Blythe, wobbling her way onto Commercial, hoped Rachel was right. The congestion on the street made her nervous. It would be embarrassing enough to topple over, but running into a pedestrian or car was her worst-case scenario. She reached for the hand bell more times than was necessary, and a few people looked at her funny. Or was she imagining it?
Still, it felt incredibly liberating to be on two wheels. A giddiness overtook her, and she picked up speed when she turned toward Race Point Road. Why, oh why, had she not been on a bike in so long?
She pulled into the gravel path entrance of Garden Renovations Nursery. From much past experience, she knew she could get a little crazy in garden shops, so she stuck to her list: a forty-pound bag of compost, trays for transplanting, and loose-leaf lettuce, mesclun, Brussels sprouts, and carrot seeds.
Oh, but that wooden birdhouse would look so adorable in Amelia’s front yard…
“I see you have your hands full there. Can I help you take some of that up to the counter?”
He sure could. The man was handsome as could be, with a thick head of silver hair and smiling brown eyes. He was tall and tan, and for the first time since falling into her casual beach routine, Blythe felt self-conscious about her unkempt appearance. Her hair was loose and slightly wavy, her face completely bare of makeup. In Philadelphia, she wouldn’t drive to the WaWa convenience store looking like that, never mind walk around town.
With a smile, she handed him the heavy bag and trays. “Thank you. I should have gotten a cart, but then I have a bad habit of filling it with more than I need.”
“You’re not the first to strategize how to get out of here with minimal damage to the bank account. I know more than a few people in town whose significant others don’t let them set foot in here by themselves.”
“Well,” she said, following him to the front counter, stopping to admire a potted orchid, “that makes me feel a little better.”
“Do you want this packed up for delivery?” he asked. She found herself looking at his hands, one of the first things she noticed about men, even back in the days when she was assigned a dancing partner. This man had wide, shapely hands with neat nails. She wondered if he gardened or just happened to work here. Or did he own the place? And she noticed he did not wear a wedding ring. Then she pretended to herself she hadn’t noticed.
She realized he was looking at her expectantly. “Oh—my address. Right.” She gave him the street number of the house.
“And your name?”
“Blythe Bishop.”
“Nice to meet you, Blythe Bishop. I’m Warren Ames. You’re staying with Amelia and Kelly?”
“Yes. You know them?” Stupid question. Everyone knew everyone in this town.
“I certainly do. But you are definitely a new face around here. What brings you to Provincetown?”
“Just…visiting.”
“Last I knew, Amelia didn’t have a garden.” He printed the sales slip and slid it across the counter for her signature. “You must be very ambitious to tackle that soil.”
“I guess you could say I need a project.”
He smiled. “How long are you in town for?”
“Until Labor Day weekend,” she said. “I originally just came for a week with my daughter but we ended up staying.”
“This place has that effect on people.”
A short line had formed behind her. If Warren Ames noticed, he certainly didn’t seem to care. He slid a few packets of Buttercrunch and Red Sails lettuce seeds across the counter, telling Blythe why he preferred them to the varieties she’d selected. “I’m throwing these in the bag for you. Give them a try.”
Surprised by the gesture, marveling at how lovely it was to be in a town where people were so warm and welcoming, she thanked him profusely. She turned to leave, but then he said, “Blythe? One more thing. Can you put your phone number on the delivery slip?”
“Oh! Of course. The house number or—”
“Your cell number would certainly make me happy,” he said.
Biting her lip to contain her smile, she scrawled it on the paper.
She started heading back to the house, but instead turned to go to the beach.
When the dunes came into view, she slowed to a complete stop. The sun was bright and hot. She straddled the bike with both feet on the ground and looked through the small handbag she’d placed in the wicker basket in front of the handlebars; it held her wallet, her phone, Nivea lip sunblock, and a bottle of water. She took a sip of the water, then kicked the bike back into motion, cycling through a path to the beach. It was already crowded.
She parked the bike and walked a few feet into the dunes. They were high, threaded with grass and vibrant green plants and dotted with bright pink beach roses. She turned her face to the sun, willing to risk a few seconds of UV exposure to bask in the glorious feeling that there just might be life after being Mrs. Kipton Bishop after all.
Marin walked Julian to the Pilgrims’ monument, then up and down Commercial. They hit all the highlights: Cabot’s Candy. Shell Design. Atlantic Accents. She saved her favorite store, Provincia, for last. An adorable white clapboard shop toward the western end of Commercial, Provincia was filled with Portuguese fine pottery and art, a heavenly little gift shop that tempted her every time she walked past on the way to Thomas and Bart’s.
But she’d never enjoyed it more than she did in that moment, looking through the shelves with Julian, pointing out hand-painted olive dishes, floral-patterned earthenware dinner sets, glazed tiles, Luxo Banho soaps, and mugs and pitchers decorated with images of fish or olive branches.
“What’s with all the roosters?” he asked. Ah, yes, the roosters; lots and lots of clay roosters, tiny three-inch roosters, giant bookend roosters, roosters half a foot tall. All painted with black bodies and adorned with colorful flowers and hearts. A quirk of the shop she’d never questioned. “I don’t know,” she said.
“They’re good luck,” said the man behind the front counter.
“Is that so?” Julian picked up one of the larger birds.
“According to Portuguese folklore, that is so.”
“Well. We could use some luck.” Julian carried the bird to the counter.
“Is it a gift?” the man asked, removing the price tag.
Julian winked at Marin. “As a matter of fact, it is.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Rachel woke up, slipped on her orange flip-flops, and headed down to the kitchen, as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. It was the moment of truth for her cheese, which had been resting in the molds, refrigerating, for a full twenty-four hours. She’d drained the last of the whey yesterday afternoon. If she’d done everything right, it should be ready to serve.
As she pulled it out of the top shelf of the fridge and set it on the kitchen counter, she noted the cheese was white. A tad lumpy. Not, to be honest, very appetizing. Was it okay? She clearly should try a piece before serving it to the guests. But the thought of the rennet…
Still, she knew it was her job as hostess. What if it was horrible? She would disgrace the family! She had to take a bite.