No Home Like Nantucket (Sweet Island Inn Book 1)

by Grace Palmer

  “Mrs. Benson?” came a small child’s voice from the other end of the porch.

  Mae turned to look. “Freddie!” she said brightly. “What can I help you with, honey?”

  “I was just wondering if, if, if …” the little boy stuttered nervously, “if you have any snacks? I’m real hungry.”

  “Freddie!” his mother chirped, striding onto the porch. “What did I tell you about bothering Mrs. Benson? I’m so sorry about him interrupting your private time.”

  “Oh, nonsense, it’s no bother,” Mae said as she rose from her seat. “I’ve got a special little snack waiting just for you. I’ll be back in a minute, girls,” she said to Holly and Eliza. She touched the little boy softly on the head as she went inside to the kitchen. Freddie and his mother followed.

  “He’s cute,” Eliza muttered after everyone had gone, leaving her and Holly alone on the porch.

  Holly was taken aback. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call any kid ‘cute’ in your entire life,” she said, laughing. “Not even mine!”

  Eliza blushed. “Blame the little banana, I guess.” She turned to look at Holly. “Your kids are cute, though. I’m sorry if I never told you that before.”

  Now, Holly was the one blushing. “Stop it. Don’t get all sappy on me.”

  “I mean it, though,” Eliza insisted. She had an unusual gleam in her eyes that Holly didn’t remember ever being there before. “You have a beautiful family.”

  “Thanks, Lizzy,” she whispered. Her throat felt tight all of a sudden. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt like it was really important to Eliza that Holly take her seriously right now.

  “Your kids are cute and your husband loves you and you just seem—I don’t know, you just seem so happy. Content, like. Is that weird of me to say?”

  “No, not weird at all. It’s sweet. Thank you.”

  “I know you and Pete are a little rocky right now, but I really do mean what I’m saying. I’m … a little jealous of you, I guess.”

  Holly’s jaw fell open. “You? Jealous of me?”

  Eliza laughed. “It’s true. Very.”

  That was an astonishing thing to hear. As far as Holly knew, Eliza had never been jealous of anyone in her life. It was everyone else who was jealous of Eliza. She was the rock star, Dad’s favorite, A+ student, effortlessly competent athlete. Everyone in her orbit could point to her and say, “That’s what I wish I was.” What did she have to be jealous of Holly for?

  “Gotta say, I never thought I’d see the day. Not in a mean way or anything,” she rushed to correct, hoping she didn’t hurt her sister’s feelings. “It’s just … I mean, you’re good at everything. I know you’re going to be a great mom, too.”

  “Thanks,” Eliza said, looking down at her belly in a curious way. “I hope I’m as good a mom as you are. You are a great mom, you know.”

  “Now you’re really going over the top. You feeling okay?” Holly teased. “Should I be worried?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied with a sad smile. “Just wanted to let you know that I love you and I’m proud of you. That’s all.”

  Mae came bustling back onto the porch a moment later before Holly could answer. She was shocked. Well, maybe shocked was the wrong word, but it was something like that. She’d seen a side of Eliza she didn’t know existed. Vulnerability, fear, uncertainty. She knew her sister was going through an unexpected rough patch in her life, but at the end of the day, she was still Eliza Benson. Everything she touched turned to gold.

  Which was part of the reason why it felt so good to hear Eliza compliment Holly like that. It made Holly realize that she had a good life. One worth being proud of. Her kids were cute, and her husband did love her. Those were things worth protecting.

  If you find a good love, don’t let it go.

  28

  Sara

  “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Sara scoffed. Then she doubled over laughing.

  Russell was standing on the front step of 114 Howard Street. He had a red rose in one hand and was wearing a bowtie over his collared polo shirt. He was grinning at her like an absolute fool. The image was ridiculous and hilarious and totally unexpected.

  Sara had come downstairs when Holly had shouted up mischievously that Sara had a “gentleman caller” waiting for her at the door. She’d come down, dressed in black jeans and a flowing red tank top, but Russell had caught her totally by surprise with his goofy little getup.

  “My princess,” he said, whipping off an imaginary hat and bowing low to her.

  “Change of plans,” she said sarcastically. “I’m busy tonight. Gotta brush the cat’s teeth or something like that.”

  He held his hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

  Sara chuckled again. “Are you gonna keep this up all night? You better buy me lots of drinks then.”

  Russell laughed and grinned. “No, that’s about all I got, actually. Here, take this.” He handed her the rose and undid the bowtie from around his neck. “I already stabbed myself on those stupid thorns a half-dozen times.”

  Sara took it from him and brought it to her nose to smell. She inhaled deeply, savoring the flowery scent. There was a dish they made at Lonesome Dove that used rose petals, and she’d always loved the—no, none of that now, she scolded herself. Eyes up, eyes forward. No dreaming about the past. That chapter of her life, the Gavin Crawford/Lonesome Dove chapter, was firmly closed. She had a good evening ahead with a nice guy who actually seemed interesting in dating her, and she fully planned on having a fun time.

  “This is beautiful. Thank you. Let me just stick it in a vase and I’ll be right out,” she told him. She went into the kitchen, filled up a little glass-blown vase, and stuck the rose in. It looked nice. She’d always been a fan of single flowers, for some reason. They looked more beautiful on their own.

  When she was done, she went out the front door. She didn’t bother shouting out to anyone that she was leaving. Holly had gone for another long stroll on the beach and Eliza was sleeping since she wasn’t feeling too great. Sara thought the heat was getting to her and she ought to take it easy, but Eliza did what Eliza wanted. Sara shrugged it off. Her body, her baby, her problem. Nap the day away, as far as she was concerned.

  “Ready?” Russell asked when she walked down the driveway towards where he was parked.

  “Yep. Let’s go.”

  They drove off towards the outer rim of downtown and stopped outside a casual-looking bar. “The Rust Bucket?” Sara asked in disbelief.

  Russell laughed and shook his head. “I told Xander not to name it that, but he had a vision and wouldn’t budge. It’s nicer than it sounds, I promise. Great oysters.” He looked panicked for a second. “You do eat oysters, right?”

  “Of course,” Sara said. “I’m a chef. I eat everything.”

  He smiled, that lopsided, dimpled smile. “Good. They’re great here. Let’s go, shall we?”

  A few minutes later, they were seated in a corner booth with a pair of ice-cold beers and a tray of fresh oysters. “So, Sara Benson,” Russell began when they were all situated. “We covered the past over a slice of pizza. Should we turn to the future over a plate of oysters?”

  She giggled. “Seems reasonable. You really are in a grand mood tonight.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I’ll tone it down. The question stands, though. What’s next for you?”

  She took a sip of beer and leaned back in her seat, looking out the window next to her. The sun was barely clinging to the edge of the horizon. It was a nice night, warm and comforting. “That’s a tough one,” she said eventually. “I’m not too sure. I’ve been here all summer, helping out my mom at the inn. It’s nice to cook without the pressure. Makes me remember why I started it in the first place, you know?”

  Russell nodded. “Sure. Love of the craft and all that.”

  “Exactly. Brings me back to the good times. My mom and I have always clashed like oil and water, but she was the one who got me excit
ed about the kitchen in the first place. When we were on good terms, I’d help her out. She’s a hell of a cook.”

  “I remember that. She used to have me over for dinner on random Sundays, back when we were—back in high school, I mean. Great lasagna.”

  “And shepherd’s pie, and filet mignon, and raspberry cheesecake. She’s got all the moves.”

  “What does she think about you being back here?”

  Sara played with the condensation on her beer bottle. “Hard to say. She keeps things close to the chest. Tries to put up a good front for the family a lot of the time. She’s hurting inside, I know that, and it does help to have her kids around. But the Benson clan has seen better days, that’s for sure.”

  Russell looked like he wanted to ask what exactly that implied, but he bit his tongue and sank back in his seat. It was touching, actually. Not that she had anything to hide from him, but her siblings’ troubles were their own, not exactly hers to share with someone over a beer.

  “So, cooking at the inn is the present,” he summarized. “What’s coming up, though? Headed back to New York?”

  She sighed. “I really wish I knew. I was on a good path, you know? Maybe not earning international drug dealer money like someone I know, but I was starting to make a name for myself. As a female chef, that’s tough. It can be a cutthroat industry.”

  “So I hear,” Russell said, nodding. “You’re tough, though. You’ve got backbone. I always loved that about you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Sara asked with a devilish grin. “What else have you always loved about me?”

  Russell didn’t blink or hesitate. “Your smile. Your sarcasm. The way you set your jaw when you start to do something challenging.” He sat up then and shook his head like he was coming out of a daze. “Okay, whoa. Wow. That was too much. Way too intense by like, a thousand percent. Should we drink more? I’ll order shots.”

  Sara laughed out loud. “No, no, not too much at all. It was cute. I like your smile, too, you know.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “I’m gonna order the shots anyway. But thanks.”

  She waved a hand. “Order away,” she said. “I’m game if you are.”

  The night went by in the blink of an eye. By the end of it, Sara’s cheeks and sides hurt from laughing. Russell had told her stories about his time backpacking through Europe after graduating college and how he’d ended up stranded in Berlin without a single euro to his name. They hadn’t broached the topic of his divorce even once. Sara wanted badly to ask, but she could tell that he appreciated the reprieve from thinking about it. It made sense to her—if he worked from home and didn’t get out too much, he probably spent a lot of time brooding on what had gone wrong between him and MaryAnne. Maybe he just needed a fun, relaxed night out without constantly dissecting the past. She could certainly relate.

  Russell insisted on paying the bill when it arrived even when Sara balked. After bickering for a few minutes and flipping a coin, she finally relented and used the opportunity to get in another dig about his business. He’d explained it to her in detail—something about drop-shipping industrial plastic products from China to plumbing businesses in the United States, nothing shady about it—but that kind of thing never really clicked in her creative brain, so she just kept teasing him anyway.

  They walked outside into the warm night afterwards, down to where they’d parked, and climbed in the car.

  “I had a fun time,” Russell said as they headed back towards Howard Street. “Thanks for coming out tonight.”

  “I had a good time, too,” Sara replied, looking at him. He was looking straight ahead, two hands on the wheel. He was still a little nervous, apparently, even after a pair of beers and the shot of tequila he’d ordered. She felt bad for him. It seemed like his ex-wife had really done some damage to him. From little comments here and there, Sara had gleaned that she was really critical of a lot of things—Russell’s goofiness, his big laughter, his warm heart. He was the kind of guy who would wrench his car across oncoming traffic to stop at a little kid’s lemonade stand. Sara was hurt on his behalf that there was anyone in this world who would try to scold that kindness out of him.

  “Think we can do it again some time?” he asked her.

  “Once again, if you’re gonna ask me on a date, you gotta say the words, Mr. Bridges,” she teased.

  He put the car in park outside the Benson house and turned his gaze on her. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled softly. “Sara Benson, will you go on another date with me?”

  “I’d love to.” She kissed him on the cheek, then undid her seat belt and got out of the car. He probably had wanted to kiss her, and she’d considered the possibility, but she was still a little gun-shy about it. Gavin had done some damage to her confidence just like MaryAnne had done to Russell’s. She was wary of what this might be blossoming into. Excited, definitely, but also nervous.

  She told herself to calm down. It was just one date. No big deal. She’d been on plenty of first dates that didn’t pan out. Even if this felt different, there was no point in spinning it up into a big to-do. Just take things one night at a time. Tonight, that meant a kiss on the cheek and a sweet good night.

  She sang to herself softly as she showered and took off her makeup. The alcohol was loosening her up enough, though her eyes were getting drowsy. She’d been on old-person hours for most of the summer—bed by nine p.m. the majority of her nights—so staying out past eleven was really pushing her limits.

  When she got out of the shower and toweled off, she noticed her phone lighting up with a missed call. It was from a number she didn’t recognize. Frowning, she picked it up and hit the button to call back.

  “Hello?” answered a familiar voice.

  “Gavin,” Sara breathed. The warmth of the beer and oysters vanished at once from her body. It was replaced by a cold sense of foreboding.

  “How’ve you been?” he asked casually, like they were good friends who chatted all the time, rather than—rather than whatever it was that they were to each other.

  “Fine.”

  “Good, that’s good.” He trailed off.

  She bit her lip. Even through the phone, he still had an undeniable effect on her. That voice, deep and rich like caramel, made her think of those forearms, and those forearms made her think of the man himself, and that unlocked a box in her heart she’d thought that she had locked up and destroyed the key to.

  The right thing to do was hang up the phone now. Before this got out of hand. It wasn’t leading anywhere good, that was for darn sure. She’d taken a glimpse down that road, seen the sights, gotten a good enough look to know that it wasn’t for her. Hang up. Hang up now. That’s what she should do.

  But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  “How’re you?” she blurted finally, against her better instincts.

  “Great. Well, not great. But okay. We miss you around here.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, big-time. It’s just not the same kitchen without you. Carlo has been yanking his hair out trying to deal with all your replacements. They’re good, but they aren’t you.”

  “That’s nice to hear.” To her utter astonishment, part of her meant it. Gavin had never been one to lavish her with compliments like this. Even though she knew he was a liar and a jerk, she found herself—not quite swooning, but something in that vicinity. Gross! No! Stop it, she screamed internally. But she found herself instead sitting on the rim of the bathtub, still in her towel, as if settling into a conversation.

  “When are you coming back?” he asked her.

  “I quit, remember?”

  She could picture him waving his hands dismissively as he said, “Yeah, but c’mon, you know you didn’t really. You can always come back. Door’s open forever for you.”

  She squeezed a section of the towel in a fist. Weren’t these the words she’d wanted to hear from him? That he cared about her, that he valued her? They were, and she couldn’t deny that it felt really freaki
ng good to hear them now. Despite everything that happened, there was a part of her that was insanely drawn to Gavin Crawford. No matter how hard she wanted to excise that part and chuck it out a window, she couldn’t. He spoke her language. He had her on a hook.

  “What about—what about Melissa?” she asked. Yes, you go, girl! hooted the angel on her shoulder, the one who’d been pleading with her to hang up the phone.

  But she heard the same hand-wavey tone in his voice. “She and I are taking some time apart.” He didn’t offer anything more than that, and despite the angel’s pleas, she didn’t press any further.

  This was it. The window she’d spent an ungodly long time hoping for. Gavin was truly single. The Melissa Question Meter read “GO FOR IT!” All the stars were aligning. She could go back to the city and spark something up with Gavin. She could get her life back on track, with an unexpectedly amazing bonus on top of that. Back in the Lonesome Dove kitchen and in the arms of a man she wanted more than anything.

  But then she thought about Russell. He wasn’t anything like Gavin. He wasn’t slimy or conniving. He was an honest guy, a good guy, someone who had proven that he cared about her already. They had fun together and she didn’t spend the entirety of her time in his presence anxious over what he thought about her, wondering whether his words matched his intentions, or whether there was an ulterior motive lingering below the surface.

  “I—I gotta go, Gavin,” she said suddenly.

  He sounded surprised. “Gotta go where?”

  “I just … I gotta go. I’m not coming back to the city … yet. My mom needs me here for now. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up the phone before she could lose her nerve.

  29

  Eliza