Sweet Forgiveness

by Jean Oram

  Why was she even thinking of Ashton? It had been almost a year, and quite frankly she should be over him. She needed to go find someone nice, get married, adopt some kids, since she was probably too old to have her own now, and call it done. The problem was, she’d truly believed Ashton was the real deal, and now nobody seemed to measure up.

  “There’s my favorite employee!” called a deep voice.

  Zoe swiveled in her office chair, spied her boss approaching and wondered how long she’d been staring at her computer, off task and in plain sight of anyone moving through the resort’s lobby. Dallas Harper, the resort owner, leaned against one of the marble columns Zoe’s guest services desk was set between. He was in his mid-thirties, trim, tall and, as always while at work, sporting a peacock-blue polo shirt with the resort’s logo on the breast pocket.

  “Not taking a coffee break?” he asked. “Is this because of the stunned bird that little girl brought in earlier? I can watch it for you.” He leaned over her desk to check for the box containing the ruby-throated hummingbird that had flown into one of the building’s glass doors earlier, distressing their young guest. Since then, Zoe had cut out a dozen bird silhouettes and taped them to the windows and glass doors of the main building to act as a bird deterrent.

  “I released it back into the South Carolina wilds about thirty minutes ago,” Zoe said, clutching her insulated cup of sweet tea. Technically, it was indeed time for her afternoon break, but she generally took it at her desk these days due to the pathetic fact that she couldn’t face the cinnamon buns from Sweet Caroline’s, which more often than not arrived in the break room by three. Dallas’s mother, the owner of the café, baked a large batch for resort guests, and any leftovers went to staff. The buns were like tasting heaven itself, and it had been Zoe and Ashton’s mutual love of the dessert that had led a matchmaking guest, Ginger, to set them up on their first date. Seeing those sticky, yummy buns each afternoon—something she used to share with Ashton during her breaks—reminded her how naive and oblivious she’d been. She’d believed that he’d been keeping pace, and that everything was fine. Perfect even, when he’d started contacting Realtors to find them a place to share.

  Obviously, everything had not been fine. He’d gone away one weekend to take care of something in the city, and had returned seven days later to break up with her. A week after that he’d married someone else.

  Zoe slammed her cup down a little too hard onto the desk’s granite surface.

  “Are you okay?” Dallas asked gently.

  “Sorry, did you need something?” Zoe asked, taking a soothing breath and ignoring his familiar, concerned look. He knew Ashton was a taboo subject, especially after he’d spent weeks following the August breakup insisting that there had to be more to the story, since she claimed she’d scared him straight into marrying someone else. Which, of course, Dallas took as evidence to support his case that there was more to the story.

  Zoe crossed her arms, wishing away the familiar stab of betrayal that hit her square in the heart whenever she thought of Ashton and how quickly he’d moved on.

  She was happy now, right? She got to do things such as organize weddings at the resort, and ensure couples didn’t have to deal with the pressure of last-minute details, which could lead to breakups. She helped others reach their happily ever afters.

  Sure, she was a bit lonely at times, but at least Ashton hadn’t waited until their wedding rehearsal dinner to dump her, like her ex-fiancé, Kurtis, had over a decade ago. That had been a truly heart-numbing experience.

  It would have been unnecessarily complicated if Ashton had left her after they’d moved in together. Really, the breakup had been a blessing in disguise.

  But she still did half-wonder if Dallas was correct about there being more to the story…

  Zoe took a plate of coconut-and-chocolate cookies—haystacks—from her desk drawer. “I baked something for you.”

  “Are you looking for a raise?” Dallas said with a chuckle. He’d already snatched the plate from her, peeled back the wrap and was sinking his teeth into one of the small clusters. His eyes rolled, the stress that had been etched in the lines of his face softened. His moan of happiness warmed her insides.

  She smiled. “Just saying thanks. Again.”

  “I couldn’t leave you homeless,” he said around a morsel. “Not for my favorite employee.”

  Two weeks ago a broken pipe had flooded her small house while she was at work. She’d come home to find a foot of water in the house and seven yowling kitties perched atop cupboards and bookshelves. Her collection of signed science fiction books had been ruined, and it had taken Mishka, a Persian, a week to forgive her for the injustice of not only being flooded out, but for having to move to a new home, too. The feline, however, hadn’t minded Zoe handing off the two playful orange tabbies she’d been fostering to another rescue volunteer.

  Luckily, Dallas had allowed her and her five remaining felines to stay in one of the resort’s oceanside cottages while insurance fixed the mess. The deal was she had a free place to stay as long as she didn’t go over his five-cat limit, and that she’d do a deep cleaning when she moved out. Plus if a long-term reservation came their way, she’d be out with barely a moment’s notice.

  “Totally my favorite,” Dallas said again.

  “What are you up to, Dallas Harper?” She knew from experience that when he called her his favorite employee it typically meant he had a project for her—such as organizing a wedding—or bad news.

  “Nothing. We should probably talk about your cottage, though…”

  A spike of worry flashed through Zoe. The unit was an older one, at the back of the resort. It was rarely booked unless there was a conference or large wedding. And right now, even though a small conference was taking place, nobody had needed the cottage—she’d checked that morning, like she always did when she arrived at her desk, and again before she left it at the end of the day. Was the cottage up for more renovations?

  “Before we get into that,” Dallas said, helping himself to a second haystack, “I have a little project I’m hoping you can help with. A newsletter.”

  That didn’t seem big enough to explain the way he’d suddenly begun avoiding eye contact. Nope. There was definitely something else going on, and she had a feeling whatever it was would leave her without a place to live.

  “Do I need to move?” Zoe asked Dallas, just as a tall man came up to her desk. She turned to him with a smile, frustrated by his timing. “Hello, may I help you?”

  The man had a long, faint scar running down his cheek, but a friendly smile. “Has Quentin Valant checked in?” he asked.

  Zoe considered sending him to Margie at the reservation desk, but with Dallas right beside her, she quickly brought up the list of bookings, tempted to skip over to her cottage’s to see if anything had popped up over the past few hours. “Sorry, I don’t see a reservation under that name. When are you expecting him?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll check again tomorrow.” The man crossed the lobby and headed back into the heat of the bright June sun.

  Dallas brushed chocolate crumbs from around his mouth. “You know you could have sent him to Margie at the main desk.”

  “Your favorite employee wouldn’t have shuffled a potential guest off like that.”

  He chuckled and asked, “So what do you think? A resort newsletter that can be emailed here and there? It’s long overdue.”

  It was a good idea. They could remind past guests of all they offered—deals, retreats, honeymoons, the works. Maybe even a behind-the-scenes or employee feature to make the place feel like home rather than some faceless corporation.

  “I’m on it. When do you want the first one to go out?” Zoe turned back to her computer and brought up her browser, glad she’d removed her earlier cat lady search query, and typed in “How do you start a newsletter?”

  Dallas came around her desk to peer over her shoulder. “Do you know how to do this?”


  “Nope. But I will by tomorrow.”

  “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

  Her smile faltered as she scanned the search results. Wow. There was a pile of information, warnings, tips and legalities. She had no clue what DKIM, sequencing or double opt-in meant. She didn’t even know which software program to sign up for.

  “Looks like a headache,” Dallas said, slowly backing away.

  “Are you sure I should be doing this? Maybe the guy who does our website should take care of it.”

  “Ethan Mattson? He doesn’t do newsletters. I already asked. But I leave it in your capable hands to learn and achieve, or whatever else you usually say about projects like this.”

  Zoe leaned back in her chair. “I’m not sure my hands are capable in this regard.”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  She sighed. Dallas knew she’d take on this project, just like she did anything he sent her way.

  He was already starting to sneak off, the plate of treats in hand.

  “Hey!” she called after him. “What were you going to say about the cottage?”

  Dallas stopped and glanced back at her, but his eyes darted to the right like they did whenever he had something he didn’t want to tell her.

  “There’s a reservation on it, isn’t there?”

  Zoe caught movement outside the foyer’s glass doors—a flock of gulls lifting into the air. She’d almost returned her attention to Dallas when the man who’d scattered the birds came into view. It was someone tall, handsome and very familiar.

  Ashton Wallace. The most recent man to break her heart.

  Ashton let the breeze off the Atlantic Ocean wash over him. Was he really here, back in Indigo Bay? Was he really going to try and make amends with Zoe after walking out on her ten long months ago?

  His life had turned into such a mess since then, and he felt as though he’d been put through the emotional wringer, then right back through it again to ensure he’d been entirely flattened.

  He’d trusted someone when he shouldn’t have. He’d done the right thing, been a nice guy, and been used and abused as a result. He’d lost everything, including Zoe, the only woman who’d ever made him feel truly loved.

  He was the poster child for a man with complicated regrets, but he was determined not to add another one to the list. He was going to ensure he did everything he could to try and patch things up.

  Inhaling deeply, he moved toward the main building which housed the lobby and a few meeting spaces and ballrooms, disturbing a flock of gulls clustered on the sandy sidewalk, hoping for a handout. As Ashton reached for the lobby door he nearly turned around again. It was three in the afternoon, time for Zoe’s coffee break, and the box in his hand he’d picked up at Sweet Caroline’s was emitting a delicious scent that took him back to happier times.

  Weekday coffee breaks with Zoe. Conversations punctuated by laughter and kisses.

  Could he face her judgment? Not only for walking out, but for returning unannounced?

  What if he was about to make things worse for her by showing up? What if he was about to reopen an old wound? But just because he hadn’t recovered from his didn’t mean she wasn’t fine and dandy without him.

  He was being selfish. He was the one who wanted closure, no matter the consequences. It was him who wanted to escape the pain he’d endured in the city. Him who wanted to reclaim his cozy, wonderful life with Zoe.

  She deserved more than a man like him. But she also deserved an apology and a possible reconciliation.

  And if he didn’t walk through those doors right now, he knew he never would, and that he would regret it for the rest of his life.

  His mind made up, Ashton moved swiftly.

  The foyer of the resort was quiet, a midafternoon lull that Zoe used to enjoy, as it meant she could breeze through her to-do list with few interruptions. Last summer, with his time off from teaching at the elementary school, he’d come by daily with a fresh cinnamon bun from Caroline’s and join Zoe during her coffee break. Then he’d show up again at quitting time to walk her home, and sometimes he’d make her supper, sometimes she’d cook. Friday was always spaghetti at her place amid the cats, Tuesday something he’d create, and Sunday pizza and a movie on her couch.

  They’d fallen into a nice rhythm. Domestic. Most men would balk or get antsy, but Ashton had enjoyed their pattern and the feeling that he belonged. He’d been a latchkey kid, his dad a deadbeat, his mother an overworked single mom. Ashton would come home after school and watch TV alone, eat alone, do his homework alone, go to bed alone. Being with Zoe had filled that still-empty space inside him.

  Each day when he’d arrive at her desk to share a cinnamon bun during her break, her face would light up, and his heart would lift in a silent reply.

  Zoe had been his everything and he’d been a fool.

  Today, his gaze automatically zipped toward the tall columns where her desk sat, just past the potted palms. Through the screen of leafy fronds his eyes met hers and his heart nearly stopped.

  She was so beautiful.

  And she was staring at him as though at a ghost.

  Was she angry? Happy? He couldn’t tell anything beyond her obvious shock.

  Her boss, Dallas Harper, was standing by her desk, and he’d turned to see what she was gaping at.

  Ashton had stopped moving, and a family of five jostled their way around him. With effort, he dragged his gaze away from Zoe to the infant in the father’s arms, the spacious foyer suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

  He shouldn’t have blasted into Zoe’s workplace as if he had the right to intrude upon her day, like old times.

  He swallowed hard and came to a stop in front of her desk, unaware that he’d been propelling himself forward. “Hi.”

  Her expression closed as the shock wore off, and Ashton had a feeling that if it was forgiveness he was seeking, he was going to need every hour of his summer’s vacation time to try and obtain even a fraction of it.

  “May I help you?” Zoe’s voice was tight and cold.

  “Ashton, maybe I can help you at the main desk,” Dallas said smoothly, hand extended to guide him away. He looked nervous, no doubt having heard the awful breakup story from Zoe’s perspective and rightly siding with her.

  As well, being the resort owner who’d rented Ashton a cottage for several weeks, he was also likely hoping to avoid a scene.

  Ashton could see now that he should have stayed somewhere else, should have given Zoe more space. But it was hard to try and patch things up from afar. Plus nowhere else local could give him an affordable, long-term booking.

  “I’m sorry, Zoe.” Ashton placed the box on her desk.

  “I don’t want your cinnamon bun,” she said tightly. When he didn’t retrieve the peace offering, she picked it up, turned in her chair and dropped it into the trash. “You can’t just walk in here and act like nothing has changed.” Her voice had raised, carrying through the open space and drawing the attention of staff and guests. She lowered it again before adding, “That you didn’t walk out of here and marry someone else.”

  Dallas shot him a look as if to say “Tough lucky, buddy, but she’s got a point.”

  Ashton focused on Zoe, not their audience. “I’ll be staying in a cottage here at the resort for a few weeks, and I wanted to give you a heads-up so you weren’t taken off guard.”

  “Enjoy your stay. And your wife.”

  Ashton felt the blow in his gut.

  “The reservations desk can serve you.” She sat up straight in her chair, rolling it closer to her computer’s monitor. She said to Dallas, as though Ashton was no longer present, “I think it would be best if you sent me off to take a class on starting newsletters.”

  She was shutting Ashton out. As well as trying to find a way to leave town.

  Not quite as bad as he’d predicted, believe it or not.

  “I’m not sending you away,” Dallas replied, and Ashton let out an internal sigh of relief. “We’re
heading into peak wedding season.”

  “And you now have the multi-talented Hope Ryan helping out with those. I can leave.”

  Zoe tucked her hair behind her ears with an earnest diligence. When she wanted something, she went for it and made it happen. Ashton’s best guess was that, given her way, she’d be out of town by nightfall.

  “You know I don’t expect you to create a whole new career around organizing these weddings,” Dallas said. “Same with the newsletter. Just throw something together.”

  “I haven’t made weddings a full career, and you’ve trained us not to just ‘throw things together’ here at Indigo Bay Cottages.”

  “Giving the couple a list of local florists and caterers is sufficient.”

  “The brides deserve a perfect day with absolutely no hiccups that could derail things. Same with this newsletter. You want it done right. That’s why you’ve asked me.”

  “They’re just emails,” Dallas said uncomfortably. “You write them all the time.”

  “Not like this. It says here there are spam laws that prohibit—”

  “I know how to do newsletters,” Ashton said without thinking, his mind still buzzing with the pain of Zoe’s complete shutout.

  The two turned to stare at him, Dallas with interest, Zoe with loathing.

  “I worked on the school’s in Charleston last term. I would be happy to help.”

  “I’m fine,” she said coolly.

  “I’ll give you a discount on your cottage if you do,” Dallas stated. He turned to Zoe. “Pull up his reservation and apply a discount code of 15 percent, please.”

  Zoe began typing and clicking, bringing up the guest list. Her mouth dropped open and she glared first at Dallas, then at Ashton. She was so indignant it almost looked as though she was going to cry.

  Dallas immediately began apologizing to her.

  “You put him in my cottage?” she said, pushing her chair back.