Ivy watched her parents chatting—their heads bent together as she’d seen them so many times over the years. This was the last holiday season they’d have their parents before the retired couple left on their sailing adventure. Ivy’s father had plotted out a journey that would take three to four years, and she was already thinking about how much she would miss them.
While Elena was cajoling her cousins, Flint’s twin brother, Forrest, rapped his knuckles on the table and gestured toward his children. “Why are you still sitting?”
“Aw, Dad, okay.” Punching each other on the shoulder, Flint’s sons Rocky and Reed led the way, while their sisters Summer and Coral gathered empty vegetable dishes. Their other sister Poppy stood and stretched.
“Poppy, you should stay here with us,” Ivy said. “You worked just as hard as Shelly and I did.”
Poppy’s eyes flashed. “And turn that crew loose in the kitchen? No way.” She tugged at Rocky’s sleeve. “Hey, no one walks away empty-handed. Rocky, you take the turkey. Blue, get the ham, and Jewel, grab those salad bowls. No pie for anyone until the kitchen is clean, and I mean it. I didn’t bake those pies for a bunch of messy moochers.”
Even though Ivy had indulged herself with turkey and stuffing, she could hardly wait to sample Poppy’s pies. Mitch Kline, the owner of the popular Java Beach coffee shop, had shared his best pie recipes with them—courtesy of Ginger Delavie, one of Summer Beach’s most fascinating residents. She had lived in a coral cottage on the beach for decades. And those recipes had originated with Ginger’s good friend in Boston—none other than Julia Child, a mentor to Ginger when she was younger. Perhaps the recipes had changed a little in the translation, like that old rumor game that went around a circle. Nevertheless, Ivy wanted to save a couple of slices for Ginger, who was visiting her granddaughter Marina, a news anchor in San Francisco, and her children.
Mitch, who was dating Shelly, promised he’d meet them later this evening. Every year he opened the doors of Java Beach to serve Thanksgiving dinner to the less fortunate of Summer Beach—as he had been when he’d arrived in the seaside village. Bennett had helped him prepare part of the meal yesterday after City Hall closed for the holiday.
Poppy clapped her hands. “I wasn’t kidding, Rocky.” She pointed at the table. “Turkey. Now.”
When a look of surprise crossed Rocky’s face, Ivy grinned. “Poppy’s in charge. She’s giving the orders, and if I were you, I wouldn’t ignore her.”
Ivy winked at Shelly across the table. Their niece was the most organized one of them all. Ivy taught the art classes at the Seabreeze Inn and tended to guest requests and decorating, while Shelly led morning yoga and managed the gardening and exterior grounds. But it was Poppy who’d set up the online reservation and marketing systems.
Flint and Forrest chuckled as they watched their children troop from the dining room.
“Hey, Dad,” Rocky said. “Aren’t you and Uncle Flint going to help?”
Forrest swatted his shoulder. “Who do you think did all the dishes when you were young?”
Misty slid back from the table. “You don’t have to ask, Mom. I’ll get Sunny.” She pulled her sister from the chair next to her. Although Misty was the actor of the family, Sunny was the more dramatic of the two.
Bennett shook his head. “A dozen cousins in the kitchen? That must be some sort of record.”
“Or the beginning of a bad joke,” Flint said.
“Every year, my grandchildren complain as if they’ve never done this before,” Carlotta said, folding her hands on the table. “But I think they have more fun in the kitchen than we do. They’ll have a party going in no time. Just imagine what it will be like in a few years with spouses and babies,” she finished with a trace of wistfulness in her voice.
Sterling put his arm around his wife and hugged her. Ivy thought they were the best grandparents the children could have ever wanted.
“They’ll probably beat me to it,” Shelly said, lowering her eyes.
Ivy’s heart went out to Shelly, whose long-term boyfriend in New York hadn’t worked out.
As for Bennett, Ivy was grateful that he and her parents got along well. Although they’d liked Jeremy, her mother had confided that they’d always been concerned about the time he spent away from the family. Jeremy had worked hard as a technology consultant, though in retrospect, his schedule had created opportunity—and Ivy had been blind to it.
But Ivy didn’t want to think about Jeremy’s indiscretions today. She had enough on her mind.
The autumn doldrums had set in, and guest reservations had slowed to a trickle. The inn had been booked solid during the high summer season. Fortunately, with the proceeds from rooms and the well-attended art fair they had hosted on the grounds of the Seabreeze Inn at the end of the summer, Ivy had paid off the overdue real estate tax bill that Jeremy had left. She’d managed to narrowly avoid a tax sale and pay Sunny’s exorbitant American Express bill.
Sunny was working off her summer travel indulgence by helping around the inn. Most days, she didn’t mind, though she still had her moments. Such as today.
Still, between the taxes, utilities, and general upkeep, the inn had to maintain a certain minimum occupancy level, and they were far short of that.
Ivy looked outside, where clouds over the Pacific Ocean were turning an exquisite, dusky rose in the waning light. “How about drinks and dessert by the pool? It’s going to be a beautiful sunset.”
Ivy fixed this moment in her mind. If reservations didn’t pick up, she might be forced to close the inn before they could make it to the next season—though she would do everything in her power to avoid that.
Chapter 2
“Sounds like the kids are having a good time in the kitchen,” Ivy said. Above the ocean’s roar, music blasted from the kitchen, punctuated by intermittent laughter. Their holiday party playlist ranged from Mariah Carey to Nat King Cole.
“Great music,” Bennett said, helping her with the lightweight sweater she drew around her shoulders.
Along with the older adults, they made their way outside to enjoy the fresh evening breezes and watch the sunset. Shelly and their sister-in-law Angela had gone inside to make Sea Breeze cocktails, a specialty of the inn.
Behind the grand house designed by early Californian architect Julia Morgan, terraced tiles led to a lavish, recently restored pool that was a smaller version of Morgan’s Neptune Pool at the Hearst Castle she’d designed in San Simeon.
The family made themselves comfortable on the patio. Beyond the beach, clouds deepened into shades of lavender and coral. Ivy made a mental snapshot. She’d painted several sunsets over the ocean, but this one promised to be spectacular.
Shelly and Angela appeared carrying pitchers of juice cocktails. “Glad I had extra cranberry and pink grapefruit juice chilling in Gertie. Here’s the healthy version,” Shelly said, pouring the juice blends into cups. “And Angela has the vodka-spiked recipe.” Everyone called out their choice.
“Here’s to my girls,” Carlotta began, raising her glass in a toast. “Ivy and Shelly, we’re all happy that you’ve returned and found solid footing here in Summer Beach. Here’s to the continued success of the Seabreeze Inn.”