by Olivia Miles
Nothing more.
***
Bridget was waiting in the kitchen when the front door opened an hour later, and there was Jack, two bags from The Corner Market in his hands, a cheerful grin on his face.
It slipped the moment he saw her. “Something wrong?”
“I cleaned your room,” she said, and immediately his eyes went round.
“Oh, God. Oh. You know, wow. I usually don’t live like that, but this deadline was getting to me and I wasn’t coming out of the room much and…”
She pulled in a breath. It wasn’t the messy room. It was so much more.
“I saw the notes to your new book, Jack,” she said. “Or should I say, Mr. Anderson?”
He closed his eyes, his jaw setting as he set the bags on the counter. “Look, I can explain.”
“Explain what part?” Bridget cried. “That you listened to me go on and on about how much I love your books and you didn’t think to mention to me that you are the author?”
“I use a pen name for a reason,” he said.
“This isn’t the same,” Bridget said, holding firm. She willed herself to stay strong, to get out before she fell in. To spare herself the way she hadn’t before. It was always excuse after excuse with Ryan, and she’d listened, because it was easier that way. And look how that had turned out.
“It’s not the same, but it is. I’m Jack. J.R. Anderson is…my career.” He pulled in a breath, stared at her as if he was debating whether or not to say something. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like the author of those books.”
She thought of what he’d told her about the writer’s block, part of her wanting to sympathize with him as much as the other part wanted to punish him. He’d lied to her. Listened to her go on and on! “You could have told me. Hell, I was your number one fan.”
He frowned at her use of the past tense.
“Bridget, listen to me, please. It’s been a really long time since I spent time with anyone, or opened up to anyone. I didn’t want you to know me as the person behind those books. I wanted you to know me as me.”
She folded her arms across her chest, willing herself not to feed into the flattery, the words that would have otherwise made her heart swell and fill her with a sense of possibility.
“Why were you getting to know me, Jack?” She swallowed the emotion in her voice, but it was there, she couldn’t hide it.
“Because I like you!” he exclaimed.
“You do, huh?” She shook her head. “You like the bookstore meeting and the kiss at the wedding you crashed. Maybe you even really did like that Flower Fest…if it made for a good scene in your book.”
His eyes flashed. “Bridget.”
“You used me, Jack,” Bridget said, all emotion and hurt now gone from her steely voice. “You led me on, you used me, and now…” Now, he’d broken her heart.
And stolen from her. Stolen all those stories that had brightened her dark days. They were all a joke. Fantasy.
“I think you should leave,” she said, turning away from him. She couldn’t look at that face, at those eyes, not for another second.
He was still there, in the room, she could sense him behind her. But he didn’t say a word. She stood, staring out onto the water, where she imagined her own wedding someday, back when she was just a little girl like Emma, and her entire world felt so full of wonder.
But it was just a yard, and the sand, and the ocean. Nothing more.
And those dreams…would never come true. And shame on her for ever thinking they would.
Her eyes were hot with tears, preventing her from turning around even if she wanted to, and a part of her did. A part of her wanted this to be made right. To find an explanation that was somehow enough.
“I didn’t use you, Bridget,” Jack said softly.
And then…he was gone.
Chapter Sixteen
The first thing Bridget saw when she woke up the next morning was the name J.R. Anderson, in its familiar block letters, gracing the spine of the paperback that had sat on her bedside table since she first bought it in Trish’s store.
She groaned and closed her eyes, wishing yesterday had been a bad dream and knowing, from the weight in her chest, that it was not. Jack was gone. And maybe, in a way, he had never really been here at all.
Two weeks ago, life had been good. Solid. Busy. She had wanted for nothing, really. But one week ago, life had felt so full of excitement, and promise, and hope.
And today…today life felt different. Bleak in a way. Like she had lost something, even if it had been just as fictional as the book sitting beside her.
She reached for it, held it in her hands. But instead of flinging it across the room like a part of her wanted to, or gathering it up with all the others she had enjoyed so much over the years and dumping them in the trash, she instead stared at the cover and then, after a moment, cracked the spine.
She ran a hand over the paper, her eyes skimming the first chapter. Every word on this page had been written by Jack. How was this possible? Jack who didn’t believe in love, had written all of these words that had touched her so deeply and made her believe again?
She thought of the look in his eyes when she’d called him out, forced him to be honest with her. There was hurt there, and not because she’d uncovered the truth.
Or maybe that was just what she wanted to see. She was good at that, after all. She’d gone through it with Ryan. Tried to fit him in a box, make him the man she wanted him to be, not the person he really was.
And Jack…Jack had told her who he was from the start. A man who didn’t believe in the product he was selling. A man who was blocked and desperate. A man who had used her.
She thought again of what he’d said. That he hadn’t used her. That she’d inspired him.
But it didn’t change anything, did it?
She closed her eyes again, tossing the book aside. These books didn’t matter anymore, and maybe they never should have. They were fairytales, and life wasn’t a fairy tale. And they were fantasy.
Fantasy. Just like he had told her.
***
Abby let herself in the kitchen door of the inn, ten minutes late, and bracing herself for a lecture from Bridget on the merits of punctuality. But Bridget wasn’t at the kitchen island this morning. She wasn’t in the kitchen at all. The lights were off and the house was eerily quiet.
Frowning, Abby closed the door behind her and stood perfectly still, wondering if her clocks were wrong and she was somehow even later than she’d feared. Or earlier?
But no, the clock above the range proved that she was, in fact, only ten minutes late. Still, it was nearly eight o’clock. Shouldn’t Bridget be frantically getting Emma ready for school while attending to the guests?
Her blood ran cold when she considered that something had happened to her sister. That a guest had turned homicidal, maybe done her in. Or kidnapped her. Anything was possible, after all.
Right, she was going in.
With a sharp knock on the door to Bridget’s quarters, she stood and waited with a pounding heart, and her pulse didn’t settle until a few minutes later, when the door swung open and Bridget stood there, still in pajamas, her hair a mess, her eyes red and puffy.
Of course! She hadn’t even considered the more logical possibility that Bridget was sick.
“Oh, no. Are you not feeling well?” Abby all but licked her lips. If Bridget wasn’t feeling well, then maybe Abby could use this opportunity to show her that she could be relied on to take over in a pinch. She could braid Emma’s hair, take her to school, and whip up a delicious breakfast for the guests. She might even be willing to freshen the linens and do a little light housekeeping. My, wouldn’t Bridget be impressed then. She had it in her; Bridget just didn’t know it yet. For some reason…
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” was all Bridget said. Of course. Tight-lipped Bridget. Even if she was sick or feverish, she wouldn’t show weakness.
Abby
bit back a wave of frustration and decided to point out the obvious. “Well, you don’t look well at all. Do you need me to get Emma ready for school?”
“Emma spent the night at Ryan’s,” Bridget replied.
Huh. Well that was…unusual. Bridget never sent Emma to her father’s unless it was a scheduled day.
Well, there was the evidence then. Bridget might not be willing to admit it to her own sister, but clearly she had admitted it to herself. She was sick. And she needed help. And Abby was the girl for the job.
“Well, you clearly need more rest. Go back to bed and leave the guests to me.”
“There are no guests,” Bridget replied, and put a hand to her forehead. “Damn it. I meant to call you and I forgot.”
Bridget? Admitting she wasn’t perfect? Something was very wrong indeed.
“No guests?” Abby said. “But I thought Room Four was staying through the week?”
She stopped, as it all became far too clear. Of course. Jack had checked out early. And Bridget was…heartbroken.
She gave her sister a sympathetic smile and said, “This sounds like the perfect opportunity for us to have a nice breakfast together then. I’ll get the coffee started.”
“You don’t have to—” Bridget protested.
“I want to,” Abby stressed. “You’re always taking care of all of us. Let me do something nice for you for once.”
Bridget’s smile was so grateful that it made Abby feel like crying. Oh, Bridget. Why did she always have to make life so much harder for herself than she needed to? Why didn’t she see that Abby had been right here, all along, happy to help. Eager to be…wanted.
She started the coffee while Bridget sank into a counter stool, then went to the island to start the breakfast. Today she’d planned on making a quiche, but the emotional climate called for comfort food. Bread pudding it was.
“So…” she said, as she quickly stirred the mixture and added it to a baking dish. “You want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about,” Bridget said with a shrug.
For once, Abby wasn’t going to take this evasion. Once in a while, when things were really bad, she managed to get Bridget to open up. Today was going to be one of those days.
“You liked him,” Abby said.
“He wasn’t who I thought he was,” Bridget replied.
“Really?” Abby frowned as she slid the dish into the preheated oven. “How so?”
“He…wasn’t truthful with me. He hid things about himself from me,” she said.
“Maybe he just wasn’t ready to share yet.” Abby tipped her head. “Maybe he was guarded. That’s not a terrible thing, after all.”
No, Bridget supposed, it wasn’t. “The thing is that up until he came, I was happy,” Bridget said.
Abby looked her sister in the eye, realizing for the first time that this was true. All this time she’d wanted her sister to get married, settle down again, find someone to ease the list of responsibilities she seemed determined to complain about at every turn. But really, Bridget liked that life. She liked being busy. She liked being, well, needed.
“You still have the inn. And Emma. And Mimi. And me,” Abby laughed, but Bridget’s smile was wan. Abby frowned and took her sister’s hand. “But something’s missing?”
“Maybe it always was? Maybe I never stopped wanting what I hoped for in the first place.” Bridget shrugged. “I wanted a family. A real, traditional life like we had. I wanted that for Emma. And…I wanted it for myself, I guess.”
“Ryan was never the man for that job,” Abby said, knowing that Bridget wouldn’t argue.
“Neither was Jack.”
“No,” Abby agreed. “I suppose not. But…maybe one good thing came from his visit?”
Bridget’s eyes were hooded. “What’s that?” she asked flatly.
“He made you look inside yourself again. He pulled you out of those books—”
“His books!” Bridget cried. “His stories!”
“So he gave you those too. And he also gave you another experience. A real one. A few days to see how it might have been and how it still can be.” Abby grinned. “Jack might not have been the guy for you in the long run, but he made you see that it can still happen.”
Bridget nodded, albeit a little begrudgingly. “Since when did you become so wise?”
“I’ve been this way all along. You just never saw it,” Abby said, feeling the sting of hurt at the truth in those words.
Bridget looked at her. “I’m sorry, Abby. I guess to me, you’ll always be my silly little sister.”
Silly little sister. Abby knew that Bridget hadn’t intended to hurt her, but it did all the same. “I’m not so little anymore,” she said. “Or silly.”
“No,” Bridget said. “I suppose you’re not.”
“And I know you think you need to protect me or take care of me, but believe it or not, I’ve been doing just fine on my own. Even if it’s not the way you would do things, it suits me.”
Bridget took a moment to take this in. “I suppose I never looked at that way. I guess I’ve been waiting for you to settle down…”
“Everyone settles down in their own way. Margo found her happy ending with Eddie. But me? I found mine with this.” Abby grinned, and then, because she just couldn’t help it, she flung her arms around Bridget’s neck. “Thanks, Bridget.”
“For what?” Bridget blinked in surprise.
“For taking a chance on me. I know I don’t have the best track record…but I just needed, well, a chance.”
Bridget smiled. “We all do, honey. We all do.”
***
Another box of chocolates had arrived from Mimi’s admirer when Bridget and Abby stopped by later that day, with Emma in tow. The women polished off the box while speculating its source, but Bridget had to admit that even a fine European chocolate couldn’t ease the tug in her chest.
“Why don’t we take a walk?” she suggested. “A little fresh air is always nice. Mimi, we could go sit in the garden. See what new flowers have sprung.” She needed to clear her head, keep moving. Moving forward, she thought. Once she’d mastered it. She’d had no choice. But doing it the second time around felt like more of a challenge somehow.
Mimi didn’t seem thrilled by the idea, but she didn’t complain either. With that, the four girls tossed the empty box of chocolates and pushed Mimi out into the hallway. Normally, they took the same path to the building’s courtyard, but today Bridget wanted to try another route. Mimi needed all the variety she could get.
They were only halfway down a corridor Bridget had never tried despite the fact that they all pretty much looked the same with their wood doors and floral wallpaper, when Abby slowed her pace.
“Do you hear a noise?” she asked, frowning.
“What kind of a noise?” she asked, pushing Mimi toward the corner, but Abby grabbed her hand, forcing her to stop.
“I mean it. Listen. It’s…” They stood in silence for a moment before Abby turned to Bridget and mouthed, “I think it’s Pudgie.”
Bridget’s eyes grew wide as she strained to hear. There was the muffled sound of television that could always be heard through the doors, a woman’s voice down the hall, the conversation too hard to make out, and then…the distinct sound of a cat’s meow.
Her heart began to race, but she forced it firmly in place. Mimi wasn’t the only one with a cat in this building. A few of the residents had fish, too, and the ones who spotted Emma in the hall always invited her to sprinkle a little food into their bowls.
“It could be anything,” she said to Abby.
“But you hear it?” Abby wasn’t going to let this go. She walked over to the partially open door at the end of the hall, pressed her ear against the wood, and nodded. “I’m going to check it out.”
“Are you serious?” Bridget looked down at Mimi who was shaking her head.
“That girl gets more confused every day,” she remarked, citing a line that Emma had overheard
Margo saying about Mimi one time when the sisters didn’t think anyone was in ear shot.
“She’ll be right back,” Bridget said, bracing herself for Abby’s return.
Abby poked her head out of the room a second later, her broad grin telling Bridget everything she needed to know. Relief washed over her, and she couldn’t wait to see how Mimi would react to this.
“You have to see this,” Abby said, motioning them forward.
Bridget pushed Mimi into the hall, the woman grumbling that Bridget didn’t know where she was going, until she saw Pudgie, sitting on the lap of the man they’d seen at the Flower Fest, and then her hand flew to her heart.
“Pudgie!” Mimi’s eyes filled with tears, and despite her own reservations toward Pudgie, Bridget’s did too.
“Where did you find him?” Bridget asked, grinning at the man who was smiling ear to ear.
“Oh, I didn’t find him,” he corrected her. “He found me.”
Abby frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Pudgie here likes the tuna on crackers that I like to snack on when I watch Wheel of Fortune at four.”
Bridget exchanged a glance with Abby. “He’s been here before today?”
“He’s been here for over a week!” The man gave Pudgie a fond pat on the head, and it was then that Bridget realized just how at home Pudgie seemed in the man’s room.
“But…there are signs up for Pudgie’s return! All over the building! You couldn’t have missed the announcements they’ve made at dinner. Or breakfast and lunch.” Abby was growing red in the face, her green eyes blazing as she stared at the man. “My grandmother’s been sick with worry!”
“I never meant to worry her. I just thought…well, if Pudgie liked me, Margaret Harper might too.”
“You mean…You’ve had Pudgie all this time?” Bridget didn’t know whether to feel angry or relieved.
“How else was I supposed to get the woman’s attention?”
“You kidnapped Pudgie?” Emma’s blue eyes were so wide, Bridget could see the whites around them.
“Well, now, young lady, don’t go making accusations. I didn’t kidnap this little fellow.” He patted Pudgie, who did seem quite content on his lap. “He came to visit me. And he decided to stay.”