Something To Treasure. Virginia McCullough
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to her notes, a feeble attempt to quell her rising excitement about the prospects of working with Jerrod. He was a mystery, though. Details were sketchy about the last couple of years since he’d lost his wife. His business had continued. Barely, even by his own admission.
“If Wyatt has any trouble nailing down the housing you need, let me know,” she said. “I have a couple of friends who might be able to offer suggestions.”
He nodded his thanks. “Speaking of that, what do you think I need to get my venture off the ground, even this late? Give me the bare bones.”
A dizzying number of ideas raced through her head. Since anything she said could be altered later, she tapped her pen on the notepad and began reading from her hastily scribbled list, starting with brochures right up to an attempt to start up a social media campaign.
“You’re a natural for a blog. There’s the basic allure of shipwrecks.” She looked up from her notes. “You know what I mean. Barnacled ships and colorful fish.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re a poet, huh? I’m going to steal that last line and use it somewhere.”
“I guess it came out that way, didn’t it?” Barnacled ships and colorful fish indeed!
“One of the best things we do on our day tours is take guests back in time, give them a sense of history,” Jerrod said. “We’ve done well with both the diving and the day trips because they satisfy natural curiosity about the past.”
It struck Dawn that other than laughing at her poetic line and the occasional faint smile, his expression didn’t change much. Still, despite the serious—cerebral—way he’d approached their meeting, Dawn had no trouble envisioning Jerrod running a group dive or narrating a tour. Thinking of Two Moon Bay, she easily pictured him in the reception hall at the yacht club after a talk. She wrote a reminder to touch base with her contacts at yacht clubs and libraries throughout the peninsula. They were always looking for people who could do programs about local history or lore or things going on in the area.
When Kym first mentioned Jerrod, Dawn knew she was capable of promoting a diving excursion business without being drawn to scuba diving herself. She had no intention of sampling the diving excursions. Not on her life. But so far, nothing Jerrod had said about his business made her doubt her ability to do a good job for him.
Jerrod pointed to her notebook. “So, you got enough out of my rambling to organize a PR program?”
“Absolutely. Especially since you realize you’re off to a late start. Typically, I’d have started planning to establish a business like yours last fall, January at the latest. Oh, I can pull a few strings with editors and advertising departments and call in a favor or two.” She shrugged. “I bring local publications a fair amount of business.”
“I get it,” Jerrod said, staring out into the lobby. “It’s good to be so well connected.”
Dawn followed his gaze, but she saw he wasn’t staring at anything in particular. He had lost himself in his own world of thought. But when she caught a glimpse of his watch, she jolted into high alert. She stuffed her notebook in her bag and scooted to the edge of the chair. If his watch was right, she barely had enough time to get to Union Station.
“I’m sorry to cut this short.” She stood and grabbed her coat. “I should have checked the time, but I got caught up in all the ideas popping in my brain. We’ll need to finish this on the phone. Right now, I need to hustle to catch my train—it leaves in about twenty-five minutes.”
“So sorry, Dawn,” he said, getting to his feet. “My questions kept coming up nonstop, and I never thought about the time.”
As they hurried through the lobby to the revolving doors, Dawn saw Jerrod pull cash from his pocket and assumed it was to tip the doorman. She started to protest that she could handle the tip herself, but she didn’t bother. She was impressed that he’d thought of it.
“I’ll call you tomorrow to discuss details,” Jerrod said after he told the doorman they needed two cabs. “We never got to your fee, but we can settle that in the morning. We’re planning to move into The Sleepy Moon Inn by the end of the week.” He held out his hand. “So, can we shake on a deal, and tomorrow we’ll finalize our terms?”
Running late or not, Dawn stifled a strong urge to dance a jig right there on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. Instead, she took his outstretched hand. It was reassuring and he held it firmly for just the right amount of time. She was thrilled to have a new project. No, not any project, this one. With him. Her conference fee and the hefty hotel bill had paid off. But it wasn’t only about the money. Jerrod himself had an intriguing air about him. Not the warm-and-fuzzy type, maybe, but worldly and serious.
When a taxi pulled up, the doorman opened the back seat door for her while Jerrod rolled her suitcase to the car so the driver could put it in the trunk. When he reappeared, he put his hand to his ear as if holding a phone and again said, “I’ll call you.” He backed away and waved.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, she checked the dashboard clock. Only twenty minutes until her train pulled out of Union Station. Why hadn’t she paid attention? Because she’d been stimulated and focused, her brain occupied with ticking off ideas. The ability to block out distractions was one of her strengths. It served her well, except when it backfired. Like now.
Why was the cab creeping along, coming to a full stop, then swerving out from behind one bus and then another? It was Sunday, after all, not rush hour on a Monday morning. Suddenly anxious, she repeated familiar clichés in her mind about worrying being useless, a waste of time. But her self-talk was a bigger waste of time. She went right back to willing the cab to speed up. The driver threaded through streets at normal speed when possible, but slammed on the brakes when he couldn’t run a yellow light or was forced to a sudden stop because a pair of red rear lights appeared perilously close.
It wasn’t the driver’s or Jerrod’s fault. It was hers alone. When the cab pulled up to the curb in front of Union Station, she reached into her pocket and brought out cash, but the driver waved his index finger back and forth. “No, no, no.” In his lilting accent, he told her the gentleman at the hotel had paid the fare.
When had he done that? Must have been when he rolled her suitcase to the trunk. With theatrical flourish, the driver lifted her suitcase from the trunk like it was a bag of feathers and wheeled it to the revolving door. He touched his fingertips to his cap and hurried back to his cab before she could tip him. Jerrod must have taken care of that, too.
She rushed into the station and onto the escalator. On the lower level, she checked for the track number on the departure board and broke into a jog. She picked up even more speed as she passed the deserted glassed-off waiting area. When she got to a set of double doors, she saw the track, as empty as the waiting room. And what could she expect? She was nearly ten minutes late. Stopping in place, she let out a loud sigh.
“Was that your train?” a man in an Amtrak uniform called out from a few tracks away.
“It sure was. I just missed it.”
He walked toward her, his expression sympathetic. “The next one leaves in two hours.”
Offering a weak smile in return, she muttered, “Thanks. I’ll be sure to be on it.”
She dreaded having to call her ex-husband, but she had no choice. He and his wife, Carla, were expecting her, but she’d be delayed now. Gordon, at thirteen, wouldn’t care. He was happy enough with spending time with Dad. Bill wouldn’t mind, either. But Carla? That could be another story.
It took only a minute to get Bill on the phone to deliver the bad news. “Long story short, I missed my train. Traffic downtown was heavier than usual. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be a couple of hours late picking up Gordon.”
“Okay, no problem,” Bill said, his voice friendly as usual. “We’ll see you when you get here.”
Easy enough. She exhaled and the anxiety dissipated in an instant. She nearly laughed out