Page 63 of Stony Point Summer
How she’ll break her news to Celia,andthe others.
What’s next.
Every worry floats away on a gentle salty breeze lifting off the water.
The thing is, if Elsa’s not mistaken, she’s finding that happens often when she’s around Mitch. He gets her to relax—and life is just, well, a piece of cake.
Or a taste of frosting, depending.
Because Mitch comes back outside right then holding a tray of coffee and two china dishes covered with dollops of cola frosting. After putting it all on the table, he sets his safari hat on the railing behind him and sits with her. She sees now that his fading blond hair is pulled back into a tiny ponytail, right before he nudges a china dish closer.
So, she does it. Elsa digs her spoon into the swirled brown frosting and enjoys every bit of texture, every bit of decadent flavor. Actually? Well, she enjoys everything—like the blue of the morning’s summer sky, and the sunlight dappling the water with silver specks.
“Ocean stars,” she says, nodding to the sparkles floating on the sea.
“Beg your pardon?” Mitch asks while spooning a taste of frosting for himself.
Elsa points to the twinkling water. “Those are called ocean stars. Years ago, on this very beach, my sister June told me about them.”
Mitch looks from the star-studded sea to Elsa—where his eyes stay. “Ocean stars. Fascinating. Please tell me more.”
“Okay, let’s see … They’re stars that fell overnight from the sky,” she explains, stopping for another frosting sample. “After granting so many wishes, the tired stars fall to the sea. Which is where they’ll stay, floating right there and regaining their strength before rising to the skies again tonight.”
“So that’s where your inn’s name comes from.”
To which Elsa just nods.
“Now that’s a beautiful connection.” Mitch looks out at the water again, where the sparkles flicker. “Ocean stars,” he quietly says. Then he raises his coffee cup in a toast to Elsa, who clinks her cup to his.
Oh, and she does something else, too, after a sip.
Does it before the rest of her whirlwind day soon takes over.
Drawing out this peaceful seaside moment, Elsa picks up her spoon and leisurely samples one more scoop of thatdivinecake frosting.
twenty-four
— Then —
10 Years Ago, Early August
The Cake Tasting
THE COTTAGE IS JUST A dingy one-story shanty. It sits in the far curve of a dead-end road—a street more suited to a campground, with its pine trees and winding rock walls. Hard to believe it’s a beach road. Wild brush grows rampant. Lichen-covered boulders hulk in front yards.
The cottage itself is just as surprising, especially among the well-tended neighboring homes. In theotheryards, flowerpots aren’t chipped and lying on their sides, but are bursting with blossoms. Windowpanes aren’t shattered. They’re thrown open to the sea air. Lawns are trimmed, not ragged; bungalows, freshly painted.
But this one cottage? It’s a sad one, in Stony Point. Raw wood shows through its peeling paint. The windows are cloudy with salt and dust. Beneath the windows, a faded life ring hangs on worn wood siding. It’s a fitting sight, that life ring, the cottage practically calling out to be saved. Then there are two sagging peaks over the enclosed front porch. A leaning, off-kilter addition on the front gives the shanty its L-shape.
Still, there is joy among the neighbors. Joy brought about by the sound of two men swinging sledgehammers, and ripping down sheets of plaster, and whirring table saws. Joy at seeing theBarlow Architecturesign staked in the grass. It all means a reno’s begun. The poor little cottage at the end of the wooded road is being salvaged.
Resurrected.
Flipped.
As one of the men heaves an armful of ragged plaster and pieces of timber into the dumpster, the cell phone in his pocket rings. He takes the call there, outside, in the shade of a tree. The guy’s probably in his late twenties—gauging from his sawdust-covered dark hair, his strong build, the shadow of whiskers on his face. While he talks on the phone, he watches the other guy nail a piece of freshly sawed plywood over a broken windowpane.
“Really?” the man asks into the phone. “You want me to sample …cake?”
