The Summer Getaway: A Novel(39)

But she’d been wrong. And if she’d been wrong about that, then what else was she assuming that wasn’t true? And what other unpleasant surprises were lurking, waiting to pounce?





eleven



ROBYN WALKED THROUGH the back gardens at Lillian’s house. The landscape—more native plants with a couple of formal English-style gardens—couldn’t be more different than her yard in Florida, but the setting was still incredibly beautiful. She loved the scent of the salt air, the balmy seventy-degree temperature, the promise of a beautiful sunset.

Three days in, she’d adjusted to the time difference and was enjoying her escape from her real life, with only the occasional qualm about what she’d left behind. Although she was texting regularly with Austin, she hadn’t heard from Harlow. She often picked up her phone to text her daughter, only to put it back down. She wasn’t angry or even hurt, but she still felt...unsettled. She’d assumed that when her kids were adults, she would know how to parent them, but no such luck. She was still awash in indecision.

Logically if she missed her daughter, she should text her. But Robyn didn’t want to reinforce Harlow’s selfishness. So she put it off again.

She paused by several roses. The flowers—pink and red and yellow—were completely out of place, yet so pretty. A team of gardeners worked the property year-round. Although Lillian had tried to entice her into learning about the various plants, Robyn hadn’t been interested.

She brushed her hand across a cluster of hummingbird sage, then continued along the path. By the garage was a large deck with coast live oaks around it. There was an old barbecue, a table, chairs, and several chaises. When she was younger, that deck had been a favorite reading spot. She could get lost in a book without interruption.

She turned in that direction, thinking it would be a good place for her to plan what to do with the rest of her life. Lillian had done a good job of planting the antique store seed—no pun intended. There was enough furniture to fill twenty stores. Preparing an inventory was daunting, but she knew there were hundreds of treasures in the house.

A number of them belonged in museums, and she would want a few for herself and the kids, but the rest could be sold. It was an incredible gift—much like the offer to pay for her college. The difference was, this time she wasn’t going to dismiss it.

With luck, Lillian would live another decade, which meant Robyn had time to come up with a plan. She could either get more hours from Mindy or find a full-time job. She could also start on a business degree with a minor in art history. That was the longer, more complicated path. There were several online courses that helped people start a small business. She could complete those and then only study art history. Or she could complete those and get her experience through work.

She was fine not having more specifics right now because she liked her options. They were sensible and had tangible goals. She would—

She heard an odd clink of metal against metal. The gardeners weren’t here, so it was something else, and it was coming from the back deck.

She rounded a cluster of ornamental grasses and saw Mason tightening screws on the old barbecue.

“Hello,” she said, stopping on the edge of the pavers. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I heard a strange noise and came to investigate.”

He straightened and looked at her, his expression curiously guilty. “You probably wonder what I’m doing.”

“Working on the barbecue?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, that. Obviously.” He brushed his hands against his jeans. “I thought I could get it working.”

Okay, sure. That much was clear, so why was he acting strangely? She was about to ask when he blurted, “I can’t take it anymore. Last night we had salad for dinner. The night before we had soup.” He sounded desperate and unhappy. “Soup isn’t dinner. Except for breakfast, half the meals are vegetarian, and the portions are tiny. I’m hungry all the time. I need meat.”

Robyn tried not to laugh. “You sound like my son.”

“He’s a smart kid.”

She gave in to her amusement. “Poor Mason. Trapped with women who don’t obsess about meat.”

“I don’t, either. Unless I don’t have it. Then it’s on my mind.”

She thought about the meals Salvia served. The portions were small, and there really hadn’t been much protein.

“We had coconut shrimp the day I arrived,” she teased.

“Yeah, it was great. And since then lettuce every day. And kale.” He shuddered.

She grinned. “Fine. We’ll get you some meat. I can talk to Salvia.”

“I don’t want to make trouble. I was just going to cook my own.”

“You can cook?”

“I can barbecue.” He smiled. “Fire good.”

Unexpected and powerful awareness rushed through her, making her a little dizzy. That smile. Confident, easy, sexy. This was the real Mason Bishop, she thought, trying to catch her breath. The man underneath the polite and slightly distant facade.

“Aside from tossing meat onto a grill, what culinary skills do you have?” she asked, mostly because conversation might distract her from her sudden attraction.

“I can do almost anything with eggs. Spaghetti.”

“Do you make your own sauce?”