“No, don’t let me off the hook. We were best friends.”
“Who kissed…”
“Once…”
“Right before all hell broke loose.”
They looked at each other and laughed a little. Finishing each other’s sentences, just as they used to.
“I was trying to survive,” he said softly. “But I didn’t forget about you. That’s why I came. That’s why the twins’ crazy letter worked. Because I didn’t forget.”
How did he know that was exactly what she’d been thinking?
“I didn’t forget you either.” She heard the husky note of emotion in her voice and tried for something lighter. “It would be hard to do with all those headlines and tab—”
“Please don’t mention tabloids.”
They both laughed again. It felt so sweet to be on the same wavelength with someone again. She rarely felt that way with anyone. Somehow she and Padric always slipped into it so naturally.
It was unnerving. She needed to take a step back. Several steps. Back to teasing instead of confessing.
“Come on, I’ll walk you to the fire station,” she told him. “You probably don’t remember where it is, you’ve been gone so long.”
“It would be hard to miss it, since there’re only about ten buildings in this town.” They headed down the street toward the complex that held the police and fire departments.
“Oh, now you’re mocking your own hometown? I guess that’s what fame does to a person.”
“Or maybe I’ve always been a jerk, did you ever consider that?”
“You are not a jerk. You never have been.”
Padric had always been the sweetest guy she knew. He would never deliberately hurt her. Why hang on to a grudge—especially when he kept apologizing?
“Which is why I’ve decided to forgive you for ditching me back then.”
“Really? Okay, cool. That was easy.” He grinned at her. “All I had to do was wait fifteen years.”
“And become a rock star. Once you get nominated for a Grammy, all grudges are forgiven.”
“I knew it would all pay off someday.” His smile broadened. “Damn, Zoe, it really feels good to be with you again. That’s the killer…that I missed all that time being your friend. I could have used a friend.”
They’d reached the fire station. The two garage doors stood open and a small group was assembling near the shining red fire engine. Zoe waved at Nate and a few other people she recognized. Lucas Holt was there—probably helping with the training, since he was an expert ocean rescue guy.
Darius Boone, the new fire chief, was shaking hands with the new volunteers. Zoe didn’t know much about him, except that he came from Texas and all the single women in town were trying to find out everything they could.
“Could you still use a friend?” she asked Padric.
“I could,” he said softly. A kind of sadness had settled over him. With his thumbs tucked in his pockets, he gazed down at her as if from a great distance. “Did you ever wonder…”
“What?”
“What would have happened if we hadn’t gotten that call from your mother at that exact moment?”
Her breath caught. She hadn’t ever allowed herself to think about that. “You mean, if we’d kept hiking?”
“And kissing. And if we’d gone back home and things had been normal.”
She stood silent for a moment, digesting his words. Maybe it was thanks to her practical side, but she never had indulged that fantasy. She’d been too busy dealing with the wrenching battles that nearly tore the family apart.
“Did you?” she asked. “Did you wonder that?”
“I did. I wrote a song about it. It was one of my first hits.”
“Padric! Get your ass over here,” Nate yelled from inside the equipment bay.
Padric gave her one last lingering glance, then jogged off to join the others.
It took nearly the entire walk back to her car for Zoe to get her cool back. Padric had thought about her after he’d left. He’d even written a song about their relationship. She did matter to him.
All this time, she’d assumed he’d forgotten her because he ignored all her attempts to contact him. But that wasn’t true—and it changed everything.
Now she had an urgent mission—figure out which song he was talking about!
Back home, Zoe checked on her mother and found her snoozing in her recliner, her cat Athena purring on her lap. While it was technically true that Zoe still lived at home with her mother, the house actually belonged to Zoe. After Dad had died of a heart attack, Nicola Bellini had transferred the house and business to Zoe on the condition that Zoe take care of her as she got older.
Which Zoe would have done in any case, but putting it into a written contract eased her mother’s mind. Her mother had a huge heart, but she worried a lot, especially about her family. Zoe was used to her mother’s volatile nature and knew how to handle it. She basically let her say whatever she wanted, and then Zoe did what she thought was best.
It all worked out.
Even though Nicola Bellini was only in her early sixties, a lifetime of hard work and giving birth to six children had worn her out. She’d broken her hip a while back and never fully recovered. She still used a walker and refused to do any physical therapy or get any exercise. Without her husband to argue with, she’d lost much of her zest for life. Somehow arguing with her kids didn’t give her the same charge.
Zoe wasn’t the oldest child, but she was the oldest who had stayed. Her two older brothers were long gone—Homer had joined the Army, Theo had fallen in love with an Italian girl and moved to Italy. Her oldest sister Daphne lived in Las Vegas and claimed the desert climate had rendered her incapable of traveling back to Alaska. But really, she didn’t want to risk the guilt trips their mother would inflict if she got a chance.
So Zoe and her rapscallion sisters were the last Bellinis left at home.
The bright side was that Zoe got to claim the best living space. Over the years her father had added more wings and additions to the house as the family grew. He’d converted the barn—once he abandoned his idea of raising farm animals—into an extra living space for the older kids.
Now, the barn was all Zoe’s. Technically, the entire house was Zoe’s, but the barn in particular gave her great joy.
Because it contained her studio.
She’d cleared out every speck of furniture and installed a long work table, extensive shelving, and tote bins that held her art tools. A small kiln took up one corner, and welding tools another. A stack of chairs leaned against one wall. She pulled those out for the art workshops for kids that she offered during the school year.
Once she was sure that her mother was fine, she closed herself into her safe haven and kicked off her shoes. She climbed the ladder to the loft, where she slept on a king-size mattress on the floor. A hexagonal window offered a sweet view of rolling hillsides, now covered with fuchsia fireweed blooms. From here, she could also survey her entire studio space. She often came up here to get a different perspective on her current project.
Or take a nap. Or both, sometimes. Since she had no aspirations to make her living with her artwork, she allowed herself to do things like nap or abandon a project if she wasn’t enjoying it. This was for fun, right?
Only lately had she been wondering if she should send some of her art into the world and see what happened. Hence the Far North Arts Fellowship. Her application was allllmoooosst ready to go.
She found her laptop tangled up in the blanket she’d kicked off last night. Falling asleep to a Netflix show was more or less her routine in the summer. The pizza shop didn’t leave room for much else.
Plugging in her earbuds just in case her mother decided to barge in, she searched on google for “Padric Jeffers’ first hit.” She’d deliberately avoided following his career and generally ignored his music. Petty, but necessary for her emotional balance.
She scanned through the list of his tit
les, focusing on the earliest. One possibility stood out: “Lost Chance.”
Had he deliberately combined Lost Souls and the Last Chance, or was that a coincidence? Why had she never heard this song? She’d gotten her wish of a Padric-free life, but maybe she’d been missing out.
She clicked on the lyrics and read them quickly.
A fork in the trail, one step to the edge
Happened so quick, burned by a touch
Don’t know where we went, don’t know why.
Did I know we would break?
Did I know you would cry?
One chance, all we had. All we had, is goodbye.
Nothing so cruel as a chance lost with you.
Tears came to her eyes as she read the song. Then, to torture herself further, she clicked on a YouTube video of Padric singing that song in a dark club. He sat on a stool under a single spotlight. Hunched over his guitar, he strummed the wistful melody that went with the lyrics.
The video was from ten years ago, so it must have been at the start of his career. That explained his casual clothes—a white t-shirt under a checkered overshirt that she actually recognized. He still had it, five years after leaving Lost Harbor! He still had the strong, tough physique that fishing had given him, but he looked like a young man rather than the quickly developing boy she’d known. His hands flew over the guitar strings with utter comfort and competence.
It was so sexy, watching him perform. She’d avoided his videos along with his music in general, so she’d had no idea how good he was.
But he was amazing. She never would have guessed from his performance that he’d always been on the shy side. He had so much quiet charisma that she couldn’t take her eyes off him. And his voice!
As a kid, she’d heard him sing. He’d shared his first attempts at songwriting with her. But his voice had still been finding its true range. At twenty, in the video, he was fully in command of the rich resonance of his voice.
She sighed and closed the laptop. If she went down the rabbit hole of watching Padric Jeffers videos, she’d never get anything done today.
On impulse, she shot off a text to Padric. Lost Chance?
That’s the one, he texted back after a moment. Know it?
No. I think I need remedial Padric Jeffers education.
Happy to oblige.
Happiness slid along her skin like honey. He was back. Her best friend was back.
YouTube is helpful that way.
Ugh, don’t look there. Just listen to the songs. I’ll make you a playlist.
Okay, I’ll take a playlist.
How are the twins? We really had them going.
Wasn’t that great? She cackled out loud, the sound bouncing off the low ceiling of her loft. The best part is they actually volunteered for their own punishment of extra shifts.
It’s the least they could do.
Are you going to agree to sing at their festival?
Should I?
I’m staying out of it. You’re on your own.
Heartless.
Impervious, she texted with a smile. If they’d been able to text back in the old days, they would have had so much fun. I will say that I’d love to hear you live.
That can be arranged.
No, no! I didn’t mean that. I meant at the festival.
No private show?
She drew in a long breath. Was Padric flirting with her? How had they shifted from friendly gloating over their revenge on the twins to talking about a private show?
And how should she respond? She’d just gotten her friendship with Padric back. Should they really put it to the test with a flirtation?
Then again, it was just a text. Don’t get all crazy, Zoe.
Has any woman ever turned down a private show from Padric Jeffers?
I feel like there’s no right answer to that.
She laughed out loud in her cozy barn. Padric had always been able to make her laugh, no matter what drama was going on at home or at school.
Hey, we’re friends again, right? You can tell me everything.
I’ll tell you everything if you tell me everything.
HELL NO, she fired off right away.
She could imagine him laughing out loud wherever he was. Still at the firehouse? Or back at his hotel?
Where r u? She asked while she was thinking of it.
Boxers.
Was that a new bar in town that she hadn’t heard about? She sent him a row of question marks.
Oh sorry, I thought you asked what I was wearing.
Haha. I guess I know what that private show is all about now.
So we’re on?
Man, that was fast. And now she had her answer. He was definitely flirting with her. But didn’t he have any supermodel girlfriends waiting for him back in reality—aka the Lower 48? Maybe this was the right time to find out—via text—the coward’s way.
No girlfriends to get upset about that? Or should I google you?
You haven’t already googled me? I’m insulted.
She giggled at that. Such a fragile ego for a superstar. Have you googled me?
Should I?
Her smile dropped and she crawled across her bed for her laptop. Outside her window, evening was finally dimming the bright purple hills. Low clouds the shade of bruised plums were gathering on the horizon. The colors were so insanely vivid that she itched to memorialize them somehow. But she’d never had any luck painting the sunset—she never got the colors quite right. That was one of the reasons she’d switched to clay sculptures.
Tearing her eyes away from the sky, she opened her laptop and googled herself. Owner of Last Chance Pizza. Many TripAdvisor and Yelp reviews—mostly excellent. One angry complaint about the time Zoe had kicked a guy and his buddies out for harassing one of her waitresses. Her father’s obituary had a mention of her. And then—oh cringe. Just what she didn’t want to show up.
Local man sues over broken engagement.
Almost too afraid to read the whole thing, she squinted and forced herself to do so.
Reese Wirth, a Lost Harbor resident, filed an unusual lawsuit against Zoe Bellini for breaking their engagement. He’s claiming emotional distress and the loss of other romantic opportunities during the time he was engaged to Ms. Bellini. According to the filing, she was never truly serious about the relationship and used it to extract goods and services from him in the form of dinner dates and other gifts. He’s asking damages that amount to the sum of all his expenditures during their six-month engagement. Reached at his home next to Starling Lake, Reese said, “Women need to learn not to toy with men’s futures.”
Oh God, the mortification that she ever, for one second—let alone six months—was involved with that man! He was such a troglodyte, and he’d gotten so much worse after they’d broken up.
The reporter had called her for comment, but she’d refused. She didn’t want to give the press any reason to pursue the non-story. The case had gotten thrown out, but she’d had to hire a lawyer and the gossip around town had been severe.
She snatched up her phone and saw that Padric had texted again.
You just googled yourself, didn’t you?
Maybe, she answered. Hopefully he wouldn’t search past the initial page of Last Chance-related items. I saved you the trouble. Nothing interesting there.
Hmm.
Oh God. He knew! He’d probably googled her at the same time she was googling herself.
I can explain. It was a mistake. He seemed like a cool guy at first and my mom was pressuring me about settling down. So embarrassing.
Long pause. I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’d I miss?
Nothing. I’m babbling. Ignore all that. DELETE.
Yeah, right. The word “delete” might as well mean “go back and read it again and try google while you’re at it.”
Also, no more googling!!!! An equally pointless thing to say.
How about I skip the googling and you tell me what you’re talking about? In
your own words?
Yes. That would be much better than letting him see Reese trash her without a response. Good idea. Not by text, tho. Some other time.
Holding you to it.
Da-dum-da-dum. (Theme song from Jaws.)
Don’t worry. I just want to know what’s happened in your life since I left. No judgy.
That used to be one of their phrases that they’d used as kids. For instance: “What grade did Ms. Fleck give you? No judgy.” Or “That top looks weird on you. No judgy, but you should change.”
It was a very versatile phrase, and she was glad to hear it again.
Holding you to that, she told him.
Had an idea. How about we go across the bay and go hiking? Say, the Larkspur trail? We never got to the high alpine. Perfect time of year for it.
Except for my work schedule.
Didn’t you just get a bunch of free shifts out of your sisters? Better pounce while they’re still feeling the guilt.
Good point. Based on her knowledge of the twins, their guilt had a half-life of a few hours. But it was worth a try, since they’d screwed up badly this time.
We’ll see.
He sent her back a thumbs-up. I have to check the training schedule too.
How did it go today?
No judgy?
She smiled. No judgy.
Turns out I’m a spoiled diva who can barely handle a fifty-pound backpack. Where’d that fishing kid go?
He grew up and got an entourage.
Ouch. Okay I deserved that.
It was so good to have her friend back. Emphasis on friend. No more videos, she told herself. Her nerves couldn’t handle it.
Chapter Eight
Padric dropped into another round of pushups at the command of the volunteer training leader, who happened to be Nate Prudhoe. His biceps were burning, not to mention his deltoids and his pecs, and his lats and really just every muscle in his entire torso.
“I thought you were supposed to be my entourage, not my personal torturer,” he grumbled.
“That’s personal trainer to you.” Nate grinned and strolled through the motley group of volunteers. Two women and three men, ranging from eighteen to sixty-three. The youngest had just graduated from high school and the oldest volunteer was a retired longshoreman who was getting bored sitting at home.
Yours Since Yesterday Page 7