Stiff in the Sand Page 2

  My apartment sat over a pizza shop three blocks from Main, and I waved to Mr. Angelo through the window before opening the unobtrusive little door and jogging up to the second floor. Mr. Angelo and his cheesy, delightfully greasy pies had gotten me through my two weeks of post-Landon fallout.

  Now, kicking off my shoes upon entering the familiar space, I made it a point to avoid the mess still waiting to be cleaned up. I’d managed to clear away the ice cream containers, pizza crusts, takeout boxes, and empty wine bottles, so at least it looked like an actual human being lived there now.

  But he was still everywhere, lingering. In the bedding heaped in one corner, waiting to be taken out to the curb. I had replaced it after flipping the mattress and spraying disinfectant to remove any Bimbo germs.

  The minute my checks started coming in, I was buying a new mattress. Maybe an entirely new bed.

  One of his neckties had managed to land in the back corner of the closet, unnoticed in the frenzy to get all remnants of him out of my life. Blue with a lighter blue stripe. Big surprise, it was one I’d purchased for him. I picked it up and tossed it into the corner with the bedding.

  What mattered right now was finding the right outfit for the evening and making a good impression. I pulled a half-dozen dresses from the closet and spread them over the bed, then called the person I always turned to when I had to pretend to be fancy.

  “Woof. What time is it?” Raina was still partially wearing a sleep mask when she answered my FaceTime request.

  “Uh… eleven-ish? In the morning? Should I not have called? Are you sick?”

  “No, no, no,” she mumbled, taking off the mask and rubbing a hand over her face. “I was out until last call with some old friends of the family. Their parents and my parents were friends so we had to be up in each other’s lives all the time. It was rough.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I didn’t even like them very much when we were kids, but I thought I should be nice and accept the invite.” She sat up in bed with a groan. “So what’s up?”

  “For one thing, I am offended by how flawless you look when you’re only just rolling out of bed.” Not a chocolate-brown strand was out of place, silky and lightly tousled. Not a smudge of mascara under her sea green eyes, either. She could party until all hours and wake up looking like a goddess.

  “Shush. I do not.”

  “Anyway, I needed your advice. Tonight’s the night.”

  “Oh, right! Gosh, I forgot. So what do you need? Outfit ideas?”

  “Yup.” I flipped the camera around so she could see the bed and its many dresses. “What do you think? Is this an LBD occasion? Or do I go with a bold red? Keep in mind, I’ll be wearing a throw or sweater or something. It’s still only April.” And that sea breeze could be killer at night.

  She tapped a finger to her chin. “You don’t want to stand out. This isn’t your night. You can never go wrong with a little black dress. You have that shawl I gave you for your birthday, right? The one with roses embroidered on it?”

  “Ooh, yes! And my gold sandals.”

  “There you go. Wear those gold hoops I like so much.” I went to my jewelry box and found them. She gave me a thumbs up. “There you go. Classy, elegant, but not flashy.”

  “I would walk around looking like a hobo if it wasn’t for you.” When she didn’t smile. In fact, she looked concerned—I giggled. “It was a joke, Ray.”

  “What’s that in the corner? On the floor?” One of her eyebrows was arched almost clear off her forehead. “Is it what I think it is? Oh, Emma. Come on.”

  “What?” I forgot she could see the entire bedroom. “The bedding and whatnot?”

  “Why haven’t you thrown it away?” Her voice was gentle, at least. “Honey, you shouldn’t keep that around. If only for hygienic reasons.”

  “I sprayed it with enough disinfectant to almost choke myself.” Like that mattered. I sank to the bed with a sigh. “I’m not having an easy time with this. I’m getting better. And I’m gonna bag that stuff up and put it out today. I promise.”

  “Don’t make me drive down there and see for myself.”

  “What if I want you to drive down?” When she didn’t smile, I sighed again. “Okay, Mom. I’ll do it. And thanks for the advice. Get your day started. I’ll let you know how it goes tonight.”

  “Tell First Kiss Robbie I said hi!” she teased before ending the call. I made a mental note to stop thinking of him as First Kiss Robbie before I made a fool out of myself during his big opening.

  Chapter Three

  It seemed a little silly, handing my bubblegum pink Bug over to a valet so it could be parked in the brand-spanking-new garage behind the resort. Mine was hardly the sort of car a kid in a rented tuxedo parked for someone, but it was opening night and all the stops were being pulled out.

  I adjusted my fringed shawl—probably the nicest thing I owned, thanks to Raina—and looked around, absorbing the details. Everything was so new. So shiny. Floodlights illuminated the entirely glass façade of the fifteen-story hotel, swinging back and forth. I blinked against the glare. It would be even more striking once the sun set in an hour or so.

  A neon sign at the very top of the tower proclaimed the resort’s name far and wide: The Riviera. Palm trees completely out of place in New Jersey lined the long drive leading up to the entrance, and in between them were floodlights pointed up toward the sky. Like James Flynn, the hotel’s owner and Robbie—Robert—Klein’s business partner, wanted the entire world to flock to his hotel.

  I couldn’t imagine why they wouldn’t. Walking along the path which wound around the resort led me to a gorgeous pool surrounded by cabanas, the beach leading straight up to it. Already people were mingling out there, waitstaff carrying champagne on silver trays.

  It was a fantasy world, which was obviously what Flynn had in mind when he’d built it.

  But I was there for the food, which led me through plate-glass doors into the restaurant.

  So clean, so perfect. Nobody had ever sat here. I ran my hand over the back of a chair—leather, brand-new—and admired the blue, white and silver motif. It was all so fresh, bright, sleek.

  “Excuse me.” I barely had time to turn around or even acknowledge the man who’d spoken before he pushed his way past.

  “No. Excuse me,” I muttered, straightening the chair he’d shoved me against.

  He didn’t seem to notice, too interested in his camera and the shot he was trying to take. “You’re in the way,” he said as he composed his next shot. “Could you step back and to the left, please?”

  I did it, but only because he startled me too badly to argue or ask where he got off being so rude. Besides, something told me he wouldn’t pay attention if I spoke.

  Once he’d snapped a few pics, he saw fit to glance my way. “Who are you? Are you allowed in here right now?”

  “I’m a member of the press.” I even felt my shoulders sliding further back when I said it. My chin might’ve lifted a little, too.

  “Are you, now?” He raised his camera and took a few shots before I could react.

  “Hey! I didn’t tell you I wanted my picture taken.” I touched a self-conscious hand to my updo, hoping it hadn’t fallen apart during the ride.

  “I’m a member of the press,” he explained with a sly smile. “I was sent here by Haute Cuisine to photograph this event.”

  Oh, this just kept getting better. “And I was sent by them to write about it.”

  “It looks like we’re working together.” Instead of introducing himself, the way anybody who grew up outside of a cave would, he turned around and went to the kitchen, snapping one or two shots along the way.

  My mouth opened. My mouth closed.

  I followed him.

  “I’m Emma Harmon, by the way,” I called out before pushing my way through swinging doors and walking into a nightmare. I had seen the kitchen at Mom’s look busy, but nothing like this.

  “Behind you!”

&nb
sp; I jumped out of the way to avoid being run over, but then had to duck to the right to avoid a waiter carrying a tray overhead to keep it from being smashed into. It was a warzone.

  Luckily, somebody spotted me from across the gleaming, white-tiled kitchen. “Emma? I don’t believe it!”

  The sight of Robbie—Robert, Robert, his name is Robert—coming to me with arms outstretched was what I’d imagine spotting an oasis in the middle of the desert would be like. Finally, somebody I knew. I wouldn’t have to feel like I had no place there.

  His smile was familiar, along with the dimples in his cheeks. He always did have a baby face. I bet it didn’t do him any favors when he was trying to be taken seriously as a chef.

  “You look fantastic. What brings you here?” He beamed before leaning in to kiss my cheek. There was a frantic sort of energy about him, like he was hovering a few inches above the ground and ready to take off at any second.

  “I’m writing about the opening! This is incredible.” Funny how standing in the kitchen with the executive chef was like standing in the center of a force field. Everybody gave us a few feet of space as they practically ran from place to place, putting the finishing touches on that night’s offerings.

  And it smelled beyond mouthwatering. Heavenly, in fact. I could hardly believe it was my job to taste this food and describe it. Like a dream.

  “You always did like to write,” he nodded in approval, dark eyes twinkling. “When you were supposed to be helping me prep ingredients. How’s your mom?”

  That was so like him. In the middle of the biggest night of his career and he asked about my mom. We made small talk for a minute before being interrupted by a force of nature as it blew into the kitchen.

  A force of nature that took the shape of a tall man with golden skin and hair, wearing a suit that looked like it might’ve been made especially for him. His pinkie ring flashed when he held a hand to his ear, and I realized he was talking into an earpiece.

  His gaze fell on me, and in a snap, he went from a too-busy-to-care millionaire property developer to a warm, gracious host. “Hello, there. Any friend of my partner’s is a friend of mine. James Flynn. And you are?”

  Robbie cleared his throat. “Miss Emma Harmon is here to write about the restaurant opening for one of Haute Cuisine’s publications. And she is an old friend of mine.”

  A silent message passed from one man to the other. They were like women, in a way. They had their own language which didn’t need words to be expressed. And I didn’t need to hear Robbie tell James to back off to get the message loud and clear.

  James’s smile never slipped. It only tightened a little. “That’s great. We could use the favorable coverage.”

  The photographer joined us. I’d almost forgotten him in the mayhem. “Deke Bellingham,” he announced, giving both of the men a firm handshake he conveniently forgot to give me. “Photographer.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” James cocked his head to the side. “Bellingham? The name sounds familiar.”

  “It’s a common name.” That was all he said.

  At least I knew I wasn’t the only one this Deke guy was rude to.

  “Anyway,” Robbie smiled down at me, “let me show you around before we get started. I want to make sure you get the full idea of the restaurant before I’m too busy to breathe, much less talk with you.” He ushered me out of the kitchen, which was just fine with me since I could hardly hear myself think, and back into the cool quiet of the dining room.

  “This is all so exciting,” I gushed. “We’re all proud of you. You’ve come a long way from Sweet Nothings.”

  “But that’s where my heart is—not so much the café as the town, those memories. My heart is still in pastry and baking, even though I broadened my studies. And it was watching Sylvia manage things that led me to pursue business along with cooking. I wanted to have a place of my own one day, like she does.”

  Darn it if I didn’t almost tear up. “She would be so happy to hear you say that. She always thought so highly of you.” To the point where she went out of her way to throw us together, certain we would make an ideal couple. She hasn’t changed a bit over the years.

  He looked around the room, now a little busier than it had been before as servers set up stations. “I decided to serve miniature versions of the restaurant’s signature dishes tonight, to allow guests the ability to move around. Here, we have the seafood station. Over there,” he pointed across the room, “will be the beef and game. Poultry is the next over, and then desserts.”

  He lowered his voice, leaning in slightly “Can you believe my partner suggested a chocolate fountain? Where are we? A casino buffet?”

  I giggled. “Hey. To some people, that’s the height of sophistication.” And I had never been one to turn down a chocolate fountain, no matter how bacteria-laden they were supposed to be. It was chocolate, for heaven’s sake. All I could eat.

  “Well, he likes to give the impression of having been born with a silver spoon, but don’t let him fool you.” Robbie’s gaze swept over the view of the beach and the ocean beyond. The sun was starting to make up its mind that it wanted to set, casting gold and rose and orange light over the water.

  He shook himself a little, and his smile reappeared. “I’d better get back to the kitchen before somebody burns the place down. Enjoy yourself tonight, all right?” I got another kiss on the cheek before he made a beeline for the kitchen.

  “Does Marsha know about your relationship with Chef Robert?”

  I rolled my eyes, turning to Deke with a sigh. “Does Marsha know you tend not to introduce yourself to the people you’re working with? By name, I mean? Does she know you’re rude?”

  “Deflection.” He had unusual eyes, gray flecked with gold. I always noticed eyes—the windows to the soul and all that. His narrowed. “The mark of a guilty person.”

  “I don’t have anything to feel guilty about. Chef Robert and I knew each other a long time ago when he apprenticed for my mother. That’s all.”

  “Hmm.” That was the only response I got, but it was enough to clench my jaw tight enough to crack the crab legs at the raw bar.

  I settled for taking notes on my phone, dictating softly as I walked around before the doors opened and the room flooded with people.

  The party was about to begin.

  Chapter Four

  “Would you mind sticking close to me?” I asked Deke, catching up to him as he took photos of just about everybody in attendance. “And why are you taking so many pictures? How many do you think could possibly be printed?”

  “I like photography.” He looked down at the plate of appetizers I carried. “And how many of those things do you need to eat in order to write a few words about them?”

  I barely kept myself from kicking him. “I like crab cakes.”

  “There you go. Besides, you never know when you’re going to take that one, perfect shot.”

  “And I guess you never know when you’ll find the perfect crab cake.” I popped another one into my waiting mouth, savoring the flavor. Usually, crab cakes were mostly filler, in my experience, anyway. This one was chock-full of tender crab that tasted like it had been caught that very day. I made a note to address the freshness, the attention to quality.

  I stumbled when Deke backed into me as he was taking a shot. The man had no interest in anything beyond what he was doing. He’d even forgotten I was behind him.

  And he’d sent me falling against a very beautiful, very annoyed woman who glared at me like I’d just kicked her dog. “Excuse you!” she snarled. She wasn’t so beautiful when she snarled.

  I recognized her even with that nasty expression. She was Aubrey Klein, Robbie’s wife. I’d read about her during my research leading up to the event. “Mrs. Klein, excuse me. My photographer—”

  “Never mind.” She kept moving, storming away in her Louboutins. I normally needed Raina to explain designer names to me, but I recognized the red soles.

  “Good shots,” D
eke muttered as he captured her furious retreat, nodding in approval of his own cleverness.

  I elbowed him before I had the chance to ask myself whether it was a good idea to elbow him. “She was mad because you knocked me into her.”

  Blink, blink. “I did?”

  “Yes! You’ve knocked me aside twice tonight.” I paused, skeptical. “Did you really not know?”

  He had the good grace to appear apologetic. “I tend to get in the zone and forget what’s going on around me. I’m sorry about that.” He flashed a sheepish smile that melted my icy exterior just a little. When he wasn’t acting like an ignorant weirdo, he was actually pretty cute with his slightly-spiky brown hair and the sort of smile that normally put me at ease.

  I nodded toward the front of the room, James and Robbie had gotten together in front of the windows looking out over the ocean. It looked like they were about to make a speech. Without hesitating, Deke took my hand and pulled me behind him, jockeying for a position among the reporters and video cameras recording for local news.

  “Sorry… sorry… sorry… excuse us…” Why I felt the need to apologize and he didn’t was a mystery, but I couldn’t see bumping into people and not saying I was sorry. It wasn’t good manners.

  James spoke first, raising his champagne glass high. “Thank you all for joining us here tonight. This project has been a labor of love from the very start, and I could not imagine a better partner than the one standing beside me. Between my know-how and Chef Robert’s culinary expertise, I am confident we’ve positioned ourselves as the ultimate luxury destination along the New Jersey coastline.”

  This got a great deal of applause, including from Robbie’s wife who now smiled graciously as she petted her husband’s arm. I couldn’t help but bristle a little as I watched this—not that Robbie meant anything to me, not that he had for many years and even then, it was just a teenage crush. She struck me as fake, shallow, like this was all for show.