That Forever Girl

by Quinn, Meghan

  “That’s easy. Do you have a shade of white in mind?”

  I look around the space. “Snow white, but be sure to keep the railing, spindles, and top portion of the stairs black. The letters are really specific on that point, so guests wouldn’t miss a step and stumble to the ground.”

  “Very well, anything else?”

  I scan the space, taking it all in. The high vaulted ceilings, the intricately carved wood moldings, the large, single-pane glass windows, and the blond hardwood floors that were torturously restored last week. It’s a beautiful space, a home I used to admire growing up, and now, finally, it’s mine.

  By no means do I have plans to move in. With seven bedrooms, the manor is way too much for a single man. But with the large backyard, gardens, and the ballroom on the first floor, it’s the perfect place to hold events, an elegant space needed in Port Snow that will gather even more business for the town. Christ, I’m starting to sound like Griffin.

  “Have we checked in on the kitchen appliances and the update on electrical?” I ask Gina, who is diligently taking notes.

  “I spoke with the electrician just this morning. He says that everything’s been updated and will be able to handle the industrial appliances you picked out.”

  “Good.”

  My goal is to keep up with the era of the house, to honor where it started, but I’m also a businessman and know when I see profit in a piece of real estate. Snow Vale Manor is going to be an event destination, which means I need a workable kitchen space to handle all the catering. I’ve made sure to preserve the cupboards, flooring, and backsplash, but the appliances, counters, and sink have been replaced to accommodate today’s culinary needs.

  “Did the foreman offer an estimate for completion?” With the Christmas season around the corner, it’s my goal to open up the manor for parties. Companies from wealthy Pottsmouth, just a few miles up north, would pay good money to host Christmas parties here.

  “He said two weeks.”

  Yeah, freaking two weeks. That’s what they all say.

  “Hold him to it.” I hand her the letters. “Make sure to put these in the safe back at the office, please.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Knightly. Is there anything else you need?”

  Instead of leaving the house right away, I give the grand ballroom another walkthrough, Gina close on my heels. “Where are we on the black-and-white wallpaper? Did that come in?”

  “Yes.” Gina fumbles for her phone behind me. I go to help her, but she waves me off. “It’s in the office right now—my office, actually. It should be put up the last week of renovations. One of the last things to be done.”

  “Good.” I run my finger along the naked wall, the memories hitting me hard in the chest as I’m transported back to high school, when Harper and I used to sneak into this house—back when it was nothing more than an abandoned shell. We’d bring camping chairs and play cards under a dim lantern. It was our place, a place where we could escape and be alone.

  When I bought the manor, I told myself it was because it was a smart investment, one that I could turn a great profit on, not because it held so many memories from the past. Not because it was where Harper and I first had sex, or said “I love you,” or where I proposed.

  No, that wasn’t the reason at all.

  Purely a business decision, not at all sentimental.

  Clearing my throat, I turn to Gina and button up my black suit jacket. “Keep me updated on the progress. The sooner we can open the manor to parties, the better. Where is Russell on marketing?”

  “He sent over some mock-ups yesterday. Would you like me to forward them to you?”

  “Yes.” I head to the door. “Send them over. I want my hand in everything when it comes to the manor. This is a big project for me.”

  “Of course, sir. Before you leave, just a reminder that your dad scheduled a meeting in half an hour.”

  I inwardly roll my eyes. “How many times do I have to tell him he doesn’t have to schedule a damn meeting? He can just call.”

  Gina holds back a smile. “He said he felt fancy scheduling with me.”

  “Of course he did.” I let out a long breath. “Where are we meeting?”

  “The Lighthouse Inn.”

  “Okay. I’ll head over. Send over those mock-ups.”

  With that, I stride out of the manor, across the expansive wraparound porch, and out to my car. The weather is cooling down, the leaves are falling, and the smell of winter is in the air. It’s going to come sooner rather than later, which means football season is halfway done. Just a few more months and I can breathe a little easier.

  “There’s my important son.” My dad stands and pulls me into a hug. A few inches shorter than me, he buries his head in my suit jacket. Never one to fear affection, he’s always shown his love for his kids, even now that we’re in our late twenties.

  “You can call me when you want to meet up. You don’t need to schedule anything with Gina.”

  “Why not? It’s fun. She’s a kind girl; I hope you pay her well.”

  I shake my head and take a seat, unbuttoning my suit jacket and letting the quarters drop to the side. “Do you even have to ask? You know I do.”

  “Just making sure you’re not some ruthless businessman with a black heart.”

  “Both are true, but I still know when I have a great employee.”

  He tilts his head to the side. “I’ll give you the ruthless businessman, but a black heart? Not my son.”

  There’s no point arguing with him. He believes all his children are upstanding citizens with the ability to love, laugh, and live life to the fullest. Little does he know . . . I might be living, but there sure as hell isn’t any love or laughter.

  Especially since Harper came back to town. Having her here is a constant reminder of everything I lost, how I blew up my past and threw away the best thing I ever had.

  “So what’s up, Dad?” I ask, pushing down my dark thoughts and flipping open the menu, not really hungry for lunch but aware my dad will want to make this a lunch date. I resign myself to the french onion soup.

  “I’m interested in a piece of property, and I want your professional opinion on it.”

  I shift in my seat, surprised, and turn my menu over. “You want to invest in something?”

  He nods. “But I want to run over the specifics first, see if it’s worthwhile or not.”

  “Does this have to do with the building next to the Lobster Landing, the one everyone has been gossiping about?”

  Dad groans and leans back in his chair. “You know, you let one little thing slip to the elders at the corner store, and everyone knows about it.”

  “Come on, Dad, you want to turn that building into a restaurant. How could that not get around?”

  Slyly, my dad wiggles his eyebrows. “And have you heard the consensus? The town is excited to see what we can do.”

  “And what about the restaurant committee? You know how they feel about new restaurants in town. It took Jake six months to gain approval just so he could open up his food truck down by the harbor.” Jake is a fellow Port Snow lifer who came back to town after college, wanting to get in on the tourism boom and run his food truck, Jake’s Cakes. He has the best crab cakes in town, hands down—though I rarely let myself eat one.

  “Yes, but Jake’s young and wants to please. I’m old, helped build this town to its glory, and I do whatever the hell I want. I could care less about a committee. I care about the people, and the people have spoken. They want a Lobster Landing Restaurant.”

  “Okay.” I shift the silverware on my side of the table. “But you just retired and handed the Lobster Landing over to Griffin to run. Are you just going to jump back into business?”

  “No. Reid can do it.”

  And there it is: another family member trying to save Reid.

  Griffin is the first to jump to his defense. Brig is the first to coddle him when he’s low, and Jen is the first to invite him over for dinner beca
use he’s lonely. I get it; Reid was dealt a shit hand in life, but I don’t understand why my family continues to baby him. They didn’t baby me when all hell broke loose in my life. Instead, I picked my ass off the ground and built a business from the ground up. I might be a glorified landlord, but at least I’m something.

  “You’re not going to buy Reid a restaurant.”

  “I’m not buying it for him,” he counters, sensing my irritation. “I’m buying it for the family, for generations to come.”

  “Dad, I see the way you look at Reid, like you failed him somehow. You can’t buy a restaurant in the hopes that it will change the way Reid looks at life. He has to change himself.”

  Eyes cast at the table, a slump in his shoulders, my dad is about to say something when someone appears at our table. Glancing away from his sullen face, I look up to find a very awkward and nervous Harper standing over us, order pad in hand, apron wrapped around her waist.

  Oh shit.

  “Um . . . hi. Are you guys ready to order?”

  At the sound of her voice, my dad perks up and stands abruptly. “Harper, dear, how are you?” He wraps her in one of his classic embraces, clamping her tight with his arms.

  “Mr. Knightly, it’s so great to see you.”

  “Are you working here at the inn now?” he asks, taking a seat and sporting a huge smile.

  She shifts, avoiding all eye contact with me. “Just for a bit, you know, until I get back on my feet.”

  Back on her feet? What does she mean by that? At Ren’s party, she said she was here to help her dad out. Was that what she said? Then why would she be working at the inn? Something’s not adding up.

  “Well, if you need more work, we could always use you down at the Lobster Landing.”

  Is he insane? That might be the worst idea he’s ever had.

  “Oh, that’s very kind of you, Mr. Knightly, but I’m very happy working out here on the peninsula.” Posing her pen, she continues, “What can I get you two for lunch?”

  This is weird.

  Really fucking weird and uncomfortable. Having Harper take my lunch order doesn’t seem right; it’s almost degrading in a sense. Here I am, in a business suit, wearing a Movado watch and Tom Ford shoes, while Harper hovers above me in a maroon Lighthouse Inn polo and black apron.

  Guilt consumes me. Is this what she’s been doing since we broke up? She’d been an event management major with goals and ambition, but when I dropped out of college, she followed closely behind, disappearing somewhere along the East Coast.

  So what really brought her back to Port Snow? Surely it’s not to be a waitress at an inn.

  “Uh . . .” I cough, shifting so I’m staring down at the menu, unable to look her in those telling hazel eyes. “French onion soup and water is fine for me. Thank you.” Feeling like an ass, I hand her the menu and adjust the sleeves of my jacket to stay busy.

  “It’s polite to look at the girl when you order, son,” my dad chastises, flinging a sugar packet at my chest.

  Nothing ever gets by my family . . . nothing.

  I can get mad at my brothers, call them names, throw the occasional punch their way, but with my dad, there’s no way I can disrespect him or make him feel like he’s done anything other than raise five perfectly respectable children.

  Grinding my teeth together, I steel myself and look up at Harper, taking in the light splattering of freckles across her nose, the same freckles I used to count whenever I held her in my arms.

  Mouth dry, hands unsteady under the table, I say, “Water and french onion soup, please.”

  “Sure,” she answers shyly and turns to my dad. “And for you, Mr. Knightly?”

  “The same, and could we have some of those homemade cheddar biscuits to start us off?” He grins up at her. “Remember how you two kids used to beg me to come here just to grab you a bag for your Saturday beach days?”

  What the hell is he doing right now? I glare at him, but it makes no impact.

  “And don’t think I don’t know about all the fudge you two stole.”

  Harper blushes, and I grow more furious by the second. “If it makes you feel better, I took money from my dad to get Capri Suns.”

  My dad waves a hand at her and laughs. “Chuck and I were well aware of you two and your sticky hands. We didn’t mind since you were staying out of trouble, but if you ever cross me, I very well might deliver a fudge bill to your doorstep.”

  Harper chuckles, the sound falling straight to the pit of my stomach. “I would happily pay it.” She taps the table. “I’ll be right back with your biscuits. Good to see you again, Mr. Knightly.”

  “You too, dear.” He sighs, eyes still fixed on Harper as she strides away. “She’s such a—”

  “What the hell was that?” I snap, leaning over the table so only he can hear me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You knew she was here, didn’t you?”

  He examines his hand, suddenly very interested in his nails. “Your mom might have mentioned it.”

  Of course.

  “Can you please stop meddling in my life?”

  Dad laughs. “It’s cute you asked that, son, but no. It’s my job as a parent to meddle. Without my superior meddling and your mother’s ability to easily guilt the five of you kids, you all would be pantsless, with not a penny to your names.”

  I cringe. “Why the hell would we be pantsless?”

  “Just paints a better picture, has more of an impact. A mental punch.” He makes a fist and jabs the air.

  “Well, I don’t need you meddling, okay? Or your mental . . . punches.”

  “But you two were perfect together.”

  “Were being the key word, Dad. Things didn’t work out. I was an asshole to Harper; I lost her, and I think we should just let her live her life. I’m sure the last thing she wants is for the Knightly clan to bombard her when she’s trying to settle into a routine here.”

  “Nonsense, we should invite her to family dinner on Sunday.”

  Eyes just about popping out of my sockets, I nearly spring out of my chair. I lean as close to him as possible, forcing him to look at me. “Dad, for the love of God, do not invite her to family dinner. Please, if you loved me at all, you would not invite her.”

  “Here are your biscuits.” Harper sets down a basket along with our water. “Your soup should be out soon. Is there anything else I can get you two?”

  Dad eyes me, his features inscrutable. I hold my breath, bracing for the worst.

  “I think we’re good, Harper. Thank you.”

  Thank Christ.

  She moves on to the next table. I exhale loudly and slump in my chair, my bad leg suddenly sending sharp pains up my side. Must be from all the stress and newly chilly weather . . . but mainly stress. Harper at our family dinner would be an absolute disaster. Being in close proximity with all the meddlers would be a nightmare. I can see it now: my mom sitting me next to Harper, Jen constantly bringing up all the fun times we had, my brothers annoyingly dropping my secrets, telling Harper how much I used to talk about her lips, her breasts, her legs. And my dad . . . just like every other time Harper came to family dinner, he would put us on dish duty, which, years ago, only meant one thing: being alone in the kitchen with Harper, filling the silence with talk about anything and everything. But now, there would be only silence, and it would lead to more heartache, the kind of heartache I never want to put on her again.

  “Don’t look so relieved.” My dad picks up a biscuit, splits it in half, letting the steam rise from the center before dabbing some butter on the fluffy interior. “I’m not the one you should worry about.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He takes a bite and talks while chewing. “Your mother. She’s bound and determined to get you two back together, and I’m pretty sure she has plans to get the whole town involved.”

  Fucking hell.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HARPER

  Sophomore Year, High School<
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  “I’m freezing.” Hot chocolate cradled in my hands, I bounce from foot to foot, watching the scoreboard clock count down.

  Fourth quarter. Port Snow is up by seven, and there are four minutes left in the game. Thank God. I don’t think I can feel my toes. Everything is numb, although my entire life has felt numb since last week, since I kissed Rogan.

  At the beach, when he tempted me, I thought he was joking. We always tease each other, and it’s why I pushed him away, but then when we were walking to my house, I wondered if I’d disappointed him. It was really uncomfortable, a feeling I’ve never had around Rogan before, and it worried me. I didn’t want to lose my best friend. I still don’t.

  And then something came over me. I’ve always been pretty bold about things, but never that bold. Maybe it was the way he was looking at me, or the way his hands tried to reach out for me but pulled back. Whatever it was, it propelled me forward to press my lips against his. Not only was it my first kiss ever, but it was also with my best friend. Rogan freaking Knightly. And he kissed me back.

  I was elated, scared, and thrilled all at once. Confusion raged through me as I tried to decide what to do. After all, I had made the first move, but what came next? Did I push him away? Did I sink into his touch? The last thing I wanted to do was ruin the bond between the two of us; then again, it felt so right, so perfect.

  At least that’s what I thought last week. Now? Not so much.

  You know that fear I had, that the kiss would change everything? Well, it did. It changed so much. We’re a week into sophomore year, and instead of getting together after his football practices, we haven’t seen each other at all. He’s spent every lunch sitting with his football friends, while I’ve been sitting off to the side with Eve, trying to care about her thoughts on the latest Harry Potter book. In the hallways, there’s been no high-fiving, just quick, tight smiles that have no real meaning to them. And in English, the one class we have together, the anxiety of having him in the desk next to me is almost too much. We haven’t talked, haven’t offered each other Tic Tacs like we usually do. Instead, we stared at the teacher and pretended to listen to what she was saying. At least that’s what I’ve been doing. I have no idea what’s been running through Rogan’s mind.