cold beverage. Time to go find that beer tent. He had definitely earned himself a drink.
Chapter 9
Sunday morning church services on Wenniway Island were roughly one part spiritual rejuvenation and five parts catching up with the neighbors. Not that they all didn’t keep pretty close tabs during the week, but during the summer months everyone was busy dealing with the tourists and their normal socializing time was reduced. Still, they weren’t so out of touch that everyone didn’t know who would be late, who would be a little hungover, who would sit in front and sing the loudest, and who would make a big show of putting money into the donation basket.
“Oh, you see those diabolical Mahoney sisters, sitting there and thinking they are all that and a bag of chips,” Gigi muttered as she, Chloe, and Emily made their way into Saint Bartholomew’s and took their place in the fifth row back, on the right. It was the same place Gigi had sat for the past seventy-five years. It was the same place her father had sat when he was little, and the same place her grandparents had sat. Gigi was willing enough to move from house to house when she got married, but no matter what her life circumstances were, that was her spot in church. Fifth row back, on the right. Woe be it to the poor, unsuspecting island visitor who accidentally sat there. She was not above shooing away a total stranger with her black patent-leather handbag.
“That June Mahoney,” Gigi added, “she says they have plans for those rental cottages of theirs over on Crooked Tree Trail and that I’ll be downright flabbergasted when I see what they’re up to. As if anything those old hags could do would knock my stockings off. I don’t care what they do. I’m not going to let them lure away my renters, and I told her as much. I told her, I said, ‘June, you mind your own business, and don’t you know I have my granddaughter working on the place my second husband left me? And it’s going to be fabulous.’ She thinks she can scare me, but she can’t.”