The House on Blackberry Hill (Jewell Cove 1)

Abby stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Tom had come by to replace the door on one of the kitchen cupboards that had come from the manufacturer with a flaw. He was kneeling on the floor holding a screwdriver in his hand, his jeans curved beautifully over his bottom. His T-shirt rode up just a bit, stretched across the muscles of his back.

He was easily the most gorgeous man she’d ever known.

Unfortunately, he was also the most difficult to figure out. Everything had changed since the day of the storm. So many things had been resolved. She’d shared the deepest parts of herself with Tom, and she’d thought they’d grown closer because of it. It was true that Sarah and Mark’s tragedy had cast a pall of sadness over the family, but it was tempered by Tom and Josh’s tentative reconciliation. Wounds were being healed.

So why did she feel farther removed from Tom instead of closer? Ever since they’d been interrupted on their way to kissing—and that was definitely where they’d been headed—he’d been distant. He’d brought her home from the hospital that night and left her at the door. She’d offered to go to his place to pick up her clothing but he dropped it off one day when she was in town meeting with the lawyer.

That night had given Abby a clarity about herself, her past, and what she wanted from her future … or in this case their future. She’d been running away her whole life, afraid of getting hurt, and she was tired of it. Abby wanted a place to call home, a family, friends, Tom. But so far, instead of getting closer, Tom had backed off.

“Fire away,” he answered, not looking up from his work.

She stepped inside. “Jewell Cove has a historical society, right?”

The ratcheting screwdriver made grinding noises in the otherwise silent kitchen. He chuckled. “Sure, but you could start up your own historical society with what’s up in that attic.”

“I’ve already sorted out a lot of things that might be of interest to collectors.”

He picked up another screw and set it in place. “Getting their hands on some of the old Foster relics would be a major coup,” he confirmed. “I’m surprised the town hasn’t asked you about buying the house for a museum.”

She ran her hand over the cool granite countertop. He’d done a fabulous job in the kitchen, making it modern and sleek while still maintaining the stately grandeur of the rest of the house. “Oh, I did run into the mayor at Breezes one morning when I first arrived and he might have mentioned it.”

The screwdriver stopped turning. Tom finally looked up at her, but she found it impossible

to read his expression.

“Has the town put in an offer?”

“Not that I’m aware of. The price tag might be a little hefty.”

He looked back down at the cabinet door and opened and shut it a few times, and then fiddled more with the screws.

“Anyway, what I wondered was … what do you think of me hosting one last Foster garden party?”

“A garden party? Here?” Tom paused in the middle of his task to look at Abby in surprise.

“I know the yard still needs some work. I thought about asking Art Ellis to come up to show me how the garden used to be. The roses are blooming, but it needs more flowers. Do you know where I should go to buy some annuals to fill in the gaps?”

He sat back on his heels. “Why on earth would you want to hold a garden party when you’re selling this place anyway?”

This was the tough part, because she wasn’t sure she was ready to lay all her cards on the table yet, to just come out and tell him—and everyone—that the party was her own personal housewarming. She twisted her fingers together. “I think it’s a good way to erase the bad … I don’t know, karma, maybe, of the past. You worked so hard to restore the house and everyone talks about how it used to be in its heyday. Why shouldn’t I throw a party? What better way to … send it off into the future?”

Except the future wasn’t quite what he thought it was. The FOR SALE sign was still up and would remain up—but only for the time being. Tom thought that the party was a last hurrah before she sold, but really, it was a new beginning. For her. And maybe for them …

She took a step closer to him. “Think about it. White tents on the back lawn, vases of flowers, ladies in long dresses. We could polish up the good silver and serve tea on that gorgeous Wedgwood china. I counted, Tom. The Fosters had service for a hundred. Can you imagine? China for one hundred people!”

Tom shut the cupboard door, stood up, and tucked the screwdriver into his back pocket. “So you’re what, throwing a going-away party for yourself?”

So much was at stake but she’d never been more determined to succeed. The time for running was past.

“Something like that,” she answered, crossing her fingers behind her back. “Anyway, I was wondering if you knew who to contact. I’d like for the historical society to be a part of it.”

“Talk to Gloria Henderson. She’s the organist at the church. If she can’t help you, she’ll know who can.”

“We’ve met. Thanks, Tom.” She turned toward the door but then spun back. “You’ll be sure to come, won’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Me? At a garden party? Are you serious?”

For a second Abby felt a flash of panic at the thought that Tom wouldn’t be there. She couldn’t imagine doing this without him, not when he’d been here every step of the way. It was because of him this was even possible. “But of course you’ll be here. You’re the reason this place looks like it does. Everyone will want to ask you about the restoration. It’s good advertising for your business.”