A Bayberry Cove Makeover. Cynthia Thomason

use the facilities.”

      She gave him her best waitress-to-obnoxious-customer scowl. “You just finished reminding me that you own practically all the buildings on Main Street. Can’t you go find another bathroom?”

      “I want to use this one. My plumbing’s not as good as it used to be. I can’t go searching for a place to—”

      “Bobbi, let’s table this discussion and let my uncle use the bathroom,” Zach said. He took Bobbi Lee’s arm and ushered her into the hall.

      She glared up at him. “We’re not finished.”

      “I realize that. When will you be home tonight? I can come by later so we can talk this out.”

      She couldn’t answer him. Somehow she couldn’t picture Zach Martingale in her neat little two-bedroom bungalow.

      He took out a business card and turned it to the blank side. “Is seven okay? What’s your address?”

      The past came flooding back. Zach—popular, sun-tanned, athletic. Her—lonely, impressionable, infatuated. Then there was his recent declaration of marital independence. And the fact that he wanted to take the Kettle—and any chance Bobbi had of sending Charlie to a good school. Oh, yes, this was a very bad idea.

      And yet, despite her misgivings, she heard her voice reciting her address.

       Chapter Five

      “I didn’t get my pie.”

      Zach kept a tight grip on his uncle’s arm as they walked to his car parked next to the curb. “Uncle Mason, at this particular moment, do you really want to ingest something that Bobbi Lee puts in front of you?”

      Mason grumbled deep in his throat. “I’m not afraid of Bobbi Lee. Her bark’s always been worse than her bite.”

      “Nevertheless, we’re not taking any chances. I’ll call that country club of a retirement home you live in and tell them I’m bringing you home. On the way we can stop at the Dairy Queen and get you a cone.”

      “It’s not pie.” He waited, as if hoping his nephew would offer a conciliatory plan, and when none came, he said, “All right. Soft serve is better than nothing.”

      Zach opened the passenger door of his Porsche.

      “What kind of a toy vehicle is this?” Mason said. “I can’t get in this dang thing without breaking a bone.”

      “Don’t start on the car.” Zach helped his uncle into the bucket seat. “I was going through a mid-life crisis a few months ago and I think this was the result.”

      “You leave the car-buying to me, son. I’ll get you something that won’t make you feel like you’re driving a toboggan.”

      “Put your seatbelt on,” Zach said before shutting the door. He got behind the wheel and looked through the Kettle window. Bobbi Lee was talking to the two women who’d been sitting with her in a booth when he came in. They seemed to be having an animated conversation, and he suspected he was the subject.

      He pulled onto the street and headed toward the Dairy Queen. After a few blocks he turned to his uncle and said, “I didn’t know I’d be shaking things up around here. I hope I’m doing the right thing.”

      “Of course you are,” Mason said. “You’re having trouble with that daughter of yours, aren’t you?”

      Trouble didn’t begin to cover the problems Zach was having with Ava. Heartache was more like it. He was darned close to losing her forever, and she meant everything to him. At one time, he’d been her hero and her best friend. But now she was eighteen and had a mind of her own. He didn’t count for much to her, except as a money source. “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

      “Then trust me. Once you get that girl to Bayberry Cove…once you show her the Kettle and tell her the place is hers to run as she sees fit, things will change between you. And she’ll develop some solid business sense, something you claim she doesn’t have now.”

      Zach wasn’t so sure Ava would perceive it that way. The Kettle was far different from the French bakery she’d invested money in. And she probably hadn’t given him a thought since their last argument when he’d tried to talk her out of going to Europe. He’d used all the dad lines. “Too dangerous. You’re too young. You don’t speak the languages.” And the one that really rattled her cage: “You’re going to college. Period.”