Feels Like Home (Oyster Bay Book 1)

by Olivia Miles

  He waited a beat. “I found the ladder.”

  Well, thank God for small miracles. She waited until he’d propped the ladder against the sunroom and then shimmied over to it, carefully easing her way down, until her feet were on steady ground. She turned, setting her jaw as she knew she had to thank him, and startled when she realized how close he was standing.

  She swallowed hard, tried not to look too closely at the jaw or those lips or those eyes. He reached up, muttering something as he brought a hand to her face. Her heart sped up, wondering what he was doing, where he was going with this. If he’d had a change of heart, now, after all this time. His hand brushed her ear, curled around her neck, and she stiffened in awareness, waiting, wondering.

  “There,” he said, grinning. “You had a leaf stuck in your ponytail.” He held up the evidence, then released it to blow in the breeze.

  Of course. As if he were about to…Oh, she didn’t know what she thought he was about to do. Or what she’d have done if he had.

  Eddie sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling. “What is that smell?”

  Margo’s pulse flickered. She thought of hugging Chip. The salmon. The lobster. “I don’t smell anything.”

  His brow pinched, but he dropped the subject.

  “You okay?” he asked, and his voice was so low and soft that for a moment she wondered if he knew. About her and Ash. About Candy. About the kiss. About every tear she’d ever cried for him, her husband, for the way life hadn’t turned out the way it was supposed to. “No scrapes or cuts?”

  Of course. He was probably one step away from offering to call an ambulance. “I’m fine,” she said, brushing past him and marching around to the front of the house where Bridget’s car was pulling into the driveway.

  She wasn’t fine. But he didn’t need to know that. Besides, she’d be fine. Somehow.

  Chapter Six

  Eddie was barely out of the driveway when his phone rang. Not his work phone. His personal phone. His chest tightened as he pulled to a stop on the side of the road, bracing himself for whatever news was about to come. Few people had access to this number, and those that did had no good reason for calling.

  He pulled the device from his pocket and looked at the screen, frowning when he saw the Philly area code. His mind went to a dozen places all at once, trying to place the source. He hadn’t spoken to his old sponsor since about a month after he’d moved back to Oyster Bay and established himself in a support group twenty minutes west, where he could still be anonymous. Besides, he knew Josh’s number. Had it stored. It could be Jesse, the kid he’d been trying to help for the last two years, ever since he picked him up for the third time for petty theft that wouldn’t be petty much longer with the pattern he had going. Jesse didn’t have a father, and his mother was checked out, more focused on keeping her new boyfriend happy than taking care of her two sons—a scenario Eddie understood more than the kid would ever know. So, Eddie struck a deal. If Jesse went to school every day, stopped stealing from the store on the corner, and kept his grades up, Eddie would help him get into college. For a while, the arrangement stuck, until last year when Jesse fell in with a worse crowd than before, and disappeared again. Eddie had left Philadelphia without knowing where the boy was, or if he was okay, and with the sinking feeling that he hadn’t done enough, that he’d somehow failed.

  The phone rang again, possibly for the last time before voicemail kicked in. Without giving any more thought, he tapped the screen, put the phone to his ear, and held his breath.

  “Eddie Boyd,” he said, his voice tight in his throat.

  “Eddie!”

  Oh, thank God. It was Mick O’Grady—he’d recognize his old partner’s voice anywhere. How many times had it been just the two of them in the squad car, cruising the streets, stopping for an early lunch or a late dinner, refilling their coffee cups and trying to keep things light despite some of the things they saw in the day.

  “You get a new number?” he asked, wondering why it wasn’t stored in his list.

  “A new job,” Mick clarified. “They moved me over to narcotics.”

  Eddie gave a long whistle. “That’s quite a promotion.”

  “I guess you could say that,” Mick said, and Eddie grinned. That was Mick. Always humble.

  “What do they have you doing over there? More than pushing paper, I imagine.” Mick had been a star on the force for the last three years, and Eddie knew when an opportunity came along that Mick would be tapped for it. Not that Mick was calling to boast. No, he must have had another reason to call.

  Sure enough, Mick explained his position in a vague, roundabout way, without ever coming out and saying he was now heading up the division. “We need a strong team,” he finally said. “Which is why I’m hoping you’ll come back. Be my right-hand man, like before.”

  A position at the top of a division was more than Eddie had ever imagined, and certainly more exciting than fetching kitties out of trees or helping women down from roofs. He swallowed hard, trying not to think of Margo’s long legs and bright green eyes, the determined defiance that shone through them.

  He shook that feeling off. Margo was a married woman. She wasn’t sticking around town for long. At best she’d give him a chance to explain, to try to set their past right. But there was no future with Margo.

  Maybe, he thought sadly, there never had been.

  “It’s a chance to make a difference,” Mick said.

  Eddie nodded, even though Mick couldn’t see. He knew, more than Mick could ever understand. It was why he’d become a cop to begin with, why he dedicated his life to something better.

  But there was another part of his life here in Oyster Bay, a reason he’d come back—a reason that Mick didn’t know about. That no one other than his aunt and uncle were aware of. The question was, where was he needed most?

  “Give me a few days to think about it?” he finally said.

  “Of course,” Mick said, “but don’t take too long. And please say yes,” he laughed, but Eddie suspected he was only half-joking. “I’ll call you next Friday.”

  A week from now. Eddie hung up the phone and sat in the car for a long time, thinking of where he’d been and how far he’d come, and wondering just how to avoid slipping back into that place he’d run from—the angry kid with something to prove.

  He wasn’t angry anymore, not really. Time had healed most wounds, as had experience, but there were some things, some parts of his past and himself that would always stay with him. For the good and the bad.

  ***

  “What was Eddie doing here?” Bridget asked as she punched the code into the lock box and retrieved the key.

  “Just patrolling the area,” Margo said vaguely. No need to tell her sister she’d been climbing the lattice. Knowing Bridget, she’d lose her temper and accuse Margo of trying to sabotage the sale of the property by damaging the structure.

  “Well, that’s nice of him,” Bridget said instead. “He knows the house is vacant.” She paused, glancing sidelong at Margo. “And that was it? Nothing more?”

  “Of course not!” Margo said, raising her chin. “Eddie’s just a guy I dated when I was a kid.” She was about to say that she was a married woman now and stopped herself. She didn’t want to get into another conversation about Ash. Their time was limited if they wanted to get the work done before the client showed up.

  “If you say so,” Bridget sighed and pushed open the door.

  Margo opened her mouth to argue, but her words fell flat when the door swung open. She couldn’t help it. The moment they stepped into the large hallway lined with family photos, tears filled her eyes. She walked into the front sitting room, still furnished with the same well-loved and well-worn armchairs grouped around the fireplace. The piano was nestled in the bay window; it probably hadn’t been touched since last Christmas. The holidays were always a cheerful time in this house. Full of laughter and music and trays of cookies.

  She tapped a few keys on the piano—sure
enough, it needed tuning—and then crossed the room to the French doors that led into the dining room, with its heavy cherry wood furniture and buffet filled with hand-painted china, passed down through generations.

  Who would get it all, she wondered now, suddenly hoping it would be her. In fairness, they should divide the set. But Abby wouldn’t take care of it, and it would be a shame to scatter the pieces amongst them.

  She looked at her sister, realizing that it was Bridget who should have the dishes. She was the only one of them with a daughter to pass them onto someday. She and Ash had talked about children early on in their marriage, but then they’d both gotten busy with their careers, and other things, it would seem…

  Now the loss hit her hard. There was no longer a someday. No longer the possibility of a real family of her own. It wasn’t just Ash she was losing. Or the life they’d built. It was the life she’d dreamed of that was now gone too.

  Bridget’s frown seemed to mirror her own. “It’s not easy coming back here, I know.” She huffed out a breath, but all Margo could do was shake her head.

  It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy at all. But not for the reasons Bridget suspected. Standing in these rooms with someone else’s belongings and furniture and treasures, filled her with a sense of longing more than nostalgia. Yes, it was her childhood home, where she’d grown from a baby to an adult of eighteen, ready to flee the nest. But it wasn’t her home. Not really.

  Her home was a brick Colonial with a bright white kitchen and a center island where she always kept the fruit bowl filled with Granny Smith apples, because the shade of green was so perky. Her home was the house with the cozy living room with the built-in bookcases surrounding the brick fireplace and the mirror that hung above it, which she’d spent ten months shopping for, eager to make sure it was just right. When she opened the pantry, all of her favorite foods were there, and when she climbed into bed at night, it was under the sheets she had selected, not too thin, not too thick.

  They’d chosen the house for the yard—big and square with just the right amount of shade. Never much of a green thumb, Margo had painfully researched flowers, visiting nurseries every few days, learning about which varieties needed sun over shade, which were hardier to the climate. When her first rose bush bloomed, she’d taken a photo of it.

  Every single thing in that house had been chosen with care, exactly to her taste and comfort. And now…now she wasn’t sure she could ever go home again. Or if she even wanted to.

  “I’ve cleared out most of Mimi’s favorite things,” Bridget was saying. “But I’ve left everything in its place and, well…” The sisters exchanged a knowing look. “It needs some freshening up. And I want it to feel inviting.”

  “I wish I had access to my prop closet right now,” Margo sighed. She’d been asked to stage homes before, and she’d started stashing staples like candlesticks and vases and throw pillows for when the need arose. This house was beautiful, but Bridget was right, it needed a little help if they were going to get top dollar for it.

  Her jaw set at that thought. Best not to think about it now.

  Instead, she walked into the kitchen, which was tidy, but bare, and more dated than it ever felt when it was filled with family, gathered around the center island. The butcher block counters showed signs of wear and the fixtures needed updating, but there wasn’t time for any of that now. “Let’s get some flowers for the table,” she said, thinking of quick fixes to brighten the space. “Some for the dining room, too.” She scanned the room, deciding to clear away the ceramic canisters near the range to make the space look bigger. “What time is the showing?”

  “Two,” Bridget said.

  That wouldn’t leave much opportunity. “Let’s add another bouquet on the island. Sunflowers would be nice.”

  Bridget nodded. “I can pick some up in town and be back in twenty minutes.”

  They went upstairs next, to the master bedroom, which was still an homage to Mimi’s married days. When Margo’s parents had moved in with her, they’d taken the suite at the far back of the house instead, with the girls’ rooms scattered between, on various sides of the long hallway. Mimi’s wedding quilt covered the bed, its navy and red tones darkening the room. Without allowing room for sentiment, Margo folded it and handed it to Bridget. “Mimi should have this with her anyway, and we need to make this space feel more open and airy.”

  “Oh!” Bridget wriggled her nose as she took the quilt from Margo’s arms. “That stench!” She sniffed the blanket as Margo’s cheeks flamed. “I swear I cleaned out the fridge when Mimi moved. Do you smell that?”

  Margo swallowed hard. “Actually, that might be me.”

  “You?” Bridget’s eyes widened in surprise, but she started to laugh.

  “I went down to The Lantern to see Chip this morning. He was unloading his fresh catch.”

  “Well, take it off, please! And before I leave, remind me that I have a coat for you in my trunk. Just don’t you dare put it on until you’ve showered!” Bridget set the quilt in the oak trunk at the foot of the bed and closed the lid. “I’ll find another quilt in the attic and hope it hasn’t been eaten by moths.”

  Margo did as she was told and went into her childhood bedroom, which had been reduced over the years to a guest room, aside from a few old items in the closet and her floral bedding set. She changed into an old T-shirt she pulled from a hanger, frowning at how snug it fit, and shivered at the draft. Sure enough, the window was still open a crack. She muttered to herself as she crossed the room and closed it.

  She didn’t need any more reminders of that embarrassing run-in with Eddie.

  Really, she didn’t need any reminders of Eddie at all.

  Chapter Seven

  Bridget stood on the front porch of her childhood home, heart thumping nearly as fast as it had the first time Ryan had pulled up in his dad’s navy blue sedan to pick her up for dinner. It was strange to think of how young they’d been then. How exciting each interaction had been. How she’d hung on his every word, delighted in his laugh, shivered at the slightest touch.

  My, how much had changed.

  Sometimes she wondered, looking back, what she would have done if she knew what she did now. Would she still have married him? The answer was, of course, yes. Ryan had given her Emma—and all the heartache and hardship that followed was worth it for that one, perfect gift.

  Still, it would be nice if their life was a bit more settled. She couldn’t help but want her daughter to have all the comfort she’d been given growing up right here, in this old house, that had been in their family for generations. She’d taken for granted that she could wake to the sound of waves crashing on the rocks as she came down the stairs on Sunday mornings to sit at the old farmhouse table in the kitchen, a stack of pancakes being passed around, everyone and everything she loved and needed right beside her.

  But now, most of those people were gone in some way or another. Margo lived across the country, Abby was in her own world half the time, Mimi was a ghost of the person she’d once been, and their parents…She blinked quickly, desperate to compose herself. Her parents hadn’t lived to see what a mess her life had become, and she was glad for that. And they hadn’t lived to see the day that she would sell this house, and she was grateful for that, even if it still broke her heart, now, after all these years, to think that they were gone and never coming back.

  But she had Emma. Her sweet, funny little girl who wrote her letters and drew her pictures and was always happy to offer a hug. And that was all she needed now.

  And this, she told herself firmly, was why she would sell this house. And focus on her future. Not her past. Each house she sold meant more opportunities for her daughter. And this was her biggest listing ever.

  She cleared her throat, waiting for the blur in her eyes to evaporate, and straightened her shoulders as a black convertible drew closer on the gravel drive. A flutter of panic swam through her stomach, but there was no time to dwell on that now. Game face. G
o time. This was her chance for a better future. For all of them.

  The door opened and out stepped a man. Tall, lean, in dark jeans and a quarter-zip charcoal grey sweater. He grinned when he saw her and this time her stomach flipped from something much worse than panic. If she didn’t know better, she might say it was from plain and simple desire.

  “Mr. Fowler, I presume?” Her voice was high and her palms were sweating. As discreetly as possible, she brushed her right hand against her pant leg before extending it.

  Lordy, he was even cuter up close, with warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

  “Welcome to Oyster Bay.” Stay professional, Bridget. Eye on the prize.

  “It’s a charming town you have here,” he said.

  “It is, it certainly is.” Not exactly witty, but she couldn’t think clearly from the strength of his grip. How long had it been since a man—make that an attractive man—had touched her?

  His eyes took on a slightly puzzled look, as if reading her mind. Crap. She was still holding his hand, much longer than necessary.

  Quickly, she dropped it. “How was the drive up?”

  “Light traffic, can’t complain.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels to look up at the house behind her. “The photos didn’t do this place justice.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  “A very good thing,” he said, locking her eyes as a wide grin took over his face.

  She smiled back, felt her eyelashes flutter in a way she hadn’t been sure they could anymore, and…giggled.

  Uh-oh.

  “Well.” She cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks heat as she turned to the door, which was already unlocked. “Let’s hope you like the inside as much you like the outside.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” he said, and Bridget frowned as she opened the door wide. It was an odd comment. Still, she wouldn’t read into it. This was a beautiful, well-loved house on the waterfront. Of course there wouldn’t be a problem.