Meet Me at Sunset (Evening Island)

by Olivia Miles

  And Ellie had…her art. She had her art, she reminded herself.

  “So, what do you have planned for tonight?” Simon asked.

  She thought fast, wondering if he could be fishing or just making conversation. He’s engaged, she reminded herself.

  “I’m going to spend some time with my sisters. How about you?”

  He gestured to the powder blue bakery bag in his bicycle basket—Island Bakery’s signature. “I was just in town to pick up something for my mom. She’s still under the weather, so we’ll have a low-key night.”

  “Nothing like a swinging Saturday on the island,” Ellie bantered, and Simon caught her eye.

  “I seem to remember a lot of exciting nights, actually,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. “Do you remember that time we went night swimming out near the cave?”

  Did she remember? Of course she remembered. It was hardly a cave by definition, more of an opening in the cliffs along the east side of the island, but she’d thought about that night a hundred times over the years. She hadn’t considered that he’d thought about it too.

  She caught his eye as she slowed her bike to a stop. They’d reached the cottage, and as luck would have it, Hope was sitting on the front porch, watching their every move. She waved and called out a big hello to Simon and stood to talk over the railing.

  “How’s your sister?”

  He shrugged. “Good. Married. Happy.”

  “Tell her I said hello,” Hope said.

  Ellie toed her kickstand and glanced back at the house. “Well, I should probably get inside.” The last thing she needed was for Hope to get the wrong idea, to start implying that she and Simon had a chance together, when they didn’t. They couldn’t. But oh, how she wished they could.

  Simon was looking at her fondly. “We had a lot of fun times, Ellie.”

  She grinned, her heart warming at all those memories that she’d stowed away, in a locked part of her heart. She wanted to open it, reminisce. But she also didn’t want to fall again. “We did.”

  “Don’t go having too much fun tonight without me,” he said as he hopped back on his bike and began to pedal away.

  She sighed. She never had. And that was just the problem.

  But as she walked up the porch to her sister, who was waiting for her with a curious gleam in her eyes, she couldn’t fight the smile from her face.

  Or the thrill that she hadn’t needed to seek him out today after all. That somehow, he had found her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hope

  Hope had broken down and bribed the girls into good behavior with the promise of an ice cream. She had just been so desperate to walk around town, take in the sights and sounds, to be around other adults!

  The trouble had started in the first gift shop, where Victoria had reached her hand out and pilfered a stuffed toy dog without Hope even noticing until they were four stores down the block. She’d been so mortified that she could feel her face flare up right there, in the middle of the street, and she’d pried it from Victoria’s clutch, rather than ask to see it, which she really should have done, if she’d been thinking clearly, which she obviously wasn’t these days. As she should have expected, Victoria began to scream, one of those screams where she held her breath and turned purple and didn’t release the blood-curdling sound until an alarming amount of time had passed. And then… Well, by then Hope was shaking. She was desperate. She pushed the double stroller back to the shop, wrestled the bulky thing through the door, and handed the toy over with a profuse apology. The shop girl hadn’t even noticed, but oh, did every one notice the screaming. And from the looks in their eyes, they judged. Oh, yes, they judged.

  Disgusted with herself, she reached into her bag and plucked out two of the lollipops that she had purchased at the market last week. That quieted things down. At least until they passed by the toy store, and then it was war.

  Pretending she didn’t see it, Hope pushed on by and straight into Harbor Home Designs. She knew it was silly, buying things for the cottage when she didn’t even live there and they were most likely going to sell it, but she couldn’t help herself. She was always drawn to pretty objects, and that house had so much potential! She could just picture it cleared of Gran’s worn furnishings, replaced with white slip-covered sofas and rattan chairs and soft, cashmere throws in beachy colors. The walls could be painted over in shady of muted blues and soft grays. The kitchen would be so much brighter in a soft, buttercup yellow, and everything would be so light and airy. The way it was meant to be.

  For now, she would make do with what was there. Already she found it was improved with the addition of Ellie’s watercolors, and the new linens on the beds had certainly freshened things up. She did feel a tiny bit guilty as she handed over the credit card and bought a pale teal throw and three matching pillows that would liven up the front living room, but then she remembered that Evan never felt guilty for all the lunches he took with coworkers or the tennis lessons he took on the weekends. It wasn’t his money; it was their money. At least, that’s what he had always told her. But somehow it didn’t feel that way. Her job was in the house, yes, but she felt differently when she was earning her own income.

  She was just about to turn out of the store when she saw the most darling set of candlesticks in a washed wood near the window display. She reached for one and turned it over to check the price, when she saw the other was suddenly missing. She glanced down to see Rose clutching it close to her chest, her eyes defiant, as Victoria looked on with interest, sucking her lollipop.

  “Can Mommy see that?” she asked, smiling in what she hoped was her pleasant face, not her tense face.

  Rose giggled. “No!”

  Hope swallowed hard. She couldn’t handle another scene. “Please? I’ll give you a lollipop.”

  She was aware that a woman beside her was watching her now. Judging, most certainly.

  “I have a lolly!” Rose pointed out, looking at Hope as if she were crazy. And maybe she was at this point. She had reduced herself to bribing four-year-olds to obey her because she had lost control. And her life was always, if nothing else, in complete control.

  Until it wasn’t.

  “Please, Rose? It would make Mommy so happy.”

  “No!” Rose lifted the candlestick up and slammed it down, only missing taking out a crystal vase by Hope’s swift handiwork. With one hand gripping the candlestick base, she pried Rose’s determined fingers from their grip, until the object was free. Sticky, but free. Now she would have to buy it. Even if it was about twenty percent overpriced in her opinion. She may not know children very well, but she knew home décor.

  She smiled serenely as Rose wailed, pushed the stroller back to the counter and pulled out the credit card. She managed to continue smiling until she was at the door, and by then, people on the street had stopped to stare at the commotion. It was Sunday afternoon; the tourists were flocking from the ferries that were crossing back and forth to Blue Harbor. Every eye, it seemed, was on her. The woman with the oversized stroller, and a child clutching a lollipop, turning purple in her rage.

  She glanced across the street, saw the sign for Main Street Sweets, and whispered in Rose’s ear: “Stop screaming right now and I will buy you an ice cream cone.”

  Oh, she was ashamed. So, so, so ashamed. But it worked. Rose stopped her screaming as quickly as if a light had been switched off, and across the street they went, Hope’s pride hanging on by a thread. Through another door they struggled, and then to the counter they went. “Two vanilla scoops,” she began, but Victoria shouted, “Chocolate!”

  Hope glanced down at her child, and for a moment, she felt herself start to shake. They were wearing precious white, eyelet dresses, coordinating, not matching. Victoria’s was edged in a pink ribbon, while Rose’s was edged in blue.

  “I want chocolate too,” Rose said. Then, spotting an older child with a cone dipped in sprinkles, she pointed her lollipop at the girl and said, “I want that!”


  The college-aged girl behind the counter was watching, waiting, and a line was forming. “Two of the chocolate sprinkle cones,” Hope said, pulling out her wallet.

  She handed the treats to her girls, who set their lollies down in their laps, marking an immediate stain, and then wearily moved to the back of the parlor. She’d sit here for a minute, collect herself, and—

  An ear-piercing, shrill sound that for a moment, in her fatigue, she almost thought was a siren’s wail, cut through the carnival music that played on repeat in this store—no doubt the same soundtrack that had played when she was a child herself. Then, it had delighted her; now, it irritated her. She saw Victoria, red as a beet, holding her empty cone, and there, in her lap, the perfect scoop of chocolate ice cream, already starting to melt.

  From beside her a stack of napkins was thrust, and she took them, blindly, silently cursing to herself for attempting this ridiculous trip at all. She should have stayed home, back at the cottage, let the girls play in the sand or wander on the freshly mowed grass, and at the very least, she should not have caved to their demands and purchased chocolate ice cream. They were only four years old and they were walking all over her. She had failed. She was a terrible mother.

  There was a chuckling sound, and with surprise, Hope realized that someone was laughing. They thought this was funny? It was so far from funny that she could cry. And she wanted to. She wanted to pitch a fit just like Victoria was doing; she wanted to cry until no more tears flowed.

  She turned, about to snap at someone, even if she would probably later come to regret it (more crazy behavior!) when she saw him. The man from the boat.

  “Hello,” she said. She was surprised to see him here. In an ice cream parlor. Still in town. Few people stayed for a week, and certainly not this early into the season. This time of year, you either had the weekenders or the summer people. That made this interesting.

  “We have a strange way of meeting like this,” he said, smiling warmly.

  “You mean, meeting while my children are making a huge mess and a public scene?” She gave him a weary smile, but there was only kindness in his eyes. They were hazel grey and deep set and something in her stomach fluttered.

  “I’m John Bowden, by the way,” he said, extending a hand.

  She took it. Felt the warmth of his palm, the strength of his grip. She was used to shaking hands with men, even greeting the familiar husbands of her friends (more like acquaintances, really) with hugs at neighborhood and school events. But this was different. This was…personal.

  “Hope Morgan,” she said, letting her hand drop. Technically, she was Hope Morgan-Lange, but she didn’t feel like complicating this conversation, and to most people, she was either Hope Morgan or Hope Lange. Here on the island, she felt almost like her old self.

  She eyed him, wondering if he was married. A man as good looking as he was couldn’t be single. And he was good with children. He probably had a few of his own.

  She decided to test this theory. “You’re good with kids. I take it you have experience?”

  “I’m what you might call the fun uncle,” he said, grinning wider, as if proud of this role.

  Fun uncle? So no kids. She glanced at his hand. No ring either.

  She pushed back the flutter in her chest. This man may not be married, but she was. For now, at least.

  “So what brings you to Evening Island?” she asked.

  He reached across to a nearby table and grabbed a cup of ice cream. His grin was sheepish and, she had to admit, completely charming. “Stress eating, sorry.”

  She laughed. “Stress eating? Here?” Although, she could probably be accused of it herself. The island used to be a place to relax and unwind. Now it was something different. Their real-world problems were encroaching, maybe even taking over. Last night on the porch with Ellie had been nice, casual, but short-lived. Ellie wasn’t in a talking mood, and from the dreamy look in her eyes, she had only one thing on her mind. Or rather, one person.

  Hope tried to summon up the feeling of infatuation, the flutter and excitement that new feelings could bring, and failed. Once upon a time, she supposed she had felt that way about Evan, but so much had changed since then.

  “I’m here on business,” John explained. “I’m an investor.”

  She frowned. “You mean, like…real estate?”

  He nodded. “I’m not at liberty to give specifics, but there’s a property of interest.”

  Hope nodded. As a resort island, there were dozens of inns and larger hotels, too. “Well, the island is great for tourism, as you can see. Where’s home then?”

  “Chicago,” he said, and now her hand began to shake as she scooped the ice cream from Victoria’s lap back onto the cone. She’d deal with the dress later.

  She glanced at John, to see if he was giving her a weird look like she assumed he would, but he seemed oblivious to the fact that she was salvaging the melting ice cream. She supposed it wasn’t as if it had fallen on the floor…

  “I’m from Chicago too,” she said carefully, and his eyebrows shot up.

  “No kidding! Although, I think this island mostly pulls from the Midwest.”

  She agreed with that. “I’m in the northern suburbs. Originally from the Cleveland area.”

  “And you’re here on a vacation?”

  “We have a family house here, actually,” she said. “On the west side of the island. It was my grandmother’s and she left it to me and my sisters. We used to summer here, and we thought—I thought—well, we’re here for the summer. I’m the oldest, and the only one with kids. And my youngest sister lives here year-round—she’s an artist here in town. My middle-sister lives near me. She’s a writer, and…” She was babbling, because she didn’t really know what she was doing here anymore, or how long she planned to stay. As of yesterday, she was still seriously considering leaving, never to return again, but now she had no desire to return home to the big empty house in the suburbs. Now she wanted to stay right where she was.

  “One of those big places out on West End Road?” he asked.

  She laughed at that. “Don’t look too impressed. The homes are big, yes, but they’re old, and most are in bad upkeep. Our kitchen is practically from the turn of the century. The windows, too.”

  “Prime real estate,” he pointed out, and she thought of Gemma’s idea to list the property.

  “So I’ve heard,” was all she said to that.

  The man checked his watch and stood. “Well, unfortunately my time is up.” He tossed his paper cup in the nearest bin and extended a hand to her.

  She took it, wondering if the disappointment she felt in her chest was noticeable on her face. It had been nice talking with him, another adult, and an interested one.

  A handsome one.

  A strange pull in her chest gave her pause. It was that feeling—that feeling that she had envied seeing in Ellie just last night. No, it couldn’t be the same, she told herself. It was the company, she told herself. It was nice, easy company.

  His hand was warm, his grip less firm this time, but still strong, and, well, almost tender. He treated her as if he knew her. As if, she dared to think, he cared about her.

  “I hope to see you again, Hope,” he said, grinning at his word choice.

  He’d remembered her name. She liked the way it sounded coming off his lips.

  “It’s a small island. I’m sure we will,” she said as their hands slipped away.

  She sat in the ice cream shop, watching her girls, whose faces were now covered in chocolate, their dresses stained possibly beyond repair. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel tied down with stress and anxiety and the burden of more baths and more laundry or even the conflict waging inside her about what she was going to decide about her future or what would make her happy. She felt lighter. And free.

  And she was looking forward to the promise of tomorrow and what it might bring, not fearing it.

  Chapter Thirteen
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br />   Gemma

  On Monday, Leo came back. Gemma watched him through the window, telling herself that she was allowed a ten-minute break after each five pages that she produced. Sometimes this took an hour. Sometimes it took three. Sometimes it took all day. Still, it was progress, and it was far more than she had been accomplishing in a week back at her apartment in the city.

  Hope had been right. But then, Hope was always right. A change of scenery had done her good. And right now, she couldn’t complain about her view in the slightest.

  Leo was next door, at the Taylors, with a can of paint and a brush he was using to touch up the white trim on the front porch. Yes, Gemma did have to crane her neck to see all of this, but she was a writer, she needed to observe the world, not just sit and stare at a screen, which she’d done too much of lately. Really, she told herself, this was practically research. She had added a gardener into her story just this week, allowing for a plot twist that she hadn’t seen coming and which opened up an entire spread of new turns and story development that just might help her finish this thing once and for all.

  So really, she should be watching him, even how his muscles pulled at his shirt as he carried his toolbox up the stairs. And right now, he was the only thing to observe, other than the calm, still lake waters or the remnants of the breakfast that Hope had brought up to her that morning, before saying that she would be out with the girls most of the day.

  She was certainly taking the girls out more, not that Gemma was complaining.

  So that left Leo. He was someone to watch. Someone that might spark another random idea that she could use in her book. Watching him had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that today he was wearing a shirt, one that pulled tightly across his broad chest and shoulders and made his biceps look even bigger than she remembered them.