Read Online Sweetheart Cottage (Cranberry Bay #1) by Mindy Hardwick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mindy Hardwick
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enough dry wood to last for the next couple months. He headed down the hill toward the local pub.
A minute later, he pulled open the heavy wooden door. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, and a large-screen TV broadcast a college football game on the corner wall. Tom Hathaway, owner of the town hardware store, played a game of pool with Chuck Dawson, owner of the tackle-and-boat-rental shop.
“Want to join us?” Chuck lowered his cue to the table. He leaned down and cued the ball into the right pocket.
“No, thanks.” Bryan patted his black satchel. “I’ve got a little work to do.”
Bryan strode by the bar, where Josh Morton and Jack Richardson studied a long spreadsheet. Josh ran the town’s historic train from the small depot. Once the town had been on the way to Portland, but all that changed a few years ago when the train companies realized the tourists didn’t want to come to Cranberry Bay. They wanted to go to the beach towns. Josh’s grandfather had spent his career as a train conductor, and, after he passed away, Josh had set up a nonprofit for the town’s old train depot and surrounding tracks. On fall weekends, Josh ran a special fall-leaves train ride that always brought a flurry of people to Cranberry Bay. But the signature event was the Santa train, complete with hot cocoa and cookies and children wearing their pajamas. The event was a favorite of Lauren’s, and she always convinced all of them to make it a family occasion. Unfortunately, most of the time heavy winds and rainstorms pounded the area, and the holiday train drew only small groups of locals.
Bryan headed toward the back corner booth and quickly sank onto the hard bench. As he waited for his laptop to boot up, he ran his fingers over etched initials carved in the tabletop. It’d been a ritual for Cranberry Bay couples to carve their names in the tables. His parents’ initials were on the table under the front window. Sawyer and Ginger had carved theirs in a front table by the door. And, if he walked to the table in the far right-hand corner, he’d find Rylee’s and his initials, etched together and encircled with a heart. They’d worked on it for weeks the summer they both turned twenty-one. After she left, he never sat at their table.
Bryan’s computer beeped as Ivy stepped alongside his table. A brown-and-cream apron covered her jeans and maroon sweater. “What can I get you?”
“I didn’t know you were working at the pub?” Bryan raised his eyebrows. Ivy’s antique business was one of the few in the town that visitors stopped for on their way to Seashore Cove. Over the last few years, she’d built a strong track record of online sales and kept busy year-round. Unlike other locals, she didn’t need to juggle multiple jobs.
“Caitlin’s got a nasty flu. Jessica is visiting her sister in college. Bill said we wouldn’t be busy tonight. I told him I’d fill in for a few hours. If I can sell antiques, I can sell a few pints of beer.” Ivy’s light laughter filled the space between them.
“I’m a part of the microbrew club.” Bryan reached into his wallet for the small, folded card. Every month, he collected a new stamp. At the end of the year, the cards were tossed into a drawing for a free month of drinks. He’d won the first year, but he had quietly slipped his card to Chuck, who’d just lost his son in a car wreck on an icy road.
“Ah.” Ivy leaned back on her heels. “You’re one of the lucky. I’ll check with Bill to see about the flavor of the month. I’m guessing Pumpkin Ale.”
“That was last month.” Bryan laid his card on the table and smoothed it with his thumb. “It’s November. New month. New beer.”
“Gotcha, sir,” Ivy said, playfully. “Do I take the card too?”
“Yep.” Bryan pushed it toward her. He smiled at her. Ivy and his twin sister had been best friends all through school. She’d joined them at family holidays and always brought a lot of laughter. No one
A minute later, he pulled open the heavy wooden door. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, and a large-screen TV broadcast a college football game on the corner wall. Tom Hathaway, owner of the town hardware store, played a game of pool with Chuck Dawson, owner of the tackle-and-boat-rental shop.
“Want to join us?” Chuck lowered his cue to the table. He leaned down and cued the ball into the right pocket.
“No, thanks.” Bryan patted his black satchel. “I’ve got a little work to do.”
Bryan strode by the bar, where Josh Morton and Jack Richardson studied a long spreadsheet. Josh ran the town’s historic train from the small depot. Once the town had been on the way to Portland, but all that changed a few years ago when the train companies realized the tourists didn’t want to come to Cranberry Bay. They wanted to go to the beach towns. Josh’s grandfather had spent his career as a train conductor, and, after he passed away, Josh had set up a nonprofit for the town’s old train depot and surrounding tracks. On fall weekends, Josh ran a special fall-leaves train ride that always brought a flurry of people to Cranberry Bay. But the signature event was the Santa train, complete with hot cocoa and cookies and children wearing their pajamas. The event was a favorite of Lauren’s, and she always convinced all of them to make it a family occasion. Unfortunately, most of the time heavy winds and rainstorms pounded the area, and the holiday train drew only small groups of locals.
Bryan headed toward the back corner booth and quickly sank onto the hard bench. As he waited for his laptop to boot up, he ran his fingers over etched initials carved in the tabletop. It’d been a ritual for Cranberry Bay couples to carve their names in the tables. His parents’ initials were on the table under the front window. Sawyer and Ginger had carved theirs in a front table by the door. And, if he walked to the table in the far right-hand corner, he’d find Rylee’s and his initials, etched together and encircled with a heart. They’d worked on it for weeks the summer they both turned twenty-one. After she left, he never sat at their table.
Bryan’s computer beeped as Ivy stepped alongside his table. A brown-and-cream apron covered her jeans and maroon sweater. “What can I get you?”
“I didn’t know you were working at the pub?” Bryan raised his eyebrows. Ivy’s antique business was one of the few in the town that visitors stopped for on their way to Seashore Cove. Over the last few years, she’d built a strong track record of online sales and kept busy year-round. Unlike other locals, she didn’t need to juggle multiple jobs.
“Caitlin’s got a nasty flu. Jessica is visiting her sister in college. Bill said we wouldn’t be busy tonight. I told him I’d fill in for a few hours. If I can sell antiques, I can sell a few pints of beer.” Ivy’s light laughter filled the space between them.
“I’m a part of the microbrew club.” Bryan reached into his wallet for the small, folded card. Every month, he collected a new stamp. At the end of the year, the cards were tossed into a drawing for a free month of drinks. He’d won the first year, but he had quietly slipped his card to Chuck, who’d just lost his son in a car wreck on an icy road.
“Ah.” Ivy leaned back on her heels. “You’re one of the lucky. I’ll check with Bill to see about the flavor of the month. I’m guessing Pumpkin Ale.”
“That was last month.” Bryan laid his card on the table and smoothed it with his thumb. “It’s November. New month. New beer.”
“Gotcha, sir,” Ivy said, playfully. “Do I take the card too?”
“Yep.” Bryan pushed it toward her. He smiled at her. Ivy and his twin sister had been best friends all through school. She’d joined them at family holidays and always brought a lot of laughter. No one
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