Summer on Seashell Island: Escape to an island this summer for the perfect heartwarming romance in 2020 (Riley Wolfe 1)

by Sophie Pembroke

  Which brought her to question number two. Rory.

  She didn’t know what his game was. On the one hand, he was acting like a doting father-to-be, a loving boyfriend. And he was categorically neither of those.

  On the other, he wasn’t acting that way. Because he never tried to touch her stomach, or talk about the baby, or discuss names, or even mention the future or what the baby would be like. His only interest in her breasts was to do with whether the underwires in her bra would stall her milk production, for heaven’s sake. He was completely focused on her, and her well-being. Like she was a problem to be solved.

  There was still an unfamiliar distance between them, as if for all his help, he wouldn’t let himself too close. This wasn’t a romance or a relationship, for sure. But then what was it?

  He was basically being the best friend anyone ever had, just like the old days, and it was making her nervous. Especially because she knew she didn’t deserve it, after everything that had happened between them.

  Since she obviously wasn’t going to nap any more, not now her head was filled with such questions, Juliet got up again. The band were down in the cottage, packing up for some gigs they had on the mainland that weekend, and over the next week. It looked like they’d be coming back, though – at least, Owain would be, if the basically pornographic smiles he’d been giving Miranda lately were anything to go by. Juliet had caught them both doing the walk of shame up from the cottage the morning after the party – although neither of them had looked particularly ashamed, which she applauded.

  Miranda had been too tied into what she thought the island expected of her for too long. It was far past time she cut loose a little bit.

  Maybe it would even make her a little more understanding when Juliet told her the truth.

  Probably not.

  Pottering downstairs, she found the place quiet. Miranda was probably with Owain, she assumed. And Leo had taken to working first thing, while she fed the girls and they helped to look after Lucy. Then, when she went for her nap, he put his laptop to sleep and put his phone in the bowl by the front door, before taking the girls out on some adventure or another – usually with Christabel. (Juliet had her smutty assumptions about what was going on there, too, but that might be her own frustrations talking.)

  He was usually back by late afternoon, when the girls settled down with a film, or a board game, or got their drawing stuff out while he got back to work for a couple of hours before dinner. Juliet had taken to joining the girls for film afternoons, and hoping no one noticed that she slept through them more often than not. Although Leo was probably hoping that none of them noticed Christabel sneaking back in after bedtime, either, but they all totally had.

  Today, she realised with a frown, his phone was missing from the bowl. And she thought she’d heard him talking in the study on her way downstairs. Poking her head outside the back door, she saw the girls and Christabel playing some game or another down at the bottom of the garden. Which meant that, whatever Leo was up to, Juliet had time to get on with some of her projects without interruption.

  Turning the back rooms on the top floor, which had mostly been used as storage for as long as she could remember, into functioning guest rooms was taking her a lot longer than she’d expected. Mostly, that was because her mum and dad seemed to have kept everything that ever came into the house over the past couple of decades in these two rooms, and going through the boxes had taken weeks.

  Still, now the rooms were clear – with the important keepsakes stored safely in the attic – she could start scrubbing down the walls and the floor ready to decorate. Nesting, a small voice whispered at the back of her mind. Juliet stopped, looked around the pale-yellow room, and couldn’t help but imagine a cot in one corner, maybe a rocking chair in another . . .

  No. These rooms were for guests. She’d be long gone from Seashell Island before she needed to worry about cots, anyway.

  She threw herself into cleaning as a distraction from thinking for the next couple of hours, until her hands and her back were sore. A warm shower helped her feel more human again, but by the time she was out she could still hear Leo in the study, and Christabel and the girls were now playing board games in the sunroom.

  With nothing she really needed to do – other than read the rest of Rory’s pregnancy books, which she was still avoiding – she headed outside to check on Lucy.

  Pulling on her old trainers, ones that had been living at the Lighthouse since she left home but looked exactly right with her ratty fat jeans that Tanya had sent, which only just still fastened up, and the long, loose T-shirt she was wearing under one of her mum’s cardigans, she then opened the front door—

  And stopped, staring, at the sight in front of her.

  Harriet’s horse and carriage, decked out with ribbons and flowers like she did when there was a wedding, was standing on the driveway. And stood beside it, in what had to be his best shirt, was Rory.

  Oh God. What the hell is this?

  ‘Juliet.’ He stepped closer, smiling, and held a hand out to her.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Ungrateful and difficult, that was her. Pregnancy really was bringing out her best qualities.

  But Rory’s smile never faltered. ‘I was hoping you’d take a ride with me. I have some things to show you, if you’ll let me.’

  Juliet looked down at her tatty old clothes, thought about the bird’s nest her hair must be since she’d let it dry without brushing it after her shower, and decided they didn’t matter. Because they were friends, right? Friends didn’t care what the other one looked like.

  And if this was something more . . . well, she couldn’t have that now anyway. So what did it matter what she looked like?

  With a tentative nod, she took Rory’s hand and let him help her up into the carriage.

  And prayed this wasn’t a huge, huge mistake.

  MIRANDA

  ‘You could come with me, you know,’ Owain said, one arm at her waist, his mouth warm against her ear as he hugged her goodbye. They’d said their first round of goodbyes in bed that morning, preparing for Owain to disappear to the mainland for a week with the band for a round of gigs. She’d thought she’d made her peace with him going.

  And yet she’d still snuck out back down to the cottage during a break from her VA work – and yet more festival phone calls – to say goodbye again.

  The others were loading up Rory’s van, loaned for the occasion, with their equipment, ready to drive down to the ferry, and not so subtly giving them space to make their farewells.

  ‘You don’t want me there cramping your style,’ she muttered against his chest. ‘What would all your groupies say?’

  He laughed, and she felt it vibrate against her cheek. ‘I don’t have groupies.’

  ‘That’s not what Suzi says.’ Miranda didn’t tell him what Suzi had actually said, though. ‘You’re not like his normal groupie flings. We actually like you.’

  ‘I could sneak you backstage, show you the bright lights of Bristol after the gig,’ Owain offered. ‘You’d be back on the island before you knew it.’

  ‘You’ll be gone a whole week, Owain. Between my VA work and organising the Lighthouse Festival, I’m swamped here as it is.’

  ‘Just come for tomorrow’s gig, then,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll make Ryan get his own hotel room for a change.’

  ‘You know I can’t.’ Miranda shook her head. ‘They need me here. Besides, you know I won’t leave my home.’ But right in that moment, she wanted to. For the first time in her memory, she wanted to be somewhere else. Just for tonight. Just with Owain.

  Frustration surged through her at the realisation. Before now, staying on Seashell Island had been a deliberate choice, a relief. It was her sanctuary.

  What had changed that now it felt more like a prison?

  Owain. Owain is what changed. Because suddenly,
when she thought of sanctuary, she thought of lying in his arms instead. Because he’d shown her that the world outside the island had more in it than she’d believed. That sometimes you had to dive into the freezing water and take a chance, rather than just living safe – that nothing at all would ever change if she didn’t.

  But . . . what might change here if she left, even for a night? Last time, Juliet had almost drowned. This time, she dreaded to think what might go wrong if she wasn’t there to look after everybody.

  God, that was an exhausting thought. Would she always feel this responsible?

  ‘Miranda . . . you realise that Seashell Island will always be home, right? Even if you go away, you can always come back again. That’s what home is.’

  He made it sound so simple. But Miranda knew that it wasn’t. She knew how it felt to not have that safe place at all. How could she give it up now? Even for that feeling she got in her Owain’s arms?

  Not now. Not when her parents were gone, and Juliet was trying to keep the B&B running for them, and Leo . . . God only knew what Leo was doing. Trying to persuade Christabel to play some sort of pornographic Mary Poppins, perhaps, given the noises she’d heard from his room last night. The point was, this place was her home, yes, but so were the people, she was realising.

  Her family needed her. And so did her island.

  So she’d stay, and she’d be safe, and so would everyone else. And if part of her heart was leaving with Owain, well, that was her problem.

  It was only rebound sex, after all. Right?

  ‘Look around you,’ Owain said, suddenly spinning her around to face the cottage bedroom, the place they’d first made love. ‘Look at the wallpaper you chose for this place – all those maps of places you’ll never go. Look at your bookshelves – filled with stories of adventures all around the world. Don’t you want to step outside and see some of those places for yourself, instead of just imagining them?’

  Yes.

  The thought was so sudden, so unexpected, Miranda swallowed it down fast before it could find its way out of her mouth.

  Owain sighed as she shook her head. ‘Just . . . think about it, Miri. That’s all I’m asking. OK?’

  Somehow, she had a feeling she’d be thinking about nothing else.

  ‘I’ll be here when you get back,’ was all she said, in the end. Because what else was there to say?

  Owain’s smile was just a little bit sad. ‘We’ll be back in good time to help with the festival. Maybe we’ll even bring some fans along, play an after-dark set or something.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Miranda said, non-committally. She wasn’t sure Seashell Island understood about after-dark sets or things like that. That didn’t sound like the usual Lighthouse Festival.

  ‘Owain?’ Suzi called, from over by the van. ‘We need to go if we want to catch the ferry.’

  ‘Want to ride with us into town?’ Owain asked, and Miranda nodded, not ready to say goodbye just yet.

  ‘I’ve got some errands to run, anyway.’ She could probably come up with some, on the way.

  Suzi drove, with Robyn and Ryan crammed into the bench seat in the front with her, so Miranda could sit in the back with Owain and all the equipment in privacy. They didn’t say much, though. They’d said it all already.

  He’d be back in a week, and Miranda knew it was ridiculous to miss him. But one week was about as long as they’d had together in the first place, in the relationship sense, anyway.

  Except this wasn’t a relationship. It was rebound sex.

  And she knew she wasn’t really worrying about missing him this week.

  It was just that this was a precursor to the real thing.

  At the end of the summer, Owain and the others would leave for good, and she might never see him again. Better to get used to missing him this week, to remind her heart that this was only temporary now, than be destroyed by him leaving then.

  He had his own life, off the island. And she had nothing beyond its watery borders.

  Different worlds. And Miranda knew better than to imagine they could meet in the middle, any more than they had done for one, magical summer. She’d do far better to be grateful for what she’d had, rather than hoping for anything more. They hadn’t even talked about what would happen at the end of the summer.

  So why was her heart hurting so much?

  The van pulled in behind the Flying Fish, and the back doors opened to let the others in to unload. Owain did his share, then pulled Miranda aside, the August sun warm against their faces even as the sea breeze ruffled her hair.

  ‘I know you need to get back to work,’ he said, holding her hands against his chest. ‘And I know you can’t come with me now. But . . . one day, you’re going to have to leave this place, Miranda. Even if it’s only for twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Miranda said. But deep inside, she was suddenly afraid that she wouldn’t. How ridiculous, to be sad to lose something she’d never even wanted until this moment.

  Owain sighed, and pressed a last kiss to her forehead. ‘I’ll see you next week.’

  ‘See you soon.’ She gave him what she hoped was a brave smile. It didn’t seem to work, though, because it only made him swoop in and kiss her properly – deep and long and everything she needed – until Suzi started whooping behind them, and he broke off to give her the finger.

  ‘Bye,’ he whispered. And then he was gone, away with his bandmates, all of whom seemed to be teasing him good-naturedly.

  Away to a world she was too scared to visit.

  She watched them go for another moment, then turned to walk the other way back to the Crab Leg Cafe for a pick-me-up latte – and slammed straight into her ex-boyfriend.

  ‘Paul! What are you doing, just standing there?’

  ‘Who was that?’ he asked, staring at Owain’s retreating form. ‘He was with you that day at the Lighthouse, too. And at the Flying Fish.’

  Miranda felt a blush hit her cheeks, and sternly ordered it away in her mind. She had nothing to be embarrassed about.

  She might not be able to leave the island, like everyone seemed to want her to, but she wasn’t the same Miranda who’d hung around for years and years, waiting for Paul to set a date, either. She’d had a fling with a musician, she’d swum naked in the sea, she’d adopted a llama, for heaven’s sake.

  Maybe she was still a work in progress. But she felt like she’d made more progress over the last month spending time with Owain, and Juliet, Leo and Christabel, than in five years of stagnating as Paul’s fiancée.

  ‘That’s Owain,’ she said, simply. ‘He’s been staying at the B&B this summer.’

  ‘He’s in the band you have staying? And he’s your new boyfriend?’ Was that jealousy she heard in Paul’s voice? She honestly thought it might be. Huh.

  ‘He’s my rebound fling,’ she said, with a broad smile. ‘We’re having lots of incredible sex. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.’

  She brushed past him, heading towards the cafe, but he quickly spun around and scampered after her.

  ‘I was looking for you, Miranda,’ he said, falling into step beside her. ‘I think we need to talk, don’t you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  He ignored her. ‘I know you needed space – that’s why I didn’t bother you after I came to the Lighthouse before.’

  ‘And here I thought it was because we’d actually split up and you were getting on with your life. Like I am.’ That day he’d come to the Lighthouse had been the day Owain had first said the words ‘rebound sex’. She’d almost forgotten that Paul had been there at all, even though they’d never have had the conversation otherwise.

  In fact, she’d pretty much forgotten Paul completely since Owain walked into her life. And that was a good thing.

  Except now he was here, walking beside her, his hands in his pockets the way he
always had. And Owain was gone, for now, and soon forever. Miranda could almost feel herself slipping back towards the person she’d been before this summer.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  ‘The thing is, Miranda, you were my life for so long,’ Paul said, and Miranda thought, No, I wasn’t. She’d just been comfortable, familiar, background noise. ‘The world doesn’t seem quite so friendly without you by my side.’

  By which she assumed he meant, My mum’s on my back and people keep glaring at me and telling me I’ve lost a good thing there.

  ‘Paul, you were right. If we really wanted to get married, we’d have done it by now.’ They were nearly at the cafe. Reluctant to have him follow her in and carry this on over coffee, Miranda paused outside the bucket and spade shop next door, and hoped this might be the end of it.

  No such luck.

  ‘But I’ve been thinking about that.’ Paul grabbed her hand, his expression earnest. ‘I think having this time apart, it’s helped us see what we really want from life.’

  Miranda narrowed her eyes. ‘Did your mother tell you to say that?’ It definitely sounded like something Gwen would say.

  ‘No,’ Paul said, but his gaze slid away from hers, and she knew he was lying. ‘I’ve been watching you this summer, working so hard for the festival, for this island and everyone in it. It reminded me what an incredible woman you are, and how much this place means to you.’

  She sighed. All the right words, and yet she didn’t believe any of them. ‘Look, I know your life would be easier if you could tell everyone we’d made up. But how would that even help? You’re going to be moving to the mainland for this new job as soon as you’ve worked your notice, right? New opportunities, new people . . . like Becca, for instance. I bet she’d move to the mainland with you.’

  ‘I haven’t asked her,’ he said, quickly.