‘Mark, Emily’s new husband, is . . . a good man.’ Better than he was in the ways that mattered to Emily, anyway. Ways like not working at weekends and remembering to come home from the office in time for dinner. Ways like remembering important conversations about their planned future together and not making alternative work plans instead. ‘He’ll be a good . . .’ he swallowed, before he could say the words. ‘He’ll be a good stepdad for the girls.’
‘And you hate that, right?’ Christabel asked, one knowing eyebrow raised.
‘Of course I don’t!’ That was crazy talk right there. ‘I want what’s best for my girls. And a happy Emily is what’s best. A stepdad who will love them and appreciate them is what’s best.’
‘And what’s your place in that?’ Christabel, not even looking at him as she asked the question, tightened something with a tool Leo thought might possibly be a wrench.
‘I’ll . . . I’ll be their dad. I’ll always be their dad.’
She flashed him a smile. ‘Good. Don’t forget that.’
What was she talking about? Of course he wouldn’t forget that.
‘I mean, I’ll see them most weekends. Well, at least every other. I’ll bring them here in the summer, if that’s OK with Emily. I’ll be their dad.’
‘Oh, so you’re going to be that dad.’ She was back to focusing on the bike again.
He blinked, watching her. ‘I just met you today. Are you really critiquing my parenting style?’
Christabel shrugged. ‘I don’t usually stay in one place very long, so I don’t have time for being subtle. Eighteen months here on Seashell Island is basically a record. But, you know, ignore me if I make you uncomfortable.’
She did make him uncomfortable, Leo realised. It was those disturbing eyes, he decided. The way they seemed to look right inside him and read him as easily as a novel. No, as easily as one of Abby’s reading books from school. Like she’d digested everything meaningful about him in the first few moments of their meeting.
Maybe she had.
Or maybe his sister had been telling tales about him. That would make sense.
‘What sort of dad do you think I should be?’ The question was out before Leo could think through why he was asking it, let alone if it was a good idea.
Christabel put down the maybe-a-wrench she was using, looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. ‘What do I know? It’s not like I even have kids. I already told your sister I wasn’t getting involved in your issues. She thought I was exactly what you needed, by the way.’
That surprised a laugh out of him. But underneath his amusement, he was thinking. Hard.
She’d seen something. Something in him or in the girls that had made her ask the question about Emily’s remarriage in the first place.
And suddenly, deep inside the pit of his stomach, something was burning, making Leo need to know what it was.
‘I want to know what you think,’ he said, leaning closer. Over the dunes he could hear the girls squealing with laughter as whatever they were constructing in the sand apparently worked – or possibly failed again. It was hard to tell. ‘I mean, you saved me from a ridiculously embarrassing bike crash. I feel you’re already invested in my life.’
Her lips twitched into a smile, gone in a second as she put on a mock serious expression. ‘That is true.’
‘So?’
Sighing, Christabel picked up the actually-maybe-it-was-another-spanner again. ‘My dad wasn’t exactly a role model. He wasn’t even a part of my life for most of my childhood. But that didn’t stop me imagining what my relationship with him could have been, if he’d stuck around. Probably because the relationship I had with my mum was kind of tense anyway.’ She shrugged. ‘Your kids adore you. You have the opportunity to spend all summer with them on this incredible island. I guess I’d just hate to see you waste it because you haven’t decided it’s important enough to focus on.’
Leo blinked. Had he ever, even for a moment, thought of this summer as an opportunity? Probably not.
‘You think I’m wasting it?’ he asked, not wanting to linger on that thought. ‘I’m here taking my kids for a bike ride, aren’t I?’
‘And what were you doing when you crashed?’ She gave him a knowing look, and Leo’s hand instinctively went for the smashed phone in his pocket.
‘I have to work,’ he said, knowing he sounded defensive. ‘Just like my ex-wife does. More than that, I love my work, and that doesn’t mean I love my kids any less.’
That earned him a brilliant smile, for some reason. ‘Of course it doesn’t. I’m not saying you shouldn’t work. Just . . . don’t hide behind it.’
‘Hide? What do you mean?’ Work was just work, wasn’t it?
‘Just . . . OK, this is way overstepping the mark for someone who just met you. Even for me.’
‘I’ve already passed out in your bed,’ Leo pointed out, with a grin. ‘I think we’ve left the mark far behind.’
‘OK, then. And I’m only doing this because you’re Miranda’s brother.’ Turning, Christabel faced him, giving him every bit of her attention. Those violet-blue eyes were strangely compelling as they met his. ‘Your girls, they know they’re an inconvenience this summer. They know you’d rather be working. So you need to show them that you’re happy to be here with them too. That you’re listening to them. Understanding them.’
‘Of course I am!’ Leo said, defensively. ‘I love them.’
‘I know that. They’re great girls – happy, secure and loved. I knew that in the first five minutes of meeting them on the beach with Miranda.’ A shadow passed across Christabel’s face. Leo suspected she knew that by contrasts. She knew what little girls looked like when they didn’t have that. Somehow, that only made him more determined to listen to what she had to tell him. ‘But knowing you love them isn’t the same as being a part of their lives. Every other weekend out, presents and trips . . . that’s great, for now. But the time goes fast. And before you know it those little girls will be tweens, teenagers, leaving home . . . and then, what they’ll really need is someone they can call when they’re in trouble, someone they can tell their worries to at night, someone they trust more than anyone else in the world.’
‘Their mum,’ Leo said, automatically. ‘They’d call Emily, they’d talk to her. They always have. They have her and now . . . now they have Mark, too.’
It hit him, exactly what Christabel had been trying to show him.
He’d thought he’d been doing so well, accepting that Mark had his place in his marriage now – and he had. He was happy that Emily was happy. He was happy that his kids would have a stepdad who loved them.
But what if that meant they didn’t need him any more at all?
‘They’re lucky to have them,’ she said, softly. ‘But . . . don’t you want them to have you, too?’
Do they need me? Maybe not. But I want them to.
‘Kids can never have too many people who love them.’ Christabel turned her attention back to the bike for a moment while he processed everything she’d said. This strange, wise woman who seemed to be younger and older than him both at the same time. She didn’t know him, or his family – but it felt like she did.
Suddenly, he felt like he had new purpose on Seashell Island that summer.
Or maybe purposes, plural. Because as much as he wanted to build his relationship with his daughters, he realised he wanted something else, too.
He wanted to see Christabel again. To have her look at him with those violet eyes and talk to him in that melodic voice. And to fix his bike when he crashed it.
‘Done.’ Christabel stowed away the last of her tools – Leo had given up even trying to guess what they were – and lifted his bike frame. ‘Ready to give it a try?’
Leo nodded. ‘I’ll go fetch the girls. But I might need you to ride with us. Just to make sure I don’t inju
re myself again.’
Christabel’s smile was warm with understanding. ‘I’ll consider it my public duty.’
JULIET
In the hierarchy of mortifying things she’d done lately, or ever, sitting with her ex-boyfriend discussing breakfast sausages wasn’t even up there. But, Juliet had to admit to herself as Rory patiently explained the ordering system he’d set up with her parents, her lack of knowledge was a little bit embarrassing. When they’d been together, she’d been the leader, the one who decided what they were going to do, the one with the big ideas and the ambition to make them happen.
Having to take advice on bacon – or, more precisely, being told how to do the job she’d blithely volunteered for – was not how she pictured the reunion between the two of them.
Not that she’d pictured it over the last ten years. Much.
OK, fine, so she had. She’d imagined coming back to Seashell Island, wildly successful in her chosen career – when she had finally chosen one. In her head, she’d been impeccably dressed, confident, secure in herself and her future.
She hadn’t been pregnant, unemployed, and unable to understand the sausage-to-guest ratio. She knew how to cook, how to feed people. Just . . . not in bulk.
‘So. Do you think you’re OK with everything we’ve discussed?’ Rory asked, looked doubtful.
‘Absolutely,’ Juliet lied. Then she gave an emphatic nod for good measure.
Rory did not look reassured.
She sighed. ‘Look, this is just until Mum and Dad get back. If you can help me keep the place going for the next few weeks, I promise someone competent will be back in charge again by the end of the summer.’
Where she’d be, she had no idea. But he didn’t need to know that.
Rory shook his head. ‘I never said you weren’t competent enough to run the Lighthouse, Juliet. I was just surprised that you even wanted to.’
You and everyone who’s related to me.
‘It’s just a short-term thing,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘I’m not staying or anything.’
‘I never imagined for a moment that you would,’ Rory replied, looking straight into her eyes, and she knew what he was thinking: If you couldn’t stay last time when I needed you, why would you stay now?
Juliet’s gaze darted away. ‘Anyway. I should probably get back to the B&B. Miranda was going to try to drum up some customers for me today, so I need to make sure the place is ready. At least now I know I can feed them in the morning!’
She grinned at Rory, but his answering smile was weak. ‘I’ll finish packing up this week’s order for you, then I can give you a lift back to the Lighthouse with it.’
‘You don’t need to do that.’ The refusal was automatic; the thought of spending even more time with Rory, driving up to the Lighthouse together, just like they used to in his dad’s butcher’s van, made Juliet shiver. It felt too much like falling back into old ways, her old life.
Like being trapped on Seashell Island again.
I’m not staying, she reminded herself. I chose to come here, and I can leave any time I want. Just as soon as the outside world stops being scarier than the island one.
‘Juliet, the bags will be heavy, and it’s a long walk in the hot sun. Just take the lift. I won’t read anything into it, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Juliet’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘I wasn’t worrying about that.’
‘You honestly weren’t thinking that I might have spent the last decade here mooning after you, waiting for you to come home, and now I was going to try and trap you here again, like you accused me of when you left?’ Rory’s voice was calm and even, one eyebrow raised sardonically, but she still sensed this was something he’d been waiting ten long years to say to her.
‘I . . . no. I wasn’t thinking that.’ Because she hadn’t been thinking about him at all. She’d been thinking about what it meant for her to be back on this island, carrying her secrets within her. She hadn’t even asked what had led to him working here, what had happened to his dad’s butcher’s shop, or anything. Juliet swallowed, sinking her fears at the same time. ‘And a lift would be great, thank you.’
He gave her a nod. ‘Right then.’ He disappeared back behind the counter to put together the order he’d made for her.
Juliet watched him as he worked, his words echoing around her brain: Try and trap you here again, like you accused me of when you left.
She had done that. She’d known it was unfair, even then. Now . . . now it made her squirm, and not just because she needed the toilet again. Seriously, how could a tiny embryo already have so much influence on her bladder?
Back to the point, Juliet.
The point was, she’d been unfair to Rory when she broke up with him. And probably most of the time they were dating, too. She’d been the one always talking about leaving, about them escaping together. She’d never thought how much harder that would be for him – it was just him and his dad and the family business, and there were expectations on him. She didn’t even know if he’d have wanted to leave the island if it hadn’t been for her, going on about it all the time.
She’d wanted him to be more, to want more. To want her more than he wanted to be here.
And then, when his dad had got sick and he’d told her he needed to stay, she’d yelled accusations at him – that he was using his dad as an excuse, that he was just like the others and never really wanted to leave the island at all, not even for her – and left anyway.
Honestly, how had she ever believed that they might work out, long term?
Behind the counter, Rory wrapped meat and packed eggs, all while answering questions from other staff members and customers. His patient expression never faltered; his precise hands moved efficiently about his work. He’d grown up in the last ten years – not just physically. He was a man, now.
While she still felt like a teenager disappointing her parents.
Finally, Rory stopped to talk to a dark-haired girl wearing a navy Flying Fish shirt who listened attentively then nodded and said ‘Yes, boss’ loud enough for Juliet to hear at a distance.
Boss. Rory was in charge of this place? Well, of course he was, she realised belatedly. That was why he’d known all the ins and outs of her parents’ orders. She’d assumed he was still like her – someone who took orders and made coffees and never got taken seriously.
But he wasn’t like her at all. He never had been.
‘Ready?’ Juliet looked up and found Rory standing over her. She nodded, and got to her feet. She held out a hand to take one of the bags he was carrying, but he shook his head and led her out the back door to the van.
That, at least, was familiar. It wasn’t the exact same butcher’s van he’d used to drive when working for his dad – one of the few vehicles allowed on the island, and only then because they made deliveries – but it was pretty close. The Flying Fish logo was emblazoned on the side, and the seats were more comfortable in the new model, but otherwise Juliet could have slipped straight back through time to ten years ago.
‘The Flying Fish looks like it’s doing well,’ she said, eager for some neutral conversation as Rory put his hand on the back of her headrest to look over his shoulder as he reversed out of the space. Ten years ago he’d have stolen a kiss while the van was still moving. Today, he was entirely focused on the road.
‘It is.’
Not exactly the full and informative response she’d been hoping for with that leading statement.
Juliet tried again. ‘How long have you been working there?’
That, at least, earned her a look. ‘Since I bought the place three years ago.’
‘You own the Flying Fish?’ She shook her head. ‘Of course you do. Sorry. That’s what you said. I’m just . . .’
‘Surprised?’ Rory guessed, as they pulled out onto the high street and headed up to
wards the Lighthouse.
‘Impressed.’ She should have known, from the way the rest of the staff deferred to him, respected him, that he was more than just a shift manager. But he was only twenty-eight, like her. Owning a successful business in his twenties was quite something. And not something the Rory she’d known would have even dreamed of.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, Rory turned his attention back to the road and muttered, ‘Yeah, well, maybe some of your ambition rubbed off on me after all.’
‘Glad it was useful for one of us, then,’ she said, staring out of the window.
They drove in silence for another few minutes, until Rory asked, ‘How is Miranda coping? I meant to stop by and see if she needed anything, but the restaurant was packed this weekend and, well, turns out you were here anyway, so she didn’t need me.’
‘Leo too,’ Juliet replied. ‘Seems we’re all home for the summer for once.’ Then she frowned. ‘And how’s Miranda coping with what? You mean Mum and Dad being away?’
‘I meant her and Paul splitting up.’
‘What?’ Juliet jerked up straighter in her seat. ‘They split up? When?’
‘On Friday.’ Rory shot her a frown. ‘You didn’t know? It’s basically the only thing anyone in town has been talking about all weekend.’
‘I haven’t been into town since I got back. And Miranda didn’t tell me.’ Apparently, she wasn’t the only sister keeping secrets this summer.
‘Huh.’ Rory didn’t elaborate, and she knew that if she wanted the details she should really talk to Miranda. And yet . . .
‘Do you know what happened?’
He shrugged. ‘Depends who you ask. You know what this town is like. Everyone has a different version of the story.’
‘And probably none of them are more than forty per cent true.’ Juliet sighed. Looked like a sibling heart-to-heart was on the cards after all.
Rory pulled the van off the main road and on to the Lighthouse driveway, slowing down as they approached the main house.
Summer on Seashell Island: Escape to an island this summer for the perfect heartwarming romance in 2020 (Riley Wolfe 1) Page 12