That Summer at the Shore. Callie Endicott

to lunch or dinner to talk about alternatives.

      A young couple was at the stand when he arrived, dithering about whether to buy one or two boxes of strawberries, and if they should get organic. He admired Jamie’s patience as they posed a dozen questions and finally left with a lone basket of fruit.

      He gestured to the departing car with a smile. “Business would be easy if it wasn’t for the customers, wouldn’t it?”

      Jamie put the money away and shrugged. “They’re newlyweds. Figuring out how to buy things together is a part of marital adjustment.”

      It was a curious observation to make. According to what she’d told the sheriff, she was divorced and using her maiden name. Was she bitter? Relieved? Indifferent? Probably wise not to open that can of worms.

      “You were very patient,” he commented.

      “Granddad used to say couples have to learn how to be married. He saw it when they came and shopped here, and how it changed as they grew together.”

      “He sounds like a smart man,” Zack said, finding to his surprise that he meant it.

      “Very.” She reached behind the counter and took out a cell phone. “This must have fallen under the edge of the trailer and gotten covered up by the mat, but the good news is it didn’t get as damp as it would have otherwise. The morning dew can be heavy.”

      He flipped the phone open. “I appreciate your call. I’ll have to charge the battery to verify it’s mine.”

      “No problem.” She grinned wickedly and held out a bowl of gleaming strawberries. “You really should try one. They’re something special.”

      She had him at a disadvantage, and knew it. If he kept refusing, he’d appear obstinate and childish.

      “They look delicious.” He took a large one. The sweet taste burst in his mouth and his senses sharpened with pleasure. How long had it been since he’d paid real attention to the flavor of food? The ambition to build Mar Vista had taken over everything else. Even when testing menu items, he’d analyzed the appeal for his customers, rather than enjoying Gordon’s talent.

      Her eyes danced and she offered the bowl again. “As they say about potato chips, it’s hard to eat just one.”

      Swallowing his pride, he took a second berry. How should he introduce the subject of a dinner business meeting? If he’d wanted a date he would suggest it as a thank-you for the strawberries, or for locating his phone. But it wasn’t that kind of situation.

      “Please have dinner with me at the resort,” he said, belatedly realizing that lunch wouldn’t work because of her hours at the produce stand. “That way we can discuss things without disruption. I’m really not a morning person. I’m much more charming at night.”

      “We don’t have anything to discuss, and I have no interest in your ‘charm.’”

      He winced. Apparently, aspects of his interpersonal skills were getting rusty. “I’d still like to talk. Plus, we have two fine restaurants which you supply produce for. Don’t you want to sample Gordon’s menu?”

      He had her there. No one disliked Gordon.

      “Of course I would, but I can sample his food whenever I please. Aren’t both of your restaurants open to the public, not just guests of the resort?”

      “Yes,” he said smoothly. “But why not eat with me, as well?”

      Negotiation 101—try not to ask questions that can be answered with a yes or no. Push for a more complex answer.

      She shrugged. “As I said, we don’t have anything to discuss.”

      Zack intended to stand there as long as it took to convince her. “Indulge me. At worst, it will cost you an evening, and you’ll get a gourmet meal out of it.”

      * * *

      JAMIE DIDN’T WANT to accept the invitation, but it would delay the inevitable. Zack genuinely thought he could change her mind, and wouldn’t give up until she made it clear his pursuit was pointless.

      “Okay,” she agreed and was amused by the surprise on his face.

      “Excellent. Our Sunfish Grotto is superb.” There was a hint of triumph in his voice that warranted a hole punched in it.

      “Not the Grotto. I understand your other restaurant is less formal, and I’d rather not have to get dressed up after working out here all day.”

      His jaw clenched. “If that’s what you prefer. We’ll do the Sunfish Grotto another day.”

      Like hell they would. They’d eat dinner. He’d propose his purchase. She’d turn him down flat and tell him to quit trying. End of the matter.

      But she smiled pleasantly. “Does Thursday work for you?”

      “Sure. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

      He must think she was an idiot. No way would she let herself be dependent upon him for transportation. “I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

      “That wouldn’t be courteous of me.”

      “This isn’t a date. It’s business.”

      Zack seemed to hesitate. Was he regretting his invitation? “Then how about coming to the office?” he suggested. “There’s a parking lot for employees and it will have extra space. We can walk to the restaurant, or take one of the golf carts.”

      He was likely worried that she’d show up in Granddad’s battered pickup and park by the Mercedes, BMWs and Acuras belonging to his customers. God forbid she get dust on one of them.

      It was tempting to yank his chain by doing the opposite to what he expected. Granddad had left her a beautifully maintained 1940s-era Jaguar stored in the barn. Zack would probably love to see it in his customer lot, not tucked out of sight. She’d have to consider whether it was worth getting the battery charged...or was it so old it had to be cranked? Her knowledge of classic vehicles was woefully lacking.

      “I’d be delighted to come to the office,” she said, which seemed to make him suspicious.

      With a small nod, he got into his car. Before he turned onto the paved road, she saw him halt and stare back at her, no doubt evaluating how he’d handled the encounter and what his next move would be. Too bad. She held the trump card because no one could force her to sell.

      The next few days Jamie determinedly put Zack and their upcoming dinner meeting out of her mind. Her success at the Peterson Gallery was great incentive to focus even harder on her silver casting. She sketched several designs between customers during the day, and made good progress on the casting and finishing work at night before going to bed.

      Brad Denning dropped by the produce stand every afternoon. He was comfortable company. At rare moments he spoke of his deployment overseas, mostly relating stories about the children he’d met. Yet from the shadows in his eyes, Jamie knew he had far darker memories he could have recounted. He usually walked back to the resort on his own steam, only once letting her give him a ride to the front gate.

      When Thursday came, Jamie woke up and realized she hadn’t checked Granddad’s old Jaguar to see if it was running. It was just as well, since the Jag wouldn’t operate the same as modern cars and she’d look ridiculous driving into Mar Vista, jerking and stalling. Her Honda would have to do.

      At six-thirty that evening, she dressed in a simple skirt and blouse. For a minute she examined herself in the mirror. Her outfit wasn’t the height of fashion, which was fine. The choice of a red blouse was deliberate; red was supposed to be a “power” color.

      It felt odd driving through the gates of the resort. She’d spent her childhood summers on the uninhabited point sticking into the ocean, yet Zack Denning had managed to give Mar Vista the air of having been there for decades, instead of months. Then she hit a snag. She had no idea where the office was and there were no directions to