by Olivia Miles
He came back onto the porch with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. A floorboard creaked under his steps as he set everything down on a round side table. “I figured it was a better night for wine anyway.”
Heather’s smile felt tight when she accepted her glass. She could have guzzled the whole thing back, so great were her nerves and her dread and all those other emotions that she’d tried to push away, but Billy was raising his glass in a toast now, looking at her in expectation.
“To summer,” she said, thinking that was quite appropriate. This was her summer place. Her happy place. Her favorite place. And Billy had always been one of her favorite people.
“To old times,” he said, his gaze lingering on hers. “And to first loves.”
She could feel her cheeks burn and she looked away. She’d always thought Billy never knew about her truest feelings, but maybe she’d been fooling herself. He knew her better than most people. In some ways, he knew her best.
He frowned a little, perhaps noticing her silence, but then lifted his eyebrows playfully. “Unless… Don’t tell me I wasn’t your first love?”
He’d managed to pull a smile from her. A real one. Like always. “Well, not unless you count Rusty McCalister in the first grade. He might have taken me into the clubhouse on the school playground and taught me what a French kiss was.”
Billy laughed. “He didn’t.”
“If a peck on the hand is a French kiss, then he did.” Heather chuckled and sipped her wine. “This feels nice,” she said, then, catching herself, she added, “I mean, relaxing like this. I had quite a night.”
“Oh?” Billy raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently, my father has a new girlfriend.” She pulled in a sigh. “Just saying that feels wrong and depressing.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’ve heard it said that those who loved the most find love again the quickest.” He hesitated. “Or something like that.”
Heather swallowed back a sip of wine, wondering if that was true and wishing that it was as easy as that. But love was complicated.
“Yeah, well, try telling that to either of my sisters. Kim seems to want to cancel her wedding over it and Andrea… Well, you know that Andrea has always been a Daddy’s girl. She feels like he broke her trust by not telling her sooner.”
“Your father is still a relatively young man, though.” Billy’s expression was compassionate when he said this. “You wouldn’t want him to be alone for the rest of his life?”
Alone for the rest of his life. She wouldn’t wish that on her father any more than she could bear it for herself. She pulled her eyes from him, wondering if he saw in her expression that he’d hit a nerve, and took another sip of wine, trying to pace herself, because she needed to keep her head clear tonight, not get mixed up with all her feelings and wants, which would only lead to more heartache.
“Of course we want him to be happy. I just don’t think we realized it would be so soon. I mean, I’ve been on my own for longer than my mother’s been gone, and it’s not like I’ve moved on yet.”
Billy gave her a funny look, and the silence told her that she’d misspoke. Maybe, that she’d hurt his feelings.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said, extending a hand, and then, catching herself, pulling it back safely into her lap. “I meant…he’s serious about this woman. I think that she’s moving in with him.”
His eyebrows shot up. “That is serious. But he’s a grown man. You have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.”
Heather sipped her drink. She supposed Billy was right, even if it hurt to admit it.
“And you?” he asked. “Are you open to something more serious again?”
Heather pulled in a breath. This was it. The confrontation. The ultimatum. Or maybe just the cold harsh truth. It would be so easy to give in, to fall, to believe that this feeling could last—but this island and all that came with it was an escape from the real world. It wasn’t her reality.
“I don’t plan on ever getting remarried if that’s what you’re asking.” She couldn’t look at him; she focused instead on the porch rail, the fresh white paint that Billy had probably applied himself one spring weekend.
“Never?” His tone told her that he didn’t believe her any more than her sisters did. “But you’re only thirty—”
She shook her head. Her heart was pounding, aching really, and she wanted to scream, and cry, and say that he didn’t need to tell her what she knew. That she was only thirty-one, that she did have her entire life in front of her, that she didn’t want to be alone, but that she also couldn’t imagine being disappointed again. Hurt again. And she didn’t want to do the hurting or disappointing either.
“It’s not about age,” she said quietly. She met his eye, hating the sadness she saw there. “I was married, and it didn’t work out, and now I’ve gotten used to being on my own again. It…it suits me. It’s better for me.” She lifted her chin, forcing herself to remain strong.
But Billy wasn’t buying it. He pursed his lips, giving a wry smile as he shook his head and sipped his wine. “Ah, no. You say that now because you got burned, but once things cool off, you’ll feel differently. I guess…I was just hoping that I would be the one to make you feel that way.”
The pain in his eyes was back, and Heather could feel a lump rising in her own throat. She leaned in to him, hoping that he would hear her words, understand what she was saying. “If there was ever anyone who could make me believe in a better future, then you would be it, Billy.”
Because he had. These last few days, he really had.
He gave a sad smile. “I sense a but…”
There were many buts. But none of them would stick. In the end, her circumstances hadn’t changed—and couldn’t be changed.
“But marriage isn’t for me after all,” Heather finally said.
Billy nodded and turned to look out at the water. “I see.”
Heather set down her glass. She realized that she was shaking a little. Her stomach felt sick, and alcohol was the last thing she needed. She’d said what she needed to say, but somehow, she didn’t feel any better, only worse. Like she’d lost something precious all over again, only this time, not just a part of her past but the final part of her dream for the future. “I should go.”
He didn’t argue with her or try to convince her otherwise. It was dark and the streetlamps gave little light on the ride home, but she pedaled with confidence, on the path that she knew by heart, one she had taken so many times over the years, knowing every twist and turn and tree branch to dodge.
But once she knew what she would find there. Her mother on the porch, drinking gin cocktails and laughing with Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Anderson. Her sisters in their rooms in fresh pajamas and hair still damp from the shower, the windows opened, reading or drawing, or spreading out the treasures they’d collected in town.
Now, as she approached the house and saw the darkened interior and the empty porch, she thought of how much had changed, and how much had been lost. And she didn’t know where she could turn for that one safe place, anymore. That one sure thing. Because right now, it didn’t feel like it had ever existed.
24
Andrea
Andrea’s phone pinged the moment she stepped inside the lobby of the Lakeside Inn. Knowing that John would be waiting for her on the pool deck, she checked the time and, deciding she had a few minutes, dropped onto a striped chair in the lobby.
She’d assumed it would be another text from Nicole, seeing as she hadn’t yet replied to the last one. Instead, she was surprised to see that Pamela was reaching out with two ominous words: Call me.
Now worried, Andrea quickly connected the call and held the device to her ear. Pamela answered on the second ring.
“I wasn’t sure you’d call back,” she said. “Nicole said she hasn’t heard from you all week.”
Andrea felt a wry grin creep into her tone when she said, “Just following orders.” But it was more than that�
�she hadn’t cared to know what was going on back in the office, not when she had so much going on right here around her.
Pamela sighed, “Well, I’m going to have to break those orders, or at least cut them short. There’s no easy way to say this so I’ll get right to the point. Jace is having dinner tonight with the Morrisons.”
Andrea took a moment to let that sink in fully. “He wasn’t on their shortlist.”
“He has a strange way of making it onto everyone’s shortlist eventually,” Pamela replied. “I thought you should know what you’re up against. You might want to have something ready to pitch first thing Monday. And I think this goes without saying, but it’s going to have to be your best work.”
Or the partnership would go to Jace, were the unspoken words.
Andrea’s heart began to race when she considered what her boss was telling her, not as a boss, but as a friend. “I’ve been working on it while I’ve been here,” she said, thinking of the shift in direction she’d taken, even some of the liberties with the design. She felt confident, more sure of herself than she had in a long time, but this time because she was trying something new, even if in many ways, it had been a part of her all along.
“Good. Send me what you have and I’ll give you my feedback. Monday will be a big day.”
Monday. It was only five days from now, barely a blink of Pamela’s eye, but it felt like another lifetime to Andrea, another way of life completely. And now, with her palms sweaty from the reminder of the daily stress, she felt more detached from it than ever.
“I’ll send you what I have,” she agreed before ending the call.
Andrea stared at the files in her lap. They were ideas for John’s expansion, mostly, but tucked underneath were the sketches for the Morrisons’. The original concept, and the new one. She knew the first design was a slam dunk, her best work, only in that it was a nod to her recent work.
But the other design… It was a gamble.
Without giving it any more thought, she snapped a few photos of the design she’d put together over the past few days and sent it to Pamela. Then she turned off her phone again before she could give any more thought or worry to the outcome.
John was sitting at a poolside table when she joined him, wearing another of Kim’s sundresses, grateful that he had a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket.
“Normally I don’t drink during business meetings,” she said only half-apologetically when he held a glass out to her.
“Who said this was a business meeting?” he countered, flashing her a grin.
She took the bait. “Then what would you call it?”
He mulled it for a moment. “A meeting of the minds?”
She smiled and held out her glass for a toast. She liked that. She liked a lot about John.
“Here are some of my other thoughts on your expansion,” she said, sliding him the files. The rest she tucked into her handbag, but he stopped her.
“What are these?”
She brushed away his curiosity. “A design for a project I’m pitching. It’s a family house.”
“Can I see?”
She saw no reason not to share and slid the papers across the table. He studied them with a furrowed brow and then grinned up at her. “I can see why you’re in such demand.”
She held her breath, flattered, but something else too. Scared, perhaps. Scared of finally having everything she always wanted just when she wasn’t so sure that she wanted it at all.
“Let’s look at what I have for you now,” she said, firmly putting the Morrison plans back in her bag. She couldn’t help but wonder what he would have said about her original idea, the soulless but extremely functional concept that was meant to be on the cutting edge of design rather than a warm nod to the past. “Much more interesting,” she said, giving him a little smile.
And she wasn’t just saying that.
John flipped through them, looking impressed, and it wasn’t until he said as much that she exhaled a long breath. Once there had been a time where she was sure of her work, but that had disappeared somewhere, along with her inspiration. The setback at the office was only part of it, and maybe, it was more of a symptom. Here, she was in her element, doing what she did best. Doing what she loved.
“Can I keep these?”
“Of course!” She sipped her wine and watched as he handed over the files to one of his staff, asking for them to be brought to his office.
“Now, with that out of the way, how about we walk down to the harbor soon?”
“You weren’t joking about that boat,” she teased.
“Oh, when I want something, it’s no joking matter,” he said with an easy grin that made her stomach roll over.
They finished their wine and stood. The harbor was a short walk and the weather was pleasant. Midweek, the tourists had slowed down, and Andrea took in the view of the shimmering water as they walked along the lakefront path.
“Was it difficult for you to give up the corporate life and slow down?” she asked.
“Who said I’ve slowed down?” He laughed. “But I have, considerably. I love to work, I thrive on it, but it no longer consumes my life, you know?”
She didn’t know, but she was starting to wish that she did.
“Here my work feels like it has a purpose. It’s not about getting the biggest deal or bringing home the most money. Here I see a daily impact of my work. It’s very rewarding.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m on a hamster wheel,” she admitted. They’d come to the harbor now, and she leaned against a weathered post, wondering which of the boats John had chosen. “At first it was about making my father proud, then it became something else. I’m up for partnership, next month.”
His eyebrows shot up at this. “Congratulations.”
“Oh.” She shook her head. “It’s not a done deal. And…to be honest, I’m not so sure how I feel about that. For the longest time, it was all I wanted. All I worked for. All I lived for really. Now, I feel like I lost sight of what it was all for in the first place.”
“I imagine a partnership comes with more than just a title and a bigger paycheck.”
“If you mean even longer hours and pressure, you’d be correct.” And the thought of it made her feel tense.
“Is it still what you want?” he asked.
She looked at him thoughtfully, surprised by her hesitation to such a direct question. “I can’t be sure anymore. I…gave up a lot for this partnership. It seems just as upsetting to give it up or lose it as it would be to give up everything else I’ve just recently found.”
Their eyes met for a moment until she looked away.
“I learned a long time ago that you can’t change a person unless the person wants to be changed.” John gave her a little smile. “Only you can decide what you want, Andrea.”
Maybe, but it was so much easier when there were fewer options on the table.
“You said yourself that the island had inspired you,” John said.
She looked at him. He seemed to remember everything she said. She couldn’t remember the last person who did that, other than her parents, maybe, but her mother was gone now, and her father… Well. Her father hadn’t made his professional life as much a priority all this time as she’d thought. No, she alone was guilty of that. And she wasn’t exactly happier, was she?
“Enough about my work. Let me see this boat.”
He grinned like a kid on Christmas morning and led her over to the farthest dock, where a white sailboat was tethered by a rope, bobbing in the soft waves.
She let out a low whistle. “It sure is pretty. You have a name for it yet?”
He gave a little shrug. “I suppose I’m just waiting for inspiration to hit me.”
“Touché,” she said, grinning. She was aware that he was watching her, and her stomach fluttered with nerves when she glanced his way. “And do you think you’ve found it?”
Her mouth felt dry as he stepped closer to her, closing the distance b
etween them. She could feel the rocking of the dock, the movement of the water below them, the sensation that she could fall over at any moment, lose her footing, end up in the water.
But there was no fear of that. John’s arms were tight around her waist now, and his eyes lingered on her mouth before he tipped his head to kiss her, pulling her against his chest, making her forgot all about Pamela and Jace and even that partnership.
Making her instead think of all that she’d been missing.
“I’m working on it,” he said, when he pulled back, before leaning in to kiss her again.
Heather was writing on the porch when Andrea pulled up on her bike later that afternoon, happy for the company so that she could stop thinking about that kiss, what it meant, and how it would feel to never have it again come next week. The Morrison project was her last hope for partnership. That should excite her, give her hope even, but instead it left her strangely numb.
“Kim home?” She hadn’t seen her baby sister since the big announcement last night, and she wanted to see how she was doing.
“Inside,” Heather replied.
Andrea climbed the steps to the porch. A pitcher of lemonade was resting on the coffee table, along with two glasses, indicating that the women had been talking recently.
“Has she said any more?”
Heather shook her head. “No. We just read, looked at the view. She’s getting a pack of cards. You in?”
The look her sister was giving her made Andrea feel ashamed. It was one she’d seen before, one that was resigned, already anticipating a rejection before the words were spoken. Work was always her excuse—irrefutable, inarguable, a priority greater than anything, or anyone, else. But not today. And maybe, not anymore.
“Sure,” she said, dropping onto a chair.
Heather looked startled but pleased, and grinned at Kim when she came back outside, waving a deck in her hand triumphantly. “Andrea’s joining us!”