Holiday by the Sea Read online

  “Great. The parents were happy.”

  “How could they not be?” Mr. McSorely had worn a red shirt, green tie and black slacks—very respectable. The pants hadn’t hindered his movement at all as he’d gotten into the groove. “I especially liked that dance your class did.”

  “You saw that?” His voice ended on a squeak.

  “Not only did I see it...” Teagan added an evil laugh. “I got it on video.”

  “Noooo,” he said. “But you were gone!”

  He’d noticed? So sweet. “I have zoom on my video setting.”

  Tense silence reigned for about a minute before he started to laugh. “Well, I was going to apologize for acting like a child, but I guess you’ve got evidence that it might be a long-term condition.”

  She laughed too. “I like a guy who can let his hair down.” Not that she’d ever dated one. Muscle-builders were notorious sticks in the mud. If it wasn’t about their body? Forget it.

  “Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Flowing locks and all. I hope you have a Fabio fan, so that you’re properly blown away.”

  He hung up before she could think of anything to say to that.

  Teagan turned the video camera back on. “Just got a phone call from the nerdy music teacher,” she said aloud. “For the first time since I quit believing in Santa I’m looking forward to that necessary evil called morning.”

  *****

  The next morning, Riley went through the drive-thru and picked up a few egg and cheese sandwiches just in case Teagan needed something besides caffeine and sugar to get her day started. He’d hardly slept last night, wondering how someone could loathe the beach.

  Being from Kansas, he’d dreamed of the ocean and sun showers instead of flat plains and dust storms. The Atlantic surpassed his imagination, offering pelicans and dolphins and manatees. Sailboats, cruise ships, snorkeling. Sea turtles. The stars.

  The female British voice instructed him to turn left. He’d plugged in Becker’s Bakery to his GPS and now followed on autopilot. Maybe he needed to show Teagan the beach at night?

  Sea turtle watching last year had turned him onto a whole other world that happened beneath the moon and stars. He’d joined a volunteer group that patrolled the sand during sea turtle season.

  “You have arrahved at yoor destination.”

  Riley was at first confused by the large brown house rambling half a block before he realized that it was actually two buildings connected behind the centered garage of the house. To the left was a one-story dark brown rancher with a manicured front lawn. Palm trees, ceramic bunnies and a few lawn gnomes, along with a miniature windmill and an iron-work deer gave the impression of a magical garden.

  To the right was a smaller version of the ranch-style house, though instead of a metal roof, the bakery had shaker eaves, giving it a cottage look. The sign in front read Becker’s Bakery in gold German lettering. It didn’t seem like much was going on in there, but he parked the car in one of three available spots and grabbed the coffees and sandwiches.

  He’d dressed in Saturday clothes. Jeans, a sage green Henley and leather sandals. His slacks and button up shirts could stay in the closet this vacation. He didn’t have much hair to blow around, but he’d washed it just in case.

  The knob twisted in his hand. The bakery door didn’t move. Locked. Shit. Now what? What if she’d overslept, or forgotten? She’d said she was a one-man show. He knocked against the glass pane.

  “Coming!” Her shout preceded her and she ran to the door, throwing back the bolt. “Coffee? Bless you. I brushed my teeth but that’s all you get. You’re meeting miserable morning me.” Teagan stepped back so he could come in.

  “A vanilla latte with an extra shot and a sandwich,” he said, blinking in the shadows to see where to go. The long counter was covered with bowls, pans or boxes. He made out a large silver refrigerator, what looked like a stack of ovens and a silver double sink with a hooked faucet.

  “Follow me.” She hurried ahead into the dark.

  Riley juggled the coffee and the bag, noticing her hair fastened with the end of a spatula. She had on a long t-shirt and red leggings. They went through a shadowy hall that seemed to be mostly storage and then entered into the main house.

  “Thank you,” she breathed out in a mint rush, waving him on as she went through a kitchen, dining room and out to the back patio. If the front yard was magic, the back yard was like a national park, with a pond, draping fir trees and a cool breeze. Flowers of all colors bloomed from pots and tree stumps.

  “This is great.” Riley set the coffee and sandwiches down on a carved wooden table. It didn’t look like Florida at all.

  “My mom has a green thumb. Dad works with wood. I inherited none of their talent.”

  “You must be able to bake.”

  “That’s following precise directions. Anybody can do it.” She sat down on the smooth wooden bench next to the table. “You are a life-saver. I didn’t get to bed until after two. Who orders cookies last minute? I thought people were busy counting calories.” Teagan took the top from her latte and sniffed, her eyes closed. “Delicious. I refuse to count calories. I can’t live that way.”

  Riley was fascinated by the way she moved, graceful without being self-conscious. She brought her bare feet up to the bench and curled her toes along the edge so she sat with her back to the yard, facing him, her legs drawn up. She peered at him over her knees, her coffee in hand.

  “I don’t pay attention to that stuff either,” he said.

  “You’re skinny, that’s why. Guys have it easier, anyway. Faster metabolism.” Teagan took a cautious sip of her latte and granted him a pleased smile. “You did good. Drink up!” She pointed to the clock made out of twigs hanging on the outside wall. “I have exactly thirty minutes before the next batch of cookies needs to go in the oven.”

  He handed her a sandwich. “I didn’t know what you liked so I kept it basic. Cheese and egg.”

  “Thanks.” She unwrapped it and took a bite. “Delicious. For the record?” Teagan tilted her head. “Carnivore. Not sorry about that either.”

  Riley bit into his sandwich. Eating together seemed intimate when they didn’t really know each other. What made her different than other women? “You’re confidant.” An attractive quality.

  “Am I?” Teagan hummed, her green eyes sparkling. She wore black mascara and green eye-liner, but nothing on her lips. Her skin was impossibly pale. “I worked hard to know my own mind. Don’t hold back on what I’m thinking. Observing.” She put her feet down on the brick ground covering. “You are sweet. Why did you call?”

  Riley set his sandwich down on the back of the bag, his belly coiled with nerves. “I wanted to. Are you seeing someone?”

  “As in, dating?” Her auburn brow hiked upward. “No. Fact is, I’m supposed to be backpacking Europe. Sleeping in flea-infested hostels and getting drunk off of Guinness.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was teasing or not, so he drank his coffee and waited.

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Mom had a stroke. Dad took her to Germany to visit family and get away from the business. Which they told me had been slow.” Teagan waggled her finger as if she had a thing or two to say to them about that.

  “You’re running the place by yourself?” Riley’s anxiety level went up a notch as his natural inclination to fix things revved on. “Around the holiday? That can’t be easy.”

  “To be fair,” she said, holding up her palm, “My folks had all of the pre-ordered cookies ready to go. But for some reason the Internet orders are taking off. That damn candy cane cookie bouquet will be the death of me.” Teagan narrowed her eyes as if facing a firing squad. “Which is why I’m baking this morning. I’ll run deliveries this afternoon.”

  “I can help.” Riley’s plans to relax and work on his tan flew out the window. What better way to get to know her? For her to know him? He didn’t meet interesting women at work, where the teachers were married or hundred-year-old spinster
s. Ladies on the beach tended to be tourists. Nothing long-term. Nobody like Teagan, ever.

  She straddled the bench like a motorcycle, her palms resting on the wood before her. “You’re a teacher, willing to give up part of your vacation to help me in the bakery. Are you insane?”

  “Not certifiable.”

  Teagan considered him, her penetrating gaze on his face. “You bake?”

  He couldn’t lie. “Nope. But like you said, it’s following directions.”

  “Can you do that?” She relaxed with a soft self-deprecating laugh. “That’s usually where I have a hard time.” Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back, losing the spatula anchoring her hair. Long red curls tumbled free and when she sat up, they settled around her shoulders.

  Mesmerized, Riley would have walked through fire for her.

  Teagan smiled and covered his hand. Hers were smooth, feminine hands that he could easily imagine in other places. “I accept your offer. On one condition.”

  Anything, he thought. “What?” He turned his hand so they were palm to palm.

  “I’ll pay you.”

  He shook his head and pulled free. “I want to help.”

  “Listen, I didn’t ask to be rescued like some damsel in distress. In order for us to be equal, you have to let me pay you. Minimum wage,” she clarified with a sassy toss of her hair. “So it’ll be like working for free.”

  She stood up, her adorable nose coming to his chest. Teagan was huggable. Feisty.

  “Still interested?” she quipped.

  “Well, since you made the offer so attractive,” he drawled.

  “Follow me, Music Man. I have an apron you can borrow. And a hair net.”

  “A hair net?” Riley touched his short hair. “I haven’t worn one of those since I worked at a restaurant through high school.”

  “Mandatory. Food laws and all that.” She looked over her shoulder as she opened the door to go back in the house.

  Riley gathered the bag of garbage from their quick breakfast.

  “Just leave that on the kitchen counter. Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I wear one too. We’ll be dorky together.”

  He knew he’d look ridiculous, but he didn’t care. Somehow the gods had looked on him with favor and he got to spend the day with Teagan Becker.

  Her long t-shirt covered her round behind, her red leggings showcasing great calves. Teagan’s long hair settled around the center of her back. His ideal woman.

  She may or may not be attracted to him right now, but by the time they were done?

  She’d see beyond the hair net and bad jokes or his name wasn’t Riley McSorley.

  Chapter Four

  Teagan couldn’t believe Riley was going along for the ride. Brat even looked cute in his hair net. She thought about vlogging but didn’t want to scare her possible new boy toy away.

  Boy toy for the holiday. Why not? As soon as her parents got back from Germany, she had a date with history and old ruins. Until then it might be nice to have some fun in the here and now.

  She led the way through the long hall at the back of the house to the bakery kitchen, gesturing toward the low wall that separated the kitchen from the front area of the shop. “We don’t have a lot of walk-in traffic. There are a few things in the display case, but not much.” Her mom had updated the look about fifteen years ago. Now the sad gingham curtains were faded by the sun and time.

  “This whole place needs renovating, but with Mom sick, I think they need to retire. It’s a warning to slow down and lay off the heavy cream.”

  “What do they think?” Riley asked.

  Teagan stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Take a look around. It’s just the two of them. It’s time. Thirty years is enough! My parents are fifty-five. They should travel. See the world.” Get out of the day-to-day rut.

  “Isn’t that what you want to do?”

  True. “I never wanted to be part of the bakery. I want to live my own life, not my mother’s or father’s. I am not a baking Becker.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it.” He tied the apron around his thin waist, his gaze sliding from hers.

  No wonder I’m still single. “Sorry for snapping. It’s just an old argument and not yours for sure.” She reached for the flour and showed him the recipe book. “That’s what we’re making. I can stir together the first batch and you could get them on baking sheets. Okay?”

  His serious expression as he nodded made her smile. “However I can help. Do you have a paper and pencil? I work better with a list.”

  She nudged him, bumping her hip into his leg with a grin. “You can’t mess this up. I promise.”

  His eyes were cinnamon and the frames of his glasses were a shade darker. Riley’s short waves were the color of rich chocolate frosting and his firm mouth the same hue as a pink rose petal.

  He was tan, but he’d told her he liked the beach and the sun, and smooth-shaven. Clean-cut. “I bet you don’t even have a tattoo,” she mused aloud.

  “Excuse me?” He blinked and cocked his head.

  Embarrassed at the direction her thoughts were going, she cleared her throat and stepped back. “How did you become a teacher? No, specifically an elementary music teacher for a private school.”

  Keep him talking so she’d keep her mouth shut. She positioned him on the stool at the end of the counter while she gathered her ingredients and gestured for him to begin. “Start with where you’re from.”

  “Kansas.”

  She looked down her nose. “I want more details than that, please.”

  “Prairie land. Flat. Hot. Tornados. I hated it. Dreamed of the beach and someplace fun. Tropical. I had decent grades in high school, so I applied for scholarships and ended up here. Florida Atlantic University. Got my teaching certificate with a master’s in music theory.”

  “Really? That’s cool. Were you a band geek in Kansas?”

  He smiled, showing off a dimple that she hadn’t suspected. “You got it. Wanted to be a rock star but Mom nixed that idea.”

  “Being a rock star has a lot of perks.” She added the milk. He’d make a cute pop star. A teen idol. She whisked the eggs. “Was your mother a tyrant?”

  “No. Strict in a passive aggressive way.” Riley shrugged.

  Teagan sensed a story, but decided to let him off the hook. “My mom rules the Becker roost. She’s got certain ideas about a woman’s role in life. Archaic and perfect for a hundred years ago. I’ve heard stories about her mom, my Grandma Amelia? Booze, men and all kinds of fun. Don’t know what happened to my mom.”

  He put his elbow on the counter. “Funny how it works like that. One generation of wild teaches the next to be conservative, and vice-versa.”

  “Good observation.” She whirled the ingredients together, stirring briskly to the count of sixty. She’d have to add that to her video blog routine. “You’re just about up here. Your job is to spoon sixteen cookies the exact size of a silver dollar onto each baking tray. Got it?”

  He nodded, washed, dried. “Where are the gloves?”

  “Under that shelf,” she said, directing with her head. “Go ahead and spray the trays with the sunflower oil. Light dusting of flour. Perfect.”

  She handed over the bowl and spoon and watched him scoop. He had slender fingers, musician’s fingers. Did he regret killing his dream? “You’re a natural. Okay, I’m starting on the next cookie.”

  They worked without speaking for a while, listening to Lana on Spotify. When she’d finished the chocolate walnut batter, she asked, “So, any brothers and sisters? Is your family all in Kansas? I’m assuming you don’t have a girlfriend, or you wouldn’t be here, working on your vacation.”

  She said this last with a laugh.

  He blushed and looked up from the tray. “No girlfriend.”

  “And?”

  “No siblings. I’m an only child.”

  “We have that in common. Did you hate it?”

  He scooped batter. “It could be lonely. I read a
lot. Taught myself the guitar.”

  “I loved being the center of attention,” Teagan confessed. “We were always so busy with the bakery we didn’t even have time for a dog.”

  “No pets?”

  “Fat cat named Misha. She died my first year away in college. A hamster that was a freak of nature. You?”

  “We always had dogs. I miss not having one here.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “Mom is in Kansas, married to a decent guy. John Barton. They are very religious. I’m not so much.”

  She sensed an emotional disconnect.

  “I love her,” he continued. “But we have nothing in common.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “He didn’t stick around. Step-dad died, and now Mom has John.”

  Lonely. “You wrote angsty poetry, didn’t you?”

  He looked startled, blinking before letting out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, I did. Wore black when I could get away with it.”

  “I am a talker. Not a writer. Actually,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t think her too egocentric, “I’m a vlogger.”

  “That sounds kinky,” he said with an appreciative look.

  She could like this guy, she thought. “Vlog, not flog.”

  “I’ve heard of it.”

  “For some reason I decided to take my opinionated self to You Tube. Got a channel, shared my observations, got some followers.”

  “You’re very pretty.”

  Ah.

  “Funny, too. What do you talk about?”

  “Everything. I continue to be surprised that people subscribe to my channel. The Observationalist. They want to chime in on my day. Folks have been very supportive of my mom and her stroke. They know I never wanted to come back to South Florida. Hell, my anti-sub tropic sentiment was the reason I started vlogging in Tallahassee in the first place.”

  A timer dinged and he took a tray out before putting another one in, resetting the timer like a pro. “You hate it that bad?”

  “What is there for me to do here? If I step outside, I have to be covered in SPF 50, and even then, I should be wearing a hat. Which is all right, a lot of people don’t like to be outside, but when I was in Tallahassee and actually went hiking like a regular person? It was like heaven. I loved the mountains in Tennessee, where there are rivers that are cold instead of ocean water that’s luke-warm.”