Sweet Forgiveness

by Jean Oram

  “Must be. Parked in a yellow zone.” Ben accepted the takeout cup from Caroline and moseyed toward the door. “The vehicle seems like it’s been everywhere in town over the past twenty-four hours.”

  “Well, if the windows aren’t tinted as dark as a drug dealer’s, then it’s probably a tourist.” She shook her head, then called after him, “Send them here if they’re hungry!” She turned to Ashton. “Are you ordering breakfast?”

  He pointed to the pot of freshly brewed coffee, exposing his scratched hand in the process. She clucked and reached for his wrist. “Hon, it looks like you got something madder than a wet hen.”

  Ashton self-consciously tucked the hand in his back pocket. “I was rescuing Zoe’s cat.”

  “My word. From what?”

  “He got tangled in her…undergarments.”

  Caroline raised her eyebrows as she poured him a cup of coffee. “Maybe these things don’t take time, after all.”

  Ashton chuckled. “Just laundry. Don’t get your hopes up.” Like his. He had to keep them on a tether or they would float away without him.

  She winked, pushing the cup across the counter. “I was rooting for you—but only for Zoe’s sake. I don’t appreciate how you ran out on her when things were getting serious. But you two were good together, and she missed you when you left. There’s a lid for every pot, hon, and I believe in second chances.”

  “I missed her, too.”

  “Don’t hurt her, and don’t blow it this time.” She shook her finger at him.

  Ashton nodded quickly, doubtful Zoe would let him anywhere near her heart ever again, and placed the rest of his breakfast order. He then went to sit at the table by the window, where he used the café’s Wi-Fi to download a book on creating email newsletters. He took his time enjoying his breakfast, certain Zoe would appreciate him staying out of her hair over at the cottage as she got ready for work.

  Before he left, he ordered a cinnamon bun to go. He was determined before the month was out that he and Zoe would share one. Maybe not quite like old times, but as friends. And maybe it would help heal over the hole he’d left in her heart last August.

  But at some point he was going to have to reveal the truth of the past, and suffer judgment for how he’d failed her as well as himself.

  Zoe had sneaked off to work before dawn. She’d been worried that if she saw Ashton all sleepy-eyed from his night in the tent, she might cave and let him sleep in the cottage. Or make him a hearty breakfast to remove any chill from sleeping outdoors.

  He was single again. He’d come back to Indigo Bay.

  He’d also ripped her heart out when he’d run off to marry someone else, so how could her heart still have hope?

  But what if he’d divorced his wife because she hadn’t been Zoe, and he’d missed having her wrapped in his arms each night?

  As a result of her hope she’d spent five extra minutes in the bathroom that morning taking special care with her makeup and shoulder-length hair even though it didn’t matter. Couldn’t, shouldn’t matter.

  She was determined to continue to find ways to avoid him. Last night she’d hovered around one of the resort’s weddings despite Hope Ryan having everything under control from hanging her gorgeous seascape panels in the multi-purpose room, to the eighty unique party favors she’d created for guests. Honestly, Zoe didn’t know how she’d ever gotten by before hiring her as an assistant. Hope couldn’t help with the newsletter though, and so Zoe had come to work early and researched everything she’d needed to know about creating the emails, in order to send off the first one just before ten.

  Not bad for a newbie.

  And with no help from Ashton, either.

  Zoe pushed back from her desk and rolled the crick out of her right shoulder. She spotted a familiar face approaching and rose to her feet with a smile.

  “I saw your name on the reservation list! Welcome back.” Zoe came around the desk to give Ginger McGinty a giant hug, happy to see last year’s returning guest. Well, except for the fact that the matchmaker from Blueberry Springs had been the one to push her and Ashton together, and would naturally want an update. And after the update, she’d learn that Ashton was back, and would likely want to meddle.

  “You’re here?” Ginger said with surprise.

  “Where else would I be?”

  She shook her head, her auburn hair bouncing. “I heard something from Caroline Harper this morning and—never mind. I must have leaped to a conclusion.” She hugged Zoe again.

  “Where’s Logan?” Zoe asked, referring to Ginger’s husband. Zoe had helped the two quick-to-wed elope at the resort last spring.

  “He’s not coming.”

  Her joy over seeing Ginger turned to concern. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Maybe her friend wouldn’t want to chat about relationships, after all.

  “No, nothing like that. My business has been going great guns since the workshops I took here at last year’s wedding expo, and I needed some time away to regroup and strategize. I’m months behind on assessing my business plan and crunching the data to see where I need to go next. I kept thinking of Indigo Bay and that sweet little honeymoon cottage. So Logan urged me to come here to focus on my plans.”

  “How is he?”

  “Good. Really good. He’s started a business in town with his friend Zach Forrester, doing security stuff, and his daughter has fallen in love.”

  If Zoe recalled correctly, Annabelle had some mental development delays, and had been in assisted living here in Indigo Bay. After Logan and Ginger married, they’d all moved to Blueberry Springs.

  “It’s not requited love, unfortunately, and she’s having a tough go. But there’s this really sweet guy at the recycling center who has his eye on her, and I’m hoping something happens. In the meantime, Logan is fretting over her.”

  “Tell them both hello from me, and I hope things work out well in the love department.” Zoe didn’t know the whole story of how Logan became Annabelle’s dad, only that he’d stepped in as her guardian, and somewhere along the line had legally adopted her.

  “I’m going to miss Logan while I’m here, but having no distractions will be perfect.” Ginger propped her fingertips together, her gold-and-green wedding band catching the light. “So? How about you?” She saw Zoe eyeing her ring, and snatched up Zoe’s left hand, frowning at her bare finger. “I heard Ashton’s a recent widow, and yet here you are…very much alive.”

  Zoe’s fingers flew to her mouth as she held in a gasp of surprise.

  A widow?

  That changed everything.

  No. No, it didn’t.

  He hadn’t divorced someone to come back to Zoe. He wasn’t here because it hadn’t worked out, or because he’d secretly been dreaming of her, knowing he’d made a mistake. He had still chosen the other woman over her. And now she was gone, so he was back.

  “And yet here you are…alive,” Ginger mused again, eyebrows raised.

  Zoe pulled herself from her thoughts. “Oh, right. He broke up with me, and then married…her.”

  Ginger’s jaw dropped. “No!”

  Zoe nodded. “Pretty much immediately.” She tried to swallow the lump of emotion that had formed in her throat.

  “Was she pregnant?”

  Did it matter? He’d been talking about heavy commitment things with Zoe—move in together, foster or adopt some kids, live happily ever after…and then boom. He was gone. Off marrying someone else.

  Zoe took a stack of papers from her desk and gave them a sharp whack to straighten them.

  Even if Ashton’s late wife had been pregnant, it wouldn’t have been enough to cause him to change directions so suddenly. He longed for a family, just as Zoe did, and she knew he would do anything in his power to avoid becoming a deadbeat dad like his father, but that didn’t equal marriage. It had to have been something more. And despite everything, Zoe was curious to know what had caused his abrupt about-face. Well, unless it made her anger seem unfair and irrational. B
ecause she knew she needed to hold on to her anger so she wouldn’t get hurt again.

  “Huh,” Ginger said thoughtfully, when she didn’t respond. “I was certain you two were a sure thing.”

  So had she. And as far as she could figure, she’d done everything right when he’d asked for space. She hadn’t smothered him with questions, hadn’t pried. She’d been patient. But instead of Ashton coming back to her, he’d run down the aisle with someone else.

  “He just came back to town yesterday,” Zoe said, surprised to find herself offering more information. “He’s filling in for a maternity leave until November.”

  “And looking for a second chance?” Ginger perched her hip on the edge of Zoe’s desk.

  “No,” she replied sharply.

  “Then why is he back—and a few months before school starts—if not for you? You loved him once.”

  “He proved he didn’t love me.”

  “What if there’s some tragic story there? This woman he married—what if she was deathly ill and he married her because otherwise her children would be sent to the orphanage and—”

  “No.”

  “No? I guess kids don’t get sent to orphanages any longer,” Ginger mused. “Do you still care for him?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “That’s not a no,” Ginger pointed out, smiling at a familiar figure moving through the lobby.

  It was Ashton. Why was Zoe not surprised to see him glancing her way nervously, while toying with a box from Sweet Caroline’s?

  Ashton kept himself busy looking at old resort photos lining the wall until Ginger, the woman who had originally brought him and Zoe together, walked off with a wink and a wave.

  “I brought you something for your coffee break,” he said, when he reached Zoe’s desk. He set the bun in front of her.

  With a gentle, but firm look, she said, “I told you—”

  “You can throw it out if you want.”

  He saw her hesitate, the pastry box clutched so tightly in her hands that the lid buckled. Something had changed since he’d seen her last night. In place of that wall she’d erected was something akin to compassion and curiosity. Why?

  “You already apologized,” she murmured. She slid the container his way. “And I’m not interested in taking you back.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  He waited for that to sink in, wondering why she was acting so careful instead of ticked off.

  “I sent the first newsletter this morning. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out.” She tipped up her chin and turned away from him. “Consider yourself off the hook.”

  “Any questions I can answer?”

  “You can answer this,” trilled a prim voice from behind Ashton. He turned to find Lucille Sanderson in her high heels, waving a piece of paper, her fluffy dog trailing behind on a loose, thin leash.

  “Good morning, Miss Lucille,” Zoe said, her expression pleasant. “What can I do for you today?”

  “Why are you sending me emails?” demanded the older woman. Her blond hair—thanks to help from her hairdresser—was in a loose bun, her trim and trendy look belying her seventy-some years. She smacked down a piece of paper with the resort’s logo on it. It was a printed copy of Zoe’s newsletter, its template a bit skewed, so the paragraph columns ran long and narrow, taking up several pages.

  It looked like Zoe might need some help, after all.

  “Before you say a word, Ashton,” Zoe said coolly, “I have this.”

  Yeah, she didn’t have it. And that small fact provided him with hope.

  “Why am I getting this?” Lucille tapped the paper with a polished nail. “Why do I need to hear about resort deals? I’m not going to pay good money to stay in a place minutes from my home.”

  “If you have guests they might be interested in staying here.”

  “Are you suggesting I’m too old to provide hospitality for my guests?”

  “No.” Zoe’s cheeks grew pink. “The newsletter I sent you is about a refer-a-friend to our spa deal. I thought you might enjoy a manicure.” Zoe turned the newsletter to face her, scanning it as though looking for the paragraph with the offer. She frowned.

  “I get my nails done at Indigo Bay Nails and More,” Lucille said. “You know that. Rochelle is a member of the Ashland Belle Society. How would it look if I started coming here?”

  “Rochelle does most of our spa treatments on contract,” Zoe explained. She handed the newsletter back to the woman. “I’m sorry, Miss Lucille. I’ll fix whatever went wrong so you get the local pampering and restaurant deals instead of the one for rooms.”

  “I don’t need deals! I’m doing just fine financially, thank you, and I don’t want your emails. I’ll hire a smart lawyer like Lauren Cooper and sue you for harassment!”

  “Miss Lucille,” Ashton said carefully, feeling it was time to step in. “We’re sorry for the error. Please be assured that we will fix it.”

  “We? Is there a ‘we’ happening here once again?” she asked, turning on him, her bright eyes flashing. “If I recall, which I do perfectly well, you left this woman high and dry.” Lucille’s dog, Princess, let out a sharp bark as though backing up her owner. “What gall you have, showing your face around here after that! Every night I thank my lucky stars I didn’t set you up with my great-niece Maggie.” She sniffed.

  “Miss Lucille…” Zoe said uneasily.

  “He lost you a nonrefundable deposit on a moving company you never used. Am I the only person who remembers that?”

  “It was premature of me to book them,” Zoe said, her eyes cast down and to the side. “And Ashley Harden was able to use the moving company when she moved to Florida to be with Will Layton, so all was not lost.”

  Lucille tsked, her nose held high.

  “Lesson learned and all of that,” Zoe added quietly.

  Ashton felt as though someone had pushed him underwater. He couldn’t breathe, thinking about how Zoe had truly been left, as Lucille put it, high and dry. Because of him.

  “Is there a problem here?” Dallas asked, joining them. “Miss Lucille. Wonderful to see you.” He glanced down at the dog, who was sniffing about as though on the lookout for a place to relieve herself. “And Princess. She looks like she needs to go outside. Shall we take her to our doggy zone?”

  Lucille started ranting at Dallas about the newsletter, and he apologized, while smoothly guiding her and the pooch outdoors. He muttered over his shoulder before he left, “I told you to use Ash’s help.”

  Zoe shot Ashton a dark look.

  “You have a lot on your plate,” he said simply, then pulled a chair from a nearby workstation and sat himself near her computer. “Shall we see what went wrong with your segmentation?”

  “I segmented it just fine. So don’t try and fix things. It’s broken. Forever.”

  His proximity seemed to be making her agitated, and he settled in a little closer to note the effect. She pushed up her cardigan’s sleeves despite the building’s robust air conditioning.

  “I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about the movers.”

  He’d been wrong, slipping away last August instead of trying to awkwardly make things work, or telling her every gory detail of the mess he’d landed himself in. He could see that he hadn’t prevented additional hurt like he’d believed he was doing. In fact, he’d quite possibly caused her even more distress, as well as public humiliation, if someone like Lucille Sanderson was nattering on about their failed love life.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again, uncertain what to say beyond the fact that he was sorry. So sorry.

  Zoe had pulled up the newsletter program and was clicking her way through various setup options. “I don’t know why Lucille got the wrong email. I’m sure I did it all correctly. But even if I did mess up, Lauren will talk Lucille out of suing.”

  “I wanted to ask earlier; is she related to Josh Cooper?”

  “Who?” Zoe frowned at the screen. “Lucil
le?”

  “Lauren. Josh’s a famous sportscaster who’s big into football.”

  “What?” She squinted at him. “No. That’s Hope’s boyfriend—well, they’re taking a break or something. But anyway, why does everyone always assume he and Lauren are related?”

  “Because he’s famous and it would be cool.”

  Zoe returned her attention to the computer monitor, sighing dejectedly, her shoulders curving forward.

  “How do I undo that?” she asked, pointing at her mistake.

  “You can’t.”

  “But I need to unsend it.”

  “No can do. Newsletters are like life mistakes. You can’t undo them.”

  Zoe sent him with a skeptical, unimpressed look.

  “You just have to apologize sincerely,” he said, “and move forward, hoping for the best.”

  “Is that what you’re doing? Hoping for the best?”

  He wanted to meet her frank, open gaze—he’d always appreciated her directness when they’d been moving fast with their relationship—but right now it felt like a knife nudging at tender bruises. Maybe he wasn’t ready to shoulder the knowledge of just how much he’d hurt her. Maybe he wasn’t ready to forgive himself for making the wrong choice last summer, as well as for excluding her from his decisions for fear of her blowing the legal whistle on his and Maliki’s marriage-for-medical-insurance arrangement.

  “Ashton? Is it?” Zoe prodded.

  He might not get a second chance to have this conversation.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And what if your “hope for the best” differs from what I’m hoping for?” She was looking straight at him, her right hand resting on the computer mouse, her tone gentle despite her bluntness.

  “I shouldn’t have shut you out. I should have told you…” He wanted to tell her what she needed to hear, but couldn’t. “I know you wanted me to tell you everything, and I didn’t.”

  “It’s too late, Ashton.” She pushed away from the computer. “You made a choice. You didn’t trust me or love me enough to let me in, and that’s an important thing in a relationship.” She was standing over him. “Your actions negated everything you said to me, and spewing sweet nothings now won’t make up for that.”