Under The Boardwalk
Under The Boardwalk
Amie Denman
Everyone’s counting on himWith the sudden death of his father, Jack Hamilton finds himself running the family amusement park, Starlight Point. His first job? Balance the books, and that means raising the rent for vendors like baker Augusta Murphy.Gus won’t accept the new contract…not without a fight. She rallies the other vendors and sets out to negotiate with Jack. At least, she tries. How do you play hardball with a man who’s charming and kind and still grieving? Gus needs to figure it out fast, because the closer she gets to Jack, the more she risks losing everything.
Everyone’s counting on him
With the sudden death of his father, Jack Hamilton finds himself running the family amusement park, Starlight Point. His first job? Balance the books, and that means raising the rent for vendors like baker Augusta Murphy.
Gus won’t accept the new contract...not without a fight. She rallies the other vendors and sets out to negotiate with Jack. At least, she tries. How do you play hardball with a man who’s charming and kind and still grieving? Gus needs to figure it out fast, because the closer she gets to Jack, the more she risks losing everything.
Fifteen seconds went by. Or twenty. It was hard to keep track.
Her feelings were like the cotton candy they sold in bags on the midway. Delicious but delicate. They would melt away in a second.
She released him and stepped back, pushing him away with light fingers.
“What are you doing, Jack?”
“Unless I’m dreaming, that was a hug. And it was the best part of my day.”
“We can’t,” she said.
“We were.”
She held her hand up in a stop-the-car gesture. “This was a mistake. It’s late. We’re both giddy and tired.”
“Didn’t feel like a mistake to me,” Jack said.
“Hugging the boss is a mistake for me. Tomorrow morning you’re the man who owns all this and I’m just a vendor for the summer.”
“So?”
She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but vendors aren’t exactly in the first-class cabins on your ship.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_18dd6ea7-e38d-5aa2-893d-0ef740e6b93a),
Thank you for picking up Under the Boardwalk. I hope you enjoy it! This book is dear to my heart because I love amusement parks, the sound of a carousel and summer love. During four summers back in college, I worked at an amusement park just like Starlight Point. While there, I grew up, had fun, indulged my crazy passion for roller coasters and met the love of my life. I still live near the park that inspired Starlight Point, and my husband and I enjoy going there with our children. I’m happy they love roller coasters, too!
I hope reading this book evokes a happy memory of sunshine, carousels and cake. I plan to bring you more stories from Starlight Point in the near future. In the meantime, please visit me at amiedenman.com (http://amiedenman.com), find me on Twitter, @amiedenman (https://twitter.com/amiedenman), or email me at author@amiedenman.com.
Happy reading,
Amie Denman
Under the Boardwalk
Amie Denman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
AMIE DENMAN lives in a small town in her native Ohio with her husband and sons. She is the author of seven published contemporary romances—all of which take place by the water. Reading books was her favorite escape as a child, and growing up four houses away from the community library encouraged her addiction. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys gardening, biking and going for walks with her husband. The helpless victim of a lifetime of curiosity, she’s been known to chase fire trucks on her bicycle just to see what’s going on. Amie believes that everything is fun: especially roller coasters, wedding cake and falling in love. You can find Amie on Twitter, @amiedenman (https://twitter.com/amiedenman).
To my sons, Joseph and David, who love sunshine and roller coasters as much as I do.
Contents
Cover (#u9bc0d2c2-2b8e-5a37-af0e-ff9b0a154e05)
Back Cover Text (#u56395309-7bca-5708-8088-158522485e4d)
Introduction (#u6f2521b4-0fc5-5e51-bd8d-1592e75e2045)
Dear Reader (#ud66220d5-5db5-584e-8b1e-9bbf81186224)
Title Page (#uc48da4e6-509d-545a-a676-522246b7c891)
About the Author (#u94299e7c-3263-517d-a590-ee9c17bebd30)
Dedication (#u0f623561-39d8-5a87-b784-a44623c26716)
CHAPTER ONE (#u56b521b1-9c70-5d8a-88ac-d9b99e3870e1)
CHAPTER TWO (#u74fad99c-b147-53c8-8870-a9a23659c13c)
CHAPTER THREE (#uab578e2a-fe12-512b-9b07-be18031a8247)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uedc8f2a6-f495-52cb-bd87-a40f28a2eeb2)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ufdef0d25-37c0-5cab-be3b-9098124bf93e)
CHAPTER SIX (#u547b0909-e713-5f33-8466-7c505d1faf27)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u0787f93e-c4d4-511b-91f9-75c49f04f4ae)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_1678cd37-df7a-5127-80bf-f2c974dceed8)
GUS BACKED HER van down the narrow kitchen driveway at Bay Pavilion Banquet Hall. She was blocking an older SUV parked illegally along the waterfront, but she didn’t have time to feel guilty about it. The wedding reception was two hours away, just enough time to stack the cake and pipe it to perfection.
She pulled on her apron, an embroidered cake with a glossy bride and groom covering the top half. Two small bells stitched to the upper straps jingled when she walked.
The early-evening sun slanted off her van’s elaborate paint job. Every square inch was pink. Aunt Augusta’s Bakery swirled in gold metallic lettering across an ornate wedding cake. When she’d pulled in with the new van a few weeks ago, her employees had raised their eyebrows and clamped their mouths shut. All except her aunt Augusta. She had snapped a picture with her cell phone and beamed it to her entire list of contacts.
Gus loaded three round cakes on a steel cart, propped open the double side doors to the reception room with her foot and rolled through. When she hurried back for the other two layers, a long shadow darkened the blacktop on the other side of the open van door.
“Cake coming through,” she called out. “Make way or suffer the consequences.”
She expected to see a catering staffer as she folded the door shut and swung around the side of the van. Instead, a tall man wearing a half wet-suit stood there dripping onto the asphalt. He clutched an oar as if he were preparing to vanquish the mighty pink van.
Gus looked him over from head to toe. Dark brown hair shoved back from his face. Deep brown eyes. High forehead. An amazing four inches taller than her five foot eleven. Slim, athletic build. Huge ticked-off frown.
She stopped the cart, stepped in front of it and grabbed a rubber spatula from her apron pocket. Holding the cooking utensil in front of her, she spread her feet and locked eyes with the wet-suit man.
His lips twitched and his shoulders relaxed.
“I’m pretty good with this spatula,” Gus said, her small grin matching his. “You should save yourself and run while you have the chance.”
“I’m thinking,” he said.
“About putting down the oar and holding those kitchen doors for me?”
“Nope. About the last time I ran away from a woman wielding a spoon.”
“It’s not a spoon,” she said, twirling the spatula in a figure eight.
“My mother’s was,” he said, stepping back a few inches but still clutching his oar. “A wooden spoon. And she was looking to teach me a lesson with it.”
“Cooking lesson?”
He laughed. “I wish. My mother can’t cook. It was more of a manners lesson. I’d made fun of my grandmother’s ugly couch, and my mother made sure I couldn’t sit on it for a week.”
“I like your mother already,” Gus said, “and I’m sure you have excellent manners as a result of her instruction.” She tucked the spatula back in her pocket, and the movement made the wedding bells on her apron jingle. “Does this mean you plan to hold the doors for me?”
He eyed the cake painted on the side of the van and then his gaze swung to the cart behind her.
“Does it come with free cake?”
“Sorry. This one’s for the bride and groom.”
“Will helping make you get your van out of my way faster?”
“Am I in your way?”
“You’re taking up the whole driveway,” he said. “I’d like to load my kayak and get out of here before sundown.”
“I might have a wooden spoon in the van,” she said.
He exhaled loudly. “Fine. I’ll get the doors.”
Gus rolled the cart behind the man in the wet suit. Attractive, she thought. Nice hint of a smile. But he appeared to be on a mission.
She was on a tight schedule, too. The wedding reception was now one hour and forty-five minutes away. If everything went as planned, she’d be fine. But handsome strangers were not part of the plan.
Inside, she placed the largest round layer in the center of the cake table, which was decorated with a pristine tablecloth and a gleaming silver knife. She picked up the next layer, carefully turning it so the design would match the bottom layer, and eased it onto the anchor cake. Stacking a wedding cake was in her blood, a skill she’d inherited from her aunt Augusta and hoped to build a business on. If only running a business were as easy as running a perfect line of piped frosting.
Several servers dressed in classic black and white milled around fussing with tablecloths. They placed silverware on other tables in the elegant reception room and glanced pointedly at her, eyeing the space she was taking up with her cart and cake tools. Apparently everyone was in a hurry.
“Do you plan to stand there and watch me?” she asked the stranger. She wondered if he was hoping for a handout. Maybe he’d never seen Martha Stewart on TV and was enthralled watching Gus create a wedding cake.
“I’m waiting for you to move your van.” He rolled his shoulders and stretched.
Oh. So much for enthralled.
“It’ll be a minute. I have to get the three top layers off the side table. The servers want to set that table and they don’t like waiting.”
“Neither do I,” he said.
Gus picked up the middle cake, its small pink flowers arranged in a crosshatch design. She held it over the layer below as she gauged the perfect placement.
“If you don’t want to be inconvenienced, you should be more careful where you park,” she said. “You’re stopped in the access road for the kitchen.”
“No one ever complained before.”
Gus took her eyes off the cake and gave him a tight smile. She was trying to practice restraint. He was attractive but appeared uncomfortable, his wet suit making a funny contrast with the formal linens. He resembled an oak tree accidentally planted among fussy flowering shrubs.
The stranger planted one end of his oar on the carpet and leaned on it. Gus lowered the fourth layer into place. She had to focus on the wedding cake that would bring over a thousand bucks into her shop’s cash drawer. A drawer that barely had change for a fifty.
“If you give me your keys, I’ll move your van myself,” he offered.
Gus stepped back to survey the cake. She grabbed a chair from a nearby table and stepped onto it to look down at the four layers she’d stacked so far.
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “How do I know you don’t plan to steal it?”
His half laugh turned into a cough. “No risk of that. It’s too...”
“What?”
“You know,” he said, gesturing as though he could catch the appropriate words.
“Too pretty?” she asked. “Too large? Too powerful for you to handle?”
He cracked his knuckles. “Lady, I’m cold and tired. I’d like to get home.”
Gus stepped down from the chair and faced him. “Keys are in the van.”
He shot her an unreadable look. Without a word, he turned and strode through the door.
Gus placed the top layer and piped neat borders around the bottoms of each circle, meshing the layers together and bringing the whole cake into focus. Small spring flowers dotted the snowy landscape of white icing and piped designs. Pink rosebuds, yellow daffodils and purple sweet peas trailed over the sides. Perfect for a wedding on the first weekend of May. She dug a camera out of her plastic toolbox and took careful pictures from several angles. It would make a nice addition to her catalog of cakes. Maybe even a portrait for the wall of her bakery.
She rolled her aching shoulders and realized she was mimicking the tall stranger with the wet suit. He was probably long gone by now. She just hoped he hadn’t decided her new van—although pink—was nicer than his old SUV. Just her luck, he was on the highway right now with his kayak bumping around in the back of her bakery truck.
When she left the kitchen, the first thing she noticed was her pink van glowing in the early-evening light. It was parked in almost the same location. But the other vehicle was not. The owner had managed to extricate the ugly brown-and-tan SUV, and it now sat at the top of the access road.
Blocking her van.
The tall man leaned on an old wooden railing along the bay. His trim frame was silhouetted against the sunset and the lights of the amusement park across the water.
Gus stowed her cake tools and slammed the back doors of the van, hoping the noise would inspire the kayaker to leave. She wanted to unload the van, clean her pastry bags and get to bed before midnight for the first time this week. Gus took off her apron and tossed it on the passenger seat near a small box of cookies. Her shop was testing new recipes for sugar cookies, and she’d brought home three different kinds for the weekend.
She took a second look at the white bakery box on the front seat. One corner was open.
She scrutinized the contents.
Cookies were definitely missing.
* * *
JACK TRIED TO think of something clever to say as the owner of the pink van approached. There was no good reason for hanging around. He’d pulled off his wet suit and slipped into worn jeans and an old Starlight Point sweatshirt. The ragged gray shirt had a stretched-out collar and frayed cuffs. The skyline of the amusement park was barely visible after dozens of washings. But it was his favorite sweatshirt, and he felt more comfortable in his own skin when he had it on.
She stopped and leaned on the rail next to him. Without the pink apron, her graceful curves caught his attention and his breath. She was unusually tall, probably just shy of six feet. And although his world was definitely upside down these days, he was sure of one thing. He’d never seen her before.
She looked him right in the eye, a quizzical grin lifting the corners of her mouth.
“Are you Aunt Augusta?” he finally asked.
Probably a few years younger than he was, she wasn’t anything like his matronly aunts he saw twice a year at family parties. Her long brown hair was pulled back, revealing her whole face. Fair skin, delicately arched eyebrows. Her eyes were shadowed by the late-afternoon sun behind her, but he remembered their color. Green.
“Which one did you eat?” she asked.
“Which one what?”
“Don’t deny it. You’ve got cookie crumbs on your face.”
“The carousel horse.”
“Ah,” she said. “That’s a good design. Only three colors, but the Florentine pattern on the saddle really makes it.”
“It reminds me of something.”
She glanced at his sweatshirt. “Ever been to Starlight Point?” she asked.
He coughed. “Quite a few times.” Like, every day of his life for almost twenty-seven years. He glanced across the bay. The lights were coming on at the amusement park. Starlight Point occupied the entire peninsula separating the bay from the larger lake. Although the park wouldn’t open for another two weeks, the lights on the roller coasters glittered in anticipation.
“The carousel-horse cookie is patterned after a horse on the midway carousel.”
“Nice idea,” he said.
“Thanks. I love that place.”
Everybody loved Starlight Point, Jack thought. Especially when roads got paved and taxes poured into Bayside’s city coffers from the largest tourist draw in the area.
“How about the cookie’s flavor? The frosting?” she asked.
“Loved them both. Very sweet,” he said, turning back to look at her and moving closer. “Perfect.”
“I was planning to see if the perfection would last, see how it would taste tomorrow at this time. Longevity is a serious bakery issue. Have to keep it fresh or people won’t want it.”
“Lucky for you I didn’t eat them all,” he said.
“Lucky for you I’m more flattered than angry.”
“I’m glad.”
“So,” she said. “I thought you were in a big hurry. Didn’t you have someplace to be?”
Jack propped a foot on the rail and gazed at the amusement-park lights. The lights on the rides he now owned. Two weeks ago, his father’s sudden death stunned his family. Jack’s steady orbit around his father had been brought to an agonizing halt. Every day since had sped up like a scrambler ride and Jack wished he could just get off.
He shoved away from the rail. “There’s a thousand places I need to be right now,” he said, reaching in his pocket for keys.
Maybe tonight was the night to crack open the good bottle of whiskey a friend had given him after his father’s funeral. He wanted to run for the safety of his twelve-year-old car.
“Good night,” he said abruptly. He walked straight to his SUV, got in the driver’s seat and shoved his keys in the ignition. They didn’t fit. What the heck? He flipped on the interior light. In his hand was a key attached to a pink-and-gold ceramic wedding cake.
Her door slammed. In two seconds, she’d be at his window.
“First my cookie, now my keys?” She leaned in his open window and grinned. “Next you’ll be stealing my heart.”
She grabbed her keys, spun and disappeared. He dug deep in his pocket for his own set, waited a second until he heard her engine start, then rolled over his ignition and headed home.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_00a20b2f-1fb9-576e-a56f-f47fdc855f1b)
JACK HAMILTON STRIPPED off his suit jacket, rolled his sleeves and dug through the toolbox bolted to the side of the blue maintenance truck.
“Find it?” Mel Preston yelled. He was almost one hundred feet over Jack’s head, perched on the Sea Devil coaster. The navy blue track had white crests of paint at the top of each hill that looked like ocean waves. If all went well, the Sea Devil would whip and spin and make riders feel as if they were in the clutches of a leviathan. And the new ride would bring in enough ticket revenue to justify its staggering cost.
Jack, still digging through the metal box, the morning sun in his eyes, didn’t answer right away.
“It’s painted red, should have a gauge on it,” Mel shouted. He started down the narrow metal steps on the side of the track used for maintenance and emergencies.
Jack pulled tools from the box and stacked them on the tailgate.
“I’m almost at the bottom and I don’t think it’s...” Something furry brushed his fingers and then crawled over his hand. He jerked his hand out and took a wild step backward.
“Find my pet spider?” Mel asked, breathing heavily after his climb.
Jack leaned against the side of the truck and closed his eyes. He muttered something he knew his longtime friend would ignore.
Mel poured coffee from a thermos into a disposable cup. “Don’t know if it’s the same spider or the tenth generation. Forgot she’s always in there. Named her Black Velvet.” He opened a toolbox on the other side of the truck and held up a red gauge. “Here it is. Guess I told you the wrong side.”
“Numskull,” Jack said, accepting the coffee. “Can’t decide if I want to fire you or have this truck sprayed. Or both.”
Mel sat on the tailgate, swinging his feet and sipping coffee right out of the thermos.
“That’s no way to talk to your favorite employee. I might cry myself to sleep tonight.”
“How long till opening day?” Jack asked. “Twelve days?”
“Yep.” Mel shaded his eyes and glanced up. “Sea Devil should be ready to go. Just gotta get these hydraulic brakes to pass muster with the state inspectors.”
Jack nodded, looking over the coaster and saying nothing. Maintenance trucks littered the grounds at Starlight Point. The midway resembled a carnival parking lot with the food vendors moving into their stands, employees scuttling everywhere to ramp up for what had to be a profitable season. Had to be. He thought of what would happen if the family-owned park didn’t turn a sizable profit. Jack ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his tired eyes with two fingers.
“Maybe I should have saved that bottle of Jack Daniel’s to put in your coffee,” Mel suggested. He scratched a spot on his jaw and left a trail of black grease. Mel was the same age as Jack, and they’d been friends for twenty years. Mel had worked his way up from seasonal ride mechanic to head of maintenance and knew every nut and bolt on every ride. Now that the whole weight of Starlight Point rested on Jack’s shoulders, he needed Mel’s expertise and advice more than ever.
“How are your mom and sisters handling your father’s sudden passing?” Mel asked.
“About as well as any of us,” Jack said. “Can’t decide if it’s the best or worst timing in the world. Going so sudden like that, only a month before season opening.” Jack sipped his coffee. “Threw us all into a tailspin.”
Mel nodded and fiddled with the gauge in his hand.
“Then again, running our butts off to get this year going takes our minds off it,” Jack said. He leaned an arm on the side rail of the truck bed. For a few seconds, he considered confiding in his friend. If telling someone would make the situation better, he’d do it. Mel was loyal to the Hamilton family and to Starlight Point. The secret would be safe. But there was nothing Mel could do about the loans piled on loans Ford Hamilton had concealed from everyone—even his own son.
“You’ve been training to run this place your whole life,” Mel said. “Probably have a record season. Just wish your dad was alive to see it.”
Jack crumpled his empty cup and tossed it in the construction Dumpster under the new ride.
“Me, too.”
* * *
GUS MURPHY PLACED cookies in her display case and glanced out the gleaming front windows of Aunt Augusta’s Downtown Bakery. Her bakery. Starting this shop with the blessing and help of her namesake aunt had been a leap of faith. She hoped coming home to Bayside last October was the right thing to do. With everything riding on her success, forward was the only direction she could go. But it wasn’t going to be easy.
A woman with short silver hair stopped on the front sidewalk. She was pulling a red wagon carrying a medium-sized brown, white and black dog, its nose and front paws hanging over the side. The woman left the dog and the wagon outside and came through the door, setting off a cheerful jingling. She dug in her purse and pulled out several envelopes.
“Wanted to deliver these personally,” she said, smiling. “Thank-you notes for being so kind when my husband passed. The sweets you sent to the house were much appreciated. Especially by my son, who would live on cookies if he could.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy,” Gus said.
“Virginia!” Aunt Augusta came through the swinging door from the back of the bakery. She hustled around the counter, her apron a loud mix of color and frosting.
“Got some new turnovers for you to try on for size. Let’s sit by the window where you can keep an eye on Betty, just in case the old gal takes off after a bicycle.”
Gus went out front and sat next to the wagon on the sunny sidewalk. She’d hoped the wrought-iron table and chairs in front of her window would attract people in need of a coffee and pastry break. But today she was the only person taking advantage. The life of a baker meant early mornings followed by long days on her feet. She stretched her legs and rested her back against the front wall of the building whose mortgage kept her up at night. What had she been thinking? And now her brilliant idea to bolster her immediate cash flow meant she’d divide her time between her bakery and her business venture at Starlight Point.
She groaned. Betty woke up, nose twitching, and licked Gus’s hand. “I’ll have to wash that later,” Gus told Betty. “Who knows where your tongue has been?” She scratched the dog’s ears.
Betty licked her palm once more as a long shadow crossed the sidewalk. Gus glanced up. Way up. The kayaker who liked cookies stood over her. He looked even better in the daylight. And in a button-down oxford with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Betty leaped from the wagon and put her paws on the man’s knees. He picked her up, ruffling her furry face and ears.
“I’m guessing you and Betty have met before,” Gus observed.
“We’re old friends.”
“You have a lot in common,” Gus said. “She’s tempted by my cookies, too, and I’ve caught her trying to steal one.”
“Still haven’t forgiven me?”
Gus shrugged and smiled. “I was never mad in the first place. I make sweets, people eat them. Sometimes they even pay me. I’m hoping to build a business on that idea.”
He glanced at her apron. “Are you taking a break right now?”
She pointed over her shoulder. “Aunt Augusta’s in charge at the moment.”
He leaned close to the window, looked in and waved. Turning back to Gus, he bent and placed Betty in the wagon.
“You know my aunt?” Gus asked.
“Nope, but I know my mother. I told her I’d pick her up downtown after she delivered her notes.”
Betty settled in with a sigh and put her nose on the edge of the wagon where she could see everything, including the door of the shop.
“Since I’m pretty sure we’re not cousins, there’s only one explanation,” Gus said. “If Virginia is your mother, and Betty loves you like family, you must be—”
“Jack Hamilton,” he said, extending one large sun-browned hand.
So the impatient kayaker who drove an ancient SUV was the new owner of Starlight Point? Of course she knew about his father’s sudden death a few weeks ago—the whole area had been shocked that such a relatively young man had been taken by a heart attack. She had met Ford Hamilton twice to discuss the contract for the three bakeries she would lease at Starlight Point this summer. In her downtown bakery, there had been a lot of speculation about the future of the amusement park, but the counter talk focused on the twenty-six-year-old son who was ready to step in.
Gus had returned to Bayside only last fall to put down roots, but her aunt and Jack’s mother were old acquaintances. Although Gus had seen Virginia a number of times over the winter, she hadn’t met any of the three Hamilton children.
Until now.
Gus took Jack’s hand and pulled herself up. A rush of endorphins whirled through her like a scrambler ride. Maybe it was his smile. Maybe she’d stood up too fast. She held on to his hand.
“Augusta Murphy,” she said. “Most people call me Gus.”
“Why?”
“When I was young, it was because Gus is a much cuter name than Augusta. These days, I think it’s so I don’t get confused with Aunt Augusta.”
“Who would make that mistake?” he said, grinning and keeping a firm grip on her hand. He inclined his head toward the door of the shop. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee to make up for ruining your cookie experiment?”
“My experiment failed anyway,” she said. “I ate the rest of the cookies Saturday night while I watched the TV shows I’d recorded all week.”
“All baking and cooking channels?” he asked.
“Nope. I only watch comedies and reality shows that are nothing like actual reality. I can’t take television seriously.”
“What do you take seriously?” he asked.
“Birthday cake.”
He nodded. “Cake can make or break a good party.”
“Cake is the star of every birthday party and wedding,” she said. “It’s the guest of honor.”
Gus smiled, liking the way the sun picked up the lighter brown in Jack’s dark hair. He smiled back. At that moment, she wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through the hair that waved away from his high forehead.
“Jack,” Virginia said as she came out the shop door. “I see you’ve met the most talented lady in Bayside.” Virginia turned to Gus. “He’s had a love affair with sugar since he could walk. Used to drive the bakery vendor at the Point nuts all summer.”
“He did steal one cookie,” Gus said. “Right out of my van.”
“I’m not surprised,” Virginia replied. “He couldn’t help himself, I’m sure. You have to admit, you’ve got baking in your blood. I was just talking to your aunt about having you be the STRIPE sergeant this summer.”
Aunt Augusta stood in the doorway behind Virginia, hands held out in a gesture of innocence, eyes huge.
“STRIPE?” Gus asked, raising an eyebrow at Jack.
“You don’t want to know,” he said, leaning close to her as his mother turned to say goodbye to Aunt Augusta. “But whatever she asks you to do, I suggest you say no.” He wrinkled his brow and leaned back, cocking his head. “Wait a minute. Are you working at Starlight Point this summer?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know? I...”
Virginia sailed between them, took Jack’s arm with one hand and grabbed the wagon’s handle with the other. Jack stared at Gus as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle, but his mother’s momentum tugged him away.
“We’ll talk,” Virginia said over her shoulder. “Later. I need a strong woman for my mission.”
Betty’s sleepy glance lingered on Gus as she rode in the wagon behind Virginia and Jack Hamilton. Jack turned and looked back, too, and Gus wondered what it would be like to see him every day at Starlight Point.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_6805bbaf-ff25-5576-86fa-d9acbedbf9da)
GUS PARKED IN front of her bakery on the Starlight Point midway. The wide concrete avenue had snack and souvenir shops down both sides with skyway cars running overhead. A few rides and a theater were mixed in among the shops, most notably a historic carousel right in front of her bakery’s new pink awning.
The back of the van, usually outfitted for transporting wedding cakes, held three large convection ovens. One for each of the bakeshops Gus was leasing for the summer. She had another location in the Wonderful West and one in the Lake Breeze Hotel.
Last year the Point’s baker retired only weeks before Gus came home to Bayside. It seemed like a sign from the baking universe that she should make the leap. Now, though, with the sudden death of Ford Hamilton, she needed to get the paperwork in order to confirm the verbal contract they’d negotiated. Not usually the nervous sort, Gus wondered what changes Jack Hamilton might make.
She opened her van doors and stared at the ovens, hands on hips. She glanced at the side door of her bakery.
“How are you planning to unload all that?” The newly familiar voice sent a ripple through her.
Gus had wondered the same thing. Optimism could only get a girl so far. She needed muscle.
And Jack appeared to have plenty of it.
“I’m taking suggestions,” she said. She could use all the help she could find. Getting three bakeshops equipped, staffed, supplied and running in the next ten days would be as easy as teaching a cat to shave.
He shrugged off his dark gray suit jacket and slung it over the open van door. Gus thought he should shed the crisp white dress shirt, too, just to be on the safe side. But he rolled up the sleeves instead.
“I’m not busy right now,” he said.
Gus laughed. She gestured at the chaos everywhere around them. Maintenance trucks and crews crawled along the midway like ants over ice cream spilled on the sidewalk. Other vendors parked in front of shops and hauled merchandise. The skyway cars groaned into action overhead, shaking off their winter’s rest.
“Right,” she said. “This place probably runs itself.”
Jack looked at the overhead cars and then rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands. “Sure. How about we trade? I’ll put on an apron with those little bells, and you can wear my name tag, which pretty much asks for trouble.”
The cell phone in his coat pocket rang, vibrating loudly against the metal van door.
“Are you going to answer that?” she asked.
“Can’t. I’m busy helping a vendor I just met. I wondered who would replace our old baker. I grew up stealing sweets from him.” He gestured toward the pink awning. “I like the improvement already.”
Gus pulled a two-wheeled dolly out of the van. “I’m just getting started. I should have been here weeks ago, but I’ve been busy with spring wedding season.”
“How are you going to manage summer wedding season?”
“One cake at a time,” she said as she climbed into the back of the van.
Gus shoved the first boxed oven to the rear and Jack manhandled it onto the cart. She held the door and watched him muscle it right into a corner of her midway bakery.
“Can I talk you into coming to my bakeries in the hotel and the Wonderful West? I still have two ovens in the van.”
She figured there was zero chance of this happening. The owner of Starlight Point wasn’t likely to waste any more of his countdown-to-opening-day time. Especially since he hardly knew her, but now he knew how heavy those boxes were.
Jack glanced at the wall clock. Its hands were stopped, the unplugged cord swinging beneath it. “Looks like I have plenty of time,” he said.
A few of the other vendors waved and then paused, a puzzled expression on their faces as they saw Jack Hamilton toss his suit coat on the floor of the van, shut the back doors and climb in the shotgun seat with Gus at the wheel.
“Do you usually help vendors move in?” she asked.
“There is nothing usual about this year,” he said, unrolling his window. “Turn just before the Scrambler and we can squeeze out the beach gate and drive down the boardwalk to the hotel.”
It was too early for anyone to be tempted by Lake Huron’s cold waters, but lifeguards swept the beach and set up chairs as they passed by.
“I’m sorry about your father,” Gus said.
Jack kept his head turned, watching the beach and lake. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Gus wanted to ask how he planned to manage the park and if she would see a contract anytime soon. She regretted the handshake and verbal agreement she’d made with Ford Hamilton. She’d planned to sign the papers a month ago, but then everything changed.
The financial risks she’d taken woke her up in the night, but her problems were nothing compared to Jack’s. Losing a parent and gaining a huge family business in one fell swoop? That was a sleep stealer.
“Should be a quick drop-off at the hotel bakeshop. And I bet you know a shortcut through the Wonderful West to my bakery.”
“We could take the train,” he suggested, turning to her with a hint of a smile. “But there’s a shoot-out on the tracks right behind the Last Chance. I hope you don’t mind listening to gunfire all summer.”
She laughed. “That wasn’t in the contract.”
Jack’s smile faded and he returned to looking out the window as she maneuvered the van into the hotel’s loading dock. He was quiet as they shoved the second box out and deposited it in the bakeshop.
He directed her through a back gate and she drove from the outer loop road straight into the Wonderful West. She dodged queue lines, trees and maintenance trucks as she drove on “The Trail.” A tall, slim girl with a messenger bag slung over her shoulder walked along the trail, her back to them.
Suddenly, Jack reached over and blew the van’s horn, brushing his fingers over Gus’s on the steering wheel.
“My sister,” he said, grinning.
Hand over her heart with an expression of surprise mixed with homicide, the tall girl mouthed the word jerkface as they passed her.
“That was loud and clear,” Gus said.
“Evie loves me. I’m way less irritating than our sister, June.”
“Should I stop?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Evie’s on a mission right now. And so are we.”
“Is she your...um...copresident?”
“No. Still one year left of college. She’ll work here for the summer, but just a regular job. Not as an owner. She deserves one more carefree summer.”
His voice was low and joyless, like an echo outside a funeral. Was it really so bad owning an amusement park?
“Does Evie like to bake? Maybe she could work for me?” Gus asked.
“I doubt she can bake—she certainly wouldn’t have learned from our mom. She’s majoring in accounting. Getting her CPA.”
“Even better. I might just hire her to manage the accounts for my three shops. I need someone strong I can trust, or I’ll never make it.”
“I know what you mean,” he said.
They pulled up to the Last Chance Bakery and wrangled the final oven across the uneven planked porch. Evie swung through the saloon doors just as they slid the oven into place. She had a beautiful smile and looked a lot like her brother, with a few exceptions. Her hair was several shades closer to blond and her eyes were almost green.
“I’m Evie,” she said, sticking out her hand for Gus to shake. “And I didn’t mean you were a jerkface. I know who blew that horn.”
“I’m glad. And glad to meet you. I was just talking to your brother about snapping you up before someone else does.”
“A job?”
“Managing the books for my bakeries here.”
“I would love it,” she said. “I usually work for a vendor because there’s less conflict of interest. Speaking of which,” she continued as she rummaged through her bag, “I’m out delivering contracts to all the vendors right now.”
“Gotta go,” Jack said. “My secretary’s called fifteen times and she’ll probably get on the PA system if I don’t show up.”
Without another word, Jack speed-walked across the bakery’s porch and headed up the trail to the front of the park. Gus wondered why he’d ignored the phone calls for the past hour, but she imagined there was a lot she didn’t know about Jack and his business. Perhaps Evie showing up was the convenient exit he’d been hoping for.
“I’ll come by later when I’m done,” Evie said. “This is the best job offer I’ve had. Especially since the airbrushing stand didn’t work out last year and I’m no good at scooping ice cream. Numbers I understand.”
* * *
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Jack locked the men’s room door and leaned against it, eyes closed, for a full minute before heading for the sink. Cold water rushed over his hands as he scrubbed them mercilessly. Warm water would’ve been better for washing away the grease and construction dust he’d picked up on the latest inspection of the Sea Devil, but he needed to cool off. He stared at the rivers of water rolling over his fingers, imagining all his problems sluicing away.
“Gotta get a grip,” he said. Jack dried his hands, smoothed down and buttoned his sleeves, rolled his shoulders. He refused to look at his own face—his father’s face, thirty years younger—in the mirror.
Dorothea waited for him outside his office door. Her desk straddled the space between his office and the one that was formerly his father’s. No one used Ford Hamilton’s office now, leaving Dorothea half-adrift.
“One of the vendors stopped in to see you while you were out on the Sea Devil.”
“Which one?”
“Augusta Murphy.”
Jack considered Dorothea for a moment. She had to be in her late fifties and had worked for Starlight Point for decades. Maybe if he asked her advice? Maybe she knew all the things his father hadn’t told his own son about the way he was doing business. Doubtful.
“Very tall and very pretty.”
Jack smiled for the first time in hours.
“She also seemed very mad.”
His smile vanished.
“Is she coming back?”
“Wants you to come to her bakery in the hotel. Seems to think she can tell you what to do with your time,” Dorothea said. She grinned at Jack. “I thought that was my job.”
“I planned to stop by the Lake Breeze this afternoon anyway. I want to see if it’s close to being ready for opening weekend. Guess it wouldn’t be much out of my way to see what she wants.”
“I told her not to count on it.”
“Thank you, Dorothea. I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
WHEN JACK ZIPPED over to the hotel on one of the many loaner employee bicycles they kept all over the Point, he hoped to have a chance to talk to Gus alone. He’d been up late worrying about the vendor contracts. His father had always negotiated those, giving Jack only a vague idea of where that income fit into the general scheme of things. He hadn’t even known Aunt Augusta’s was replacing the retired baker until he’d grilled his mother over lunch downtown. Sadly, he was beginning to realize his mother had only a cursory idea of how Starlight Point ran.
Looking in from the outside, everyone probably figured he was privy to all his father’s business decisions. If they only knew. To write up the formal contracts, Jack had researched some boilerplate industry standards, pulled out five years’ worth of Starlight Point contracts and run the ideas past the foods manager. Jimmy Henry had raised his eyebrows when Jack wanted to review the fees and profit share from the vendors.
“Never looked at those before,” he’d said. “Your father only asked me when he thought one of them might cut into our sales. Generally, we get the sit-down business and the vendors get the stand-up. Full-service restaurants are ours, snack and drink stands are theirs. Worked that way for years.”
“I know, but what do you think of the rent and the percent of the profits we charge? Could we get away with raising them?”
“Search me. Can’t speak for any of them and haven’t seen their returns. Maybe they’ve been making out like bandits all these years. Maybe you’ll break ’em if you raise the rent and they’ll all pull out. Wish I could help you, but I run our sit-downs and only get involved if someone competes with my restaurants,” he’d repeated, as if washing his hands of the issue.
“Worried about any of these vendors competing with us?”
“Are they the same ones as last year?”
“All except for the three bakeries. New owner.”
Jimmy had shrugged. “Bakers are bakers.”
When Jack entered the hotel lobby, he wondered if Jimmy had ever met Gus. Perched on the check-in counter addressing a group of twenty or so people, Gus did not look like an average baker.
The room shifted in his direction when he entered the lobby. His tie was loose, his suit coat flapped and he had a rubber band securing his right pant leg. Like his father, he always wore a suit at work, but getting his pants caught in the bicycle chain two summers ago had been enough to teach him a lesson.
He sat in a plush lobby chair, pulled off his black dress shoe and jerked off the rubber band. Everyone watched him. It was as if the guest of honor had entered a surprise birthday party half an hour before anyone expected him.
Gus strode across the lobby, the group right behind her, and stood so close Jack couldn’t get up without looking really awkward. He hadn’t gotten his shoe back on, and now he felt exposed, trapped. Please don’t let there be a hole in my sock. At five foot eleven, Gus was already imposing. And gorgeous. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, hair a little wild.
“Thank you for coming to our meeting,” she said tersely. Each word dripped with ice.
Jack relaxed in the chair, draped an arm across the back and crossed one leg over the other. His black dress shoe knocked against Gus’s shin but neither of them gave an inch. If she wanted to unleash some kind of righteous fury on him about the contract, he wasn’t backing down in front of a lobby of vendors.
“Didn’t know it was a formal meeting,” he said.
“It is now. We want to talk about these terms.” She waved the contract at him. The twenty or so other vendors behind her had similar white papers clutched in their fingers. No one looked happy. Even the ones who’d been here for years. Maybe he’d gone too far. But now he was stuck.
“Go ahead,” Jack said coolly, his glance returning to Gus’s face. “Talk.”
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Jack would’ve liked to tell her she was beautiful when she was angry, but the last thing he wanted was to look flushed in front of a group of ticked-off vendors. Why did Gus have this effect on him and why the heck had she set him up like this? He would have liked a private conversation with her about the lease terms. But this felt more like a sneak attack than a negotiation.
“Twenty thousand for the space and twenty percent of the profits is not the deal I negotiated with Ford Hamilton last fall,” she said.
Other vendors fanned out behind her so they formed a half circle. They nodded in agreement, entrapping Jack in a back-down-or-be-a-butthead situation.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he said slowly, “Ford Hamilton is dead. His verbal contracts are null and void.”
Several of the vendors—Bernie from Bernie’s Famous Boardwalk Fries and Tosha from Tosha’s Homemade Ice Cream—gasped and shook their heads. They’d known him since he was a little boy climbing on their counters and begging for free samples. They’d worked with his father for two decades or more. Maybe he was making a mistake...
“So...?” Gus prodded. “You really plan to renege on the deal we all thought we had—ten thousand and ten percent—on a technicality?” The hard lines of her mouth showed no signs of softening. She plucked the rubber band from the arm of his chair and started snapping it with her fingers.
Jack felt her words like a punch to his chest, knocking his breath away and spiking adrenaline through his veins. “My father’s death is a lot more than a technicality. If you don’t like the deal, don’t take it. Nobody’s forcing you to sign.”
Her mouth dropped open a little and she stepped back. Only a small step, but enough to give him room to stand. He topped her by only four inches, and together they looked like giants in front of a pack of smaller villagers, all angry. Seeing the accusatory faces of the vendors didn’t do a thing for Jack’s mood. He knew he should save face, make a graceful exit, schedule an actual meeting to discuss the situation. But not now. Hard retreat was the only way his tenuous grasp on his emotions wouldn’t crack.
He stared at the lobby wall behind the group, anger, pain and frustration tightening his jaw and spine. He couldn’t look them in the eye. Wouldn’t. It was going to be a season, maybe several, of tough choices. He’d have to get used to it.
“I’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon to sign the new contracts and return them to my office. You are under no obligation to lease space at Starlight Point. If you don’t return the signed contracts by this time tomorrow, I’ll assume you’re backing out and replace you immediately.”
Jack turned and headed for the beach entrance, only pausing a second when he felt the sharp zing of a rubber band on the back of his head as he slid through the doors.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_ac54963e-68ea-5c7d-b5c7-994edf75f6f9)
TOSHA PUT HER arm around Gus, her head barely reaching Gus’s shoulder. “I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or turn him over my knee and spank him,” she said.
“You got a good aim,” the hot-dog vendor said. “I say we elect you as our official leader.”
“I’m the newest one here,” Gus objected.
“But you’ve got three bakeries,” Bernie said. “And I’ll bet you’ve got as much riding on this season as the rest of us.”
Gus thought of the payments on her business loan. No kidding.
“What do we do?” she asked, dropping into the chair vacated by Jack Hamilton. “Tell him to go jump in the lake and take his extra ten thousand and ten percent with him?”
“That’d sure be nice,” Hank said. He tugged at his butcher’s-style shirt, which had Hank’s Hot Dogs embroidered on it. “But I was planning on going to Florida this winter with the money I make this summer. Arthritis is getting to my wife.”
“If we all walk, he won’t be able to replace us in time for opening day, will he?” Gus asked.
The other vendors shifted nervously and exchanged swift glances.
“Probably not right away,” Hank said. “It would put the hurt to him for a while at least.”
“But he’d replace us eventually and we’d be out,” Bernie said. “Permanently.”
“Nobody wants to walk away,” Tosha said. “This has been our summer home for years. We all loved Jack’s father, and those Hamilton kids have practically grown up under our noses. They’re like family. Right?”
No one said anything.
“We could try threatening to walk away and see what he does,” Tosha added.
“I’m afraid he’d let us go. You heard what he said—twenty-four hours to sign the contracts. I’m not so sure bluffing will work on him,” Hank said. “His dad was an easy guy to work for, but I wonder about Jack. Can’t figure out what’s going on in his head now that the whole thing’s in his lap.”
Gus sighed. “I have all my money riding on these bakeries and the one downtown. I’m in deep.”
“I can’t afford to pull up stakes,” Bernie said. “Besides, people expect me to be here...they bring their kids to get the same boardwalk fries they got when they were little.” He spread his hands, looking around him for support. “It’s a tradition.”
“Hate to bother her when she’s grieving, but we could try talking to Jack’s mother,” Hank suggested.
“No,” three voices said at the same time.
“Virginia gets wind of this,” Bernie said, “we’ll all get etiquette lessons for the STRIPE this summer.”
“Lessons?” Gus asked. Virginia had mentioned making Gus her STRIPE sergeant, but she’d let the thought get lost among all her other concerns.
Tosha sat on the arm of Gus’s chair. “Every summer, Virginia plans and operates the Summer Training Improvement Program for Employees. All employees. Vendors, management, security, beach patrol, everyone.”
Hank nodded and grimaced. “Everyone. Part of the contract.”
“Is it part of our contract?” Gus asked. She flipped through the document crumpled in her hand.
“Page four,” Bernie said. “Already checked.”
“So, what does everyone have to do?”
“Depends on the program,” Tosha explained. “It’s usually a skill Virginia considers useful. She always insists that, whatever her crazy idea is, everyone should know how to do it just in case. She views this as more than just a summer job, wants people to take away skills as well as their minimum wage, I guess.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Gus said. “What kind of stuff have you had to do?”
“Change the oil in a car engine,” Hank said.
“Swimming lessons,” Tosha added.
The other vendors jumped in.
“Square dancing.”
“Setting a formal dinner table and polishing silver.”
“Knitting socks and a scarf.”
“Conversational Spanish.”
“Riding a horse—English and Western.”
Gus felt her tension slipping into the soft chair. She grinned. “I had no idea this job came with such perks. I feel like a better person already.”
Bernie groaned. “You gotta understand. Virginia’s serious about this stuff. You not only have to attend a series of classes, but you gotta prove you actually paid attention.” He passed a large hand over his face. “Didn’t think I was going to make it the summer we had to sew a backpack and embroider our name on it. To her satisfaction.” He looked around, a lopsided grin edging up one corner of his mouth. “You know what? I still use that darn thing.”
“How can this be legal?” Gus asked. “It seems pretty far-fetched.”
Hank shrugged. “If it’s in the contract and you sign it, you’re obligated. If you don’t play along, you’re not getting invited back next year.”
“Assuming we make it through this year,” Tosha said.
“Maybe I can help,” Gus said. “Virginia said something about me being a sergeant this year. What if she wants everyone to learn to bake chocolate-chip cookies? I could make it easy for you.”
“No way,” Hank said. “It wouldn’t be that simple. We probably have to assemble a three-tiered wedding cake and deliver it. Just in case we ever need to do that in our lives.”
“Or make a soufflé that doesn’t fall, even in a thunderstorm,” Tosha suggested.
“Or decorate cookies representing every ride in the ever-lovin’ park,” Hank growled.
“Hope not,” Gus said. “I’ve got some signature cookies planned, even ordered special cutters in the shapes of some of the trademark rides. Don’t want anyone stealing my thunder.”
Everyone was silent for a moment.
“So,” Tosha said. “Sounds like you plan to sign that contract and stick it out?”
Gus fooled with the silver A she wore on a chain around her neck. “I’ve got three shops.”
“That’s sixty thousand bucks,” Bernie said. “He’s killing you worse than the rest of us.”
“But I’ve already made a huge investment in equipment, got supplies ordered. I’m in debt up to my eyebrows.” Gus tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and looked up, meeting the eyes of the more vocal vendors standing closest to her. “If I walk away, I lose for sure. If I stay, it’s a gamble.”
“We could try talking to him again,” Hank suggested. “Maybe not gang up on him this time. He’s probably still smarting from everything that’s happened.”
Gus raised one eyebrow, twisting her necklace and chewing her lip. Hank had ketchup and mustard stains permanently occupying his shirtfront, but he had a point.
“I think we should send you,” Bernie said, pointing at Gus.
“Why me?”
“I agree,” Tosha said. “Since you’re the newest of us, you’ve got a more practical approach. Not so much emotional baggage.”
Gus considered her connection to Jack so far. She’d met him for the first time Saturday night in the parking lot. Standing next to him by the darkening bay, she’d felt a tug of...something.
“Plus you’ve got three stores here,” Hank said. “You’re a great choice for spokesman.”
“And you’re the tallest,” Bernie added, smiling.
“Very convincing,” Gus said.
They all waited for her to say something.
“I’ll try to talk to him later today,” Gus said. “I’m interviewing workers for my bakeshops in about fifteen minutes.”
Gus followed the same path of retreat Jack had taken only ten minutes before. The Lake Breeze Hotel was aptly named: its location on the lakeside of the Starlight Point Peninsula opened it to fresh air all year long. A wide sandy beach and a boardwalk were the only things between the massive Victorian structure and the water.
She leaned on the blue metal railing separating the boardwalk from the sandy beach. Bright sunshine and the sparkling lake should have made her happy, but she had a sixty-thousand-dollar lump in her throat. How could she manage it?
Movement way down the deserted boardwalk caught her eye. She turned her head just enough to see Jack Hamilton doing exactly the same thing she was. He leaned on the railing, stared at the sunshine and water, and didn’t look any happier than she did.
Gus considered marching down the boardwalk and negotiating the terms of all the lease vendors’ contracts right then and there. She’d go with honey, not vinegar, this time in hopes of catching something a whole lot more pleasant than the deal they had right now. She’d toss her hair, smile winningly and appeal to his soft side. If he had one.
She took one step. Two steps. And thought better of it. He was brooding. Maybe he was grieving for his father. Overwhelmed by his new responsibilities? Or secretly delighted he finally had the power to profit from people like her, Hank, Tosha and Bernie? Maybe he wanted to drive the vendors out and keep all the cash from the food stands. Whatever his deal was, Gus didn’t think approaching him now would help the vendors’ cause. Especially since he could probably guess who’d snapped a rubber band into his cranium only minutes before. Time might be her friend when it came to figuring out how to deal with Jack Hamilton.
* * *
GUS WAS BEAUTIFUL. And she’d be right under his nose all summer long. Unless he chased her away with his asinine contract hikes.
The sound of a maintenance cart zooming down the boardwalk reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing right now. He glanced up and grinned. Mel Preston bore down on him like a storm from the Northeast, gunning the cart for all it was worth. He whipped past Augusta, nearly clipping her.
Jack pulled off his suit coat and slung it over his shoulder.
“Roll up your sleeves, boss,” Mel yelled over the rattling of the ancient cart. “You’re going up on the Sea Devil with me.”
“Problem?”
“State inspectors. One hour. They’re several days early. They claim it’s just a preliminary, but I don’t want to take chances.”
“Are we ready? Think we’ll pass?”
“We’re gonna try. Get in.”
Jack tossed his jacket in the back of the cart, sat on the cracked vinyl seat next to his best friend and jerked off his tie while Mel whipped the cart around and headed back in the direction he’d come from. They breezed by Augusta, only inches away, and Jack’s eyes briefly met hers. It was probably a good thing he wouldn’t have time to talk about the contract today. The next time they met, it would be on his terms. No angry villagers with pitchforks waving contracts and snapping him with rubber bands.
Jack twisted around in the seat and looked back at Gus. She stood by the railing, facing him. He was getting farther and farther away, but he knew she was watching him. He finally turned and faced forward, trying to put the image of her, with the sun and water behind her, out of his head.
“Heck of a good-looking woman,” Mel said.
“Looks like trouble to me.”
“Know her?”
Jack nodded. “She owns Aunt Augusta’s Bakery. Makes cookies you’d kill for. Gonna operate three vendor shops here this summer.”
“I saw the signs in the warehouse. Our guys will put ’em up later this week.”
“If she signs her contract by tomorrow afternoon.”
“She hasn’t signed yet? Season starts in ten days.”
“None of the vendors have officially signed.”
“Thought your dad handled all that before...you know.”
Jack unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves. “My father left quite a few loose ends when he died. I had to draw up the contracts myself. I changed some of the terms, and the vendors aren’t too happy with me right now. Especially one particular baker.”
Mel glanced over then resumed navigating the rear gate from the hotel area to the back of the Sea Devil. “Never been interested in your business affairs and contracts and such, but I figure you’ve inherited about as much as you can handle.”
“Wish I could tell you you’re wrong.”
Mel laughed. “You love it when I’m wrong.”
“Makes me feel smarter. And right now, I need all the help I can get.”
Mel parked the cart under the new ride. “Wish the inspectors weren’t showing up early, but I think we’re ready. This ride’s been a long time in the works, and we’ve just got a few details to finalize before it’ll be safe enough for your china dinner plates.”
“Nice to know you’ve been earning that generous salary.” Jack punched Mel lightly on the shoulder as they stepped out of the cart and headed for the steel ladder extending from the steps on the first hill of the coaster.
“Doubt you could pay me what I’m worth, but you’re welcome to try,” Mel said.
“Let’s see how the inspection goes. I’ve got a lot riding on the Sea Devil.”
If only Mel knew just how much.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_3151fefd-b460-5f40-9726-8b2a9295fd92)
AFTER A MARATHON session making wedding-cake flowers, Gus stood at her shop door ready to flip the sign to Closed. A tall man loitered outside. He met her eyes but didn’t move a muscle.
She stared back, waiting to see if he would make the first move.
Or any move.
Gus caved first, stepped back and pulled the door open.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you closed?” Jack asked.
“Closing,” she said, managing a small smile until she remembered the thirty-thousand-dollar kick in the gut he’d delivered a few days ago.
“I just...” He stopped. Gus wanted to put him at ease—her natural inclination was to be the sunshine in the rain, especially in the doorway of her own business. She glanced at her apron and fiddled with the knot in front. It was fully decked out in summery designs. Beach chairs, fireworks, bikinis, a flag, a boat.
Jack gestured to her apron. “I like it,” he said.
Gus said nothing, trying for a neutral expression and hoping he would go away. She was the official spokesperson for the lease vendors at the Point, who were getting a rotten deal from the six feet three inches of man standing in front of her. She squared her shoulders and tried not to think of him as an attractive man with a sweet tooth and a smile that could melt chocolate.
“Summer is my favorite season,” he said. He looked pointedly at all the symbols on her apron. “I like all of those things.”
One hundred percent awkward.
He shifted his feet and propped the door open with his hand. “Maybe you could put the Sea Devil on an apron to wear at the Point this summer.”
Gus had broken her own record. She hadn’t kept her mouth shut for this long since she’d gotten her wisdom teeth out in high school.
Jack stepped into the open doorway now, preventing her from slamming the door in his face and locking it.
“I saw that you signed the contract,” he ventured. “All the vendors did.”
Gus tried to relax her jaw. What was the point of his visit? To gloat? She untied her apron, pulled it over her head and hung it on the back of a nearby chair.
“We didn’t have much choice,” she finally said.
“Yes, you did.”
Gus started arranging chairs around the small tables in the front of the shop. Four chairs per table, perfectly spaced and shoved in. There was something satisfying about keeping her hands busy and her back to Jack. She could not look at him. Would not give him the satisfaction. He was on her turf here. He was the one who should be uncomfortable. She aligned the chairs viciously, snapping them into place with their shoulders pinned against the tables.
He approached the glass case and looked at the cookies and cakes on display.
“What I mean is,” he said, “you did have a choice.”
Gus crossed her arms over her chest and faced him. She wanted to get behind her counter, her shield, her fortress of confections—but he blocked her way to the pass-through.
“You could have told me to go jump in the lake with my contract,” he continued, a small grin sliding up one side of his face.
“I thought about it,” Gus said. She’d thought about him quite a lot, as a matter of fact.
He chuckled. “I’m sure you did.”
Gus exhaled slowly. “Sorry if I don’t find it so funny.”
“It’s not. It’s business. Nothing funny about business.”
“Says the man who owns an amusement park.”
He continued to gaze at the cookies in the case. No way was she offering him one now. Even if it would make him go away.
Gus wondered if her aunt was listening to this conversation. Aunt Augusta had helped her all day and should be washing up. Gus should hear water running, but no sounds came from the kitchen.
Jack suddenly stepped closer and looked down at her. He smelled like a man who’d been outside all day, a hint of lake air and a touch of sweat. It was a nice combination. Too nice. She had to keep her mind on her business, which was currently a house of cards built on bank loans and confectioner’s sugar.
“I would have been in a real bind if you’d all refused to sign. Don’t know how I would’ve replaced you all at such short notice.”
Gus wanted to throw something. What was wrong with this guy?
“I’m just so glad we didn’t inconvenience you,” she said, her words laced with bitterness. “I’m sure you’re hoping we’ll all make a nice profit and your twenty percent—instead of the original ten—will be even sweeter.”
“Of course I hope so.”
Gus stared wordlessly at him. Heat crept over her; her ears flamed. She made a Herculean effort to keep her voice from shaking.
“I have work to do,” she said abruptly, clipping off the words and hoping they conveyed dismissal.
“I thought you were closing for the day,” he said.
With a genius like him at the helm of Starlight Point, we’re all in serious trouble. Has he never seen a bakery kitchen after it was closed for the day?
Maybe he didn’t know the first thing about actual work. But she did. She grabbed her apron off the back of a chair and folded it. Jack moved toward the door, leaving the floor open for Gus to retreat behind her counter. She felt braver there, like a judge behind a bench.
“I’ll go,” Jack said. “I just stopped by to say...”
Gus tapped a pencil on the counter while she waited. It was funny to see such a tall, well-dressed man acting so... What was it? Nervous? Guilty? Aloof?
“I know how influential you are with the other vendors,” he said, looking her directly in the eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know why.”
“You don’t know why people would listen to me.” It was a statement, not a question. Of course he wouldn’t get it. She kept her voice steady. “I’m the newest one there and a mere...”
“Baker?” Jack supplied. “That’s one of my favorite professions.”
Gus wanted to laugh, if only to break the tension. Her shoulders were like wild dogs straining at the leash of her spinal column.
“Let me enlighten you. The other vendors asked me to speak for them because I have three locations at Starlight Point. My sixty thousand dollars carries a lot of weight with them and with me.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Speak for them?” he said. “I thought you might come at me without the oven mitts.”
“I did come by the next morning, but your troll of a secretary said you were unavailable and would be all day. She implied I was wasting my time even trying.”
“Dorothea has been with us for centuries. She’s very loyal.”
“I’ll have to name a cookie after her.”
“She’d like that.”
Gus rolled her eyes and continued, “So did you really tell your guard not to let me past the palace gate?”
“It’s a busy time of year,” Jack said.
“Um, you gave us twenty-four hours to make a decision that could make or break our businesses. And you couldn’t make time to negotiate? Really?”
Jack stared at his shoes, his shoulders sagging. “I am sorry I didn’t get a chance to see you.”
“And what would you have done if you had?” Gus asked hotly. “Renegotiated? Offered us a better deal? Honored your father’s verbal commitment to people he’d worked with for years—some of them for decades?” She knew she was stepping over a line, invoking his deceased father, but he’d invaded her shop and insulted her.
Jack stared at her for ten long seconds, the veins standing out in his neck.
“I wouldn’t have changed a thing in the contract.”
Gus’s heart hammered in her chest. She’d pushed him too far for the second time in her role as leader of the vendors. And the results weren’t any better this time around. He had a way of turning her sunshine to storm clouds faster than weather changed in the Midwest.
“Goodbye,” she said.
Jack stalked to the door.
“You know,” he said, “I really came here today to say thank-you.”
And he was gone. One thing was certain. Jack was not an easy man to understand.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_b6260e8e-51c5-568d-978a-338b652ed1ba)
VIRGINIA HAMILTON PARKED Betty’s red wagon in front of the Midway Bakery, where Gus stopped working, wiped her hands on her apron and leaned across the counter, smiling at her visitor.
“All ready for opening day?” Virginia asked.
“You tell me,” Gus said. “How many customers do you think we’ll have?”
“Depends on the weather, of course, and the local schools are still in session a few more weeks, but I’d say we can count on ten thousand or so. A lot of regulars come for opening day every year.”
“Ten thousand cookies coming right up,” Gus said, laughing. “The rest of the special cookie cutters I ordered should be in tomorrow. I think you’ve already seen the carousel horse, but wait till you see the roller coasters—especially the new Sea Devil—on a cookie. My favorite is the Starlight Point skyline. We plan to ice those cookies in dark twilight colors so the coaster lights will really pop.”
Movement on the midway caught her attention. Jack Hamilton rode slowly past her shop on an old tandem bicycle, one of the employee loaners. The vacant seat made him look like a man dancing alone on an empty floor. He waved and continued down the midway, a rubber band around the leg of his suit pants.
Virginia waved to her son and turned back to Augusta. “I know you’re busy, but can I borrow a minute to talk about my summer project? I’d like to get the plans going right away.”
“What can I do?” Gus asked, striving for a neutral tone.
“I was thinking,” Virginia said. “All these young men and women will probably be parents someday. Most of our older employees already are.” She reached across the counter and laid her hand on Gus’s arm. “Family is very important here at Starlight Point.”
And they have no idea how lucky they are. Virginia had lost her husband, but she still had three children close at hand. As an only child with parents who moved often because of her father’s job, Augusta craved the sense of family and belonging that everyone else seemed to have. But she did have her aunt and a fledgling business—otherwise she’d still be adrift.
“Of course,” Gus said as she forced her thoughts back to Virginia’s summer project. “It’s a family amusement park, gotta love families. But what would you like me to do?”
This was getting scary. Was she supposed to teach them about family values? Natural childbirth? Installing a car seat correctly? Sibling rivalry?
Betty snored loudly in her wagon. She’d seen lots of summer improvement programs come and go. Maybe dog grooming had been one of them.
“What is an important thing that all parents should be able to do?” Virginia asked.
“Um...tie shoes? Sing the alphabet in two languages? Apply Band-Aids?”
“Make a birthday cake!” Virginia exclaimed. She smiled broadly and clapped her hands together once, leaving them joined.
“Oh,” Gus said. “That was my next guess.”
“Every parent should be able to bake and decorate a birthday cake for their child.”
“I think so, too. But they can also get one from a bakery,” Gus suggested, grinning. “I could recommend a good one for anyone looking.”
“But not every year, dear. Moms and dads should bake a cake, frost it, make it look pretty and be able to write their child’s name on it. And their age.”
“I think most people figure it out,” Gus said. “I learned how to make a birthday cake from my aunt.”
“Unfair advantage. Not everyone has an aunt Augusta,” Virginia said. “Some people never figure it out and they disappoint their kids every year.” She dropped her large purse onto the counter and dug through it, finally pulling out a packet of wallet-sized photos in a yellowed cellophane holder.
“See this picture? This is Jack’s fifth birthday.”
Gus took the photo, which showed an adorable dark-haired and dark-eyed boy at a kitchen table. Disgracing the table in front of him was the ugliest birthday cake in the world. It was an uneven round shape, covered in lumpy chocolate frosting. Canned frosting. A squiggly red line—probably from the dreadful white tubes sold in grocery stores—made a crooked border. In the center, uncertain writing appeared to spell out Happy Birthday, Jack above a disproportionate and crooked number five. The only things that pulled the scene together were the five flaming candles and the happy family behind him.
His father, looking much like Jack did right now, held a girl who appeared to be about three. Virginia, much younger, had a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“That’s our middle daughter, June,” Virginia said. “She’s in New York City working as a dancer in a Broadway production. Our younger daughter hadn’t come along yet when that picture was taken.”
“It’s a beautiful picture,” Gus said.
Virginia looked at her, both eyebrows raised.
Gus laughed. “Okay. All except for the cake.”
They both laughed, and the sound echoed under the steel awning. Betty climbed out of the wagon. She licked her owner’s hand and wagged her tail. Maybe she knew the word cake or she just liked a good party.
“See my point?” Virginia asked. “With your talent, you could improve the birthdays of hundreds, even thousands of children.”
“That many? That’s a lot of birthdays.”
“We have two thousand employees here this summer.”
Gus’s shoulders sank. “You want me to teach two thousand people to make a fancy birthday cake?” Right now, all she could think of was baking enough cookies for one day—opening day, only seventy-two hours away.
Virginia took a long, slow breath. “Not all two thousand. Always made it a requirement in the past—didn’t want people to miss out on a good thing. But this season is different. Life’s too short to make people do things they don’t want to do. Or have time for. So I’m making it voluntary this summer. My STRIPE program is getting soft in its old age—that’ll shock some of our longtime employees, I know. People who want to learn to make a cake can do it.” She shrugged. “The rest of them will miss out.”
“I understand that the STRIPE clause is in the contracts,” Gus said.
Virginia shrugged. “I’ll take it out. My son, Jack, is officially taking over, but I’m still his mother and have some influence. Besides—” she paused and smiled “—I don’t think anyone’s going to fight me on making it voluntary.”
“I still don’t know,” Gus said. She wasn’t sure she could handle the STRIPE program, but her thoughts swung to Virginia’s influence. Could she be an ally in contract negotiations?
Doubtful. Blood was thicker than water.
“You’ll probably have only a couple hundred students at the most. And you’ll have help. I always get volunteers.”
“I’m just worried about spreading myself too thin, running these three bakeries while my aunt handles the downtown one.”
In answer, Virginia held up the picture, raised her eyebrows and pointed to the ugly cake in front of her adorable son.
“Oh, all right,” Gus said.
Birthdays tugged at her heart. They represented permanence, family and tradition. No matter what part of the country or world her father’s job took their little family to, birthdays were celebrated the same. How could she pass up the chance to make hundreds or thousands of birthdays brighter?
Virginia squeezed Gus’s arm. “I’ll be your first student. Jack turns twenty-seven on June first, which is also my birthday. Best present I ever got. Maybe you could help me surprise him with a cake. My daughter June will be here that weekend and of course so will Evie. Think you could give her the day off?”
“Sure. She’s going to be my account manager and supervise the Lake Breeze bakery, but family birthdays are more important. I’ll help you learn to make a perfect cake, but only because I love a challenge.”
Virginia laughed. “I need people like you and your aunt to cheer me up. This is my first summer without Ford in more than thirty years.” She tried to cover her tears by leaning down to scratch under Betty’s chin. “I wonder sometimes how all this can go on...but my Jack has a will of iron.”
“I’ve heard that,” Gus commented.
“But a soft heart,” Virginia added. She picked up Betty, plunked her in the wagon and rolled away.
Gus wondered just how soft Jack’s heart was.
* * *
TOSHA, BERNIE AND several other vendors came by as Gus finished stocking and cleaning the Midway Bakery. The sign crew had already been there and a large electric cookie with the name Aunt Augusta’s Midway Bakery hung over the shop.
“I should get a new sign,” Bernie said. “Had the same hand-painted French-fry sign for fifteen years.”
“Can’t afford it this year,” Tosha commented.
Gus propped her elbows on her counter. “I’m sorry. I tried to see him before the deadline. Three times. I should’ve fought harder for all of you.”
“Nonsense,” Tosha said. “It’s business. And you’re not responsible for all of us. You’ve got enough on your plate. I plan to see how this summer goes and then reevaluate for next year. Gonna take it one ice-cream cone at a time.”
“Summer hasn’t even started and we’re already in too deep to change anything,” one of the souvenir vendors said. Ricardo sold Starlight Point hats, shirts, key chains and plastic snow globes featuring the roller coasters and the Star Spiral. “Got all my merchandise ordered already.”
“One thing I’m not short on is employee applications,” Tosha said.
“Me, too,” Bernie agreed. “But I only need a few summer workers. Had to turn a bunch of ’em away this year. Way more than usual.”
“A friend in human resources told me Starlight Point was cutting the summer workforce ten percent across the board. That’s two hundred people they’re not hiring,” Tosha said.
“Apparently the new management figures on keeping more of the profits for themselves,” Ricardo grumbled. “I think they’re going to learn some things the hard way.”
“Doesn’t solve the problem of our contracts,” Hank reminded the group. “That’s what I’m worried about right now.”
“We could try renegotiating later in the summer,” Gus suggested.
“Don’t see why Jack would do that,” Bernie said, “unless it was in his favor.”
“I guess I don’t, either,” Gus admitted. “The only thing I can do right now is get all my shops ready for Saturday and hope like crazy I’ll make so much money this summer I can cheerfully hand over a chunk of the profits.”
They all nodded seriously.
“And if I don’t, I’ll chase him down and pelt him with rubber bands until he either cries uncle or names a roller coaster after me. The Zinger.”
“That’s the spirit,” Tosha said. “Now back to work.”
Gus headed for the Wonderful West and her Last Chance bakery. With her long stride, she zipped past her friends setting up their food and souvenir stands, power walked by the Scrambler and passed the old Silver Streak coaster that had stood by the bayside of the peninsula for forty years. Carousel music put a spring in her step and strengthened her hopes for a great season.
A bicycle bell jingled right behind her, cutting into “In the Good Old Summertime” tinkling from the carousel organ.
“Ride?” Jack asked.
He pulled in front of her on the red tandem bicycle. Although early in the summer, he already had a nice tan. His dark hair waved back from his forehead, his deep brown eyes less serious than usual.
Gus stopped on the bright white concrete, which was baking in the afternoon sun.
The ride was tempting. The Wonderful West was a good hike from the front entrance, and her hair was already stuck to the back of her neck. But the shade trees were just ahead. She could make a break for them and resist the charming and enigmatic Jack—the man who made her heart race and her blood boil.
“Depends on where you’re going,” she said in an attempt to stall and escape gracefully.
“Canada,” he answered. “It’s just across the lake.”
“I figured. Are you a decent driver? How’s your safety record on this thing?”
Jack planted both feet, balancing the bike between his long legs. Gus felt the heat even more. Why did the company owner and general enigma have to be so attractive?
“See this scar?” he asked, pointing at a small white line on his chin. “That was from my first bike accident.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-five. I’ve gotten more careful since then.”
“I see,” she said. “I’m considering your risky offer.”
“Last Chance.”
“I’m thinking.”
“No, I mean, I assume you’re headed for your Last Chance bakery. You might as well get on and save your energy for opening day. I’m hoping for fifteen thousand people. At least.”
At the thought of baking fifteen thousand cookies, Gus surrendered and swung her leg over the seat in back. She would need all her energy if his prediction came true. From the backseat, her view was all broad shoulders and tailored suit. Why didn’t he get heatstroke in those suits?
“I can’t see anything from back here,” she said.
“Don’t need to. You can’t steer, either.”
Before she could protest, the bike started rolling. Gus gripped the handlebar and pedaled, trying to accustom herself to being totally at someone else’s mercy. She focused on the shops, restaurants and trees whizzing by. She attempted to summon carefree childhood memories of racing on a bike, the wind in her hair. But she wasn’t fooling anyone. She wanted to steer that bike like kids wanted to catch Santa on Christmas Eve.
Especially when Jack careened much too close to a tree. And when he skirted the edge of a curb in front of the HoneyBee kiddie coaster. He nearly crashed into an oncoming bike, but swept to the side at the last second and gave Gus only a brief glimpse of the near disaster.
The man was a maniac on a bike.
“I want off,” she said.
“Trust me. I could do this with my eyes closed.”
“I think you are.”
He finally stopped in front of her Western-themed bakery sandwiched between the shooting gallery and the train tracks. She stepped off the bike, straightened her apron and admired her new sign as she tried to regain her equilibrium. The sign was like the one at the Midway Bakery, but Aunt Augusta’s Last Chance Bakery was spelled out in neon ropes and the cookie wore a cowboy hat.
“Nice,” Jack commented. “You’re breathing new life into these bakeries.”
He planted his feet again. Gus thought for a moment he’d put down the kickstand and invite himself in. Instead he sat and looked at her as if he were at a loss. He must have a million things to do with only days until the season started. Just like she did.
“Work to do,” she said, unable to restrain a smile.
He nodded. “Want me to pick you up later? It gets pretty lonely on this bike by myself.”
“I think I’ll take the train,” she said, sounding much more flirtatious than she wanted to.
“Too dangerous. We’re training new engineers before the season starts.”
Gus laughed and then sobered quickly, thinking of how late she’d be here tonight and how she’d have to struggle all summer to make a profit. She’d be baking and decorating faster than the spinning rides in Kiddieland.
Gus couldn’t invite any kind of a friendship with Jack Hamilton—too many people depended on her commitment and hard work. And her current loyalty was to the other vendors. Even after only a few weeks, they were starting to feel like family.
“You’re a busy man, I hear. Too busy to be bothered with lease vendors like me.”
The smile creasing his face and lighting his eyes flashed out like a switched-off bulb. Gus felt a stab of guilt at her bitter words. But they were the truth.
She walked away and shoved through the swinging saloon-style doors into her bakery.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_887b514b-4169-5c38-b86f-34cf3eb6096f)
JACK’S GUT WAS doing somersaults as he did a walk-through of Starlight Point on the afternoon before opening day. If he’d had to sign anything right now, he wouldn’t have been able to hold the pen steady. The nervous tension was like a vibrating drum in his chest, its rhythms spiking upward through his neck and shoulders.
He had done this final walk-through with his father every year of his life. He barely remembered the early years, but he had seen pictures—him riding in a red wagon behind his father as he pointed out all the changes and new rides constructed over the winter. He noticed everything—even as a child—any new sign, a different paint color on the trim of a building, a cart parked in a new location. And the rides, of course he noticed those. He was still a ride junkie after all these years.
But he was all grown up. His mother hauled Betty around in that red wagon now.
“Want company?” Evie asked, her voice and her hand on his arm equally soft. His youngest sister had always been a quiet force in an energetic house. June had tended toward fiery competition mixed with fierce love and loyalty. Evie was more like their mother. Quietly determined, strong underneath.
“I’d love your company,” Jack said. “But...”
“Don’t worry.” Evie grinned, pointing at her running shoes. “I’ll keep up.”
“Good thing. Or you’re going in the wagon.”
They walked briskly, both of them blessed with the long Hamilton legs. From the front entrance to the farthest Western-themed train station at the tip of the peninsula, it was just shy of one and a half miles. Starlight Point was a deep peninsula jutting into the lake, covered with rides, food, noise and people. A long beach on the lakeside and a curved marina on the bay side made sure the fun didn’t end where the water began.
“Are we going through the hotel, too, floor by floor and hall by hall?” Evie asked.
“That’s your favorite part. When you were little and got to come along, you used to make up stories about all the famous people you imagined staying in the rooms and walking the hallways.”
“In pretty dresses and fancy dinner clothes.”
Jack grimaced. “If you must.”
“Just don’t hide then jump out and scare me. I hate that.”
“Come on,” Jack said. “I haven’t done that since...”
“Last year.”
“Has it been that long? I’ve got some catching up to do. People will think I’ve lost my reckless charm.”
Evie was silent a moment as they passed through a park entrance toward the beach. They clunked through the turnstile and paused to watch the water as they leaned on the ornate iron beach railing.
Jack turned and found his little sister staring at him. “What?” he asked.
“I was thinking how much you look like Dad.”
“Not sure that’s a compliment. Do I look that old?”
“No,” she said. “Not yet anyway. Maybe after a few months in charge of this place.”
Jack laughed and draped a long arm over Evie’s shoulders. She was only twenty-one, and the six years between them made him feel protective of her, made him wonder how and when he was going to tell her the truth about their father’s debt. He couldn’t put it off forever and risk dumping a mess on his family. Like his father had.
“I miss him, too,” he said. “I wish I could go back in time and say some things. Ask some things. If I’d had any idea...”
Evie wiped a tear from her cheek, pulling back to look at her brother. “If you’d known you’d be running Starlight Point this summer, what would you have asked Dad?”
“How to do everything.”
“You already know everything about Starlight Point. You’ve been training to run it since you were born. I thought Dad shared everything with you already?”
Jack frowned and stared at his feet.
“You’ve been his right-hand man,” Evie insisted.
Jack turned his gaze to the water, not sure how much to reveal to his younger sister. Protecting her meant lying to her.
“You know,” Evie continued, “the secret trapdoors, the key to the safe, how to get gum off the midway, what we do with the giant collection of coins we find under the coasters. All that stuff.”
“I know about the coins at least. We donate that money to a local charity. Mom picks one every year.”
“See,” Evie said, smiling and patting his arm. “You’ll be fine.”
“I wish I had as much confidence in me as you do.” He tried to keep his voice light as he took her arm and steered them down the boardwalk toward the hotel.
After his father’s unexpected death, his mother had turned the company over to her three children. They were equal partners and owners. His sisters had unanimously elected Jack the leader and president because June lived out of state and Evie had one year of college left. Jack’s excitement about the leader’s job hadn’t lasted long, but his mother and sisters believed in him. And he had no choice but to keep moving forward.
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Amie Denman
Everyone’s counting on himWith the sudden death of his father, Jack Hamilton finds himself running the family amusement park, Starlight Point. His first job? Balance the books, and that means raising the rent for vendors like baker Augusta Murphy.Gus won’t accept the new contract…not without a fight. She rallies the other vendors and sets out to negotiate with Jack. At least, she tries. How do you play hardball with a man who’s charming and kind and still grieving? Gus needs to figure it out fast, because the closer she gets to Jack, the more she risks losing everything.
Everyone’s counting on him
With the sudden death of his father, Jack Hamilton finds himself running the family amusement park, Starlight Point. His first job? Balance the books, and that means raising the rent for vendors like baker Augusta Murphy.
Gus won’t accept the new contract...not without a fight. She rallies the other vendors and sets out to negotiate with Jack. At least, she tries. How do you play hardball with a man who’s charming and kind and still grieving? Gus needs to figure it out fast, because the closer she gets to Jack, the more she risks losing everything.
Fifteen seconds went by. Or twenty. It was hard to keep track.
Her feelings were like the cotton candy they sold in bags on the midway. Delicious but delicate. They would melt away in a second.
She released him and stepped back, pushing him away with light fingers.
“What are you doing, Jack?”
“Unless I’m dreaming, that was a hug. And it was the best part of my day.”
“We can’t,” she said.
“We were.”
She held her hand up in a stop-the-car gesture. “This was a mistake. It’s late. We’re both giddy and tired.”
“Didn’t feel like a mistake to me,” Jack said.
“Hugging the boss is a mistake for me. Tomorrow morning you’re the man who owns all this and I’m just a vendor for the summer.”
“So?”
She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but vendors aren’t exactly in the first-class cabins on your ship.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_18dd6ea7-e38d-5aa2-893d-0ef740e6b93a),
Thank you for picking up Under the Boardwalk. I hope you enjoy it! This book is dear to my heart because I love amusement parks, the sound of a carousel and summer love. During four summers back in college, I worked at an amusement park just like Starlight Point. While there, I grew up, had fun, indulged my crazy passion for roller coasters and met the love of my life. I still live near the park that inspired Starlight Point, and my husband and I enjoy going there with our children. I’m happy they love roller coasters, too!
I hope reading this book evokes a happy memory of sunshine, carousels and cake. I plan to bring you more stories from Starlight Point in the near future. In the meantime, please visit me at amiedenman.com (http://amiedenman.com), find me on Twitter, @amiedenman (https://twitter.com/amiedenman), or email me at author@amiedenman.com.
Happy reading,
Amie Denman
Under the Boardwalk
Amie Denman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
AMIE DENMAN lives in a small town in her native Ohio with her husband and sons. She is the author of seven published contemporary romances—all of which take place by the water. Reading books was her favorite escape as a child, and growing up four houses away from the community library encouraged her addiction. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys gardening, biking and going for walks with her husband. The helpless victim of a lifetime of curiosity, she’s been known to chase fire trucks on her bicycle just to see what’s going on. Amie believes that everything is fun: especially roller coasters, wedding cake and falling in love. You can find Amie on Twitter, @amiedenman (https://twitter.com/amiedenman).
To my sons, Joseph and David, who love sunshine and roller coasters as much as I do.
Contents
Cover (#u9bc0d2c2-2b8e-5a37-af0e-ff9b0a154e05)
Back Cover Text (#u56395309-7bca-5708-8088-158522485e4d)
Introduction (#u6f2521b4-0fc5-5e51-bd8d-1592e75e2045)
Dear Reader (#ud66220d5-5db5-584e-8b1e-9bbf81186224)
Title Page (#uc48da4e6-509d-545a-a676-522246b7c891)
About the Author (#u94299e7c-3263-517d-a590-ee9c17bebd30)
Dedication (#u0f623561-39d8-5a87-b784-a44623c26716)
CHAPTER ONE (#u56b521b1-9c70-5d8a-88ac-d9b99e3870e1)
CHAPTER TWO (#u74fad99c-b147-53c8-8870-a9a23659c13c)
CHAPTER THREE (#uab578e2a-fe12-512b-9b07-be18031a8247)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uedc8f2a6-f495-52cb-bd87-a40f28a2eeb2)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ufdef0d25-37c0-5cab-be3b-9098124bf93e)
CHAPTER SIX (#u547b0909-e713-5f33-8466-7c505d1faf27)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u0787f93e-c4d4-511b-91f9-75c49f04f4ae)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_1678cd37-df7a-5127-80bf-f2c974dceed8)
GUS BACKED HER van down the narrow kitchen driveway at Bay Pavilion Banquet Hall. She was blocking an older SUV parked illegally along the waterfront, but she didn’t have time to feel guilty about it. The wedding reception was two hours away, just enough time to stack the cake and pipe it to perfection.
She pulled on her apron, an embroidered cake with a glossy bride and groom covering the top half. Two small bells stitched to the upper straps jingled when she walked.
The early-evening sun slanted off her van’s elaborate paint job. Every square inch was pink. Aunt Augusta’s Bakery swirled in gold metallic lettering across an ornate wedding cake. When she’d pulled in with the new van a few weeks ago, her employees had raised their eyebrows and clamped their mouths shut. All except her aunt Augusta. She had snapped a picture with her cell phone and beamed it to her entire list of contacts.
Gus loaded three round cakes on a steel cart, propped open the double side doors to the reception room with her foot and rolled through. When she hurried back for the other two layers, a long shadow darkened the blacktop on the other side of the open van door.
“Cake coming through,” she called out. “Make way or suffer the consequences.”
She expected to see a catering staffer as she folded the door shut and swung around the side of the van. Instead, a tall man wearing a half wet-suit stood there dripping onto the asphalt. He clutched an oar as if he were preparing to vanquish the mighty pink van.
Gus looked him over from head to toe. Dark brown hair shoved back from his face. Deep brown eyes. High forehead. An amazing four inches taller than her five foot eleven. Slim, athletic build. Huge ticked-off frown.
She stopped the cart, stepped in front of it and grabbed a rubber spatula from her apron pocket. Holding the cooking utensil in front of her, she spread her feet and locked eyes with the wet-suit man.
His lips twitched and his shoulders relaxed.
“I’m pretty good with this spatula,” Gus said, her small grin matching his. “You should save yourself and run while you have the chance.”
“I’m thinking,” he said.
“About putting down the oar and holding those kitchen doors for me?”
“Nope. About the last time I ran away from a woman wielding a spoon.”
“It’s not a spoon,” she said, twirling the spatula in a figure eight.
“My mother’s was,” he said, stepping back a few inches but still clutching his oar. “A wooden spoon. And she was looking to teach me a lesson with it.”
“Cooking lesson?”
He laughed. “I wish. My mother can’t cook. It was more of a manners lesson. I’d made fun of my grandmother’s ugly couch, and my mother made sure I couldn’t sit on it for a week.”
“I like your mother already,” Gus said, “and I’m sure you have excellent manners as a result of her instruction.” She tucked the spatula back in her pocket, and the movement made the wedding bells on her apron jingle. “Does this mean you plan to hold the doors for me?”
He eyed the cake painted on the side of the van and then his gaze swung to the cart behind her.
“Does it come with free cake?”
“Sorry. This one’s for the bride and groom.”
“Will helping make you get your van out of my way faster?”
“Am I in your way?”
“You’re taking up the whole driveway,” he said. “I’d like to load my kayak and get out of here before sundown.”
“I might have a wooden spoon in the van,” she said.
He exhaled loudly. “Fine. I’ll get the doors.”
Gus rolled the cart behind the man in the wet suit. Attractive, she thought. Nice hint of a smile. But he appeared to be on a mission.
She was on a tight schedule, too. The wedding reception was now one hour and forty-five minutes away. If everything went as planned, she’d be fine. But handsome strangers were not part of the plan.
Inside, she placed the largest round layer in the center of the cake table, which was decorated with a pristine tablecloth and a gleaming silver knife. She picked up the next layer, carefully turning it so the design would match the bottom layer, and eased it onto the anchor cake. Stacking a wedding cake was in her blood, a skill she’d inherited from her aunt Augusta and hoped to build a business on. If only running a business were as easy as running a perfect line of piped frosting.
Several servers dressed in classic black and white milled around fussing with tablecloths. They placed silverware on other tables in the elegant reception room and glanced pointedly at her, eyeing the space she was taking up with her cart and cake tools. Apparently everyone was in a hurry.
“Do you plan to stand there and watch me?” she asked the stranger. She wondered if he was hoping for a handout. Maybe he’d never seen Martha Stewart on TV and was enthralled watching Gus create a wedding cake.
“I’m waiting for you to move your van.” He rolled his shoulders and stretched.
Oh. So much for enthralled.
“It’ll be a minute. I have to get the three top layers off the side table. The servers want to set that table and they don’t like waiting.”
“Neither do I,” he said.
Gus picked up the middle cake, its small pink flowers arranged in a crosshatch design. She held it over the layer below as she gauged the perfect placement.
“If you don’t want to be inconvenienced, you should be more careful where you park,” she said. “You’re stopped in the access road for the kitchen.”
“No one ever complained before.”
Gus took her eyes off the cake and gave him a tight smile. She was trying to practice restraint. He was attractive but appeared uncomfortable, his wet suit making a funny contrast with the formal linens. He resembled an oak tree accidentally planted among fussy flowering shrubs.
The stranger planted one end of his oar on the carpet and leaned on it. Gus lowered the fourth layer into place. She had to focus on the wedding cake that would bring over a thousand bucks into her shop’s cash drawer. A drawer that barely had change for a fifty.
“If you give me your keys, I’ll move your van myself,” he offered.
Gus stepped back to survey the cake. She grabbed a chair from a nearby table and stepped onto it to look down at the four layers she’d stacked so far.
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “How do I know you don’t plan to steal it?”
His half laugh turned into a cough. “No risk of that. It’s too...”
“What?”
“You know,” he said, gesturing as though he could catch the appropriate words.
“Too pretty?” she asked. “Too large? Too powerful for you to handle?”
He cracked his knuckles. “Lady, I’m cold and tired. I’d like to get home.”
Gus stepped down from the chair and faced him. “Keys are in the van.”
He shot her an unreadable look. Without a word, he turned and strode through the door.
Gus placed the top layer and piped neat borders around the bottoms of each circle, meshing the layers together and bringing the whole cake into focus. Small spring flowers dotted the snowy landscape of white icing and piped designs. Pink rosebuds, yellow daffodils and purple sweet peas trailed over the sides. Perfect for a wedding on the first weekend of May. She dug a camera out of her plastic toolbox and took careful pictures from several angles. It would make a nice addition to her catalog of cakes. Maybe even a portrait for the wall of her bakery.
She rolled her aching shoulders and realized she was mimicking the tall stranger with the wet suit. He was probably long gone by now. She just hoped he hadn’t decided her new van—although pink—was nicer than his old SUV. Just her luck, he was on the highway right now with his kayak bumping around in the back of her bakery truck.
When she left the kitchen, the first thing she noticed was her pink van glowing in the early-evening light. It was parked in almost the same location. But the other vehicle was not. The owner had managed to extricate the ugly brown-and-tan SUV, and it now sat at the top of the access road.
Blocking her van.
The tall man leaned on an old wooden railing along the bay. His trim frame was silhouetted against the sunset and the lights of the amusement park across the water.
Gus stowed her cake tools and slammed the back doors of the van, hoping the noise would inspire the kayaker to leave. She wanted to unload the van, clean her pastry bags and get to bed before midnight for the first time this week. Gus took off her apron and tossed it on the passenger seat near a small box of cookies. Her shop was testing new recipes for sugar cookies, and she’d brought home three different kinds for the weekend.
She took a second look at the white bakery box on the front seat. One corner was open.
She scrutinized the contents.
Cookies were definitely missing.
* * *
JACK TRIED TO think of something clever to say as the owner of the pink van approached. There was no good reason for hanging around. He’d pulled off his wet suit and slipped into worn jeans and an old Starlight Point sweatshirt. The ragged gray shirt had a stretched-out collar and frayed cuffs. The skyline of the amusement park was barely visible after dozens of washings. But it was his favorite sweatshirt, and he felt more comfortable in his own skin when he had it on.
She stopped and leaned on the rail next to him. Without the pink apron, her graceful curves caught his attention and his breath. She was unusually tall, probably just shy of six feet. And although his world was definitely upside down these days, he was sure of one thing. He’d never seen her before.
She looked him right in the eye, a quizzical grin lifting the corners of her mouth.
“Are you Aunt Augusta?” he finally asked.
Probably a few years younger than he was, she wasn’t anything like his matronly aunts he saw twice a year at family parties. Her long brown hair was pulled back, revealing her whole face. Fair skin, delicately arched eyebrows. Her eyes were shadowed by the late-afternoon sun behind her, but he remembered their color. Green.
“Which one did you eat?” she asked.
“Which one what?”
“Don’t deny it. You’ve got cookie crumbs on your face.”
“The carousel horse.”
“Ah,” she said. “That’s a good design. Only three colors, but the Florentine pattern on the saddle really makes it.”
“It reminds me of something.”
She glanced at his sweatshirt. “Ever been to Starlight Point?” she asked.
He coughed. “Quite a few times.” Like, every day of his life for almost twenty-seven years. He glanced across the bay. The lights were coming on at the amusement park. Starlight Point occupied the entire peninsula separating the bay from the larger lake. Although the park wouldn’t open for another two weeks, the lights on the roller coasters glittered in anticipation.
“The carousel-horse cookie is patterned after a horse on the midway carousel.”
“Nice idea,” he said.
“Thanks. I love that place.”
Everybody loved Starlight Point, Jack thought. Especially when roads got paved and taxes poured into Bayside’s city coffers from the largest tourist draw in the area.
“How about the cookie’s flavor? The frosting?” she asked.
“Loved them both. Very sweet,” he said, turning back to look at her and moving closer. “Perfect.”
“I was planning to see if the perfection would last, see how it would taste tomorrow at this time. Longevity is a serious bakery issue. Have to keep it fresh or people won’t want it.”
“Lucky for you I didn’t eat them all,” he said.
“Lucky for you I’m more flattered than angry.”
“I’m glad.”
“So,” she said. “I thought you were in a big hurry. Didn’t you have someplace to be?”
Jack propped a foot on the rail and gazed at the amusement-park lights. The lights on the rides he now owned. Two weeks ago, his father’s sudden death stunned his family. Jack’s steady orbit around his father had been brought to an agonizing halt. Every day since had sped up like a scrambler ride and Jack wished he could just get off.
He shoved away from the rail. “There’s a thousand places I need to be right now,” he said, reaching in his pocket for keys.
Maybe tonight was the night to crack open the good bottle of whiskey a friend had given him after his father’s funeral. He wanted to run for the safety of his twelve-year-old car.
“Good night,” he said abruptly. He walked straight to his SUV, got in the driver’s seat and shoved his keys in the ignition. They didn’t fit. What the heck? He flipped on the interior light. In his hand was a key attached to a pink-and-gold ceramic wedding cake.
Her door slammed. In two seconds, she’d be at his window.
“First my cookie, now my keys?” She leaned in his open window and grinned. “Next you’ll be stealing my heart.”
She grabbed her keys, spun and disappeared. He dug deep in his pocket for his own set, waited a second until he heard her engine start, then rolled over his ignition and headed home.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_00a20b2f-1fb9-576e-a56f-f47fdc855f1b)
JACK HAMILTON STRIPPED off his suit jacket, rolled his sleeves and dug through the toolbox bolted to the side of the blue maintenance truck.
“Find it?” Mel Preston yelled. He was almost one hundred feet over Jack’s head, perched on the Sea Devil coaster. The navy blue track had white crests of paint at the top of each hill that looked like ocean waves. If all went well, the Sea Devil would whip and spin and make riders feel as if they were in the clutches of a leviathan. And the new ride would bring in enough ticket revenue to justify its staggering cost.
Jack, still digging through the metal box, the morning sun in his eyes, didn’t answer right away.
“It’s painted red, should have a gauge on it,” Mel shouted. He started down the narrow metal steps on the side of the track used for maintenance and emergencies.
Jack pulled tools from the box and stacked them on the tailgate.
“I’m almost at the bottom and I don’t think it’s...” Something furry brushed his fingers and then crawled over his hand. He jerked his hand out and took a wild step backward.
“Find my pet spider?” Mel asked, breathing heavily after his climb.
Jack leaned against the side of the truck and closed his eyes. He muttered something he knew his longtime friend would ignore.
Mel poured coffee from a thermos into a disposable cup. “Don’t know if it’s the same spider or the tenth generation. Forgot she’s always in there. Named her Black Velvet.” He opened a toolbox on the other side of the truck and held up a red gauge. “Here it is. Guess I told you the wrong side.”
“Numskull,” Jack said, accepting the coffee. “Can’t decide if I want to fire you or have this truck sprayed. Or both.”
Mel sat on the tailgate, swinging his feet and sipping coffee right out of the thermos.
“That’s no way to talk to your favorite employee. I might cry myself to sleep tonight.”
“How long till opening day?” Jack asked. “Twelve days?”
“Yep.” Mel shaded his eyes and glanced up. “Sea Devil should be ready to go. Just gotta get these hydraulic brakes to pass muster with the state inspectors.”
Jack nodded, looking over the coaster and saying nothing. Maintenance trucks littered the grounds at Starlight Point. The midway resembled a carnival parking lot with the food vendors moving into their stands, employees scuttling everywhere to ramp up for what had to be a profitable season. Had to be. He thought of what would happen if the family-owned park didn’t turn a sizable profit. Jack ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his tired eyes with two fingers.
“Maybe I should have saved that bottle of Jack Daniel’s to put in your coffee,” Mel suggested. He scratched a spot on his jaw and left a trail of black grease. Mel was the same age as Jack, and they’d been friends for twenty years. Mel had worked his way up from seasonal ride mechanic to head of maintenance and knew every nut and bolt on every ride. Now that the whole weight of Starlight Point rested on Jack’s shoulders, he needed Mel’s expertise and advice more than ever.
“How are your mom and sisters handling your father’s sudden passing?” Mel asked.
“About as well as any of us,” Jack said. “Can’t decide if it’s the best or worst timing in the world. Going so sudden like that, only a month before season opening.” Jack sipped his coffee. “Threw us all into a tailspin.”
Mel nodded and fiddled with the gauge in his hand.
“Then again, running our butts off to get this year going takes our minds off it,” Jack said. He leaned an arm on the side rail of the truck bed. For a few seconds, he considered confiding in his friend. If telling someone would make the situation better, he’d do it. Mel was loyal to the Hamilton family and to Starlight Point. The secret would be safe. But there was nothing Mel could do about the loans piled on loans Ford Hamilton had concealed from everyone—even his own son.
“You’ve been training to run this place your whole life,” Mel said. “Probably have a record season. Just wish your dad was alive to see it.”
Jack crumpled his empty cup and tossed it in the construction Dumpster under the new ride.
“Me, too.”
* * *
GUS MURPHY PLACED cookies in her display case and glanced out the gleaming front windows of Aunt Augusta’s Downtown Bakery. Her bakery. Starting this shop with the blessing and help of her namesake aunt had been a leap of faith. She hoped coming home to Bayside last October was the right thing to do. With everything riding on her success, forward was the only direction she could go. But it wasn’t going to be easy.
A woman with short silver hair stopped on the front sidewalk. She was pulling a red wagon carrying a medium-sized brown, white and black dog, its nose and front paws hanging over the side. The woman left the dog and the wagon outside and came through the door, setting off a cheerful jingling. She dug in her purse and pulled out several envelopes.
“Wanted to deliver these personally,” she said, smiling. “Thank-you notes for being so kind when my husband passed. The sweets you sent to the house were much appreciated. Especially by my son, who would live on cookies if he could.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy,” Gus said.
“Virginia!” Aunt Augusta came through the swinging door from the back of the bakery. She hustled around the counter, her apron a loud mix of color and frosting.
“Got some new turnovers for you to try on for size. Let’s sit by the window where you can keep an eye on Betty, just in case the old gal takes off after a bicycle.”
Gus went out front and sat next to the wagon on the sunny sidewalk. She’d hoped the wrought-iron table and chairs in front of her window would attract people in need of a coffee and pastry break. But today she was the only person taking advantage. The life of a baker meant early mornings followed by long days on her feet. She stretched her legs and rested her back against the front wall of the building whose mortgage kept her up at night. What had she been thinking? And now her brilliant idea to bolster her immediate cash flow meant she’d divide her time between her bakery and her business venture at Starlight Point.
She groaned. Betty woke up, nose twitching, and licked Gus’s hand. “I’ll have to wash that later,” Gus told Betty. “Who knows where your tongue has been?” She scratched the dog’s ears.
Betty licked her palm once more as a long shadow crossed the sidewalk. Gus glanced up. Way up. The kayaker who liked cookies stood over her. He looked even better in the daylight. And in a button-down oxford with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Betty leaped from the wagon and put her paws on the man’s knees. He picked her up, ruffling her furry face and ears.
“I’m guessing you and Betty have met before,” Gus observed.
“We’re old friends.”
“You have a lot in common,” Gus said. “She’s tempted by my cookies, too, and I’ve caught her trying to steal one.”
“Still haven’t forgiven me?”
Gus shrugged and smiled. “I was never mad in the first place. I make sweets, people eat them. Sometimes they even pay me. I’m hoping to build a business on that idea.”
He glanced at her apron. “Are you taking a break right now?”
She pointed over her shoulder. “Aunt Augusta’s in charge at the moment.”
He leaned close to the window, looked in and waved. Turning back to Gus, he bent and placed Betty in the wagon.
“You know my aunt?” Gus asked.
“Nope, but I know my mother. I told her I’d pick her up downtown after she delivered her notes.”
Betty settled in with a sigh and put her nose on the edge of the wagon where she could see everything, including the door of the shop.
“Since I’m pretty sure we’re not cousins, there’s only one explanation,” Gus said. “If Virginia is your mother, and Betty loves you like family, you must be—”
“Jack Hamilton,” he said, extending one large sun-browned hand.
So the impatient kayaker who drove an ancient SUV was the new owner of Starlight Point? Of course she knew about his father’s sudden death a few weeks ago—the whole area had been shocked that such a relatively young man had been taken by a heart attack. She had met Ford Hamilton twice to discuss the contract for the three bakeries she would lease at Starlight Point this summer. In her downtown bakery, there had been a lot of speculation about the future of the amusement park, but the counter talk focused on the twenty-six-year-old son who was ready to step in.
Gus had returned to Bayside only last fall to put down roots, but her aunt and Jack’s mother were old acquaintances. Although Gus had seen Virginia a number of times over the winter, she hadn’t met any of the three Hamilton children.
Until now.
Gus took Jack’s hand and pulled herself up. A rush of endorphins whirled through her like a scrambler ride. Maybe it was his smile. Maybe she’d stood up too fast. She held on to his hand.
“Augusta Murphy,” she said. “Most people call me Gus.”
“Why?”
“When I was young, it was because Gus is a much cuter name than Augusta. These days, I think it’s so I don’t get confused with Aunt Augusta.”
“Who would make that mistake?” he said, grinning and keeping a firm grip on her hand. He inclined his head toward the door of the shop. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee to make up for ruining your cookie experiment?”
“My experiment failed anyway,” she said. “I ate the rest of the cookies Saturday night while I watched the TV shows I’d recorded all week.”
“All baking and cooking channels?” he asked.
“Nope. I only watch comedies and reality shows that are nothing like actual reality. I can’t take television seriously.”
“What do you take seriously?” he asked.
“Birthday cake.”
He nodded. “Cake can make or break a good party.”
“Cake is the star of every birthday party and wedding,” she said. “It’s the guest of honor.”
Gus smiled, liking the way the sun picked up the lighter brown in Jack’s dark hair. He smiled back. At that moment, she wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through the hair that waved away from his high forehead.
“Jack,” Virginia said as she came out the shop door. “I see you’ve met the most talented lady in Bayside.” Virginia turned to Gus. “He’s had a love affair with sugar since he could walk. Used to drive the bakery vendor at the Point nuts all summer.”
“He did steal one cookie,” Gus said. “Right out of my van.”
“I’m not surprised,” Virginia replied. “He couldn’t help himself, I’m sure. You have to admit, you’ve got baking in your blood. I was just talking to your aunt about having you be the STRIPE sergeant this summer.”
Aunt Augusta stood in the doorway behind Virginia, hands held out in a gesture of innocence, eyes huge.
“STRIPE?” Gus asked, raising an eyebrow at Jack.
“You don’t want to know,” he said, leaning close to her as his mother turned to say goodbye to Aunt Augusta. “But whatever she asks you to do, I suggest you say no.” He wrinkled his brow and leaned back, cocking his head. “Wait a minute. Are you working at Starlight Point this summer?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know? I...”
Virginia sailed between them, took Jack’s arm with one hand and grabbed the wagon’s handle with the other. Jack stared at Gus as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle, but his mother’s momentum tugged him away.
“We’ll talk,” Virginia said over her shoulder. “Later. I need a strong woman for my mission.”
Betty’s sleepy glance lingered on Gus as she rode in the wagon behind Virginia and Jack Hamilton. Jack turned and looked back, too, and Gus wondered what it would be like to see him every day at Starlight Point.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_6805bbaf-ff25-5576-86fa-d9acbedbf9da)
GUS PARKED IN front of her bakery on the Starlight Point midway. The wide concrete avenue had snack and souvenir shops down both sides with skyway cars running overhead. A few rides and a theater were mixed in among the shops, most notably a historic carousel right in front of her bakery’s new pink awning.
The back of the van, usually outfitted for transporting wedding cakes, held three large convection ovens. One for each of the bakeshops Gus was leasing for the summer. She had another location in the Wonderful West and one in the Lake Breeze Hotel.
Last year the Point’s baker retired only weeks before Gus came home to Bayside. It seemed like a sign from the baking universe that she should make the leap. Now, though, with the sudden death of Ford Hamilton, she needed to get the paperwork in order to confirm the verbal contract they’d negotiated. Not usually the nervous sort, Gus wondered what changes Jack Hamilton might make.
She opened her van doors and stared at the ovens, hands on hips. She glanced at the side door of her bakery.
“How are you planning to unload all that?” The newly familiar voice sent a ripple through her.
Gus had wondered the same thing. Optimism could only get a girl so far. She needed muscle.
And Jack appeared to have plenty of it.
“I’m taking suggestions,” she said. She could use all the help she could find. Getting three bakeshops equipped, staffed, supplied and running in the next ten days would be as easy as teaching a cat to shave.
He shrugged off his dark gray suit jacket and slung it over the open van door. Gus thought he should shed the crisp white dress shirt, too, just to be on the safe side. But he rolled up the sleeves instead.
“I’m not busy right now,” he said.
Gus laughed. She gestured at the chaos everywhere around them. Maintenance trucks and crews crawled along the midway like ants over ice cream spilled on the sidewalk. Other vendors parked in front of shops and hauled merchandise. The skyway cars groaned into action overhead, shaking off their winter’s rest.
“Right,” she said. “This place probably runs itself.”
Jack looked at the overhead cars and then rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands. “Sure. How about we trade? I’ll put on an apron with those little bells, and you can wear my name tag, which pretty much asks for trouble.”
The cell phone in his coat pocket rang, vibrating loudly against the metal van door.
“Are you going to answer that?” she asked.
“Can’t. I’m busy helping a vendor I just met. I wondered who would replace our old baker. I grew up stealing sweets from him.” He gestured toward the pink awning. “I like the improvement already.”
Gus pulled a two-wheeled dolly out of the van. “I’m just getting started. I should have been here weeks ago, but I’ve been busy with spring wedding season.”
“How are you going to manage summer wedding season?”
“One cake at a time,” she said as she climbed into the back of the van.
Gus shoved the first boxed oven to the rear and Jack manhandled it onto the cart. She held the door and watched him muscle it right into a corner of her midway bakery.
“Can I talk you into coming to my bakeries in the hotel and the Wonderful West? I still have two ovens in the van.”
She figured there was zero chance of this happening. The owner of Starlight Point wasn’t likely to waste any more of his countdown-to-opening-day time. Especially since he hardly knew her, but now he knew how heavy those boxes were.
Jack glanced at the wall clock. Its hands were stopped, the unplugged cord swinging beneath it. “Looks like I have plenty of time,” he said.
A few of the other vendors waved and then paused, a puzzled expression on their faces as they saw Jack Hamilton toss his suit coat on the floor of the van, shut the back doors and climb in the shotgun seat with Gus at the wheel.
“Do you usually help vendors move in?” she asked.
“There is nothing usual about this year,” he said, unrolling his window. “Turn just before the Scrambler and we can squeeze out the beach gate and drive down the boardwalk to the hotel.”
It was too early for anyone to be tempted by Lake Huron’s cold waters, but lifeguards swept the beach and set up chairs as they passed by.
“I’m sorry about your father,” Gus said.
Jack kept his head turned, watching the beach and lake. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Gus wanted to ask how he planned to manage the park and if she would see a contract anytime soon. She regretted the handshake and verbal agreement she’d made with Ford Hamilton. She’d planned to sign the papers a month ago, but then everything changed.
The financial risks she’d taken woke her up in the night, but her problems were nothing compared to Jack’s. Losing a parent and gaining a huge family business in one fell swoop? That was a sleep stealer.
“Should be a quick drop-off at the hotel bakeshop. And I bet you know a shortcut through the Wonderful West to my bakery.”
“We could take the train,” he suggested, turning to her with a hint of a smile. “But there’s a shoot-out on the tracks right behind the Last Chance. I hope you don’t mind listening to gunfire all summer.”
She laughed. “That wasn’t in the contract.”
Jack’s smile faded and he returned to looking out the window as she maneuvered the van into the hotel’s loading dock. He was quiet as they shoved the second box out and deposited it in the bakeshop.
He directed her through a back gate and she drove from the outer loop road straight into the Wonderful West. She dodged queue lines, trees and maintenance trucks as she drove on “The Trail.” A tall, slim girl with a messenger bag slung over her shoulder walked along the trail, her back to them.
Suddenly, Jack reached over and blew the van’s horn, brushing his fingers over Gus’s on the steering wheel.
“My sister,” he said, grinning.
Hand over her heart with an expression of surprise mixed with homicide, the tall girl mouthed the word jerkface as they passed her.
“That was loud and clear,” Gus said.
“Evie loves me. I’m way less irritating than our sister, June.”
“Should I stop?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Evie’s on a mission right now. And so are we.”
“Is she your...um...copresident?”
“No. Still one year left of college. She’ll work here for the summer, but just a regular job. Not as an owner. She deserves one more carefree summer.”
His voice was low and joyless, like an echo outside a funeral. Was it really so bad owning an amusement park?
“Does Evie like to bake? Maybe she could work for me?” Gus asked.
“I doubt she can bake—she certainly wouldn’t have learned from our mom. She’s majoring in accounting. Getting her CPA.”
“Even better. I might just hire her to manage the accounts for my three shops. I need someone strong I can trust, or I’ll never make it.”
“I know what you mean,” he said.
They pulled up to the Last Chance Bakery and wrangled the final oven across the uneven planked porch. Evie swung through the saloon doors just as they slid the oven into place. She had a beautiful smile and looked a lot like her brother, with a few exceptions. Her hair was several shades closer to blond and her eyes were almost green.
“I’m Evie,” she said, sticking out her hand for Gus to shake. “And I didn’t mean you were a jerkface. I know who blew that horn.”
“I’m glad. And glad to meet you. I was just talking to your brother about snapping you up before someone else does.”
“A job?”
“Managing the books for my bakeries here.”
“I would love it,” she said. “I usually work for a vendor because there’s less conflict of interest. Speaking of which,” she continued as she rummaged through her bag, “I’m out delivering contracts to all the vendors right now.”
“Gotta go,” Jack said. “My secretary’s called fifteen times and she’ll probably get on the PA system if I don’t show up.”
Without another word, Jack speed-walked across the bakery’s porch and headed up the trail to the front of the park. Gus wondered why he’d ignored the phone calls for the past hour, but she imagined there was a lot she didn’t know about Jack and his business. Perhaps Evie showing up was the convenient exit he’d been hoping for.
“I’ll come by later when I’m done,” Evie said. “This is the best job offer I’ve had. Especially since the airbrushing stand didn’t work out last year and I’m no good at scooping ice cream. Numbers I understand.”
* * *
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Jack locked the men’s room door and leaned against it, eyes closed, for a full minute before heading for the sink. Cold water rushed over his hands as he scrubbed them mercilessly. Warm water would’ve been better for washing away the grease and construction dust he’d picked up on the latest inspection of the Sea Devil, but he needed to cool off. He stared at the rivers of water rolling over his fingers, imagining all his problems sluicing away.
“Gotta get a grip,” he said. Jack dried his hands, smoothed down and buttoned his sleeves, rolled his shoulders. He refused to look at his own face—his father’s face, thirty years younger—in the mirror.
Dorothea waited for him outside his office door. Her desk straddled the space between his office and the one that was formerly his father’s. No one used Ford Hamilton’s office now, leaving Dorothea half-adrift.
“One of the vendors stopped in to see you while you were out on the Sea Devil.”
“Which one?”
“Augusta Murphy.”
Jack considered Dorothea for a moment. She had to be in her late fifties and had worked for Starlight Point for decades. Maybe if he asked her advice? Maybe she knew all the things his father hadn’t told his own son about the way he was doing business. Doubtful.
“Very tall and very pretty.”
Jack smiled for the first time in hours.
“She also seemed very mad.”
His smile vanished.
“Is she coming back?”
“Wants you to come to her bakery in the hotel. Seems to think she can tell you what to do with your time,” Dorothea said. She grinned at Jack. “I thought that was my job.”
“I planned to stop by the Lake Breeze this afternoon anyway. I want to see if it’s close to being ready for opening weekend. Guess it wouldn’t be much out of my way to see what she wants.”
“I told her not to count on it.”
“Thank you, Dorothea. I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
WHEN JACK ZIPPED over to the hotel on one of the many loaner employee bicycles they kept all over the Point, he hoped to have a chance to talk to Gus alone. He’d been up late worrying about the vendor contracts. His father had always negotiated those, giving Jack only a vague idea of where that income fit into the general scheme of things. He hadn’t even known Aunt Augusta’s was replacing the retired baker until he’d grilled his mother over lunch downtown. Sadly, he was beginning to realize his mother had only a cursory idea of how Starlight Point ran.
Looking in from the outside, everyone probably figured he was privy to all his father’s business decisions. If they only knew. To write up the formal contracts, Jack had researched some boilerplate industry standards, pulled out five years’ worth of Starlight Point contracts and run the ideas past the foods manager. Jimmy Henry had raised his eyebrows when Jack wanted to review the fees and profit share from the vendors.
“Never looked at those before,” he’d said. “Your father only asked me when he thought one of them might cut into our sales. Generally, we get the sit-down business and the vendors get the stand-up. Full-service restaurants are ours, snack and drink stands are theirs. Worked that way for years.”
“I know, but what do you think of the rent and the percent of the profits we charge? Could we get away with raising them?”
“Search me. Can’t speak for any of them and haven’t seen their returns. Maybe they’ve been making out like bandits all these years. Maybe you’ll break ’em if you raise the rent and they’ll all pull out. Wish I could help you, but I run our sit-downs and only get involved if someone competes with my restaurants,” he’d repeated, as if washing his hands of the issue.
“Worried about any of these vendors competing with us?”
“Are they the same ones as last year?”
“All except for the three bakeries. New owner.”
Jimmy had shrugged. “Bakers are bakers.”
When Jack entered the hotel lobby, he wondered if Jimmy had ever met Gus. Perched on the check-in counter addressing a group of twenty or so people, Gus did not look like an average baker.
The room shifted in his direction when he entered the lobby. His tie was loose, his suit coat flapped and he had a rubber band securing his right pant leg. Like his father, he always wore a suit at work, but getting his pants caught in the bicycle chain two summers ago had been enough to teach him a lesson.
He sat in a plush lobby chair, pulled off his black dress shoe and jerked off the rubber band. Everyone watched him. It was as if the guest of honor had entered a surprise birthday party half an hour before anyone expected him.
Gus strode across the lobby, the group right behind her, and stood so close Jack couldn’t get up without looking really awkward. He hadn’t gotten his shoe back on, and now he felt exposed, trapped. Please don’t let there be a hole in my sock. At five foot eleven, Gus was already imposing. And gorgeous. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, hair a little wild.
“Thank you for coming to our meeting,” she said tersely. Each word dripped with ice.
Jack relaxed in the chair, draped an arm across the back and crossed one leg over the other. His black dress shoe knocked against Gus’s shin but neither of them gave an inch. If she wanted to unleash some kind of righteous fury on him about the contract, he wasn’t backing down in front of a lobby of vendors.
“Didn’t know it was a formal meeting,” he said.
“It is now. We want to talk about these terms.” She waved the contract at him. The twenty or so other vendors behind her had similar white papers clutched in their fingers. No one looked happy. Even the ones who’d been here for years. Maybe he’d gone too far. But now he was stuck.
“Go ahead,” Jack said coolly, his glance returning to Gus’s face. “Talk.”
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Jack would’ve liked to tell her she was beautiful when she was angry, but the last thing he wanted was to look flushed in front of a group of ticked-off vendors. Why did Gus have this effect on him and why the heck had she set him up like this? He would have liked a private conversation with her about the lease terms. But this felt more like a sneak attack than a negotiation.
“Twenty thousand for the space and twenty percent of the profits is not the deal I negotiated with Ford Hamilton last fall,” she said.
Other vendors fanned out behind her so they formed a half circle. They nodded in agreement, entrapping Jack in a back-down-or-be-a-butthead situation.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he said slowly, “Ford Hamilton is dead. His verbal contracts are null and void.”
Several of the vendors—Bernie from Bernie’s Famous Boardwalk Fries and Tosha from Tosha’s Homemade Ice Cream—gasped and shook their heads. They’d known him since he was a little boy climbing on their counters and begging for free samples. They’d worked with his father for two decades or more. Maybe he was making a mistake...
“So...?” Gus prodded. “You really plan to renege on the deal we all thought we had—ten thousand and ten percent—on a technicality?” The hard lines of her mouth showed no signs of softening. She plucked the rubber band from the arm of his chair and started snapping it with her fingers.
Jack felt her words like a punch to his chest, knocking his breath away and spiking adrenaline through his veins. “My father’s death is a lot more than a technicality. If you don’t like the deal, don’t take it. Nobody’s forcing you to sign.”
Her mouth dropped open a little and she stepped back. Only a small step, but enough to give him room to stand. He topped her by only four inches, and together they looked like giants in front of a pack of smaller villagers, all angry. Seeing the accusatory faces of the vendors didn’t do a thing for Jack’s mood. He knew he should save face, make a graceful exit, schedule an actual meeting to discuss the situation. But not now. Hard retreat was the only way his tenuous grasp on his emotions wouldn’t crack.
He stared at the lobby wall behind the group, anger, pain and frustration tightening his jaw and spine. He couldn’t look them in the eye. Wouldn’t. It was going to be a season, maybe several, of tough choices. He’d have to get used to it.
“I’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon to sign the new contracts and return them to my office. You are under no obligation to lease space at Starlight Point. If you don’t return the signed contracts by this time tomorrow, I’ll assume you’re backing out and replace you immediately.”
Jack turned and headed for the beach entrance, only pausing a second when he felt the sharp zing of a rubber band on the back of his head as he slid through the doors.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_ac54963e-68ea-5c7d-b5c7-994edf75f6f9)
TOSHA PUT HER arm around Gus, her head barely reaching Gus’s shoulder. “I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or turn him over my knee and spank him,” she said.
“You got a good aim,” the hot-dog vendor said. “I say we elect you as our official leader.”
“I’m the newest one here,” Gus objected.
“But you’ve got three bakeries,” Bernie said. “And I’ll bet you’ve got as much riding on this season as the rest of us.”
Gus thought of the payments on her business loan. No kidding.
“What do we do?” she asked, dropping into the chair vacated by Jack Hamilton. “Tell him to go jump in the lake and take his extra ten thousand and ten percent with him?”
“That’d sure be nice,” Hank said. He tugged at his butcher’s-style shirt, which had Hank’s Hot Dogs embroidered on it. “But I was planning on going to Florida this winter with the money I make this summer. Arthritis is getting to my wife.”
“If we all walk, he won’t be able to replace us in time for opening day, will he?” Gus asked.
The other vendors shifted nervously and exchanged swift glances.
“Probably not right away,” Hank said. “It would put the hurt to him for a while at least.”
“But he’d replace us eventually and we’d be out,” Bernie said. “Permanently.”
“Nobody wants to walk away,” Tosha said. “This has been our summer home for years. We all loved Jack’s father, and those Hamilton kids have practically grown up under our noses. They’re like family. Right?”
No one said anything.
“We could try threatening to walk away and see what he does,” Tosha added.
“I’m afraid he’d let us go. You heard what he said—twenty-four hours to sign the contracts. I’m not so sure bluffing will work on him,” Hank said. “His dad was an easy guy to work for, but I wonder about Jack. Can’t figure out what’s going on in his head now that the whole thing’s in his lap.”
Gus sighed. “I have all my money riding on these bakeries and the one downtown. I’m in deep.”
“I can’t afford to pull up stakes,” Bernie said. “Besides, people expect me to be here...they bring their kids to get the same boardwalk fries they got when they were little.” He spread his hands, looking around him for support. “It’s a tradition.”
“Hate to bother her when she’s grieving, but we could try talking to Jack’s mother,” Hank suggested.
“No,” three voices said at the same time.
“Virginia gets wind of this,” Bernie said, “we’ll all get etiquette lessons for the STRIPE this summer.”
“Lessons?” Gus asked. Virginia had mentioned making Gus her STRIPE sergeant, but she’d let the thought get lost among all her other concerns.
Tosha sat on the arm of Gus’s chair. “Every summer, Virginia plans and operates the Summer Training Improvement Program for Employees. All employees. Vendors, management, security, beach patrol, everyone.”
Hank nodded and grimaced. “Everyone. Part of the contract.”
“Is it part of our contract?” Gus asked. She flipped through the document crumpled in her hand.
“Page four,” Bernie said. “Already checked.”
“So, what does everyone have to do?”
“Depends on the program,” Tosha explained. “It’s usually a skill Virginia considers useful. She always insists that, whatever her crazy idea is, everyone should know how to do it just in case. She views this as more than just a summer job, wants people to take away skills as well as their minimum wage, I guess.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Gus said. “What kind of stuff have you had to do?”
“Change the oil in a car engine,” Hank said.
“Swimming lessons,” Tosha added.
The other vendors jumped in.
“Square dancing.”
“Setting a formal dinner table and polishing silver.”
“Knitting socks and a scarf.”
“Conversational Spanish.”
“Riding a horse—English and Western.”
Gus felt her tension slipping into the soft chair. She grinned. “I had no idea this job came with such perks. I feel like a better person already.”
Bernie groaned. “You gotta understand. Virginia’s serious about this stuff. You not only have to attend a series of classes, but you gotta prove you actually paid attention.” He passed a large hand over his face. “Didn’t think I was going to make it the summer we had to sew a backpack and embroider our name on it. To her satisfaction.” He looked around, a lopsided grin edging up one corner of his mouth. “You know what? I still use that darn thing.”
“How can this be legal?” Gus asked. “It seems pretty far-fetched.”
Hank shrugged. “If it’s in the contract and you sign it, you’re obligated. If you don’t play along, you’re not getting invited back next year.”
“Assuming we make it through this year,” Tosha said.
“Maybe I can help,” Gus said. “Virginia said something about me being a sergeant this year. What if she wants everyone to learn to bake chocolate-chip cookies? I could make it easy for you.”
“No way,” Hank said. “It wouldn’t be that simple. We probably have to assemble a three-tiered wedding cake and deliver it. Just in case we ever need to do that in our lives.”
“Or make a soufflé that doesn’t fall, even in a thunderstorm,” Tosha suggested.
“Or decorate cookies representing every ride in the ever-lovin’ park,” Hank growled.
“Hope not,” Gus said. “I’ve got some signature cookies planned, even ordered special cutters in the shapes of some of the trademark rides. Don’t want anyone stealing my thunder.”
Everyone was silent for a moment.
“So,” Tosha said. “Sounds like you plan to sign that contract and stick it out?”
Gus fooled with the silver A she wore on a chain around her neck. “I’ve got three shops.”
“That’s sixty thousand bucks,” Bernie said. “He’s killing you worse than the rest of us.”
“But I’ve already made a huge investment in equipment, got supplies ordered. I’m in debt up to my eyebrows.” Gus tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and looked up, meeting the eyes of the more vocal vendors standing closest to her. “If I walk away, I lose for sure. If I stay, it’s a gamble.”
“We could try talking to him again,” Hank suggested. “Maybe not gang up on him this time. He’s probably still smarting from everything that’s happened.”
Gus raised one eyebrow, twisting her necklace and chewing her lip. Hank had ketchup and mustard stains permanently occupying his shirtfront, but he had a point.
“I think we should send you,” Bernie said, pointing at Gus.
“Why me?”
“I agree,” Tosha said. “Since you’re the newest of us, you’ve got a more practical approach. Not so much emotional baggage.”
Gus considered her connection to Jack so far. She’d met him for the first time Saturday night in the parking lot. Standing next to him by the darkening bay, she’d felt a tug of...something.
“Plus you’ve got three stores here,” Hank said. “You’re a great choice for spokesman.”
“And you’re the tallest,” Bernie added, smiling.
“Very convincing,” Gus said.
They all waited for her to say something.
“I’ll try to talk to him later today,” Gus said. “I’m interviewing workers for my bakeshops in about fifteen minutes.”
Gus followed the same path of retreat Jack had taken only ten minutes before. The Lake Breeze Hotel was aptly named: its location on the lakeside of the Starlight Point Peninsula opened it to fresh air all year long. A wide sandy beach and a boardwalk were the only things between the massive Victorian structure and the water.
She leaned on the blue metal railing separating the boardwalk from the sandy beach. Bright sunshine and the sparkling lake should have made her happy, but she had a sixty-thousand-dollar lump in her throat. How could she manage it?
Movement way down the deserted boardwalk caught her eye. She turned her head just enough to see Jack Hamilton doing exactly the same thing she was. He leaned on the railing, stared at the sunshine and water, and didn’t look any happier than she did.
Gus considered marching down the boardwalk and negotiating the terms of all the lease vendors’ contracts right then and there. She’d go with honey, not vinegar, this time in hopes of catching something a whole lot more pleasant than the deal they had right now. She’d toss her hair, smile winningly and appeal to his soft side. If he had one.
She took one step. Two steps. And thought better of it. He was brooding. Maybe he was grieving for his father. Overwhelmed by his new responsibilities? Or secretly delighted he finally had the power to profit from people like her, Hank, Tosha and Bernie? Maybe he wanted to drive the vendors out and keep all the cash from the food stands. Whatever his deal was, Gus didn’t think approaching him now would help the vendors’ cause. Especially since he could probably guess who’d snapped a rubber band into his cranium only minutes before. Time might be her friend when it came to figuring out how to deal with Jack Hamilton.
* * *
GUS WAS BEAUTIFUL. And she’d be right under his nose all summer long. Unless he chased her away with his asinine contract hikes.
The sound of a maintenance cart zooming down the boardwalk reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing right now. He glanced up and grinned. Mel Preston bore down on him like a storm from the Northeast, gunning the cart for all it was worth. He whipped past Augusta, nearly clipping her.
Jack pulled off his suit coat and slung it over his shoulder.
“Roll up your sleeves, boss,” Mel yelled over the rattling of the ancient cart. “You’re going up on the Sea Devil with me.”
“Problem?”
“State inspectors. One hour. They’re several days early. They claim it’s just a preliminary, but I don’t want to take chances.”
“Are we ready? Think we’ll pass?”
“We’re gonna try. Get in.”
Jack tossed his jacket in the back of the cart, sat on the cracked vinyl seat next to his best friend and jerked off his tie while Mel whipped the cart around and headed back in the direction he’d come from. They breezed by Augusta, only inches away, and Jack’s eyes briefly met hers. It was probably a good thing he wouldn’t have time to talk about the contract today. The next time they met, it would be on his terms. No angry villagers with pitchforks waving contracts and snapping him with rubber bands.
Jack twisted around in the seat and looked back at Gus. She stood by the railing, facing him. He was getting farther and farther away, but he knew she was watching him. He finally turned and faced forward, trying to put the image of her, with the sun and water behind her, out of his head.
“Heck of a good-looking woman,” Mel said.
“Looks like trouble to me.”
“Know her?”
Jack nodded. “She owns Aunt Augusta’s Bakery. Makes cookies you’d kill for. Gonna operate three vendor shops here this summer.”
“I saw the signs in the warehouse. Our guys will put ’em up later this week.”
“If she signs her contract by tomorrow afternoon.”
“She hasn’t signed yet? Season starts in ten days.”
“None of the vendors have officially signed.”
“Thought your dad handled all that before...you know.”
Jack unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves. “My father left quite a few loose ends when he died. I had to draw up the contracts myself. I changed some of the terms, and the vendors aren’t too happy with me right now. Especially one particular baker.”
Mel glanced over then resumed navigating the rear gate from the hotel area to the back of the Sea Devil. “Never been interested in your business affairs and contracts and such, but I figure you’ve inherited about as much as you can handle.”
“Wish I could tell you you’re wrong.”
Mel laughed. “You love it when I’m wrong.”
“Makes me feel smarter. And right now, I need all the help I can get.”
Mel parked the cart under the new ride. “Wish the inspectors weren’t showing up early, but I think we’re ready. This ride’s been a long time in the works, and we’ve just got a few details to finalize before it’ll be safe enough for your china dinner plates.”
“Nice to know you’ve been earning that generous salary.” Jack punched Mel lightly on the shoulder as they stepped out of the cart and headed for the steel ladder extending from the steps on the first hill of the coaster.
“Doubt you could pay me what I’m worth, but you’re welcome to try,” Mel said.
“Let’s see how the inspection goes. I’ve got a lot riding on the Sea Devil.”
If only Mel knew just how much.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_3151fefd-b460-5f40-9726-8b2a9295fd92)
AFTER A MARATHON session making wedding-cake flowers, Gus stood at her shop door ready to flip the sign to Closed. A tall man loitered outside. He met her eyes but didn’t move a muscle.
She stared back, waiting to see if he would make the first move.
Or any move.
Gus caved first, stepped back and pulled the door open.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you closed?” Jack asked.
“Closing,” she said, managing a small smile until she remembered the thirty-thousand-dollar kick in the gut he’d delivered a few days ago.
“I just...” He stopped. Gus wanted to put him at ease—her natural inclination was to be the sunshine in the rain, especially in the doorway of her own business. She glanced at her apron and fiddled with the knot in front. It was fully decked out in summery designs. Beach chairs, fireworks, bikinis, a flag, a boat.
Jack gestured to her apron. “I like it,” he said.
Gus said nothing, trying for a neutral expression and hoping he would go away. She was the official spokesperson for the lease vendors at the Point, who were getting a rotten deal from the six feet three inches of man standing in front of her. She squared her shoulders and tried not to think of him as an attractive man with a sweet tooth and a smile that could melt chocolate.
“Summer is my favorite season,” he said. He looked pointedly at all the symbols on her apron. “I like all of those things.”
One hundred percent awkward.
He shifted his feet and propped the door open with his hand. “Maybe you could put the Sea Devil on an apron to wear at the Point this summer.”
Gus had broken her own record. She hadn’t kept her mouth shut for this long since she’d gotten her wisdom teeth out in high school.
Jack stepped into the open doorway now, preventing her from slamming the door in his face and locking it.
“I saw that you signed the contract,” he ventured. “All the vendors did.”
Gus tried to relax her jaw. What was the point of his visit? To gloat? She untied her apron, pulled it over her head and hung it on the back of a nearby chair.
“We didn’t have much choice,” she finally said.
“Yes, you did.”
Gus started arranging chairs around the small tables in the front of the shop. Four chairs per table, perfectly spaced and shoved in. There was something satisfying about keeping her hands busy and her back to Jack. She could not look at him. Would not give him the satisfaction. He was on her turf here. He was the one who should be uncomfortable. She aligned the chairs viciously, snapping them into place with their shoulders pinned against the tables.
He approached the glass case and looked at the cookies and cakes on display.
“What I mean is,” he said, “you did have a choice.”
Gus crossed her arms over her chest and faced him. She wanted to get behind her counter, her shield, her fortress of confections—but he blocked her way to the pass-through.
“You could have told me to go jump in the lake with my contract,” he continued, a small grin sliding up one side of his face.
“I thought about it,” Gus said. She’d thought about him quite a lot, as a matter of fact.
He chuckled. “I’m sure you did.”
Gus exhaled slowly. “Sorry if I don’t find it so funny.”
“It’s not. It’s business. Nothing funny about business.”
“Says the man who owns an amusement park.”
He continued to gaze at the cookies in the case. No way was she offering him one now. Even if it would make him go away.
Gus wondered if her aunt was listening to this conversation. Aunt Augusta had helped her all day and should be washing up. Gus should hear water running, but no sounds came from the kitchen.
Jack suddenly stepped closer and looked down at her. He smelled like a man who’d been outside all day, a hint of lake air and a touch of sweat. It was a nice combination. Too nice. She had to keep her mind on her business, which was currently a house of cards built on bank loans and confectioner’s sugar.
“I would have been in a real bind if you’d all refused to sign. Don’t know how I would’ve replaced you all at such short notice.”
Gus wanted to throw something. What was wrong with this guy?
“I’m just so glad we didn’t inconvenience you,” she said, her words laced with bitterness. “I’m sure you’re hoping we’ll all make a nice profit and your twenty percent—instead of the original ten—will be even sweeter.”
“Of course I hope so.”
Gus stared wordlessly at him. Heat crept over her; her ears flamed. She made a Herculean effort to keep her voice from shaking.
“I have work to do,” she said abruptly, clipping off the words and hoping they conveyed dismissal.
“I thought you were closing for the day,” he said.
With a genius like him at the helm of Starlight Point, we’re all in serious trouble. Has he never seen a bakery kitchen after it was closed for the day?
Maybe he didn’t know the first thing about actual work. But she did. She grabbed her apron off the back of a chair and folded it. Jack moved toward the door, leaving the floor open for Gus to retreat behind her counter. She felt braver there, like a judge behind a bench.
“I’ll go,” Jack said. “I just stopped by to say...”
Gus tapped a pencil on the counter while she waited. It was funny to see such a tall, well-dressed man acting so... What was it? Nervous? Guilty? Aloof?
“I know how influential you are with the other vendors,” he said, looking her directly in the eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know why.”
“You don’t know why people would listen to me.” It was a statement, not a question. Of course he wouldn’t get it. She kept her voice steady. “I’m the newest one there and a mere...”
“Baker?” Jack supplied. “That’s one of my favorite professions.”
Gus wanted to laugh, if only to break the tension. Her shoulders were like wild dogs straining at the leash of her spinal column.
“Let me enlighten you. The other vendors asked me to speak for them because I have three locations at Starlight Point. My sixty thousand dollars carries a lot of weight with them and with me.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Speak for them?” he said. “I thought you might come at me without the oven mitts.”
“I did come by the next morning, but your troll of a secretary said you were unavailable and would be all day. She implied I was wasting my time even trying.”
“Dorothea has been with us for centuries. She’s very loyal.”
“I’ll have to name a cookie after her.”
“She’d like that.”
Gus rolled her eyes and continued, “So did you really tell your guard not to let me past the palace gate?”
“It’s a busy time of year,” Jack said.
“Um, you gave us twenty-four hours to make a decision that could make or break our businesses. And you couldn’t make time to negotiate? Really?”
Jack stared at his shoes, his shoulders sagging. “I am sorry I didn’t get a chance to see you.”
“And what would you have done if you had?” Gus asked hotly. “Renegotiated? Offered us a better deal? Honored your father’s verbal commitment to people he’d worked with for years—some of them for decades?” She knew she was stepping over a line, invoking his deceased father, but he’d invaded her shop and insulted her.
Jack stared at her for ten long seconds, the veins standing out in his neck.
“I wouldn’t have changed a thing in the contract.”
Gus’s heart hammered in her chest. She’d pushed him too far for the second time in her role as leader of the vendors. And the results weren’t any better this time around. He had a way of turning her sunshine to storm clouds faster than weather changed in the Midwest.
“Goodbye,” she said.
Jack stalked to the door.
“You know,” he said, “I really came here today to say thank-you.”
And he was gone. One thing was certain. Jack was not an easy man to understand.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_b6260e8e-51c5-568d-978a-338b652ed1ba)
VIRGINIA HAMILTON PARKED Betty’s red wagon in front of the Midway Bakery, where Gus stopped working, wiped her hands on her apron and leaned across the counter, smiling at her visitor.
“All ready for opening day?” Virginia asked.
“You tell me,” Gus said. “How many customers do you think we’ll have?”
“Depends on the weather, of course, and the local schools are still in session a few more weeks, but I’d say we can count on ten thousand or so. A lot of regulars come for opening day every year.”
“Ten thousand cookies coming right up,” Gus said, laughing. “The rest of the special cookie cutters I ordered should be in tomorrow. I think you’ve already seen the carousel horse, but wait till you see the roller coasters—especially the new Sea Devil—on a cookie. My favorite is the Starlight Point skyline. We plan to ice those cookies in dark twilight colors so the coaster lights will really pop.”
Movement on the midway caught her attention. Jack Hamilton rode slowly past her shop on an old tandem bicycle, one of the employee loaners. The vacant seat made him look like a man dancing alone on an empty floor. He waved and continued down the midway, a rubber band around the leg of his suit pants.
Virginia waved to her son and turned back to Augusta. “I know you’re busy, but can I borrow a minute to talk about my summer project? I’d like to get the plans going right away.”
“What can I do?” Gus asked, striving for a neutral tone.
“I was thinking,” Virginia said. “All these young men and women will probably be parents someday. Most of our older employees already are.” She reached across the counter and laid her hand on Gus’s arm. “Family is very important here at Starlight Point.”
And they have no idea how lucky they are. Virginia had lost her husband, but she still had three children close at hand. As an only child with parents who moved often because of her father’s job, Augusta craved the sense of family and belonging that everyone else seemed to have. But she did have her aunt and a fledgling business—otherwise she’d still be adrift.
“Of course,” Gus said as she forced her thoughts back to Virginia’s summer project. “It’s a family amusement park, gotta love families. But what would you like me to do?”
This was getting scary. Was she supposed to teach them about family values? Natural childbirth? Installing a car seat correctly? Sibling rivalry?
Betty snored loudly in her wagon. She’d seen lots of summer improvement programs come and go. Maybe dog grooming had been one of them.
“What is an important thing that all parents should be able to do?” Virginia asked.
“Um...tie shoes? Sing the alphabet in two languages? Apply Band-Aids?”
“Make a birthday cake!” Virginia exclaimed. She smiled broadly and clapped her hands together once, leaving them joined.
“Oh,” Gus said. “That was my next guess.”
“Every parent should be able to bake and decorate a birthday cake for their child.”
“I think so, too. But they can also get one from a bakery,” Gus suggested, grinning. “I could recommend a good one for anyone looking.”
“But not every year, dear. Moms and dads should bake a cake, frost it, make it look pretty and be able to write their child’s name on it. And their age.”
“I think most people figure it out,” Gus said. “I learned how to make a birthday cake from my aunt.”
“Unfair advantage. Not everyone has an aunt Augusta,” Virginia said. “Some people never figure it out and they disappoint their kids every year.” She dropped her large purse onto the counter and dug through it, finally pulling out a packet of wallet-sized photos in a yellowed cellophane holder.
“See this picture? This is Jack’s fifth birthday.”
Gus took the photo, which showed an adorable dark-haired and dark-eyed boy at a kitchen table. Disgracing the table in front of him was the ugliest birthday cake in the world. It was an uneven round shape, covered in lumpy chocolate frosting. Canned frosting. A squiggly red line—probably from the dreadful white tubes sold in grocery stores—made a crooked border. In the center, uncertain writing appeared to spell out Happy Birthday, Jack above a disproportionate and crooked number five. The only things that pulled the scene together were the five flaming candles and the happy family behind him.
His father, looking much like Jack did right now, held a girl who appeared to be about three. Virginia, much younger, had a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“That’s our middle daughter, June,” Virginia said. “She’s in New York City working as a dancer in a Broadway production. Our younger daughter hadn’t come along yet when that picture was taken.”
“It’s a beautiful picture,” Gus said.
Virginia looked at her, both eyebrows raised.
Gus laughed. “Okay. All except for the cake.”
They both laughed, and the sound echoed under the steel awning. Betty climbed out of the wagon. She licked her owner’s hand and wagged her tail. Maybe she knew the word cake or she just liked a good party.
“See my point?” Virginia asked. “With your talent, you could improve the birthdays of hundreds, even thousands of children.”
“That many? That’s a lot of birthdays.”
“We have two thousand employees here this summer.”
Gus’s shoulders sank. “You want me to teach two thousand people to make a fancy birthday cake?” Right now, all she could think of was baking enough cookies for one day—opening day, only seventy-two hours away.
Virginia took a long, slow breath. “Not all two thousand. Always made it a requirement in the past—didn’t want people to miss out on a good thing. But this season is different. Life’s too short to make people do things they don’t want to do. Or have time for. So I’m making it voluntary this summer. My STRIPE program is getting soft in its old age—that’ll shock some of our longtime employees, I know. People who want to learn to make a cake can do it.” She shrugged. “The rest of them will miss out.”
“I understand that the STRIPE clause is in the contracts,” Gus said.
Virginia shrugged. “I’ll take it out. My son, Jack, is officially taking over, but I’m still his mother and have some influence. Besides—” she paused and smiled “—I don’t think anyone’s going to fight me on making it voluntary.”
“I still don’t know,” Gus said. She wasn’t sure she could handle the STRIPE program, but her thoughts swung to Virginia’s influence. Could she be an ally in contract negotiations?
Doubtful. Blood was thicker than water.
“You’ll probably have only a couple hundred students at the most. And you’ll have help. I always get volunteers.”
“I’m just worried about spreading myself too thin, running these three bakeries while my aunt handles the downtown one.”
In answer, Virginia held up the picture, raised her eyebrows and pointed to the ugly cake in front of her adorable son.
“Oh, all right,” Gus said.
Birthdays tugged at her heart. They represented permanence, family and tradition. No matter what part of the country or world her father’s job took their little family to, birthdays were celebrated the same. How could she pass up the chance to make hundreds or thousands of birthdays brighter?
Virginia squeezed Gus’s arm. “I’ll be your first student. Jack turns twenty-seven on June first, which is also my birthday. Best present I ever got. Maybe you could help me surprise him with a cake. My daughter June will be here that weekend and of course so will Evie. Think you could give her the day off?”
“Sure. She’s going to be my account manager and supervise the Lake Breeze bakery, but family birthdays are more important. I’ll help you learn to make a perfect cake, but only because I love a challenge.”
Virginia laughed. “I need people like you and your aunt to cheer me up. This is my first summer without Ford in more than thirty years.” She tried to cover her tears by leaning down to scratch under Betty’s chin. “I wonder sometimes how all this can go on...but my Jack has a will of iron.”
“I’ve heard that,” Gus commented.
“But a soft heart,” Virginia added. She picked up Betty, plunked her in the wagon and rolled away.
Gus wondered just how soft Jack’s heart was.
* * *
TOSHA, BERNIE AND several other vendors came by as Gus finished stocking and cleaning the Midway Bakery. The sign crew had already been there and a large electric cookie with the name Aunt Augusta’s Midway Bakery hung over the shop.
“I should get a new sign,” Bernie said. “Had the same hand-painted French-fry sign for fifteen years.”
“Can’t afford it this year,” Tosha commented.
Gus propped her elbows on her counter. “I’m sorry. I tried to see him before the deadline. Three times. I should’ve fought harder for all of you.”
“Nonsense,” Tosha said. “It’s business. And you’re not responsible for all of us. You’ve got enough on your plate. I plan to see how this summer goes and then reevaluate for next year. Gonna take it one ice-cream cone at a time.”
“Summer hasn’t even started and we’re already in too deep to change anything,” one of the souvenir vendors said. Ricardo sold Starlight Point hats, shirts, key chains and plastic snow globes featuring the roller coasters and the Star Spiral. “Got all my merchandise ordered already.”
“One thing I’m not short on is employee applications,” Tosha said.
“Me, too,” Bernie agreed. “But I only need a few summer workers. Had to turn a bunch of ’em away this year. Way more than usual.”
“A friend in human resources told me Starlight Point was cutting the summer workforce ten percent across the board. That’s two hundred people they’re not hiring,” Tosha said.
“Apparently the new management figures on keeping more of the profits for themselves,” Ricardo grumbled. “I think they’re going to learn some things the hard way.”
“Doesn’t solve the problem of our contracts,” Hank reminded the group. “That’s what I’m worried about right now.”
“We could try renegotiating later in the summer,” Gus suggested.
“Don’t see why Jack would do that,” Bernie said, “unless it was in his favor.”
“I guess I don’t, either,” Gus admitted. “The only thing I can do right now is get all my shops ready for Saturday and hope like crazy I’ll make so much money this summer I can cheerfully hand over a chunk of the profits.”
They all nodded seriously.
“And if I don’t, I’ll chase him down and pelt him with rubber bands until he either cries uncle or names a roller coaster after me. The Zinger.”
“That’s the spirit,” Tosha said. “Now back to work.”
Gus headed for the Wonderful West and her Last Chance bakery. With her long stride, she zipped past her friends setting up their food and souvenir stands, power walked by the Scrambler and passed the old Silver Streak coaster that had stood by the bayside of the peninsula for forty years. Carousel music put a spring in her step and strengthened her hopes for a great season.
A bicycle bell jingled right behind her, cutting into “In the Good Old Summertime” tinkling from the carousel organ.
“Ride?” Jack asked.
He pulled in front of her on the red tandem bicycle. Although early in the summer, he already had a nice tan. His dark hair waved back from his forehead, his deep brown eyes less serious than usual.
Gus stopped on the bright white concrete, which was baking in the afternoon sun.
The ride was tempting. The Wonderful West was a good hike from the front entrance, and her hair was already stuck to the back of her neck. But the shade trees were just ahead. She could make a break for them and resist the charming and enigmatic Jack—the man who made her heart race and her blood boil.
“Depends on where you’re going,” she said in an attempt to stall and escape gracefully.
“Canada,” he answered. “It’s just across the lake.”
“I figured. Are you a decent driver? How’s your safety record on this thing?”
Jack planted both feet, balancing the bike between his long legs. Gus felt the heat even more. Why did the company owner and general enigma have to be so attractive?
“See this scar?” he asked, pointing at a small white line on his chin. “That was from my first bike accident.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-five. I’ve gotten more careful since then.”
“I see,” she said. “I’m considering your risky offer.”
“Last Chance.”
“I’m thinking.”
“No, I mean, I assume you’re headed for your Last Chance bakery. You might as well get on and save your energy for opening day. I’m hoping for fifteen thousand people. At least.”
At the thought of baking fifteen thousand cookies, Gus surrendered and swung her leg over the seat in back. She would need all her energy if his prediction came true. From the backseat, her view was all broad shoulders and tailored suit. Why didn’t he get heatstroke in those suits?
“I can’t see anything from back here,” she said.
“Don’t need to. You can’t steer, either.”
Before she could protest, the bike started rolling. Gus gripped the handlebar and pedaled, trying to accustom herself to being totally at someone else’s mercy. She focused on the shops, restaurants and trees whizzing by. She attempted to summon carefree childhood memories of racing on a bike, the wind in her hair. But she wasn’t fooling anyone. She wanted to steer that bike like kids wanted to catch Santa on Christmas Eve.
Especially when Jack careened much too close to a tree. And when he skirted the edge of a curb in front of the HoneyBee kiddie coaster. He nearly crashed into an oncoming bike, but swept to the side at the last second and gave Gus only a brief glimpse of the near disaster.
The man was a maniac on a bike.
“I want off,” she said.
“Trust me. I could do this with my eyes closed.”
“I think you are.”
He finally stopped in front of her Western-themed bakery sandwiched between the shooting gallery and the train tracks. She stepped off the bike, straightened her apron and admired her new sign as she tried to regain her equilibrium. The sign was like the one at the Midway Bakery, but Aunt Augusta’s Last Chance Bakery was spelled out in neon ropes and the cookie wore a cowboy hat.
“Nice,” Jack commented. “You’re breathing new life into these bakeries.”
He planted his feet again. Gus thought for a moment he’d put down the kickstand and invite himself in. Instead he sat and looked at her as if he were at a loss. He must have a million things to do with only days until the season started. Just like she did.
“Work to do,” she said, unable to restrain a smile.
He nodded. “Want me to pick you up later? It gets pretty lonely on this bike by myself.”
“I think I’ll take the train,” she said, sounding much more flirtatious than she wanted to.
“Too dangerous. We’re training new engineers before the season starts.”
Gus laughed and then sobered quickly, thinking of how late she’d be here tonight and how she’d have to struggle all summer to make a profit. She’d be baking and decorating faster than the spinning rides in Kiddieland.
Gus couldn’t invite any kind of a friendship with Jack Hamilton—too many people depended on her commitment and hard work. And her current loyalty was to the other vendors. Even after only a few weeks, they were starting to feel like family.
“You’re a busy man, I hear. Too busy to be bothered with lease vendors like me.”
The smile creasing his face and lighting his eyes flashed out like a switched-off bulb. Gus felt a stab of guilt at her bitter words. But they were the truth.
She walked away and shoved through the swinging saloon-style doors into her bakery.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_887b514b-4169-5c38-b86f-34cf3eb6096f)
JACK’S GUT WAS doing somersaults as he did a walk-through of Starlight Point on the afternoon before opening day. If he’d had to sign anything right now, he wouldn’t have been able to hold the pen steady. The nervous tension was like a vibrating drum in his chest, its rhythms spiking upward through his neck and shoulders.
He had done this final walk-through with his father every year of his life. He barely remembered the early years, but he had seen pictures—him riding in a red wagon behind his father as he pointed out all the changes and new rides constructed over the winter. He noticed everything—even as a child—any new sign, a different paint color on the trim of a building, a cart parked in a new location. And the rides, of course he noticed those. He was still a ride junkie after all these years.
But he was all grown up. His mother hauled Betty around in that red wagon now.
“Want company?” Evie asked, her voice and her hand on his arm equally soft. His youngest sister had always been a quiet force in an energetic house. June had tended toward fiery competition mixed with fierce love and loyalty. Evie was more like their mother. Quietly determined, strong underneath.
“I’d love your company,” Jack said. “But...”
“Don’t worry.” Evie grinned, pointing at her running shoes. “I’ll keep up.”
“Good thing. Or you’re going in the wagon.”
They walked briskly, both of them blessed with the long Hamilton legs. From the front entrance to the farthest Western-themed train station at the tip of the peninsula, it was just shy of one and a half miles. Starlight Point was a deep peninsula jutting into the lake, covered with rides, food, noise and people. A long beach on the lakeside and a curved marina on the bay side made sure the fun didn’t end where the water began.
“Are we going through the hotel, too, floor by floor and hall by hall?” Evie asked.
“That’s your favorite part. When you were little and got to come along, you used to make up stories about all the famous people you imagined staying in the rooms and walking the hallways.”
“In pretty dresses and fancy dinner clothes.”
Jack grimaced. “If you must.”
“Just don’t hide then jump out and scare me. I hate that.”
“Come on,” Jack said. “I haven’t done that since...”
“Last year.”
“Has it been that long? I’ve got some catching up to do. People will think I’ve lost my reckless charm.”
Evie was silent a moment as they passed through a park entrance toward the beach. They clunked through the turnstile and paused to watch the water as they leaned on the ornate iron beach railing.
Jack turned and found his little sister staring at him. “What?” he asked.
“I was thinking how much you look like Dad.”
“Not sure that’s a compliment. Do I look that old?”
“No,” she said. “Not yet anyway. Maybe after a few months in charge of this place.”
Jack laughed and draped a long arm over Evie’s shoulders. She was only twenty-one, and the six years between them made him feel protective of her, made him wonder how and when he was going to tell her the truth about their father’s debt. He couldn’t put it off forever and risk dumping a mess on his family. Like his father had.
“I miss him, too,” he said. “I wish I could go back in time and say some things. Ask some things. If I’d had any idea...”
Evie wiped a tear from her cheek, pulling back to look at her brother. “If you’d known you’d be running Starlight Point this summer, what would you have asked Dad?”
“How to do everything.”
“You already know everything about Starlight Point. You’ve been training to run it since you were born. I thought Dad shared everything with you already?”
Jack frowned and stared at his feet.
“You’ve been his right-hand man,” Evie insisted.
Jack turned his gaze to the water, not sure how much to reveal to his younger sister. Protecting her meant lying to her.
“You know,” Evie continued, “the secret trapdoors, the key to the safe, how to get gum off the midway, what we do with the giant collection of coins we find under the coasters. All that stuff.”
“I know about the coins at least. We donate that money to a local charity. Mom picks one every year.”
“See,” Evie said, smiling and patting his arm. “You’ll be fine.”
“I wish I had as much confidence in me as you do.” He tried to keep his voice light as he took her arm and steered them down the boardwalk toward the hotel.
After his father’s unexpected death, his mother had turned the company over to her three children. They were equal partners and owners. His sisters had unanimously elected Jack the leader and president because June lived out of state and Evie had one year of college left. Jack’s excitement about the leader’s job hadn’t lasted long, but his mother and sisters believed in him. And he had no choice but to keep moving forward.
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Amie Denman
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Everyone’s counting on himWith the sudden death of his father, Jack Hamilton finds himself running the family amusement park, Starlight Point. His first job? Balance the books, and that means raising the rent for vendors like baker Augusta Murphy.Gus won’t accept the new contract…not without a fight. She rallies the other vendors and sets out to negotiate with Jack. At least, she tries. How do you play hardball with a man who’s charming and kind and still grieving? Gus needs to figure it out fast, because the closer she gets to Jack, the more she risks losing everything.