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

by Sophie Pembroke

  But Rory was remembering something else. ‘It was the first place I kissed you, the night of that party on the beach, remember?’

  ‘I remember you practically falling over your own feet when I kissed you,’ she corrected him, automatically. But his magical mystery tour was already having what she assumed was his desired effect – bringing their past to life again.

  She remembered the smoke from the bonfire on the beach, the sound of guitars as a few guys drunkenly tried to warble their way through some songs, the laughter and the taste of vodka and Coke. Remembered seeing Rory in the firelight, and knowing he wasn’t just a friend any more, and hadn’t been for a long time. Knowing that she just had to kiss him.

  So she had.

  ‘Next stop please, Harriet,’ Rory said, before she could deal with the feelings coursing through her, and then the carriage was moving again.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked in a whisper.

  ‘Remembering,’ was all Rory said.

  When the carriage paused again, they were outside the Ice House ice-cream parlour, and people were staring at them.

  God, she hated this. The tourists were one thing; they probably thought this was romantic, a proposal tour or something equally corny. But the locals . . . they knew. They knew what she and Rory had been, what he’d been like when she left. Knew that she’d come back with her tail between her legs, even if Mrs Hibbert hadn’t spilled exactly why yet.

  She stared impassively ahead, and tried not to imagine what people were saying about her.

  ‘Remember the Ice House?’ Rory asked, softly.

  ‘I had ice cream here with Abby and Mia last week,’ she pointed out. ‘Of course I remember it.’

  ‘Remember what happened here for us, was more the point.’ Rory sounded faintly exasperated. She couldn’t even blame him. Here he was, trying to do something meaningful and romantic and lovely, and she was being a stonehearted bitch about it because, hey, that’s who she was.

  Who she’d had to be to leave him in the first place. Who she’d need to be to look out for her child on her own and not let the world get her down.

  ‘We . . . this is where we planned our big escape,’ she said, haltingly. She’d been working there all summer, the year before she turned eighteen. Rory had come in every evening for a single scoop and to talk to her, whenever she wasn’t busy serving or bussing tables. He’d sat there at the counter making one ball of ice cream last for hours, and they’d talked.

  They’d talked about the world outside Seashell Island. About moving to London and following their dreams. How Rory would go to culinary school, become a chef at one of the big-name restaurants. How Juliet would study psychology or something and learn how people worked and charge exorbitant amounts to listen to people talk about themselves.

  Except Rory’s dad had got sick that winter, and he’d told her he had to stay. And when summer rolled around . . . she’d gone anyway. Without him.

  He’d never tried to stop her, she realised. Never begged her to stay on the island with him. He just asked her that once, and when she hadn’t answered, told her he wouldn’t be able to go with her.

  She’d have begged, she knew. She wasn’t as good a person as Rory.

  She’d never even told him she was going, not officially. Too much of a coward. Or perhaps she’d been too afraid that if he asked her again, she’d say yes.

  They’d just carried on as if everything was normal, as if it was just one more summer. Maybe their kisses had been a little more desperate, and they’d stopped talking about the future altogether.

  And then she’d left. She hadn’t even said goodbye.

  She’d thought that was a kindness, at the time. She knew better now.

  The carriage was moving again, all the way to the far end of the beach, and the ramshackle old holiday park where they’d broken in one winter night and made love for the first time, in a fold-down bed in a freezing caravan. Then past the crazy golf where she’d beaten him three times and he’d told her he loved her. All the way around the back of the island, through the woods where they’d played as children, back past the Lighthouse and Gull Bay – the site of their final night – again, then down into town and coming to a halt in front of the Flying Fish.

  She blinked. ‘Why are we here?’ Every other stop had something to do with their past, their relationship, and the moment she left it behind. Nostalgia and guilt all mingled together inside her, tying her stomach in knots.

  ‘Because this is where you walked into my life again.’ Rory took her hand, and panic flared through her.

  She couldn’t do this. Whatever he was about to suggest, she couldn’t do it.

  She was Juliet Waters – screw-up extraordinaire. She’d always vowed she’d get out of this place, live a real, grown-up life, away from all the people who’d watched her and gossiped about her since reception class, when she had pushed Iain French into a muddy puddle.

  Yes, she was back, for now. But if she let Rory finish whatever he was about to say, she knew, deep inside, that she’d be stuck here forever. She wasn’t strong enough to leave him a second time. It would be so easy, just to give in, to let Rory take care of her, to give up.

  But she couldn’t do it.

  She was an adult now. She couldn’t let anyone swoop in and save her. She needed to save herself.

  She needed to figure out her own future, what she needed, what she wanted, before she let Rory anywhere near it.

  ‘Juliet. I’ve spent ten years missing you. Now you’re back in my life, and I know why. I want to be there for you, support you, be what you need.’

  If he kissed her now, she’d kiss him back. And then she’d look up in a year’s time, five years’ time, whenever, and she’d resent him for making her stay. And he’d hate her for being so bitter about it.

  Rory slipped from the bench seat onto one knee on the floor of the carriage, and Juliet’s heart stopped.

  Last time, he’d let her go. This time . . .

  She could see it all happening like a movie behind her eyes, her whole future. And she had to get out before the credits rolled.

  ‘Juliet. Will you—’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’ Snatching her hand back from him, she jumped down out of the carriage, ignoring the stunned looks from tourists who’d stopped to watch, and ran. Straight back home to the Lighthouse – and safety.

  Juliet was panting for breath by the time home came in sight. There were lights on inside, in the kitchen, the study, the bedrooms – and suddenly she couldn’t go in. She’d come here for safety, for support, but she couldn’t take it.

  Because she still hadn’t told them.

  She’d told precisely two people she was pregnant. One had abandoned her and one had tried to propose – neither of which was the response she was looking for. Maybe her family would do better.

  Or perhaps their reaction would be even worse.

  She could hear Abby and Mia playing weddings on the terrace, but she didn’t go towards them. Instead, swerving away from the house, she headed towards the small stall they’d set up for Lucy on the edge of the field behind the house.

  The llama gave Juliet her usual impassive stare as she walked inside. Reaching into the bucket of feed they’d hidden behind a high barrier even Lucy’s long neck couldn’t reach, Juliet pulled out a handful to hold out for the llama.

  Lucy dipped her head instantly to gobble up the food, then nudged against Juliet’s side to ask for more.

  ‘Oh, Lucy.’ Juliet grabbed another handful of feed. ‘What am I supposed to do? Rory is going to hate me again and . . . I hate that. And I know I should be concentrating on the bigger picture, not fretting about my ridiculous love life. I need to be thinking about the future, for me and the baby. Do I go back to London? Do I force Callum to acknowledge the baby, to play a part in its life? I haven’t even prope
rly registered at the GP here or anything, because you know it’ll be all over the island the moment I do – if Mrs Hibbert hasn’t told everyone already. I have seriously big problems to deal with, and instead . . .’

  She sighed, as Lucy finished off the food and started nudging again.

  ‘Yes, OK, fine.’ Juliet grabbed another handful. ‘You’ll get as big as I will, though, and you won’t have my excuse.’

  Sighing again, she moved away from the feed bucket, and over to a bench in the corner of the stall. Sitting heavily on the wooden bench, she smiled as Lucy followed her, head ducked to press against her shoulder in support.

  ‘I need to think about the baby, first and foremost, I know that. But I can’t stop thinking about Rory – what was he thinking? Was he proposing because he loves me? Or because he thinks I need saving? Because I’m damn sure he wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for the baby. But most of all . . . most of all, I’m obsessing about what Miranda will say when she finds out.’

  ‘When I find out what?’ Miranda asked from the entrance, and Juliet jumped so hard she fell off the bench.

  MIRANDA

  Miranda batted Lucy aside as she reached down to help her little sister up.

  ‘Juliet,’ she said, as soon as she was seated again. ‘What’s going on?’

  She’d known something was wrong. She’d known that Juliet wouldn’t have just come home for the summer because she fancied a break. Juliet had spent years counting down to when she could escape Seashell Island. It had to be something huge to bring her back now.

  And Miranda had ignored it. Because she’d been tied up in her own stuff – with Paul, with her parents, with the Lighthouse, with the festival, and with Owain. She’d just hoped that whatever it was would go away, the same way she was hoping that the incredible pull she felt with Owain would fade away eventually, before he left for good.

  Obviously neither of the problems had gone anywhere at all.

  And it was past time that she put on her big sister hat and started doing her job again. Being wild and free Miranda with Owain was one thing – one incredible, brilliant thing. But it was only ever a holiday from being the real her.

  Responsible, sensible, big sister Miranda. Who always arrived in time to fix whatever mess Juliet had got herself into.

  Maybe Paul was right, in a way. She couldn’t change who she was, not at her core.

  If she’d gone with Owain today, she wouldn’t have been here now, to help her sister. Just like last time.

  She took a breath, nudged Lucy out of the way again, and sat down beside Juliet.

  ‘Do you want to tell me why you came home to Seashell Island this summer?’ she asked, softly.

  ‘Not really,’ Juliet replied.

  Miranda clenched her jaw. No wonder she needed a holiday from that Miranda. That Miranda had to deal with this Juliet – sulky and difficult and unable to accept help even when it was offered.

  ‘I mean, you’re going to be really, really disappointed in me, and I kind of wanted to put that off for as long as possible, if I’m honest,’ Juliet continued, and Miranda felt her frustration dissipate.

  The Juliet she remembered as a teenager had never once worried about disappointing her, or anyone else. She’d just gone her own way and done what she wanted without thinking about anyone else at all.

  She’s an adult. Maybe she doesn’t need me to save her at all. Miranda shook away the thought and focused on her sister.

  ‘Why would I be disappointed in you? You’re here, doing an incredible job with the B&B. You stuck by your word that you’d take it seriously, and you have. Plus . . . you’re an adult, Juliet. You get to make your own choices, now. What does it matter if I’m disappointed in the ones you choose to make?’

  Juliet looked up from her hands at last, her expression sceptical. ‘You really think you wouldn’t be bothered if Mum and Dad, or Leo, or the whole damn island knew you’d done something really stupid?’

  Like swimming naked in Gull Bay. Or falling for a musician who’ll walk out of my life once the summer is over.

  No. She wasn’t thinking about those things either. This was about Juliet, not her disaster of a sex life.

  Except the sex life is pretty perfect. It’s the what comes next that’s screwed up. The part where he leaves and I realise I’ve fallen too far too fast and there’s nothing I can do about it because he’s not even here.

  Rebound sex. That was all it was. That was the promise they’d made each other that first night. She had to remember that.

  And right now, she had to help her sister, most of all.

  ‘Juliet. Tell me what’s going on.’

  Her baby sister’s big green eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  Miranda refused to have the conversation that would follow in the llama stall, so she led a shaky Juliet towards the kitchen where they could both have some tea and biscuits and deal with things in a proper manner. They passed Abby and Mia on the terrace, setting up for another of Abby’s pretend weddings in which some teddy bear got the happy ever after Miranda was never going to.

  Paul was right. There was no one else on this island she would fall for, and the odds of anyone remotely suitable for her – let alone her soulmate – deciding to move there were infinitesimal. And even if they did, I’d probably still be mooning over Owain . . .

  Focus, Miranda.

  Juliet. That was who mattered here.

  Mia jumped in front of some part of their set up, hiding it from view; Abby, hurrying alongside her a moment later had the stuffed llama Juliet had bought her tucked under her arm.

  ‘Do I want to know what you’re doing here?’ Miranda asked, wondering where the hell Leo was anyway.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ Mia said quickly. ‘Dad . . . he’s working, and he yelled at Abby, so we’re planning an extra, extra-special wedding to make her feel better.’

  Abby nodded. ‘You’re all invited. When we’re ready.’

  Miranda spent a second or two deciding how much she cared about whatever it was they were hiding, and concluded that it couldn’t be all that bad. And if it was, it was Leo’s problem anyway.

  ‘OK. Let us know when the bride arrives,’ she said, and ushered Juliet into the kitchen, the girls chorusing ‘We will!’ behind them.

  Miranda put the kettle on, dumped the whole biscuit tin on the kitchen table – although someone had eaten all the chocolate ones, she realised, and mentally blamed Leo – then turned to Juliet.

  ‘OK. Tell me everything.’

  It wasn’t a pretty story, and it took a full pot of tea and far too many biscuits to tell. Juliet’s voice was so soft Miranda had to lean right across the table to make sure she didn’t miss any of it. She forced herself to stay silent until the very end, knowing that if she spoke it would give Juliet a reason to stop.

  She needed to know everything if she was going to help her.

  ‘So I came home,’ Juliet finished, tugging the sleeves of her cardigan over her fingers. It looked like one of their mum’s. Miranda figured it was probably a comfort thing. ‘But Mum and Dad weren’t here and I didn’t know how to tell you and Leo.’

  ‘You told Rory, though?’ That shouldn’t have hurt, knowing how close those two had always been, as friends long before they were a couple. But it did anyway.

  ‘The night of Leo’s llama party,’ Juliet confirmed. ‘And since then . . . I don’t know what’s going on with us. First he pulled away, then he started fussing about everything and baby books – like some sort of demented midwife. Then today . . .’ She took a deep breath before continuing, pausing long enough to allow Miranda to imagine all the horrible possibilities of what Rory might have done. ‘Today, he took me on some magical-mystery carriage ride of the island, hitting all the places on the map of our relationship. And then he tried to propose to me.’

&nb
sp; ‘Oh.’ Well, that was . . . predictable, for Rory, she supposed. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I ran.’ And that was just as predictable for Juliet.

  Miranda sighed, and ran a hand over her forehead. Suddenly, she missed the days when cleaning up after Juliet just meant hose-piping vomit from the plants by the front door.

  ‘So since you came back, you two have been . . . together?’ she asked. How was she this out of touch with her own sister’s life?

  But Juliet shook her head. ‘Not at all. Not even a kiss. Not even a hint that he wanted a kiss.’

  ‘But did you? Want a kiss, I mean?’

  Colour sprung to Juliet’s cheeks. ‘That’s not the point. The point is, we’re not even together, I’m pregnant with another man’s child, and he just proposed to me. In front of the whole town!’

  Miranda winced. Put like that, it didn’t sound too great. But she was certain that Rory wouldn’t have been thinking of it that way.

  ‘Or, you came home, lost and afraid, and turned to your old friend – and the only man you ever truly loved, right? – for help. And this is what he came up with.’

  ‘How would a random proposal of marriage help?’ Juliet asked, sounding completely bemused. ‘As if I didn’t already have enough to worry about.’

  ‘Juliet . . . ever since the two of you were little, Rory’s been looking out for you. He protected you in junior school, he covered for you in secondary school, and then he fell madly in love with you. He fell apart when you left, like, completely. And now you’re back . . . it seems to me, he’s trying to look after you all over again. Maybe even cover for you. Because people will talk a lot less if they think you came back here for Rory, and now the two of you are having a baby together.’

  ‘But that’s . . . that’s a lie.’

  Miranda laughed. ‘You say it like you’ve never told one.’

  ‘No, but I wouldn’t ever ask Rory to live one like that.’ Juliet shook her head, obviously repulsed by the very idea. Miranda supposed that however many white lies she might have told as a teenager – about where she was going, when she’d be home, whether she’d been drinking – she’d never actually been a deceitful person. She was just herself, plain and simple.