A Bayberry Cove Makeover

A Bayberry Cove Makeover

Cynthia Thomason

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Copyright

Endpages

Chapter One

Bobbi Lee Blanchard grasped her former boss’s hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you for agreeing to sell me the restaurant, Max. You have made me one happy Carolina lady.”

She walked out of the kitchen of the Bayberry Cove Kettle and joined her two best friends, who were enjoying the diner’s famous apple pie. Hardly able to contain her good news, Bobbi sauntered up to their table and said in her sweetest Southern-belle-waitress voice, “Y’all want more pie?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Louise answered.

Vicki gently rocked the stroller next to the table. “None for me, either. It’s Cory’s nap time. You can give me the bill, though.”

Louise gave Vicki a familiar look. The two women had been friends in Florida for years before settling in the small North Carolina town on the edge of Currituck Sound. Every time they came to the Kettle, they argued over who would pay. Today, Louise won. She picked up the check and patted the booth beside her. “Sit down, Bobbi Lee. It’s obvious you have news that you’re just bursting to tell us.”

Bobbi stuck her pencil through a tight curl in her salon-colored wine-red hair and settled her admirable derriere next to Louise. Her two friends had it all over her in their gym-toned bodies, but Bobbi liked her figure.

“I wondered when you were going to notice,” she said.

“You Southerners have an expression about the kind of grin you’ve been wearing since we came in,” Vicki said. “Only I don’t use that sort of language in front of babies. What’s going on?”

Bobbi sat straight and threaded her fingers together. “You are looking at Bayberry Cove’s newest entrepreneur, ladies. Guess who just arranged to buy this restaurant!”

“You, our recently redheaded friend, are the owner of the Kettle?” Louise said.

“Yes! Exactly—” she consulted her rhinestone-studded watch “—eight minutes ago, I made a deal with Max. He’s all set to start his retirement in Arizona, and he’s agreed to let me make payments on the Kettle once a month.” She smiled slyly at Louise. “Of course, I told him my very own personal attorney, Miss Louise Duncan, would draw up the papers.”

“Oh, congratulations, honey,” Vicki said.

“I’ll have to charge you for the legal work,” Louise said. “I’m pretty expensive. Gonna cost you a lot of slices of pie.”

Bobbi grinned. “You got a deal, counselor. Now all I have to do is convince Mason Fletcher to negotiate a reasonable lease between him and me for this building, and I’m in business—my very own business!”

A troubled glance passed between Vicki and Louise. Bobbi knew what they were thinking; old Mason Fletcher, whose investments included nearly five blocks of downtown Bayberry Cove, was nobody’s pushover. But Bobbi was sure she could strike a bargain with him. She had to. She’d already promised her son, Charlie, that if he finished up the semester at the junior college with good grades, she would find the money for him to go to North Carolina State. She knew Charlie would keep his end of the agreement, and nothing was going to keep her from seeing her firstborn achieve his dreams.

“If anyone can negotiate with Mason, it’s you, Bobbi Lee,” Vicki said. She looked out the window. “And speak of the devil, here he comes now.”

Bobbi followed her gaze. “Looks like I’d better get a plate of pie à la mode ready.”

“Better make that two plates,” Louise said, tapping the windowpane. “Though Mason may not need the pie—he’s already bringing a two-legged hunk of something sinfully delicious with him.”

Chapter Two

Bobbi leaned over Louise and peered at the two men walking through the manicured park at the charming center of Bayberry Cove. Old Mason, who’d vacated his personal bench in the park, had his cane in one hand and the other firmly clasped around the elbow of a younger man. They were heading directly for the Kettle.

“Who is that guy?” Vicki asked.

“And why haven’t we ever seen him before?” Louise said. “Do you know him, Bobbi Lee?”

“I don’t think so…”

She stopped midsentence and squinted. “Wait a minute. Is that…? No, it couldn’t be. He hasn’t been back in years.” But it was him. Bobbi recognized the sun-streaked brown hair, the self-assured walk and the athletic build of the teenage boy who’d been the target of her adolescent infatuation twenty years ago. “It’s a sin against nature for a fella to look that good after all this time.”

Louise chuckled. “I agree, sister. The town doesn’t know what it missed.”

“Why would he show up now, though?” Bobbi said. “He’s only made a few trips home to Bayberry Cove since his aunt Buttercup died.”

“Buttercup?” Louise said. “That’s Mason’s pet name for his deceased wife.”

“It is. Nobody around here even remembers her real name. We all just called her Buttercup.”

“Buttercup Cottage is named for her,” Vicki added, glancing at Louise. In two weeks, Louise would be living in Buttercup’s famous home as Mrs. Wes Fletcher, the wife of Mason’s grandson.

“So the guy with Mason is Buttercup’s nephew?” Louise asked.

“Great-nephew,” Bobbi Lee said. “He used to spend his summers here when he was a boy. I think he was twenty the last time I saw him. That was the year his aunt died.”

“That would make Mr. Gorgeous about forty now,” Vicki said.

Bobbi Lee nodded. “Four years older than me. There was a time those four years might as well have been a hundred for all the attention he paid me.”

“Do I detect the resurgence of a schoolgirl crush in your voice?” Louise asked. “If so, no one would blame you.”

“Hush up now,” Bobbi Lee warned. “They’re coming in!”

Bobbi almost wished she hadn’t spoken so sharply. Because when Zach Martingale came through the door with his great-uncle Mason, the diner went stone silent. The last impression Bobbi wanted to give Zach was that he was still handsome enough to suck the air out of a room.

He led his uncle to a booth, but stopped when he saw Bobbi Lee. “You’re right, Uncle Mason. She’s changed.”

I would hope so, Bobbi Lee thought. I work my tush off to get this hourglass figure, and I’ve paid plenty to maintain this hair. Twenty years ago I was a dishwater blonde and dumpy, and you never gave me a second look.

He turned to her. “Uncle Mason says you’re the best waitress the Kettle ever had,” he said. “I hope you’ll continue to work here once I take over.”

Chapter Three

I hope you’ll continue to work here once I take over.

There had been a time when Bobbi Lee might have raised a ruckus over the news that Zach Martingale was planning to yank her restaurant out from under her, but not today. She was a businesswoman now. And she would handle this in a businesslike way.

She sidled up to Zach, flashed her red-lipped smile and said, “Zach Martingale, as I live and breathe. You’ve come back to Bayberry Cove.”

“I have.” He took a deep breath as if he were still inhaling the fresh air of the park and said, “I never knew coming home would feel so good.”

“That’s because in the past twenty years you haven’t tried it much.” Frown lines appeared on his forehead and she pointed to a booth. “You have a seat with your uncle, and I’ll bring y’all some pie.”

“Don’t scrimp on the ice cream, Bobbi Lee,” Mason said. “This is a celebration.”

Her businesslike attitude slipping, Bobbi Lee narrowed her eyes, placed her palms flat on the booth between the two men and said, “What are you celebrating, Mason? Zach was a bit vague a moment ago when he made his offer of employment.”

Mason straightened his stooped frame and grinned at his nephew. “I’ve talked the boy into moving back here, Bobbi Lee. Cinched it by offering him this whole block of prime Cove real estate. It’s what Buttercup would have wanted.”

The boy? Bobbi Lee almost choked. From all she’d heard, this boy had been in Chicago for two decades buying and selling Lakeshore Avenue properties and making a fortune. She glared at Zach. “Is this true, Zach? You own this building now?”

“I’ve agreed to pay Uncle Mason a fair price for the entire 200 block of Main Street,” he said.

Mason waved his hand. “We’ll settle on the money details later. The important thing is that you’ve come home before I’m six feet under. I’ve told Zach that the Kettle is perfect for his plans.” He beamed with pride. “Just what this little burg needs. New blood and a few new choices on the menu of our favorite restaurant.”

Bobbi Lee stood straight and placed her hands on her hips. She wanted to glare at Zach until he flinched, but she didn’t trust herself. He still held some stupid, inexplicable power to interfere with her ability to reason. So she zeroed in on his blissfully ignorant uncle.

“Here’s something you might want to think about, Mason,” she said. “There’s some old blood in town that might have a problem with this plan.”

“What are you talking about, Bobbi Lee?”

“Speak to Max before he leaves town,” she said. “He’ll tell you the Bayberry Cove Kettle already has a new owner, and you’re looking at her.”

Chapter Four

The Bayberry Cove Kettle already has a new owner, and you’re looking at her.

Zach’s eyes widened to the size of silver-dollar pancakes, and Mason’s whiskery gray jaw dropped.

“How could you own the Kettle, Bobbi Lee?” Mason asked. “Where would you get the money to buy this place?”

Her scalp warmed to the roots of her red hair. “Have I ever asked you where you got your money?”

“Everybody knows where I got mine. It’s the stuff of legend. Your money’s the mystery.”

“And it’s going to stay a mystery. All you need to know is that I made a deal with Max. The Kettle is mine.” Though there was still the matter of a contract to make it all legal….

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to have to renew the rental agreement with me, aren’t you?”

Her slow simmer began building to raging panic. “You wouldn’t withhold the lease.”

Mason slapped the top of the booth. “It’s darned well on the table, Bobbi. I’ve got options.”

Knowing she didn’t stand a chance against the ornery Mason and all his money, Bobbi Lee turned to his nephew. “Can I speak to you in private, Zach?”

“I suppose so.” He slowly slid out of the booth. “Where do you want to go?”

She took hold of his arm and tugged him toward the kitchen, but remembered the cook was in there. So she diverted to the restrooms. After rapping lightly at the men’s room, she flung the door open and hauled Zach in behind her. Both urinals and the single stall were empty. “This will do.”

She saw his grin in the washroom mirror. “Not a great choice for a conference room, but…”

She didn’t let him finish. “What’s with the sudden interest in Bayberry Cove, Zach?” she fired at him. “I mean, aren’t you this successful Chicago mogul who’s spent the past two decades making tons of money?”

He shrugged. “You make it sound like money is a bad thing.”

Actually, she had no idea about money since she rarely had any extra to play with after her bills were paid and she’d topped up her savings account. “And I heard you married some la-de-da lawyer lady…”

“I’ve been divorced for over five years.”

“You’re divorced?” That stopped her. That one little detail was far too interesting. And distracting.

Her gaze hadn’t wavered from Zach’s face for several seconds when the door suddenly opened and Mason hobbled in.

“We’re not done in here, Mason,” she said.

“Yes, you are. I have to 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.

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