by Olivia Miles
Even now, she thought, thinking of Ellie, it was thinly tolerated.
Ellie. She really had been too hard on her. And no one ever said that it was her job to take care of the house. Now that they were all here, they should all share in the work. It was just that Gemma hadn’t factored in just how much work that would be. She’d talk to Ellie, once Ellie was around long enough to talk to. The past few days Gemma had rarely left her room other than to eat the meals that Hope was forever cooking and offering, and usually Ellie was out, at her studio, or somewhere else she hadn’t made known.
Maybe she was with Simon, Gemma thought, thinking about what Hope had said about finding love again. Contrary to what Gemma led her readers to believe, it just wasn’t that easy. At least, not for her.
She stopped to admire the annuals that were popping into full bloom beside the tulips in various shades of pink, purple, and white that lined the path to the Taylors’ porch. She knew the property as well as Sunset Cottage—soon there would be peonies, big, puffy balls of gorgeous pale pink and fuchsia flowers, and cream ones, her personal favorite.
The very kind that were supposed to be tied together with a blue ribbon for her wedding bouquet.
She must have been standing outside the gate to the Taylors’ home for quite some time, because she hadn’t even seen the man come around the side of the house. Now, feeling his stare, her eyes shifted, and her cheeks heated at what she saw. A tousle-haired man not much older than herself, in jeans and work boots and, God help her, nothing else.
She tried to pull her eyes away from his chest, but that would have made her not human. He was broad in the shoulders, and his muscles were lean, and on full display. Even though it was only May, his skin was bronzed from the sun.
“Can I help you?” the man asked in a tone laced with enough amusement that Gemma had to wonder if she’d actually been gaping.
Being holed up with her sisters and alone in her apartment before that clearly hadn’t been good for her. It was just a man, and many men in this world were good looking.
Her mouth felt dry as she tried to look natural. “We own the house next door,” she explained. She got a better look at his face as he approached. Yes, focus on the face, Gemma. Piercing green eyes, nut-brown hair, and a strong jaw. But it was the grin that made her stomach do something funny. She tried to compose herself and had a bad feeling that she was failing. “Do you work for the Taylors?”
As if that wasn’t obvious. She hadn’t seen him before, and she thought she knew all the locals on the island, but then she hadn’t been back in a long time either. Caretakers usually required year-round residency, because by the summer season, the houses were occupied by owners or renters.
“I do.” He grinned, but his look was suspicious. “I’m the new caretaker.”
“What happened to Edward?” she asked, thinking of the sweet old widower who used to bring her Gran a bouquet of flowers once a week, even if she insisted that nothing was going on between them.
The man raised an eyebrow. “He retired. Spends his time fishing now. It’s a physical job.”
She blinked. Of course. Quite physical, she thought, forcing her gaze to remain on his face. She felt flustered, like he was waiting for her to say something. She blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “Do you mind if I ask what you do for them?”
She realized by the squint in his eye that this had come across as suspicious, maybe even interrogating. “I’m not checking up on you. I just…Well, my sisters and I are staying in our house for a bit and we might need some help.” That was an understatement.
He didn’t look surprised by this omission. She wondered if he’d already noticed the place, formed an opinion about the state of it.
“I do whatever they ask,” he said with a shrug. “Keep the furnace going in the winter, and make sure the pipes don’t freeze. Clean the windows in the summer. Rake in the fall. Keep an eye on tenants that they aren’t so sure about.” He grinned. “I’m pretty new here, though. This is my first season.”
“Do you mind me asking how much you charge to mow the lawn?”
He glanced at the cottage and back at her. “For you? Twenty bucks.”
Twenty bucks or two hours of writing time. “It’s a deal,” she said, feeling relieved.
His eyes held hers until she felt the need to look away. “I’ll stop by today if I have time.”
“Tomorrow is fine. We’re not out to impress.” At least she wasn’t until now. Now she wished she’d changed her clothes from the comfy but not exactly flattering T-shirt and leggings that she lived in most days, and sometimes slept in, too.
“I’ll be by tomorrow then,” the man said. “I’m Leo, by the way. Leo Helms.”
“Gemma Morgan,” she replied, smiling shyly. He held out a hand and she extended hers, her stomach tightening at the contact, before she abruptly pulled her hand back. The racing of her heart was pure nonsense. Honestly!
He grinned, picked up a flannel shirt that he’d discarded on the brick-paved path, and wandered back up the lawn around to the side of the house.
Cute, Gemma decided. Inarguably, cute. But no need to go there. She had a book to write. And besides, she had given up on love.
Or rather, it had given up on her.
***
Sean and she had met when she was still working at the ad agency, back when she was dabbling at her first book, still getting used to life in the city. He was tall, cute, and he’d taken her for pizza after work one night.
Sean, unlike her, loved his job at the ad agency. It was exactly what he wanted to do, but he’d always encouraged her to do what she wanted. When she first got “the call” that her book was being published, he’d been just as excited as she was, insisted on champagne and a proper celebration.
When she’d called her parents to tell the news, her father had gotten right down to business. “How much are they offering?”
Even now, Gemma could still remember the hurt she’d felt in her chest at his reaction. It wasn’t about the money, she’d tried to explain. It was about the accomplishment.
Still, when the book came out and another was on the way, her father came around to the idea, even seemed proud of it, something that had triggered her argument with Ellie last summer. Ellie knew how much their father disapproved of her aspirations, and when she tried to make Gemma feel bad about not helping out with Gran more, Gemma had taken the bait, said something that her father had said many times and shouldn’t have, even if it was true.
She didn’t bring up her writing much around Ellie. Or Hope, come to think of it. When her first book released last year, it was Sean who came with her to all the local bookstores to see the book in the wild. They’d celebrated with champagne and take-out.
Those were the happy times. Sometimes, thinking back on them hurt more than thinking of the bad times.
Lena appeared at her side with a chocolate brownie on a plate. “You looked like you could use it,” she said with a little smile.
Lena was a local, the daughter of innkeepers and the same age as Ellie. Gemma remembered her from all the summers she spent here, but she was surprised all the same when she’d walked in to the coffeehouse to see that Lena was still on the island.
“Thanks,” she said, eagerly reaching down to break off a piece.
Lena tilted her head. “I heard about your fiancé.”
Gemma stopped chewing. Of course. The brownie wasn’t a reward for the hard work she’d been doing for the past two hours at this corner table. It was a sympathy brownie. And she must have been frowning.
“Ellie told you?”
Lena shook her head. “I heard it from Darcy Ritter. She runs the quilting club here in town? She was good friends with your grandmother. She takes a painting class at your sister’s studio, and she heard all about it.”
Along with everyone else in the class, Gemma assumed. She felt her eyes hood. She knew Darcy, and she knew that Darcy liked to keep her pulse on the community.
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Lena tsked. “Terrible thing that man did. Jilting you like that!”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’d use the word jilted.” Gemma skirted her eyes, catching he curious glances from the patrons at the nearest table. “It wasn’t like he left me standing at the altar.”
“Still, you had to call back all those vendors!”
Gemma nodded, and then remembered that she still hadn’t heard back on the full refund from the caterers yet. They could only give a full refund if they booked another gig for the same night. She made a mental note to email them as soon as Lena went back to the counter.
Right now she could use every penny she could find. Especially if she kept getting too distracted to finish this book.
“Well,” she said, forcing a smile she no longer felt. “Thank you for the brownie.”
“Chocolate does wonders,” Lena said, giving her a wink.
If only. Gamma pushed the plate to the side and put her attention back on the computer screen.
She stared at the page count on the bottom of her screen, stricken when she realized she had only accomplished ten pages today. And another day had come and gone. She could work all night, she decided, or at least once the girls went to bed, though who knew about what. She was still blocked. Still unable to tackle the central romance in her story that her readers craved. If she didn’t believe in her own work, how could she expect anyone else to?
And now all she could think about was her catering deposit, and how large the sum was, and then she was thinking of how Sean didn’t have to worry about any of this, because Gemma had been foolish enough to offer to use her inheritance to pay for it. It was that, or ask her parents, and she could never forget how her mother had controlled every detail of Hope’s wedding, until Hope had laughed good-naturedly and said, “Maybe you should wear the wedding dress, Mom!”
Gemma fired off an email to the caterers, her anxiety mounting when she saw a new email from her editor at the top of her inbox. Her stomach tightened into a hard knot and she closed the laptop before she could linger too long, or be tempted to click on it, and feel the pressure escalate. Where was the manuscript? Would it be ready on time? She knew what the email would say without having to read it.
With a shaking hand, she ate the rest of the brownie. And Lena was right, because she did feel a little better afterward. She gathered up her belongings and decided to take a walk through town. Sometimes that was all it took for her mind to open up and ideas to strike. A walk. A shower. Something that didn’t feel so forced.
It was quiet in town, and warm. Shop owners had embraced the season and most had pots of tulips flanking their doors, their large bay windows displaying brightly colored items, inviting passersby to stop in, browse, hopefully to buy something.
Gemma would have loved to poke around, maybe treat herself to some stationary supplies from the paper store on the corner, but then she thought about her budget, and her book, and her future.
Ten pages. She’d been so optimistic when she’d set out into town!
She stopped outside the next shop she came to, the local real estate office, whose windows were covered in sheets for summer rentals and properties for sale.
She stared at the real estate listings, her eyes popping when she saw how much some of the homes were listed for—homes not even on the west side of the island, homes that were smaller, tucked into the forest, not even walkable from town.
The answer to her problems, it was starting to seem, would be to sell Sunset Cottage.
Chapter Eight
Ellie
Hope was sitting on the front porch when Ellie hopped off her bike, tired from another long day at the studio.
“Come join me!” Hope said with a smile. “The girls are already down for the night.”
Ellie glanced in the house through the open screen door. She’d been dodging Gemma since her arrival but now the thought of joining her sister for a glass of wine on the porch sounded exactly like what she needed to push aside the pain in her chest over Simon. For a little while at least.
“Gemma’s inside,” Hope said, as if reading her mind. “She feels bad, Ellie.”
Ellie froze. This was the first time that last summer’s argument had been broached directly, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to have this conversation right now.
“Come on. Don’t make me enjoy this sunset alone,” Hope encouraged. “This is our chance to relive all those wonderful summers. Like old times.”
Like old times. There was that line again.
Her sister had a point, and Ellie nodded. “I’ll be right back.” She had barely entered the front hallway when Gemma approached, the anxiety in her eyes at odds with the smile on her face.
“What’s going on?” Ellie asked, feeling uneasy. Was it the yard? It had grown again, but she’d told herself she would get to it this weekend, when she had more free time. She’d dared to think that tonight might be different, the kind of night she’d been hoping to have since her sisters announced that they were coming to visit.
But now, it seemed all that would have to wait.
“I was in town today,” Gemma said, and for one horrible moment, Ellie wondered if this had something to do with Simon. Had Gemma seen him? Had she said something about how happy Ellie was to have him back, without knowing of course that he was engaged to be married to another woman?
The humiliation! Ellie braced herself.
“And I saw the real estate listings for properties for sale,” Gemma continued.
Ellie nodded, waiting for Gemma to say more. Her stomach grumbled and she realized that she hadn’t eaten much today. Hadn’t eaten much since Simon’s big announcement, really.
She inched toward the kitchen, eager to get on with things. “So?”
“So…this house is worth even more than I thought,” Gemma said, raising an eyebrow.
“Wait. You want to sell Sunset Cottage?” Ellie felt her eyes bulge as she stared at Gemma. Gemma, who had not been to the island since she had graduated from college, had decided to waltz back in, after Gran was gone, and tell Ellie what she wanted to do with the place? “No. No way. Just no.”
“Hear me out—” Gemma said, stepping forward, but Ellie brushed by her, shaking her head until her ponytail whipped back and forth.
Her heart was hammering in her chest as she pushed deeper into the house and made her way to the kitchen. Tears blinded her eyes as she opened the fridge, only to be reminded that the light was still burned out. She cursed under her breath as she grabbed a bottle of wine by the neck (there were now several, along with cheese and bread and lunchmeat and vegetables, thanks to Hope’s trip to the market this week) and poured herself a glass. To the rim.
“Ellie! Come on out to the porch! Let’s talk!” That was Hope’s voice now. The traitor.
“Talk?” she asked angrily. “Or hear you out?” No one asked Ellie for anything because Ellie was…well, Ellie. Black sheep of the family. Starving artist. Irresponsible Ellie. She may as well have had it tattooed to her forehead. Ellie who had killed the vegetable garden. Ellie who wasn’t much of a handyman.
But they had no clue. None of them. This was an old house, and they each had a share in it. And up until now, she had been the only one contributing to its upkeep, and she couldn’t sink all of her money into it, not when she had the studio rent.
And without her say, they couldn’t do anything. Not even sell this cottage.
“We wanted to have a discussion,” Hope called out.
“Oh, so I’m being ganged up on now?” she cried, hating the hurt that crept into her tone. They’d discussed it, planned it, all before she’d come home. Because like it or not, this was her home. Not theirs. “What is this? Some kind of ambush?” She took a long sip of the wine.
“Please, Ellie! I didn’t mean to upset you!” Gemma called, and Ellie, despite her anger, wavered. She loved her sisters, and the truth was that she had been lonely here. But selling this house?
For starters, where w
ould she go?
She took another gulp of the wine, letting it cool her throat. It was a hot day for May, and it was sticky in the house, even with the breeze floating off the lake. They needed to open more windows. Let the fresh air circulate. Evening was quickly approaching, and here on the island, the evenings were perfect.
Except tonight wasn’t shaping up to be.
“Look,” she said as she walked onto the wraparound porch through the side kitchen door. Hope had lit candles and set them on the wicker side and coffee tables, and the big round table where their mother and Gran and Mrs. Taylor and Mrs. Anderson would sit and play cards for hours every evening, their laughter rising in the air, carrying itself all the way up to her cracked bedroom window. She loved the sound of it, even if she did feel mildly left out of the fun. Still, she’d made her own fun. She had Gemma and Hope and the Taylors and the Andersons. They were a staple, a presence that was ingrained in their stays at the cottage. There was an unspoken promise that the fun would start all over the next day. Even when it rained, they could explore the old homes. And they had. She knew every inch of the three homes that hugged the southern bay of the West End.
This house was ingrained in her too.
“Gran gave this house to us,” she said, pleading with Gemma’s emotional side. Gemma had a tender heart, whereas Hope was always the more practical one. Ellie supposed this was why the strain with Gemma hurt so much, because Gemma was supposed to care. And right now, the only thing she seemed to care about was her financial stake in this house. “Gran could have given it to Dad, but she didn’t.”