She glanced at her watch, then back at him. “Quick, tell me now.”
There was no beating around the bush. “I think we should partner up.”
“We? As in you and me?” He could tell this confused her.
“As in the Oyster Boys and the Cranberry. An agritourism and boutique hotel partnership. Together, we provide guests a memorable one-of-a-kind experience immersed in local culture.”
For the second time that day, she crossed her arms. He hoped it meant she was hearing what he was saying. “You’ve really thought about this.”
“So have you. It’s why you’ve renovated the inn and expanded your dining experience with farm-to-table. I imagine also it’s why you’re putting up with the Suttons this weekend, letting them take over and bending over backward to keep them happy.”
Holly shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. The Suttons are very low-maintenance.”
“So I’ve noticed.” At least he had her smiling now.
“It’s true, these are the kinds of things I’ve been hoping to add to our guest experiences.” Holly looked out over the dock. “You’ve got a good thing going down here. I’m happy for you.”
“So let’s combine forces. Just like you did with the Monomoy boat tours, only this will be more intimate.”
Holly turned, fixing him with her blue-eyed focus. “What does your wife think about this idea?”
“Laura?” He couldn’t believe she was asking this. Was it possible she didn’t know? “You mean my ex-wife, Laura.”
The look on her face was proof of his suspicion. Was that part of the reason for her reservedness since he’d been back?
“Holly, we divorced a year ago.”
“I had no idea.” Something behind her eyes flickered; he wondered if it was relief or just embarrassment at her mistake. “I’m sorry,” she rushed to add.
“Nothing to be sorry about. It was mutual, and it’s all history now.” Standing in the sun with the time they’d just shared behind them and the business offer between them, the last thing he wanted to talk about was Laura. “Anyway, that has nothing to do with why I’m here or why I’m proposing we work together.”
Holly held a hand up. “Of course not. You should also know, it has nothing to do with why I’m going to think aboutit.” When she smiled this time, Ben felt something inside give. There she was: playful and guileless. And holding her ground, stubborn as she’d always been.
He watched as she got in her car, one hand waving from the window as she pulled away. The last time he’d watched Holly leave was over four years ago now, on Pleasant Beach. Seeing her here today, in his new place of work, felt strangely personal. Holly wasn’t the only one with things to think about.
Holly
Though she wasn’t in on the spa treatments the bridal party was hopefully enjoying, Holly’s getaway to Ben’s shellfish farm felt like a mini-makeover. In just thirty minutes she’d gotten out on the water, something she had not done in years, learned about oysters, and eaten more than a few. She’d almost forgotten what magic a July Cape day held, she’d been so holed up at the inn lately. And then there was Ben.
Ben was someone best avoided, she’d decided as soon as she openedChatham Lifeand read about his return to the area. And despite his deliveries to their kitchen, she’d kept to that decision. The reasons were plentiful, but chief among them was that she was in the throes of trying to rebrand the Cranberry. It was her family’s legacy, and, if she could steer the inn back to being prosperous, it might just be her future. Ben was the past. Divorced or not, Holly had her hands full as it was. She needed not just to survive this season, but to thrive. Her grandmother was depending on her. Her staff were depending on her. Nice as the time with Ben Walters had been, she needed to tuck thosesentiments in her back pocket and keep them there. It was where they belonged.
Concentrating on the rehearsal dinner was just what she was trying to do when the bridesmaids returned from their outing. Thankfully, from the looks on their faces, things at the Chatham Bars Spa went well.
“Divine seaweed wrap,” Mrs. Sutton reported, as she swept past the desk. “Now I desperately need a nap.” Good, Holly thought. Let her think the nap was necessitated by the spa and not Linus’s heavy pour of brunch mimosas.
The younger women straggled in behind, chirping away among themselves. Sissy had not one, but two maids of honor, Peyton and Grayson. Not only did they look alike, with their blunt blond bangs, but they spoke in the same trilling voice that made Holly think of chattering birds—and not of the lulling song variety. Second to Sissy, those two seemed to be in charge. Riley and Lexi rounded out the group as lowly bridesmaids.
“Oh my God, did you see Riley’s face when they told her she wasn’t getting a facial?” one said to the other. Holly wasn’t sure whether it was Peyton or Grayson speaking. Regardless, her chest tightened. She’d specifically asked Sissy about facials and been told in no uncertain terms that it was too close to the wedding torisk a breakout. She spied Riley bringing up the rear, indeed looking vexed. Though it was hard to say: Riley hadn’t looked particularly happy about anything so far.
Sissy, tapping away on her phone, seemed to barely be listening.
Holly braced herself for grievances and forced her best smile. “Welcome back, ladies. How was your spa experience?”
Peyton/Grayson shrugged. “Fine. But no facials.”
“I don’t do facials,” Lexi said, as though it were important Holly know this.
Without looking up from her phone, Sissy interjected. “I don’t want anyone to be blotchy for my big day.”
