Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Luke

G oogle Maps led me through a small town that looked as if it came straight out of a 1950s television show. I half expected a goofy, trigger-happy deputy to pull me over for driving a space-age electric vehicle through town. Oddly enough, I found the whole place cool. I’d never lived in a small town, but it was easy to see the appeal. The lady in the phone sharply commanded me to turn right, and who was I to argue?

My tires crunched down a gravelly, winding path that led toward the ocean. The closer I got to the destination, the clearer that view became. By the time the map voice told me I’d arrived, I had an incredible panoramic view of a teal blue cove surrounded by toffee-colored cliffs. The farthest cliff, a jutting slab of speckled granite, provided a stage for a lighthouse with a quintessential, red-striped tower, a black pointed cap and a big glass eye. As I got out of the car, three massive grey pelicans flew in formation over the cove.

“Did you change your mind?” a voice asked from the front door of the small cottage. Isla was wearing gray shorts and a pale orange tank top. I hadn’t imagined it. She was something else.

“No, I was just admiring the view. All that’s missing are dolphins frolicking in the waves.”

“Actually, we do get dolphins, seals and the occasional shark. In fact, we have a name for the shark—Eek. It’s the sound we make whenever we’re out on the sand, and Eek floats by.” She reached me. The sunlight dripping through the trees highlighted the spray of freckles on her nose.

“We’re still doing this?” she asked.

“Yeah, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“Nope. Let me get my bags.”

Two more women, each uniquely pretty, came out on the porch.

“Luke, these are two of my sisters, Layla and Ella,” she said. She whispered something to them and sidled past them into the cottage.

Layla had incredible copper hair and brown eyes. She squinted one eye as she looked me up and down. “Have you ever worn mutton chops?” she asked.

I chuckled. “I have not. I’ve heard they get in the way of a good breakfast burrito.”

She laughed, but the other sister, Ella, had a stern, teacherly look on her face. “Exactly what are your intentions, Mr. Greyson?”

Layla elbowed her. “Stop that. You’ll have to excuse her. She thrives on being a nerd.”

“My intentions are entirely honorable.” I bowed to her.

“That works.” Ella fanned herself as she turned back to her sister.

“This is a beautiful location,” I said. “And this cottage—” I paused and angled my head to the side. “Am I imaging it, or is it slightly tilted to the right?”

“That’s why it’s the best cottage on Whisper Cove,” Layla said confidently and without further reasoning.

“Right. It’s very cool.”

Isla stepped out onto the brick stoop. I hurried over to take her bags. One was a suitcase, slightly battered and covered in stickers. The other was a dress bag. She shrugged as I took the suitcase from her hand. “Sorry, I loaned out my Louis Vuitton.”

I chuckled as I carried the bag to the car and got in while she said her goodbyes. After a few minutes of hugs, whispers, not-so-secret surreptitious glances my direction and a flurry of giggles, Isla walked to the car. I hopped out to open the door for her.

She tucked a strand of silky hair behind her ear and gave me a shy smile as she slipped into the passenger seat.

An awkward silence followed as I rolled down the gravel driveway.

“Stop!” Isla said.

“Did you change your mind?”

“Nope.” She searched for the door handle. Admittedly, it was not easy to find. “Oh my gosh, if someone has to jump from a burning vehicle—well, at least they died in a fancy, minimalist car.”

I reached over to open the door.

“You smell nice.” The words came out, but I don’t think she’d meant to say them out loud. That glowing pink blush returned, then she hopped out of the car and ran to meet her sister, Layla, who’d run down the drive with a large canvas bag in her hands.

Isla gave her another hug, and they laughed about something, then she ran back to the car. She leaned in. “Seriously? Even the outside door handles are invisible?”

I put the car in park and walked around to the rear passenger door. I lifted the flap and the door opened. I took the heavy bag. “What’s in here? Shoes?”

“Something far more important,” she said as she sat back in the passenger seat. “Road trip snacks.”

I sat back down behind the wheel. “We’re not traveling through the outback. There are restaurants and diners along the way.”

She lifted her chin. “We’ll see.”

We reached the two-lane road between rows of shops. “Guess this is Main Street?” I asked.

“Yes, but we call it Juniper because Main is so predictable.” She pointed out the side window at a small, glass-front café with tables and umbrellas on the patio. “My sister, Aria, owns Whisper Café.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Go right here. I can show you a shortcut to the freeway. There are five Lovely sisters. Aria is the oldest and I’m right behind her. Then there’s Ella, who you just met. Next is Ava. She’s in the rainforest searching for fungus. Layla is the youngest, which sometimes is more obvious than she’d like it to be.”

“Oh, turn right here. Left,” she added briskly.

I sat up straighter. “Right or left?”

“Left. I meant turn right here, but I meant left. At the mailbox that’s shaped like a whale,” she said urgently. I turned the car left.

With our journey moving in the correct direction, she melted back into the seat. “These seats are soft.”

I had my phone connected to Bluetooth. My playlist was a mix of country and rock classics with a little hip-hop thrown in to keep me awake on a long drive. “Is this music all right? Too loud, too soft?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“So, you live in the beach cottage with all your sisters?”

“Aria has her own place closer to the café. And Ava travels a lot, so it’s mostly Ella, Layla and me. It belonged to my grandmother, Maeve. We called her Nonna.”

“You loved her a lot, didn’t you?” I asked.

She looked over at me. “How did you know?” She twisted under the seatbelt to look straight at me. “Did you do one of those background checks to make sure I wasn’t, I don’t know, the daughter of the Unabomber?”

I chuckled. “No, why? Are you his daughter?”

“No, just the daughter of Harold Lovely. He’s retired now and lives in Florida with his wife, Helen. She was our ‘stepmother.’” She lifted her fingers in air quotes. “Our dad used to travel a lot. He scouted out locations for the Shake and Burger chain.”

“Why the air quotes when you mention your stepmother? Was she one of those stereotypical wicked stepmothers?”

“Wicked? No. She was just really annoying, and she didn’t have a clue about how to be a mother. Of course, we made that extra hard for her.”

“And your real mom?” I asked.

She turned back to face forward and settled down lower in the seat.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just assumed?—”

“Our mom died when I was ten. Layla was only five. She only has whispers of memories about our mom.” Isla stared out the window, and her long fingers fidgeted with the hem of her T-shirt. “It was a fever. Dad took her to the doctors, and they kept sending her home, telling him she’d be fine.” Her voice grew frailer. “I can still remember Dad carrying her to the car to take her to the hospital for the last time. She looked like a thin, pale rag doll in his arms. Nothing like the beautiful, vivacious woman who would walk to the school to pick us up.” She sat up and her expression brightened. “We each had our day of the week for a piggyback ride home. My day was Wednesday. She always had warm blueberry muffins or peanut butter cookies waiting for us when we got home.” She gazed out the side window even though it was just the freeway on-ramp and little else. I sensed she was blinking away tears. “Since Dad was always traveling, my grandmother raised us.” She turned back to me. Her blue eyes were glassy with memories, good and bad. “In her crooked little cottage. And it was nothing short of magical. Nonna had lost her own child, so she always told us we helped her survive that terrible heartbreak. Only she was the one who helped us survive. We were five lost little girls, and Nonna brought us into her small, wonderful world.” She sniffled and gave herself a little shake. “Enough about me. What about your family? What should I know about them? Hold on. Before you start, I think I’ll need fortification.” She unbuckled her seatbelt.

I raised a brow at her.

“What? I assume this thing has airbags that will pop out of the ceiling, floor and doors if we crash. But don’t crash.” She twisted around and leaned far into the back seat. Her round bottom wriggled back and forth as she struggled with the canvas bag. “Might have overpacked the snacks,” she grunted as she tried to yank the bag free. With some more maneuvering and the muttering of a few choice words, she managed to pull the bag to the front seat. She promptly put on her seatbelt and then reached into the bag. She pulled a plastic container free and untwisted the lid. A buttery, maple smell filled the car.

“Oh wow, that smells good,” I said.

She held out the container. “Sourdough pecan and cranberry granola bite?”

“Don’t think anyone in their right mind would turn down that offer.” I reached in and took two round nuggets of granola. They tasted even better than they smelled.

We crunched the granola for a few minutes. Aside from the occasional wispy cloud, it was turning out to be a clear summer day. It would be a beautiful weekend. My mother wouldn’t have it any other way for one of her social events, especially her daughter’s wedding.

“By the way,” Isla said as she plucked out another granola chunk, “there’s a chance you might not see me in the dress I brought. It’s a little snug, and we’ve only been on the road for twenty minutes, and I’m stress eating.”

“You’ll be fine, and I bet that dress will look amazing. Now, for a few details about the Greyson family. I’ll start with the easy one—Bryan—my brother. He’s three years younger, and, mostly, he couldn’t care less about any of the family dynamics or business or anything that might cut into his fun. He tried college and basically partied his way right out of the hallowed halls of Yale. No cap and gown, no degree, just a very big scowl from my dad. He also tried to work for my dad for a year, and that ended in the same fatherly scowl. Otherwise, he’s a fun guy. My sister, Rachel—hmm, what can I say about Rach? She’s smart and intuitive, and I think she’ll like you a lot because you’re not one of—” I stopped.

Isla looked over at me. “Not one of your usual rich and famous beauties?”

I shot her a side-eyed glance.

“I didn’t hire a private eye. Didn’t need to. Ella is a research whiz. She found the article about you in People magazine.”

I groaned. “That stupid article. I had no part in it, by the way. They asked friends and my mom for details, and she never even mentioned it to me. She thought it would be a nice surprise.” I shook my head, remembering that heated conversation. “It’s as if she doesn’t know me at all. Anyway, Rachel is clever, and she’ll probably figure out the ruse. She’ll also keep our secret.”

Isla dropped the granola container into the bag. “Speaking of our secret—you never said—what is the reason for this elaborate and expensive scheme? Is your mom trying to fix you up with someone?”

“Bingo.” Traffic was heavy this morning. We hadn’t gotten into the countryside yet, where a two-laned ribbon of asphalt cut through mostly vacant land. “Which brings me to my mom, Margaret Greyson. She’s—well—picture the stereotypical, born-into-money, married-into-money, uber-controlling matriarch, then put that picture on steroids and you have my mom. If she likes you, she’ll let you call her Maggie. Otherwise, it’s Margaret, and don’t expect her to like you because she didn’t pick you, so you’ve already got marks against you. But don’t worry about that,” I said quickly when I felt Isla tense up. “She’ll be so busy being the hostess queen this weekend, she won’t have time to frown or show her disapproval.”

“Oh goodie. So far, so good. I’m almost afraid to ask—but your dad?”

“He’ll also be too busy smoking cigars, chugging expensive brandy and debating finances and business with his equally stodgy friends to notice that I’ve even come home. He’ll only leave his study for meals and to walk Rachel down the aisle.”

“How about your brother-in-law to be?” she asked.

I realized then that I had little to say about David Whitford. He was that devoid of character and personality. It seemed Rachel was right. “He’s fine.”

“Well, that either says a lot or it says nothing at all,” Isla said with a chuckle.

“A little of both, actually. That’s the word Rachel uses when David comes up in conversation.”

Isla leaned forward to watch a hawk flying over the freeway, then she sat back. “You’re not pleased with the match, are you?”

“I feel like she’s settling. David has all the right, as Rachel puts it, ‘boxes checked.’ He’s from a wealthy, influential family.”

A small laugh spurted from her lips. “That’s it? Those are the checked boxes? What about—does he make her laugh? Does he bring her cinnamon toast and tea when she’s feeling down? Does he call her up during the day just to say hello and tell her she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him? There are just so many more boxes that should be checked other than ‘he’s from a good family.’”

“I agree.” I looked over at her. “Apparently, you have a list ready to go.”

She tapped the side of her temple. “It’s all rolled up and filed away for future use.”

“You haven’t had to pull it out yet?”

She smiled slyly my direction but didn’t answer.

“You’re right. Too personal.”

Isla sat forward. “There’s a park off this ramp. It butts up against a pasture that’s always filled with goats. Care for some homemade croissants and jam?”

“Again, I doubt I’d ever have reason to say no to a homemade croissant.”