The Stillwater Bay Collection (Books 1-4): Stillwater Bay Series Boxed Set Read online

  Grace didn’t smile back. She frowned and thought about how to take her leave. The last thing she wanted was to talk to a reporter.

  “Arnold gave me your name.”

  Grace groaned. “There are days I hate that man, and it’s not just because he’s my husband’s boss,” she mumbled beneath her breath.

  Samantha laughed. “I’ve yet to meet an editor I like.” She sobered at her words, but a mask quickly came down over her face. It was amazing the immediate change.

  There was a story there; Grace was sure of it.

  Samantha fished a business card from her purse and held it out. “How about we meet for coffee at Gina’s one day this week when you have time?”

  It took everything in her not to rebuff the woman immediately. Talk to a reporter? About the people of Stillwater? After all the articles already written about them? After all the laundry airing and privacy stealing by the reporters that flooded their town for months following the school shooting?

  “When I have time,” Grace said. She pocketed the card. She’d talk to Nathan before she spoke to Samantha, find out what the woman wanted. Maybe he could talk to her instead.

  She wasn’t sure what else Samantha hoped to glean over a coffee. By now the whole world knew more details about the teenage shooter, Gabriel Berry, than necessary. Their principal had been made into the town hero, and Charlotte, the mayor, was apparently the glue to keeping this town from falling apart.

  She wasn’t sure what else Samantha wanted to learn. Unless it was about Katie.

  Grace knew there was one significant detail that had been glossed over in all the papers.

  2

  CAMILLE

  Camille leaned back from the floral arrangement she was working on and stretched her lower back, digging the knuckles on her fist into a tight knot that wouldn’t go away.

  What she needed was a massage, but she didn’t have time for one, not to mention the money. Whatever she’d been able to put away needed to go to Paige. As hard as her sister tried to hide it, Camille knew her knee was causing her pain.

  Stubborn brat.

  “Who are you talking to?” Anne Marie, her friend and owner of Sweet Bakes, popped her head into Still Bloomin.

  Camille’s head jerked up and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment before she broke into a smile.

  “Depends on what it was you heard.” Luckily it was only Anne Marie who heard her. It could have been worse.

  “The only person you call a stubborn brat is your sister, but you seem to be alone, so…” Anne Marie’s lips quirked into a smile before she stepped in and pushed a box out of the way with her foot. “Do you need help?”

  Camille tightened her lips for a split second. “I told Paige we were getting a delivery today and that I needed her this morning.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s now afternoon and she still hasn’t shown up.”

  “Ahh.” Anne Marie nodded before she knelt and started to open a box. “I’ve got some time; what can I do to help?”

  Camille stretched the muscles in her back and groaned at the popping noises along her spine. “Sit with me for a bit. I could use the break. My feet are killing me.”

  Camille caught her friend’s glance toward the shoes she wore and she blushed. “I know, I know. Not very smart.” She sat on a stool and attempted to hide her feet as best she could.

  She’d found an old pair of flats that she thought she’d lost this morning and couldn’t resist. She loved these shoes. They were bright pink and sparkled whenever light hit them, and there was a cute little bow at the top…but they weren’t meant to be worn for long periods. They were more for dress-up—as in dressing up for those dates she never had anymore.

  “You should keep a spare pair of comfy shoes with you, maybe hidden beneath the counter or in the back. It’s what I do. Nothing beats flip-flops for those hot summer days, or my orthotics that could double as slippers.” Anne Marie set her purse on the counter before sitting down. She reached inside and pulled out a brown paper bag that had Camille’s stomach growling.

  The air filled with the subtle aroma of vanilla as Anne Marie opened the bag opened and pulled out two scones each the size of a fist. “Vanilla-bean scones, as requested.”

  “I didn’t mean you had to make them. If I remember correctly, last night I asked for a recipe.” Camille relaxed her shoulders and took the offered scone. She watched as her friend also brought out two plastic knives and a small jar of homemade strawberry jam.

  “The last time you attempted a recipe of mine you made hockey pucks.”

  “Is it my fault I mistook baking soda for powder?” Camille rolled her eyes before she cut her scone in half and slathered it with the jam. She moaned with delight as she took a bite, and the two sat in silence while they devoured the baked treats.

  “I was going to ask you to join me for lunch at Gina’s, but if you’re alone, I doubt you have time.” Anne Marie wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked around her. “What about one of your summer students? Couldn’t you get them to come in and help?”

  Camille shook her head. “They’re manning the booth down at the beach. Plus, this is something Paige and I take care of. She’s the one who should be helping me.”

  “Where is she?”

  Camille got up and knelt at one of the boxes on the floor. She began to sort through a variety of vases and small ornaments meant to go into various floral arrangements.

  “Great question. She’s either tending to one of our clients’ gardens or possibly at the golf course.” She looked at her watch. “I’m going with golf course, although she should have been done by now.”

  “The golf course? Is she there every day?”

  “Yes. She doesn’t need to be and she knows that. But…”

  “She feels a connection to Ethan there, doesn’t she?”

  “She does. I never realized things were that serious between them. I mean, they never even went on a date.”

  Ethan Poole, the clubhouse manager at the Stillwater Golf Course, had been one of the victims of the school shooting in May. He’d been there to drop off his nephew’s backpack that’d been left in his pickup truck and unfortunately ended up being at the wrong place at the wrong time. The day of the shooting, Paige admitted that Ethan had asked her on a date, and Camille had known from Paige’s reaction that her sister liked him. But she hadn’t realized just how much.

  “How is his family doing?”

  Camille shook her head. “I’m not sure. Paige would be the one to ask. She keeps in touch with Nick, his brother, but she doesn’t really say much to me about anything.”

  The look Anne Marie gave her was assessing.

  “What?” Camille asked. Her friend had a way of seeing straight into her soul sometimes. “Does it bother me that she keeps things from me? Yes, but what can I do?” It more than bothered her. It scared her. Her sister had slowly been withdrawing, and Camille was at a loss as to how to fix things between them.

  “Things haven’t gotten better, then?”

  “Between us, you mean? No.” She emptied the box of bubble-wrapped packages, then took the empty box and set it behind the counter with a bunch of others that needed to be broken down and put in the recycling bin behind their store.

  “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

  Caught off guard by the question, Camille scratched the back of her neck. “Nothing really.”

  “Let’s do dinner at Gina’s. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Then I won’t say it. I’d love to.” She smiled at her friend before filling her arms with the packages she’d placed on the floor. “Now, before you leave, check out these little figurines I ordered. They’ll be perfect for the beach booth, I think.”

  While they carefully unwrapped each tiny piece, Paige walked in through the back door, a coffee tray in hand.

  “Look who showed up.” Camille tried really hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  “I’ve been tending clients’
gardens; you knew that.” Paige’s brow furrowed before she set the tray down. “Anne Marie, I picked up coffee for you too. I was going to bring it over and sweet-talk you into—”

  “A scone? There’s one in here for you.” Anne Marie pushed the brown bag forward while Paige’s eyes lit up. She chuckled as Paige reached in for a scone and groaned as she brought it up to her nose and inhaled. “You’re just like your sister.”

  “If I haven’t said it before, I love you.”

  “Funny how you usually tell me that when there’s baking involved.” Anne Marie gestured to the jam. “It’s the batch you helped me make last month. Turned out pretty well.”

  “Awesome. I haven’t opened my jars yet, so that’s good to know.” Paige sat down on the stool Camille had vacated and enjoyed her scone.

  Camille continued to unwrap the figurines, being sure to smooth out the bubble wrap so they could use it later, and didn’t say a word.

  Anne Marie must have caught the tension between the two sisters, since she gathered her purse and coffee and stood. “I’ll see you at closing.”

  Camille sighed and walked to the door. “Thanks for the scones,” she said.

  “No problem. I’ve got a container of extras for you for later too.” She reached out and gently touched Camille’s arm. “Be gentle with her.”

  Camille nodded but didn’t say anything. She’d caught the way Paige tried to hide her limp earlier as she walked in.

  She’d waved to a few people as they passed by, rearranged one of the flower buckets, and moved the sign she kept outside before she felt more in control of her emotions.

  “These turned out to be really cute.” Paige held up one of the figurines as soon as Camille walked back into the shop. They were sand dollars and seashells on sticks for flower bouquets. “I’m glad we ordered them.”

  Camille nodded. It was the only thing she trusted herself to do. If she opened her mouth, who knew what she’d say? So instead she kept her focus on peeling back the bubble wrap, careful not to pop too many of the bubbles.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier.” Paige kicked her feet along the floor, a guilty look on her face.

  “I told you I needed you.” Camille bit her lip to keep herself from saying more.

  “I know, I know. You probably thought I was avoiding you. Especially after this morning.” Paige’s lips quirked. “About that…”

  “No.” Camille shook her head. “You were right. I was mothering you. Or”—she looked upward toward the ceiling—“smothering, as you called it. It’s your body. If you want to—” She stopped herself from saying anything further. Like, If you want to be stupid and do more damage to your body than you already have, it’s your decision. Screw up another knee while you’re at it, or your back or… But if she said that, Paige would probably take off and she’d be stuck emptying the rest of the boxes herself.

  “You’re right. It is my body. And my pain.” She placed her hand on Camille’s arm. “Which means I know what I can handle and what I can’t.”

  “Do you?”

  Camille caught the slight flush to her sister’s face.

  “Okay, so maybe I tend to push myself too hard. But that’s my choice, Cam. Not yours.” A tinge of annoyance laced Paige’s voice.

  Camille breathed in deep and debated whether this was a fight she wanted to enter or if she should admit defeat.

  Screw it.

  “It might be your choice, but it affects us both. Affects our company. Our clients. Or do you not get that?” She swallowed the anger that rose with her words. “When you don’t do your exercises, when you don’t go to the doctor, when you don’t take your medication…” She breathed in deeply, held it, and then breathed out again. “Paige, when you can’t do your job, someone else has to, and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we don’t have any available hands at the moment.”

  “I can do my job.” Paige dropped the wrapper she held in her hands and clenched her fists.

  “Really?” Camille pulled out her phone. “Mrs. Wilson sent me a text yesterday. You forgot to stop by and look at her rosebush, which is dying. And the Andersons have been in twice this week to find out when you’re going to go over and tend their gardens. Carla is getting quite anxious, since they have friends coming up from the city for the weekend. So guess what I was doing last night while you were God knows where?” She paused for breath and barely heard her sister’s whisper.

  “I was at the golf course.”

  “Of course you were.” Camille shook her head in exasperation. “Where else would you be? Don’t worry—I covered for you.”

  She pushed herself up from the stool and paced. The words poured out of her now that they’d started, and she couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d tried. Paige just stood there, mute, eyes downcast, which irked Camille even more.

  “It’s not like I needed help with the delivery today”—her voice pitched higher as the words came out—“along with getting product ready for the booth at the beach or anything. It’s a good thing I came in early—I had a feeling you wouldn’t show up till later.”

  There was so much more she wanted to say but didn’t. Things like, Partners don’t let each other down, or, We’re a family and we need to start acting like one, or like, I’m here and I understand what you’re going through. She didn’t say any of that because she couldn’t.

  It wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway. Her sister liked to build up walls around her heart and pretend things were fine.

  Fine. She hated that word.

  It wasn’t until Paige got up and placed her arms around her that she realized she was crying.

  “I’m sorry, Cam. I really am. I should have been here; I just…”

  Camille pushed herself away and swiped the tears on her cheeks away. She was an ugly crier, and she didn’t need customers to see her with tearstained cheeks, red swollen eyes, and a nose to match.

  The shop phone rang and Paige answered, giving Camille time to run to the back and splash water on her face. They needed to have a heart-to-heart talk about what was going on, about what was happening with the business and what it meant when Paige was never there to help out. They couldn’t keep going on like this.

  Paige rounded the corner. “That was Kaya.” Kaya was their student employee who manned the booth down at the beach. “She’s almost out of the little beach-supply baskets. I can’t believe how well they’re selling.”

  The supply baskets had been Paige’s idea. Inside them were small bottles of suntan lotion, cream and gel to soothe burns, and moist wipes, along with a blowup beach ball, some toys to play with in the sand, and a gift certificate for a Still Bloomin bouquet or flower arrangement. They also sold bottled water, floppy sun hats, and flip-flops there as well.

  “That’s great. Good thing supplies arrived today.” She pointed to a stack of six boxes in the corner. “I figured you could deal with those.” She knew that sounded snippy.

  There was a look on her sister’s face that cut Camille to the bone: acceptance. She accepted Camille’s anger and obvious resentment when she shouldn’t have.

  Camille wanted her to fight back. To argue with her like they used to, not wait for Camille to accept Paige’s limitations. Just because her sister had destroyed her knee playing professional volleyball didn’t mean everything about her was destroyed, and yet that was exactly how Paige acted sometimes. As if she were damaged goods.

  Part of that might have been Camille’s fault. Ever since their parents’ death she’d taken on the mother role, forgetting she was only a sister. She’d done everything she could to help her sister heal from losing her dream of being on the Olympic volleyball team, to fill the void in her heart from losing her mother…but she’d only made things worse.

  She’d slowly watched her sister’s spirit disintegrate and she hadn’t known what to do, lost to her own grief and the new responsibility laid on her shoulders—keeping the family business alive.

  “Why don’t we p
ut some baskets together tonight?” Paige suggested, her voice meek, which only increased Camille’s annoyance. What happened to her fiery sister who wouldn’t back down from a fight, who knew what she wanted and never gave in?

  “So you mean you’ll actually be home? I’m beginning to wonder if you even remember where you live. I barely see you anymore.”

  Paige turned and focused on the boxes in the corner.

  “Paige?”

  “I’ve been housesitting one of the cottages.” Her shoulder lifted in a shrug but she didn’t turn around. “I thought I’d mentioned it to you.”

  Housesitting? No, she hadn’t mentioned that at all.

  “Whose cottage?” she barked. “Since when and for how long?”

  “Listen, you’re not my mother or my landlord. Back off.” There was an edge to Paige’s voice Camille hadn’t heard in a long time, and it was nice. Even though it hurt at the same time.

  “Back off? Seriously? That’s not fair, Paige. I have the right to know when you’re not going to be home.” Camille’s body tensed and her back muscles spasmed from the tightness.

  “The right?” Paige finally turned around, her eyes blazing with fire. “I’ll repeat myself in case you didn’t hear me. You’re. Not. My. Mother.” She spat out the words.

  Camille’s lips thinned. “No, but I am the one responsible for you. The one who’s been there through all your surgeries, through all your doctors’ appointments. I’m the only one who is on your side, because I’m all you have left.”

  As the words slipped out, Camille realized she’d just crossed a line.

  “Just like I’m all you have left,” Paige said quietly, dousing the blaze of emotion Camille had been swept up in.

  Camille bit her lip and nodded. She cleared her throat a few times before she could get the words out of her mouth.

  “Can you”—she breathed in deeply—“can you at least let me know when you’ll be home and when you won’t be?”