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“My employer has the money to invest in your property to make the most of it. You’re trying to patch up the leaks in a sinking ship. Lockwood Holdings could build a new ship.” She started to talk, but he powered over her. “Think about it. You could still make this a retreat where people come for downtime or to indulge their artistic streak. It’s in Haven Bay, so you wouldn’t lose your connection to the community, and you’d have more time to yourself. Don’t you think you deserve a break?”
No, she didn’t. She had too much to make amends for. Furthermore, she couldn’t afford to be selfish. She didn’t deserve to be selfish. But she wouldn’t verbalize those feelings.
Besides, he was totally missing the point. She’d explained it to him, but apparently he hadn’t paid attention. Sanctuary was a work in progress, the same as she was, and the same as many of her guests were. It was symbolic. It gave her a mission to work toward. If she could repair Sanctuary, and in doing so, help others through their difficult times, perhaps one day she could do the same for herself. But she wasn’t there yet, not by a long shot.
“This place is nice, but it isn’t what I need,” she said. “I don’t expect you to understand that, although I wish you could. It makes me sad that you can’t see the value of a place beyond dollar signs. I’m done looking. I’ll wait outside.” She swung on her heel and stalked away.
“That’s it?” he called after her. “That’s all I get?”
She heard his footfalls behind her.
“You agreed to consider my proposition fairly.”
“I considered it,” she snapped over her shoulder.
“Did you really? Because it seems like your mind was made up from the beginning. I agreed to your two-week condition on good faith, believing you’d give me a chance.”
She stopped walking, a twinge of guilt twisting her gut. She had no intention of selling Sanctuary, but she’d never deceived him about that. “I am giving you a chance.”
“But you haven’t told me why this place won’t meet your needs. How can I find what you need if you won’t explain it to me?”
She turned to face him, arms folded. “I already have. You didn’t listen.”
“So tell me again.” He sounded so reasonable, and his cobalt eyes pleaded with hers. He scratched the back of his neck, ruffling his hair, and it formed a cowlick on top of his head. Her stomach lurched, the way it used to when she was racing and flew over a dip in the road at breakneck speed. Why did he have to be so freaking gorgeous? And why did it have to be him who made her realize that her ability to be attracted to a man hadn’t died with Teddy? She wasn’t in a position to get into a relationship, and even if she was, Sterling wouldn’t want her. Not tragic, scarred Katarina. This man could have any woman he wanted. Heck, he might even have a girlfriend waiting in Auckland. She hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t shared.
Her shoulders slumped. “Maybe later.”
She couldn’t get into this now. Not while she was feeling raw and exposed, as though he could see how she felt about him in her eyes, or hear it in the tone of her voice. For all she knew, he could. She hadn’t been so drawn to a man in years, and she didn’t know how to conceal it.
Damage control. Switch topics. Evade and distract.
“How would you like to go for an ice cream?” she asked. “Faith experiments with the most creative flavors.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
He was letting her get away that easily? She wanted to question it, but feared he’d change his mind. They made their way back into town, and she pointed out sights as they went. At the pavilion beside the beach, a large wooden deck occupied the center, with a seafood restaurant on one side and Faith’s ice cream parlor, The Shack, on the other.
Kat pushed The Shack’s glass door open and held it for Sterling, then followed him in. The parlor was small and well-lit, with a bar along the wall where people could sit while they ate. Tubs of ice cream were arrayed behind a glass screen, with little gold name plates in the front.
“Hi, Faith,” Kat called to get the attention of the redhead behind the counter, who was washing a collection of metal scoops in a sink of soapy water.
Faith glanced over her shoulder, her hazel eyes magnified by thick-framed glasses. Her red-hued lips parted in a crooked smile and she spun around, the skirt of her 50s era polka-dot dress swishing around her calves.
“Kitty-Kat!” she exclaimed, startling the tourists who were browsing options. Faith didn’t have volume control, and she’d never heard of an inside voice. She was either on or off. “What brings you to my shack of sin on this fine day?” Her gaze alighted on Sterling. “You’ve brought me fresh blood.” She rubbed her palms together and Kat could have sworn Sterling whimpered in terror. Faith could be a tad overwhelming, at first. “What’s your poison, sugar?” She sauntered over to the ice cream and waved at the customers who were observing her with varying degrees of fascination.
Kat stood back and let Sterling look over the flavors.
“Coconut curry,” she heard him mutter to himself. “Pear and blue cheese? Roasted strawberry and buttermilk?”
He was scanning the gourmet section, beside which were the Kiwi classics, with flavors such as pineapple lumps, pavlova, and feijoa and ginger.
“What’s it going to be, Alexander?” Faith asked.
Sterling frowned. “My name is—”
“I know you’re not Alexander, sugar. Let a gal dream. So?”
“Feijoa and ginger, please.”
