She was just as outrageous now as before, he thought. Her hair was short and shiny brown with wispy bangs. It would have been pretty if it hadn’t been sticking out in all directions. He supposed she was one of those punk people. He did a mental calculation and put her at five- foot-seven, noticing she was slim and long- legged, wearing chunky silver, green, and white high-tops, bright pink socks scrunched down around her ankles, a pair of rumpled khaki walking shorts, and an orange tank top that was bright enough to get them through the best fogbank Maine could muster. She was probably there to complain about the house. Just what he needed to round out his morning. “Lucy tells me you’ve been having some problems with the house…”
“Problems?” Stephanie felt her control slipping. It wasn’t her strong suit to begin with.
“Two weeks after I moved in, the front porch rotted out from under me. Then the water heater blew up and flooded the cellar. None of the windows will open, and it’s hotter than heck in-” She stopped when she saw the smile spread across his face. “Something funny about a water heater exploding?”
Ivan didn’t think there was anything funny about a water heater exploding, and he couldn’t understand how so many things could go wrong with his house. He’d left it in perfect condition. He loved Haben. It had belonged to his family for generations, and he would never have sold it if it hadn’t been absolutely necessary. He was smiling despite everything because Stephanie Lowe was a sight that inspired smiles.
“I think you’re cute when you get all steamed up,” he admitted, and playfully patted her cowlick. “Why is your hair sticking up? Is this a new style?”
Stephanie felt the top of her head. “When the upstairs toilet broke, it leaked onto the floor and collapsed the ceiling in the kitchen and downstairs bathroom. When the ceiling fell down in the bathroom, it took the mirrored door off the medicine chest and smashed it on the sink. Since that was the only mirror in the house, I had to comb my hair in front of the toaster.”
Ivan stared at her. Maybe she was wacko and was making all this up. No, chances were good that she was wacko, but she wasn’t making it up. Lucy had told him about the porch and the water heater, and Stephanie’s hair did look as though it had been combed in front of a toaster.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I honestly thought the house was in good shape when I sold it.”
Stephanie bit back a rude word. It wouldn’t pay to get vulgar. If she wanted her toilet fixed, she was going to have to spend a week with this rip-off Romeo.
“Actually, the condition of the house sort of explains why I’m here. You see, I hadn’t planned on all these disasters. I’d intended to turn the house into a bed-and-breakfast inn, and the plain truth is that until I get some paying customers, I’m going to have a cash flow problem. So when Lucy showed up this morning and told me she was getting married…”
Ivan looked pained. “Lucy, my cook, is getting married? Does this have something to do with her being late?”
“Bingo.”
Pieces of the puzzle fell together in his mind. “And does this have something to do with your being here wearing a backpack?”
“Right again. You see, Lucy’s marrying a plumber…”
Ivan groaned. “I’ve got it figured out. Can you cook?”
“Of course I can cook.”
“For twenty-six people?”
“No sweat. Just point me to the microwave.”
The grin returned to Ivan’s mouth, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. At least Lucy had sent him someone with a sense of humor.
Stephanie’s pack slipped, and Ivan reached to get it, his hand momentarily trapped between the padded strap and the smooth, warm skin of her bare shoulder. He took a moment to enjoy the feeling and wondered what it would be like to kiss her. She had a very kissable mouth, he decided. Soft and feminine, perfectly shaped. Her eyes were blue and wary, shaded by a fringe of black lash and topped with eyebrows that looked like bird wings. The flush on her cheeks told him she was also feeling some attraction, and the set to her chin told him she had no intention of succumbing to it.
Just as well, he thought, hefting the pack onto his own shoulder. She was sort of an employee, and he made it a rule never to mix business and pleasure. Of course, he was the direct descendant of a famous pirate, and as such he was supposed to break a few rules now and then. He motioned toward the forward hatch. “I’ll show you to your quarters. Watch your head and always go down the ladder backward.”
Stephanie followed him belowdecks and found herself in a fairly large room that held the shape of the prow of the ship. Polished oak banquettes lined the walls and were spanned by a massive triangular table. Brass lanterns swung from the ceiling just as they must have a hundred years ago. A copper jug filled with wildflowers sat in the middle of the table, and red-and-white-checkered curtains fluttered from open windows.
“Breakfast and supper are usually eaten here,” Ivan said. “Weather permitting, we eat lunch topside.” He pointed to the back corner of the room. “This is the galley.”
Stephanie nodded, taking in the small sink, oak counter, black iron woodstove across from the sink, the spice racks lining the wall, pots, pans, utensils, and sprays of dried herbs hanging overhead. “Very cozy,” she said. “Where’s the kitchen?”
“The galley is the kitchen.”
Stephanie felt her heart stop. He had to be kidding. “Yes, but where’s the stove? Where’s the refrigerator? Where’s the food processor?”
Ivan’s mouth tightened a fraction of an inch. “This is the stove,” he said, pulling Stephanie into the tiny galley. “This is all we’ve got. Have you ever cooked on a woodstove?”
Who did she look like, Annie Oakley? Of course she’d never cooked on a woodstove. Until two months ago she’d lived in Jersey City. People didn’t cook on woodstoves in Jersey City. At least, not the people she knew. Most of the people she knew didn’t cook at all. She guessed that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, so she decided to lie. “Don’t worry,” she said, “woodstove is my middle name.”
Dollars to doughnuts she can’t boil water, Ivan thought. At least she had the guts to lie. He was thankful for that. It was a start.
“I have to go up to cast off. We’re already late getting out of the harbor.” He gestured to a short red curtain over one of the banquettes. “That’s your bunk. You can get settled in, and I’ll be back as soon as I can get free. Keep the coffee going, and you’ll probably want to take inventory of the food Lucy’s stored in for the week.”
What she really wanted to do was put her hands around Lucy’s neck and squeeze. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine down here… taking inventory.”
She took the backpack from Ivan and went over to check out the red curtain. Behind the curtain was a narrow bunk built into the wooden wall of the ship. It was nicely made up in crisp white sheets and a red plaid woolen blanket. Lucy’s belongings were neatly packed away in a small storage area over the bunk. Fortunately, she and Lucy were the same size, and it would be possible to supplement her meager wardrobe with Lucy’s meager wardrobe.
Stephanie went back to the stove and peered into the two blue enamel coffeepots. They were full to the brim and steaming hot, and the combined aroma of woodstove and fresh coffee almost knocked her to her knees.
She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. She’d expected the Love Boat, maybe. Something slick and touristy. This was slick in a good way, she decided. There was a feeling of solid reality to it. It was immaculately clean, carefully restored, and everywhere she looked there was quality. It was impossible not to get caught up in the magic of the ship. Not only did she feel transported back in time, but she was overwhelmed by the atmosphere of warmth and well-being that filled every space of the forward cabin.
She took a wad of folded papers from her pocket and smoothed them out on the counter. While she’d been packing and Stanley had been checking out the toilet, Lucy had frantically prepared a detailed six-day schedule.
“Okay, everything I need to know to be an A- one ship’s cook,” Stephanie said. She narrowed her eyes at the menu. According to Lucy, she was supposed to begin by making yeast rolls for supper and fish stew, biscuits, chocolate chip cookies, and fresh fruit for lunch. Stephanie checked her watch. Eleven o’clock. She looked at the woodstove and thought authenticity had been carried a bit far.
Ivan squatted at the top of the ladder. “How’s it going?”
“We’re stopping at a fast-food place for lunch, aren’t we?”
