Emily and Andie spent the day rummaging through the house for antiques they could use to decorate the rental units. Luckily, there were a lot of items that were old and would give the right ambiance, but none were terribly valuable, so it wouldn’t be a hardship if any of the guests got sticky fingers.
Not that either of them expected sticky-fingered guests, but one never knew. Andie found it easier to plan for it in advance than be surprised when it inevitably happened.
Sally and Shane had been hard at work all day; the sounds of saws buzzing and nails being hammered drowned out the creaking of the old floorboards. The sharp scent of freshly cut lumber and sawdust, borne on a slight breeze so welcome in the heat of the day, filtered through the windows as Andie searched the house.
It wasn’t until late afternoon that Andie and Emily got a chance to sit on the porch, glasses of lemonade in hand, and dig through the web, searching for the boutique motels Jules had told Andie about.
“Who knew there were so many boutique hotels?” Emily said as she scrolled through search engine listings.
“No kidding.” Andie watched as Emily scrolled past different articles on hotels and travel. The sidebar was filled with ads for more. Andie was surprised to see how many different hotels had niche themes.
One boutique hotel was all about animals, complete with animal-print wallpaper in the rooms. One was built like an old train station with train-themed bedding and decor. In another, all the suites were decorated like an old Hollywood stage set.
“I think we need to pay attention to the wording of the ads so we can emulate them,” Emily pointed out. “If we can find commonalities, it might give us a hint as to what types of phrasing is effective when we do our own.”
“Good idea.” Andie continued to scroll. “We should see about doing an article about our rooms and the history of the house for that magazine website too.”
“With lots of pictures of the gorgeous view.” Emily swept her arm to indicate the expansive view of the ocean below.
“There are quite a few antique boutique hotels in here. That’s a good sign.” Andie figured if there was more than one, that meant there was customer demand. With this many, they would have no problem booking guests once the rooms were open.
“Look at this one.” Emily tapped the screen on a big ad that took up a wide portion of the top of the screen. “It has a widow’s walk where they say guests can see the ghost of Captain Elijah Perkins’s widow!”
“And this one in Salem, Massachusetts, claims to have the original cast iron pot that Bridget Bishop cooked in before she was executed as a witch.”
“And a black cat,” Emily added. Her brow puckered in a slight frown. “All we have is the quilts. Maybe we should put them on display somehow so people can’t ruin them? They’re too precious and old to let people use.”
“Good idea.” Andie looked through a few of the other ads, worries creeping into her thoughts almost undetected until one in particular settled in. Lots of competition was good, but with so many great choices out there, how would her vacation rentals rise above what was already on offer?
All of the listings she’d seen seemed to have one or two—some had three!—special items with stories that really hooked their visitor’s imagination. She would certainly be drawn to a hotel where Bridget Bishop’s actual cauldron was on display. Maybe her hotel needed something more?
“I see you guys already called quitting time,” Sally said as she came around the corner. Glancing at the computer, she tilted her head to acknowledge the boutique hotel ads. “Going on a trip?”
“No, we’re scouting out the competition.”
“You don’t say?” Sally squinted at the computer as she brushed sawdust from her jeans. “I’m about to melt. It’s too hot for working much longer. I’m thinking a nice walk on the beach would be great to cool us off.”
“Sure would,” Andie agreed.
“And I heard Buddy is having a two-for-one sale down at the hot-dog stand on Smugglers Beach.” Sally leaned against the freshly painted railing and cocked her head to the side. “Didn’t you and Shane used to hang out there when you were in high school?”
“Yeah, it used to be a big hangout for the teen scene.” Andie gave Shane a cautious glance as memories bubbled up. They used to have a lot of fun there.
“Bet you haven’t been there in a long time. You guys should check it out.” Sally shoved Shane over toward Andie. “You both look hot. You’ve been working all day. Don’t you think you need a break? I think you need to take a break.”
Andie glanced up at Shane then peered at Sally. Was she trying to fix them up?
Shane looked uncertain, but he unfurled his arms, indulging in a bit of a stretch. “It is hot, and I do love hot dogs.”
He looked at Andie. “What do you say, Andie?”
Shane loved Smugglers Beach. Unlike the beach where the Clam Shack was, Smugglers was nestled under a cliff with a huge rock jetty that reached out into the ocean. As a child he used to search the pools of water left on the rocks for sea life. As a teen, he’d spent quite a few nights partying on those rocks. The best times of his life had been spent here, aside from when his kids and grandchild were born.
He wondered if Andie remembered those days at all, or if she had put them out of her mind. Looking around at anything so he wouldn’t keep staring at her, he noticed the bench where he’d carved their names was still there. Should he steer her in the opposite direction? No, she probably didn’t remember. Did she?
A quick glance at her face, and he knew she did remember. There was a faraway look in her eyes, one that said she, too, had drifted back in her thoughts to another place in another time.
This had been their place, and when she’d left, he couldn’t bring himself to take anyone else here. He’d come by himself but never with a woman, not even the one he eventually married. But now he was here with Andie, together for the first time in thirty years, and it felt right.
“You want to split a double dog order?” Shane asked, searching for something to break the silence that had grown between them. When he looked at her, he was smiling. Surely she would catch that reference to their past.
She did, and she laughed. He’d only once offered to split an order, and she’d laughed then too. He could eat four or five hot dogs by himself.
“Are you kidding? I’m starving. I want my own order.”
Shane smiled. She looked more relaxed than he’d seen her since she’d come back to town. Possibly more relaxed than when they were kids, too, and he wondered idly what had put the new brightness in her eyes. The last time they’d visited one of their old haunts, she’d brightened then too. Was it possible that she was feeling the same as him? He didn’t dare ask. No, it was best to keep the conversation light and casual.
Shane ordered the dogs—six of them, four with mustard and onion—and then sat with her at one of the picnic tables facing the water where they could look out over the ocean while they ate.
“This hasn’t changed a bit since back in the day, has it?” Andie asked.
“When things are good, they don’t have to change.” Shane’s tone was nonchalant. He didn’t think she’d be comfortable knowing he was still caught up in thoughts of the two of them in the past.
Looking over, his brow rose, and he fought back a grin. Resisting the urge to dab at the blob of mustard on the corner of Andie’s mouth, he pointed to his own mouth and flicked his finger up and down.
“What? Oh, I have food there? Sorry.” Andie swiped at her mouth after downing the rest of the dog. “I always was a messy eater, right?”
Shane was glad Andie didn’t seem to mind talking about before, about that magical period of happiness they’d shared before she had up and walked out of his life. Still, he didn’t want to push things, to push her. That was why she’d left the first time. He’d pushed for them to get married, and it had spooked her. He didn’t want to spook her now.
Pushing up from the picnic table, he gathered up their trash and walked over to put it in the litter bin. It could have been wishful thinking, but his radar told him that Andie might be interested in being with him, at least for the moment, but that he’d have to go slow with her this time.
They’d talked a little, and they’d eaten, but he didn’t want their time together to end. Not yet. He stared at the beach, where the waves rolled in, lapping gently at the sand before floating lazily back. The tide was out, and the sand was exposed past the rocks, perfect for walking. His gaze drifted back to Andie, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, not sure what to do now to keep her by his side.
He remembered when they used to walk this beach, arm in arm, bare feet dragging in the wet sand while they strolled.
Ignoring everyone and everything around them but each other, they’d laugh and splash and laugh some more, and some days, they’d sit on the rocks and talk for hours.
“It’s still early, and the cool air feels good,” he said without realizing he’d spoken aloud. Then his lips quirked, and he nodded toward the water. “You want to go for a walk?”
Maybe, he’d thought, he could get some of that magic back tonight. But then she looked uncertain, and for a second Shane thought he’d pushed too far too fast.
Andie was quiet for a full ten seconds as she stared out at the ocean, and Shane’s peace in the moment died a little, then a little more, right up until she glanced back up at him and smiled.
“Sure. That would be great.”
Shane’s heart lifted. Maybe she didn’t want it to end either.
She got up from the table, and he resisted the urge to take her hand. Slow and steady wins the race, he reminded himself. And he was determined to win—this time.