‘Thanks for the lift, and for all the advice,’ she said as she opened the passenger door before Rory even had the handbrake on. ‘I’ll, uh, be in touch about the next order.’ Maybe by email. Or seagull post, if that was what it took. Being this close to Rory made her remember all the reasons she almost hadn’t left the island in the first place. Made her feel like eighteen-year-old Juliet again.
That couldn’t be good for anybody.
But Rory was already climbing out of the van, grabbing the bags for her from the back. Without a word, he carried them towards the front door of the Lighthouse. Juliet followed mutely.
The silence meant they both heard the laughter from inside the B&B – female voices, plus a lower male one – and the sound of a guitar strumming.
‘Sounds like you have guests,’ Rory said.
Juliet’s heart pounded against her chest. Actual guests. And she hadn’t even been here to check them in. Miranda was going to murder her – or at least use it as evidence that she was wildly incapable of looking after the Lighthouse for even a week.
Well, she’d just have to prove her wrong.
If Rory could own a successful restaurant, she could manage a B&B. Right?
Pasting on her biggest smile, she took the bag of sausages from Rory and pushed open the front door to see what Miranda and Seashell Holiday Cottages had delivered her. ‘I hope they’re hungry.’
MESSAGES
Emily (to Leo): Landed safely here in the Maldives after our stop in Dubai. How are the girls? I’ll Skype tonight to see them. Don’t forget to make sure Mia eats more vegetables than sugar, and that Abby goes to bed on time!
Leo (to Emily): They’re on holiday, Em. And so are you. Stop worrying. I know how to parent too, you know.
MIRANDA
‘Here it is!’ Miranda smiled brightly as she motioned towards the small cottage on the edge of her parents’ land. But Owain wasn’t looking at the cottage. He was looking at her. The same way he had been since she’d grabbed the box from Paul’s hands outside the Lighthouse, shoved it onto the shelf inside the front door without even a thank you, and sent him on his way. With faint curiosity and amusement.
It probably wasn’t helped by the way Paul had called her name after them as she’d hurried Owain down the path to the cottage, or how she’d steadfastly ignored him even as his shouts got louder. Or the way she’d babbled constantly ever since about anything but the ex-boyfriend yelling her name.
‘It looks great,’ Owain said, still not looking at the cottage.
Miranda fished the key from her pocket and worked it into the lock. ‘There should be plenty of space in here. I mean, it’s a while since I’ve been down here, but—’
She pushed open the door and the memories hit her before she even stepped inside.
This had been her place. Her sanctuary. The place she’d decorated herself, her first step outside the family home. Those were her books on the shelves, filled with adventures she’d read but never taken. And now . . . now she was back up at the Lighthouse, right back where she started – or worse. She hadn’t even come back to the cottage when Paul left her. She’d run straight back to her parents’ home, like a sobbing child.
Except her mum and dad hadn’t been there to give her a hug or kiss it better.
‘Is there a problem?’ Owain asked, behind her. Shaking her head, Miranda stepped aside to let him pass.
She stayed by the door as he explored the three-room cottage, taking in the space, the quiet, the views. Everything she’d loved about it. Even from here she could see the map wallpaper she’d chosen for her bedroom peeking through the open door, and the ocean theme of the bathroom.
The girl who’d lived here hadn’t been reliant on Paul, or a relationship for her independence or for her future. She’d designed her future herself and made it true in this cottage. She’d been safe here.
Why did that girl seem further away than ever right now?
‘This place should work great,’ Owain said, returning from the far end of the living room. ‘Plenty of space to set up here, a kitchen for the required tea and coffee – and beer. Too far from anywhere to bother people—’ He stopped, right in front of her. ‘Hey, are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ Miranda sobbed, and realised that tears were streaming down her face. God, how embarrassing. ‘Honestly, ignore me.’
She was fine. So why was she crying?
Placing a tentative arm around her shoulder, Owain led her over to the sofa and sat her down, perching awkwardly beside her as she stared out at the woods beyond the window.
‘I take it this has something to do with the guy screaming your name at the house?’ he asked.
Miranda nodded. ‘Paul. He’s my . . . was my fiancé. He broke up with me on Friday. He’s leaving the island and doesn’t want me to go with him.’
Owain raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you want to go with him?’
‘I don’t want to leave the island. Ever.’ Miranda pulled the sides of her cardigan tighter around her, hoping he wouldn’t question that. ‘Paul knows that.’
She didn’t look up at him, but she could feel the curiosity coming off Owain in waves. Of course he’d want to know why she stayed so tied to this place.
She knew the next obvious question – when was the last time she did leave? And she didn’t want to answer it. She had been to the mainland, naturally – she’d been born there. And in the first few years after they moved to the island, she’d been back a few times with her parents for hospital visits or shopping trips. Then that one time she’d been to Cardiff for the university open day . . . even the memory of that one made her shudder. And since then, since she’d been an adult, able to make her own choices . . . her world had grown smaller and smaller, until every bit of it fitted into the safety of Seashell Island.
Christabel was the first person to break through that forcefield the island had provided her with. Other people came, of course, and left again. But Christabel had stayed, and made her think about the world differently.
She dreaded to think how she’d have coped with Paul dumping her if it wasn’t for Christabel shifting her worldview over the last eighteen months.
But thinking about the outside world, and letting people in, wasn’t at all the same as going out there into the real world. Leaving.
And now Owain was here, bringing more of that outside in, and she knew he wanted to ask her why she wouldn’t leave the island. One question would lead to another, she knew. He’d want to know how she managed to live her whole life on the few square miles of Seashell Island. He’d say all the things her siblings had been saying to her for years, and she didn’t want to hear it all again. Not now, not here, and not from him.
But to her surprise, all Owain said was, ‘He seemed awfully keen to talk to you for someone who’s leaving you behind.’
She managed a watery chuckle at that. ‘I imagine that’s because his mum got to him. Or one of the locals.’
‘Is dating usually a community activity around here?’ He sounded entertained by the idea. She supposed the whole island was a curiosity to him – her included.
‘Basically, yes.’ Miranda sighed. ‘Paul and I . . . we’ve been together for ever. After university, he could have moved away, but he came back to Seashell Island to be with me because he knew I loved it here. And his mum was thrilled – she didn’t want him to move away either. Since then, he’s been the sort of golden boy of the island, because he came back and made his career here – he’s a lawyer, you see. He works for all the local businesses, helps everyone out when they’re in a jam . . .’
‘And now he wants to leave.’
‘Yeah. Which doesn’t seem to have gone down well with anybody. I think he was hoping to spin it as a “I’m too heartbroken to stay now that Miranda and I have split up” thing. But I might have ruined that by telling his mother that h
e broke up with me rather than ask me to go with him.’
‘Ah. I see.’ Owain frowned. ‘At least, I think I see. He was trying to put the blame on you for him leaving? What a dick.’
That made her laugh for real. ‘Yeah, I guess he is.’
‘So. Are you crying because you really loved him and are heartbroken because he’s leaving, or because you wasted so much time on a dick?’ She looked up at his question, and saw his eyes sparkling with something almost like amusement.
‘I’m sure this is hilarious to you, but this is my actual life falling apart here, you realise,’ she snapped. Her boyfriend, her parents, her home . . . would there be anything left for her on this island by the end of the summer?
‘Trust me, I’m not finding anything about this funny,’ Owain said, wryly. ‘Just familiar. I wasted a lot of years on . . . whatever the female equivalent of a dick is.’
‘A dick-less?’ Miranda guessed, her anger fading.
Owain grinned. ‘Let’s go with that.’
‘So which were you?’ she asked. ‘Heartbroken or annoyed at the wasted time?’
‘Both, for a while.’ He shrugged. ‘Eventually the heartbreak faded. I’m still annoyed about the time, though.’
‘For me . . . it’s not just losing him,’ Miranda explained, thinking it through as she spoke. ‘Christabel . . . she was right.’
‘She usually is,’ Owain said, sympathetically.
‘It wasn’t really Paul I was in love with. It was what he represented . . . my whole future. Everything I imagined happening for the next fifty, sixty, even seventy years . . . it’s just gone. It’s all blank now. I mean, I even had my wedding dress ready to go the minute he finally agreed to set a date.’ She sighed. ‘I should have known – and I’m annoyed at myself for that too. For not realising he was never going to go through with it.’
‘You had faith. There’s nothing wrong with having faith in a person.’
‘Even the wrong person?’
‘How can you know if they’re right or wrong if you don’t have faith in the first place?’ Owain asked.
‘True.’
His arm was still around her shoulder, she realised. Instinctively, she leaned back into it, soaking up the warmth of closeness even with a virtual stranger. He smelled good, too – all salt and spice, in the best sort of way.
She thought about Christabel’s string of emojis, and understood them just a little bit more. Christabel had given her many things since she arrived on Seashell Island – apparently Owain was just the latest. She’d assumed he was just there to help with the Lighthouse’s lack of guests problem. Now, she wondered if Christabel had been hoping for more . . .
‘How did you get past it?’ she asked Owain. ‘The heartbreak, I mean.’
She wasn’t heartbroken, exactly. Maybe heart-sprained. Or heart-cracked. A greenstick fracture of the heart she hoped she could bounce back from. Now the initial shock had faded, it didn’t feel like the end of her world. More like she’d been thrown into a new one she couldn’t quite see yet – as if she’d woken up in a new place and not put her glasses on yet, so everything was still blurry and indistinct, waiting to come into focus.
Owain chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t necessarily suggest my methods for dealing with it. I was a lot younger then.’
She shifted to look up at him. ‘Sounds interesting. I definitely want to hear it now.’
‘Well, my recovery plan had three stages. The first was tequila.’
Miranda laughed. ‘I’d probably go for beer or wine, but I can definitely do that part.’
‘The second was people. The band – Suzi and Robyn and Ryan – they’re the people I’m closest to in the world these days. We know each other, understand each other. They’re my . . . my safety net, I guess. They looked after me, and never complained when we spent most of the next year on the road gigging. I mean, that was what got us our record deal, so it wasn’t exactly a bad move, but still. I don’t think I’d have made it through without them.’
‘Hmm.’ She’d thought Paul had given her security, but now she thought about it, she realised that it was only the island that gave her that. Owain had found security in people, rather than a place. But otherwise they weren’t so different. ‘So tequila, a lot of nights on the road with the band . . . what was the third thing?’
He smirked. ‘A lot of rebound sex.’ His gaze met hers on the last couple of words, and suddenly the warmth of comfort turned into something considerably more combustible.
Yeah, Christabel had known exactly what she was doing sending Owain her way. Showing her everything else that was out there in the world. Damn her.
‘Rebound sex, huh?’ Her mouth was so dry the words almost wouldn’t come out. She licked her lips, and tore her gaze away from his. ‘Yeah, I wouldn’t have thought of that as a cure.’
‘It’s not a cure,’ Owain admitted, shifting away slightly. ‘More a distraction. And like I said, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it as a healthy way of processing emotional stuff. Or the tequila either.’
‘And the nights on the road with the band?’
‘Oh, those I’d definitely recommend.’ He smiled, and got to his feet, reaching out a hand to pull her up too. ‘Good friends and great music? Can’t be beaten as a cure for most things.’
‘Just as well you guys are here to provide the music for me, then.’ She was still holding his hand. Why was she still holding his hand? Because it feels good. And you’re still thinking about the rebound sex.
Miranda tugged her hand away with a small smile.
‘Yep. Music to mend a heartbreak, that’s us. Maybe we’ll even change our name. Suzi never really liked “Birchwood” anyway.’ Owain opened the cottage door and stepped back out into the sunshine. ‘Come on, I’d better go check on the rest of the band, before they start raiding that honesty bar of yours.’
Miranda fell into step beside him as they walked up to the Lighthouse together. And somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this new world was starting to sharpen up around the edges, just a little bit.
LEO
Leo had been pretty sure that waking up in a converted ambulance was the most surreal thing that was going to happen to him that day. Twenty minutes after he and the girls – and Christabel, tagging along to make sure no one fell off their bikes – returned to the Lighthouse, he had completely re-evaluated that assessment.
Finding the Lighthouse occupied by what seemed to be a folk-rock band waiting for an audience, and neither of his sisters anywhere to be seen, had only been the start. Soon, they’d all been out on the terrace tuning up, joking and laughing as they picked out melodies.
Then, as Abby and Mia settled in to beg for songs, and Christabel hugged the band like old friends before picking up a random tambourine that was lying around to join in, Juliet had arrived with Rory Hillier, of all people, and started cooking breakfast food for dinner as the music went on. Finally, Miranda had returned with a guy whose appearance gained cheers from the band as he picked up a guitar and started singing.
‘Do you have any idea what’s going on here?’ he asked, sidling over to his big sister.
Miranda shrugged. ‘I found us some guests. Well, Christabel did. And is someone cooking . . .’ she sniffed. ‘Pork and apple sausages?’
‘How can you tell that they’re the ones with apple in? Never mind.’ He shook his head and tried to focus, which would have been easier if it wasn’t for the foot stamping of the beat shaking the terrace. ‘Juliet’s cooking the sausages. With Rory.’
Miranda’s eyebrows went up at that, which Leo took to mean that at least one other person remembered the absolute shit show that had gone down when Juliet and Rory broke up. What the hell the guy was doing hanging around again now Leo couldn’t imagine. He’d never seen a man so cut up. Well, not until Emily left him and he looked in a mirror, anyway.
But if Miranda had thoughts on that subject, she didn’t share them. Instead, she nodded towards the band, as the tall, blonde woman picked up her fiddle and started to play. ‘When did Christabel get here?’
Leo looked over at where Christabel was bashing the tambourine against her thigh, her hips moving to the rhythm of the guitar, her smile wide, the purple streaks in her hair flashing in the sunlight as she nodded her head to the music.
‘She came back with us,’ he explained, knowing even as he started that he was going to get teased mercilessly about this. That was what family did, right? ‘The girls and I met her on our bike ride, and they introduced me – I understand you guys went rock-pooling the other day? Anyway, since she owns that bike repair ambulance thing, she was able to help us when I . . . had a few problems with my bike.’
Miranda shot him an innocent look. ‘What sort of problems?’
Damn her, she was going to make him say it. ‘I crashed. Into her bike ambulance. Because I was looking at my phone.’
Miranda’s lips twitched as she obviously tried to hold in a smile. ‘Poor baby. Did Christabel kiss it better for you? Because I’ll be honest, I have warned her off you.’
‘That’s not what she said. She said you said she was perfect for me.’
‘Yeah, but for Christabel that’s the same thing. Tell her she should do something and she instantly does the opposite. So no kisses better?’
‘Sadly not. But she did fix my bike.’
‘I should probably warn you off her too,’ Miranda mused. ‘I mean, I love her and she’s a brilliant friend, and actually I do think she’d be good for you. But she doesn’t stay, and I’d hate the girls to get all attached and think she was going to be around for ever.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Leo said, his mood souring slightly. ‘I am under no impression that anyone would want to stick with me long term.’ If he couldn’t make it work with Emily, who he’d loved more than anything, then what chance did he have with anyone else?
Summer on Seashell Island: Escape to an island this summer for the perfect heartwarming romance in 2020 (Riley Wolfe 1) Page 13