Seabreeze Inn

Chapter 2-1

2

“THAT’S IT?” Ivy’s heart sank. She shielded her eyes against the sun’s rays, taking in the sprawling property perched on a knoll that swept to the beach. The house was dated, and the landscaping—what was left of it—was thorny and overgrown. No wonder there hadn’t been any offers.

“You’re lucky that Mrs. Erickson’s estate kept up the structural and system repairs, including the roof and electrical, before your husband bought it,” Bennett said.

Ivy caught her breath. The sound of his rich, slightly gravelly voice brought back a flood of memories. She recalled hearing him sing, strumming his guitar, on the beach beside a fire with her friends so many years ago. In an instant, she was seventeen again, with a heart so tender and so swiftly broken. This is why she’d never taken his calls, but only corresponded through email with him.

She slid on her sunglasses to study Bennett, surprised at his metamorphosis from long-haired surfer to successful citizen. He was dressed in resort wear as if he were planning a yacht excursion later today. His cropped hair had sun streaks, and his face bore light tan lines on his cheeks from his sunglasses. With deck shoes, light blue cotton pants, and an expensive-looking, casual windbreaker jacket over a white cotton shirt, he looked like he had just stepped out of an ad for sailing craft.

She wondered if he still sang.

Ivy turned away to focus on the house. She wasn’t there to look at Bennett Dylan.

The scene before her was a drab wash of dingy white and pale, straw-like grass relieved only by pink and purple bougainvillea blossoms that tumbled across the barren lawn like haphazard flower fairies. Just beyond where a grassy lawn should have ended, waves bubbled on the beach, and shore birds skittered along the water’s foamy white edge.

Yet as run down as the landscape was, Bennett gazed at the house with obvious pride. “The original owners, Amelia Erickson and her husband Gustav, christened the home Las Brisas del Mar, which means ocean breezes in Spanish.”

“Lovely name,” Ivy said. At least that was appealing.

“That was the original name of Summer Beach when this part of California was under Mexican rule,” Bennett said. “It was important to Mrs. Erickson that the name preserve the heritage of the past for the community’s sake. Most people around town call it Las Brisas, or the old Erickson estate.”

While the history was interesting, Ivy didn’t want to spend any more time with Bennett than necessary. She dropped her bag on the ground with a thud. She and Shelly had taken a ride-share here directly from the airport, though Bennett had offered to pick them up.

Shelly glanced at Bennett’s SUV, a large hulking vehicle with dark-tinted windows. “Can we put our bags in your car for safekeeping?”

“Sure, though the neighborhood’s fairly safe,” Bennett said in a confident, real estate agent tone.

“I live in New York,” Shelly said. “Can’t leave a penny out in my neighborhood.” Her laugh rang out against the continuous, low vibration of ocean waves.

Ivy watched two women in colorful sundresses stroll by wearing twinkling diamonds on their wrists and at their throats. They were brilliant pools of color against a vivid blue ocean backdrop and looked as if they belonged in a LeRoy Neiman painting. “Those two are unlikely to covet our well-traveled luggage. Still, I’d feel better if it were safe.”

Accommodating them, Bennett opened the SUV’s rear hatch. His eyes flicked toward Ivy and focused on her. “You seem awfully familiar. Did you grow up in Boston?”

Ivy shot Shelly a look to squelch the comment she feared. “No, we grew up half an hour south of here near the beach, but I left a long time ago.” As she spoke to him, a rush of emotion seized her chest, surged up her neck, and exploded in her brain, sending a thousand sparks prickling through her nervous system. She didn’t want to relive her last summer after high school—or her crush on Bennett. Of all people for Claire to stick her with.

“So how do you know Flint Bay?” he asked Ivy. “I noticed you’re connected on social media.”

While Shelly looked amused, Ivy dismissed his question with a wave of her hand, which was all she could muster for a moment. “He’s a relative. I don’t see him often.”

That was true. Ivy hadn’t spoken to her brother much in the past few years and had been surprised that he and his family had flown to Boston to attend Jeremy’s funeral. It wasn’t that they weren’t close. They’d just drifted apart, each of them busy with their own families. Aside from tapping a benign like on social media posts, they’d lost touch.

Ivy watched Bennett swing their suitcases into the rear cargo area with ease. He had the kind of solid, muscular build that men half his age aspired to. No muffin-top on that physique. He’d bulked up since she’d seen him last, but then, that had been more than twenty-five years ago.

Yet, more than his build, it was his small movements that took her breath away. The way he angled his head to listen as if hearing the rhythm in a person’s voice. Or the way he tapped a finger on his thigh to some silent tune. These revealed the soul of a fellow artist she’d once fallen in love with.

Not that she should care, of course. She drew a deep, cleansing breath.

She hadn’t felt this way since Jeremy. No. If she were honest with herself, she’d never felt such intense physical attraction to Jeremy. Her husband had been more of a curiosity—an intriguing, mercurial puzzle to piece together. Yet over the years, she’d loved the life they’d built together and how he’d always cared for her. That was the true mark of love, wasn’t it?

She had no idea what this feeling was, but right now, it definitely wasn’t welcome.

Bennett shut the rear hatch. “I’ve been keeping up the grounds—what’s left to keep up, that is. The landscaping and the house need work to properly show your property.”

“I asked you not to spend any money on it,” Ivy snapped. She wondered how large of a bill he’d racked up on that. “How much is the yard service?”

“No charge for my labor,” he said. His flashy, white-toothed smile was a little too quick for her. “You mentioned that you were on a budget, so I did what I could to help the house show better. I didn’t do much except clear the weeds and debris outside and dust a few cobwebs inside. I turned on the electricity and water, but I’m afraid it’s like watering hay.”

“Oh,” Ivy said, now a little embarrassed. “Well, thank you.” That was kind of him. With looming property taxes, she had to keep costs down. If the house didn’t sell soon, she would lose it to a tax sale. This was her only remaining asset now. She scrutinized the exterior, trying to decide what could be done on a budget to make it more appealing.

Bedraggled palm trees thick with dried frond skirts lined the walkway to the house, standing like loyal, gray-bearded sentinels on guard. Sandy dust swirled in a little cyclone near Bennett’s For Sale sign.

She sighed. Her house was the neighborhood eyesore.

Down the block, neatly trimmed palm trees swayed above tiered fountains and picturesque beach houses. Farther down were local businesses, including a coffee shop named Java Beach and a hardware store called Nailed It, as well as resort fashion boutiques and beach gear rentals. Summer Beach had retained its lazy, beach village vibe despite homes that had soared in price and summer tourists who poured in for the golden beaches and nearby horse races.

Ivy frowned with concern. The faster she sold this house, the sooner she could get on with her life. What was left over would cover Sunny’s last year of college, a little nest egg, and a cozy little one-bedroom studio apartment somewhere in Boston. Not trendy Back Bay, of course. An outlying suburb would do, even if Ivy didn’t know anyone. She had to live somewhere.

An ocean breeze cooled her face. She filled her lungs with fresh air laced with the aromas of sea salt and kelp, which reminded her of the summer holidays she’d taken with Jeremy and the girls on Nantucket. She sighed. Those had been among her happiest days.

“This house was once a real beauty,” Bennett said, his tone reverent now. “I’ve seen old photos of grand parties held here. Hollywood celebrities, artists, and the horse racing crowd used to come here. She was stunning in her day. Could be again.”

At his words, Ivy’s thoughts shifted. She took in the wide stone steps leading up to the entry and tall Palladian windows facing the sea. In her mind’s eye, she imagined cocktail parties set against brilliant pink sunsets, languorous dinner parties held on the veranda by candlelight, and guests waltzing under moonlight reflected on sparkling waves.

Bennett’s voice brought her back to reality. “It’s been months without any showings at all. The listing contract is up for renewal, but we have to do something.”

Fighting the effect Bennett had on her, she turned to him. “Let’s reduce the price again.”

“We can, but that’s not the problem,” Bennett said, leading the way up the wide steps to the front door. “It has zero curb appeal.”

“I could manage fresh paint and landscaping,” Ivy said, calculating how much room she had on her credit cards. Could she get a loan to do more? Probably not on her income. She rested her hand on a stone balustrade, which radiated the sun’s warmth. The structure felt solid and enduring.

“Might be worth more as a tear-down,” Shelly added. “It’s a large lot that’s just steps to the beach.”

Bennett shook his head. “Even though Mrs. Erickson hadn’t lived in Las Brisas for years after the war, she had it designated as a historic building. The first licensed female architect in California, Julia Morgan, designed it.” Bennett cleared his throat. “Your husband was trying to demolish it in order to build on the lot.”

Ivy cringed. What gall. But knowing Jeremy, it didn’t surprise her. He’d traded in his car for a new model every year.

Bennett went on. “Jeremy was lobbying the city to revoke the historic designation, arguing that it’s a blight on the village.”

This news was startling to her. When had her husband had time to do that? Then Ivy recalled the trips to Los Angeles he’d been taking to advise a client.

Jeremy had been leading a double life, indeed.

Ivy ran her hand along the stone railing. Suddenly, a strange, protective instinct surged within her. This house had been left alone, just as she had been.

“I would never dream of demolishing Las Brisas,” she said, surprising herself. Where did that come from?

Shelly shot her a puzzled look.

“Then let’s go inside,” Bennett said with a note of relief in his voice.

Ivy gazed up at the two-story house and its stunning architecture. A round turret anchored one side, and a veranda wrapped around the house. Its position high on a knoll gave it an even grander appearance. The location on a sandy point was ideal, with only one adjoining property. Even in its current state, the house still had a graceful beauty about it that tugged at her emotions. She could understand why Jeremy had fallen in love with it and bought it.

Even why he’d spent every penny they’d had on it.

She only wished she’d known about it.

Her younger daughter Sunny’s criticism still haunted her. How could you have let Dad spend your retirement? Sunny was also angry that Ivy had withdrawn Jeremy’s offer of a new car upon her college graduation, but what could she do? Ivy gave Sunny enough frequent flyer miles to take her to Europe, where she was backpacking and visiting friends who had family or summer rentals. That had placated Sunny some and given them both space to heal.

Ivy paused at the top of the steps behind Bennett, who was sorting through a ring of keys. His cologne wafted behind him on the breeze. Sandalwood, she detected.