Sweet Illusions (Indigo Bay Sweet Romance Series Book 4) Read online

  She turned to clip her money to the fridge and stopped with a jolt when she saw the box sitting on the counter. It was a box of toffee from Miss Eulalie’s, and she recognized the clumsily tied yellow bow. Her mind raced through conversations she’d had with Marjorie over the last few weeks. She’d said something about her youngest son moving back to Indigo Bay from … where? A big city somewhere. Columbia? No, that didn’t sound right. But somewhere in the South.

  The image of the policeman swirled through her mind. His quick smile, the smooth caramel sound of his voice, the tanned skin of his forearms. She’d dropped his chocolates all over the counter and given him a sloppy present for his mother.

  “Eva!”

  She jumped and spun around as Marjorie Andrews stepped through the French doors leading to the deck. Marjorie was a few inches shorter than Eva, and plump. Her light brown hair was graying at the temples and there were deep laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. She wore white capris embroidered at the hem with red starfish and a red shirt with twinkling beads at the neckline. As always, she radiated energy and a nurturing instinct that Eva had never experienced before and was inexorably drawn to. As much as she tried to keep to herself, there was something irresistible about Marjorie, a feeling of safety and acceptance Eva craved.

  “I … here’s the rent money.” Eva thrust the bills forward.

  “Oh, go ahead and set it on the counter.” Marjorie waved the money away. “You’re just in time for dinner. Will you join us?”

  Eva shot a quick glance at the box of toffee. “I’d better not.”

  “Nonsense. Please come! We’re doing an old fashioned crab boil and Tyler brought blue crabs all the way from Hilton Head.”

  Eva hesitated. Fresh crab definitely sounded better than the can of salty minestrone soup she’d planned to microwave for dinner.

  Marjorie took her silence for agreement. “We’re on the beach, but I forgot the crab crackers.” She reached into the walk-in pantry to pull out a small pail full of silver tools and wooden mallets. “Oh, and could you grab the paper towels, please?” Marjorie gestured with her head toward the roll hanging by the sink. “I’ve got two rolls down there, but you can never have too many paper towels with crab.”

  Eva pulled the paper towels from the holder and silently followed Marjorie across the deck, down the wide wooden steps, and across the lawn to the sand dunes. A trail wound between the dunes, well packed with sand and lined with tall weedy grass. The breeze picked up and the sounds of the ocean grew louder as they emerged onto the beach.

  Flickering tiki torches lit the folding picnic tables set in a long row in the sand near a smoking fire. A woman and a young girl were covering the tables with newspapers while three men stood around the fire, watching the two large pots nestled in the glowing embers. The flames and smoke swirled like a modern dance interpretation, leaning one way, then shooting another as the breeze caught it. The ocean gleamed faintly in the moonlight, and laughter drifted toward them from people who were splashing and playing in the surf.

  Marjorie set the bucket of crab crackers at the end of the table. “Come on, Eva, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  Eva left the paper towels by the crab crackers and bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to follow her landlord across the sand rather than hurry back to her apartment, where she could lock herself in and hide until daytime. The Andrews had been so generous; if it weren’t for them, she wouldn’t even have an apartment to run back to. She fixed a smile on her face as they neared the fire.

  “You already know Peter.” Marjorie laid a hand fondly on her husband’s arm. “And this is our oldest son, Tyler, and our son-in-law, Lee.”

  Tyler shared his father’s tall, heavy build, but under his baseball cap, his warm hazel eyes matched his mother’s. Lee was shorter than either Peter or Tyler and had a leanness bordering on scrawny. He wore thick glasses and his long brown beard made him look older than he probably was. He gave Eva a warm smile, then turned back to poking the coals with a long stick. Neither was the man from the chocolate shop, and a small dart of disappointment stung Eva’s stomach. Maybe she’d been wrong about the toffee.

  “This is Jennifer, Tyler’s wife, and their daughter, Abbie,” Marjorie continued, pointing to the woman and the girl taping the newspapers to the tables. Jennifer was blonde and tan and wore a striped sundress that showed off her toned arms; Abbie was her miniature, though with slightly longer hair. They both waved, but did not stop working.

  “And the rest of them are down by the water,” Marjorie finished, gesturing toward the dark forms racing in and out of the surf. In the dimness, Eva could see two taller figures and three shorter ones. She nodded and tried to fix names in her mind. Tyler, Jennifer, Abbie, Lee … and five more to go once dinner started.

  A dinner table surrounded by a large group was nothing new; there had been more than fifty people at the Compound by the time Eva left the Family. But she’d grown up with them and had never had to learn a bunch of names all at once. Funny how twelve people suddenly felt like a lot.

  “I’m so glad you could join us, Eva,” Peter said, scattering her thoughts. “The cooler’s over by the table; help yourself to whatever you’d like to drink.”

  Eva forced a smile. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “Nah.” Peter shook his head. “We’re nearly ready. You can go down and splash around with Ben and Gina and the kids if you’d like.”

  He may as well have suggested she jump onto the table and start singing show tunes. Eva twisted her fingers in her skirt. This was a bad idea.

  “What do you want to drink, Eva?” Jennifer said, offering a friendly smile. She’d finished taping the newspapers, and now she flipped the lid open on the cooler and surveyed the contents. “There’s Coke, Dr. Pepper, root beer, ginger ale, and water.”

  Eva’s boiling nerves settled to a simmer. “Ginger ale would be great please.”

  Jennifer handed her a Blenheim gold cap, the glass bottle cold and slick from the ice water in the cooler. “Hope you don’t mind the mild stuff,” Jennifer said, nodding toward the bottle of soda. “I can probably find a red cap in the house, if you’d rather.”

  “No, this is fine.” Eva twisted the bottle cap off and took a sip, the fizzy warmth of the ginger tingling on her tongue.

  “Come sit down.” Jennifer gestured to the fire, where camp chairs had been set up on the side opposite the cooks. “Mom told us you’re living in the apartment,” she said when they’d found seats.

  “Yes, since January.”

  “Where are you from before that?” Tyler asked.

  They were innocent questions, an attempt to make conversation, but nerves prickled in Eva’s stomach. She took another sip of soda. “North Georgia.”

  Jennifer didn’t seem to notice her reluctance. “Oh really? What part? I have family in Gainesville, and Ben lived in Atlanta before moving home.”

  It was one of those Southern traditions where new acquaintances tried to build a connection through shared relatives and experiences, but it was exactly what Eva didn’t want. The Family was only an hour from Gainesville, and even though they kept mostly to themselves, they were known. “It’s a small town. You probably don’t know it,” she hedged.

  Jennifer wasn’t buying it, but her questioning look was cut off by Peter’s shrill whistle. “Food’s ready!” he bellowed.

  Eva stood and smoothed her skirt as the group down by the water came toward them. A woman with a baby balanced on her hip was followed by a man draped in children; one clung to each leg, balancing on his foot, and a third was slung across his back in a close approximation of a fireman carry. His deep laughter joined their squeals of joy. As they drew closer, he raised his head and his eyes met Eva’s through the twirling smoke from the fire.

  It was the police officer from the chocolate shop, though he’d changed from his uniform into a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt. Eva’s heartbeat stuttered, and her fingers were suddenly slippery o
n her bottle of ginger ale.

  “Y’all get off Uncle Ben and let him breathe,” Jennifer scolded good-naturedly. She moved forward to pry the little girl from Ben’s left leg.

  “They’re all right,” Ben laughed. He stooped to set the boy he carried across his shoulders onto the sand. “Careful of the fire,” he called as the boy ran toward the table.

  “Ben, this is Eva,” Marjorie cut in. “I told you about her earlier; she’s renting our garage apartment.”

  Eva felt warmth flood her face that was equal parts intrigue and panic. They’d been talking about her? Why? What had Marjorie told him?

  “Nice to see you again,” Ben said, and his quick smile made her pule race.

  “Again?” Marjorie’s brow wrinkled, and then understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, you must have seen her at Eulalie’s when you bought the toffee.”

  Say something! Eva’s mind raced; she couldn’t just stand here frozen. “How were the orange creams?” she finally managed.

  “The receptionist at work said they were delicious. Better than usual, in fact,” Ben said in a tone as though he were quoting someone. “I’m taking your recommendations from now on.”

  Bubbly heat not from the ginger ale filled Eva’s stomach. She dropped her gaze, noticing the way his shirt lay stretched across his broad chest in contrast to the baggy shorts. His calves were muscular and tanned, and his feet were bare and covered in sand.

  And Ben’s whole family was standing there, watching her check him out. She yanked her gaze away, straight to the too-knowing smile of his mother.

  “This is our daughter, Gina.” Marjorie said, indicating the woman who’d been playing in the ocean with the kids.

  “Nice to meet you.” Gina wore denim shorts and a loose T-shirt. Her smile was a lot like Ben’s, only missing the dimple. “This is Arthur,” she said as she nuzzled the baby’s fat cheek with her nose, making him giggle.

  “And the other children are …” Marjorie looked around, her forehead wrinkled. “Maybe it would be easier to get everyone into family groups so Eva can see who goes with who.”

  Eva smiled, trying to quell her rising panic. More names and faces to remember.

  “Why don’t we get started with dinner and Eva can figure it out as we go?” Ben said smoothly, casting a look in her direction.

  “Sounds good to me. I’m starving!” Tyler grabbed two hot pads from the table and tossed one to Ben. “Help me with the crab.”

  They all stood back as the brothers lifted the blue enameled pot from the fire and set it on the sand. Tyler lifted the lid and began pulling the bright red crabs from the pot with a pair of tongs, stacking them on a large tray Marjorie placed at the head of the table. The steam from the crabs was spicy and sweet, making Eva’s mouth water even more. There was a mad scramble as the children hurried to grab a pair of crab crackers and find a seat.

  Ben stepped to Eva’s side, so close his arm brushed against hers. A shiver zipped along her skin. “Come get stew first,” Ben said. “You have to beat Tyler to it or there won’t be any left.”

  Her mind filled with memories of dinners with the Family, when there was never enough food. There was always the dread of going to bed hungry, the frustration when the bigger kids, or even sometimes the adults, pushed her out of the way to reach the table first. She’d eventually getting a bite of something, but it was never, ever enough to fill her stomach. Yet Eva counted herself lucky when she went to bed only slightly hungry instead of ravenous. She remembered the anger, the helpless frustration, the tears falling silently onto her pillow as she drove her fists into her stomach, trying to force the pain away.

  “Eva? Do you want Frogmore stew?” Ben’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  “Yes, please,” she managed a smile.

  The stew pot was enormous, the pile of crabs was enormous, and set along the tables were bags of potato chips, bowls of grapes and cut watermelon, platters of vegetables, and a huge chocolate cake, still in the bakery box to protect it from the gritty wind. It was enough to feed this crew and then some. No one would go hungry tonight.

  Ben ladled generous helpings of the Frogmore stew, consisting of sausage, corn on the cob, red potatoes, and shrimp, into their bowls, then found seats toward the end of the table. Parents were busy helping their children crack open the crabs, showing them which parts to eat and which to discard. Eva watched from the corner of her eye; she’d never dissected a crab before.

  Gradually, everyone’s plates filled, and the conversation slowed as they focused on the food.

  “What do you like better: vinegar and Old Bay, or butter?” Ben asked. His arm brushed hers again as he pulled a large piece of meat from the shell of his crab, and goose bumps raced over Eva’s skin. She dug her toes into the sand beneath the table and watched as Ben dipped the crabmeat in a shallow dish of vinegar, then into a matching dish of red seasoning before popping it into his mouth.

  “Butter, definitely,” Eva said. “Though we usually ate them plain. Crayfish, I mean. I’ve never had crab.”

  Ben grinned. “Mudbuggin’, huh? Do you still go?” He swirled another piece of crab in the vinegar.

  Eva shook her head. “It was a long time ago.”

  “What kinds of traps did you use?”

  “Tin cans.” She and Sam used to take their traps and plastic buckets at sunset and spend half the night wading along the riverbanks of the Toccoa River. There was a trick to it—shining the flashlight to give enough light to see the crayfish, but not enough to scare them, then darting in to scoop them up in the can without cutting your feet on the rocks or getting a finger or toe pinched in the process.

  Her throat grew tight at the thought of Sam.

  “That’s doing it the hard way,” Ben laughed. “How many crayfish can you catch with a tin can?”

  Never enough. They’d stay out until their bare feet were chaffed and bleeding from the rocks and they were shivering with cold. Lugging the buckets home, muddy and exhausted, they’d felt as if they’d slain the dragon and harvested thousands of the little river bugs. But the next day, when they were cooked and the big bowl of scarlet crayfish circled the table, she’d watch how quickly they’d disappear and realize they’d caught barely enough for everyone. Some days the kids would be lucky to get more than one or two each.

  “You okay?” Ben’s voice broke through her thoughts.

  The memories were coming fast and thick tonight; she shouldn’t be so willing to let them in. “Yes, I’m fine.” She forced a smile, reached for a crab, and started hammering on the shell with her mallet. Hammering a bit harder than necessary, apparently. The crab disintegrated, sending pieces of shell and meat splintering over the table. “Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling the blush flooding her cheeks.

  “No worries,” Ben said easily. He tossed the mangled crab into the nearby garbage can, then brushed the shell fragments onto the sand.

  Eva glanced around the table, where everyone was either deep in conversation or deep into the crabs. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.

  “Like this.” Ben nudged her gently. He slid another crab toward her, then grabbed one for himself, leading her step by step through the process of breaking it apart, showing her how to scrape off the “mustard” under the shell and get the meat from the joints.

  She had to admit the vinegar and Old Bay seasoning added the perfect accent to the sweet, juicy crabmeat. “But I still like the butter,” she insisted.

  Ben let out a theatrical sigh. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t try to convince you.”

  Her smile came more easily this time. “So you grew up here? What was it like?”

  “Awesome!” Ben’s dimple flashed as he tipped his head toward the white-capped waves glimmering in the moonlight. “We spent a lot of time in the water; I think I could swim before I learned to walk. Swimming, boating, water-skiing, fishing … that kind of thing.”

  “Surfing?” She guessed.

  Ben shook his head. “These aren�
�t the best waves for surfing. We tried, but there’s not enough lift, so it usually ended up being more like drowning most of the time.” He laughed. “Can you do it?”

  The word drowning sent her heart racing, and she couldn’t join his laughter. “No, I don’t … I’ve never spent much time on the water,” she said, trying to tamp down her unease.

  Ben reached for another crab. “Inland girl, huh? You’ll have to come out on the boat with us sometime. It’ll be fun.”

  “Maybe,” she murmured noncommittally.

  “Ben, does moving home mean you’re no longer a Falcons fan?” Peter asked from the other side of the table.

  “No way. Not after I went to all the trouble to learn the Dirty Bird dance,” Ben replied.

  “Please. Like that’s hard to do,” Gina broke in, rolling her eyes.

  “It is when you’re as choreographically challenged as me.”

  The conversation moved to football, and Eva shot a glance at Ben from the corner of her eye. Their seats faced the fire and the orange glow lit up his features, highlighting the strong lines of his face. She’d grown up believing the police would take her to jail if they caught her, and had been taught to fear them almost beyond anything else. But Ben was the opposite of scary. He had a slight air of authority, but she got no sense he would or could use his position and power to hurt her. Compared to most of the men in the Family, he could be a teddy bear. Her reaction to him at the chocolate shop earlier had been automatic, a programmed type of fear, and he’d responded in exactly the opposite way she’d expected.

  “Are you done yet, Uncle Ben? Can you play with us now?” The younger of Tyler and Jennifer’s two girls bounced at their side. She had a heart-shaped face and dark hair that had come free of her French braid and blew in wisps along her porcelain cheeks. Eva tried to remember the girl’s name and couldn’t.

  “You’re an impatient one, Miss Mia,” Ben chuckled, reaching out to tuck one of the wisps behind her ear. “Shall we go hunt for shells?”