Forever and For Always

by Sophie Love

  But what about her? She hadn’t made any fixed plans to stay in Sunset Harbor, either. She’d already been here six months—a long time to be away from New York, away from her home and her friends. And yet, with the sun setting in the distance, casting orange and pink rays into the sky, she couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be. In this exact moment, right now, everything was perfect. She felt like she was living in paradise. Perhaps she really could make Sunset Harbor her home. Perhaps Daniel would want to settle down with her. There was no way of knowing the future; she would just have to take each day as it came. At the very least she could stay here until her money ran dry. And if she put in enough hard work, made the B&B sustainable, then that day might not come for a very long time.

  “What are you thinking about?” Daniel asked.

  “The future, I guess,” Emily replied.

  “Ah,” Daniel replied, looking down at his lap.

  “Not a good topic of conversation?” Emily queried.

  Daniel shrugged. “Not always. Isn’t it better just to enjoy the moment?”

  Emily wasn’t sure how to take that statement. Was it evidence of his desire to leave this place? If the future wasn’t a good topic of conversation, was that because he had visions of future heartbreak?

  “I suppose,” she said quietly. “But sometimes it’s impossible not to think ahead. It’s okay to make plans too, don’t you think?” She was trying to gently nudge Daniel, to make him give up just a sliver of information, anything that might make her feel steadier within their relationship.

  “Not really,” he said. “I try really hard to keep my mind in the present. Don’t worry about the future. Don’t dwell on the past.”

  Emily didn’t like the idea of him worrying about their future, and had to stop herself from demanding to know what exactly there was to worry about. Instead, she asked, “Is there a lot to dwell on?”

  Daniel hadn’t revealed too much about his past. She knew he had moved around a lot, that his parents divorced and his dad drank, that he credited her own father for giving him a future.

  “Oh yeah,” Daniel said. “A whole lot.”

  He fell silent again. Emily wanted him to give more but could tell he wasn’t able to. She wondered if he knew how much she ached to be the person he opened up to.

  But with Daniel it was all about patience. He would speak when he was ready, if he was ever ready.

  And if that day ever did come, she hoped she’d still be around to listen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next morning Emily woke early, determined not to miss the breakfast shift again. At seven sharp she heard the sound of the guest’s bedroom door opening and closing softly, then the patter of Mr. Kapowski’s footsteps as he descended the staircase. Emily stepped out from where she’d been loitering in the corridor and stood at the bottom of the steps looking up at him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Kapowski,” she said confidently, a pleasant smile on her face.

  Mr. Kapowski startled.

  “Oh. Good morning. You’re awake.”

  “Yes,” Emily said, maintaining her confident tone, though she felt anything but. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday, for not being available to make you breakfast. Did you sleep okay?” She noted the dark rings around his eyes.

  Mr. Kapowski hesitated for a moment. He nervously shoved his hands into the pockets of his crumpled suit.

  “Um…no, actually,” he finally replied.

  “Oh no,” Emily said, concerned. “Not because of the bedroom, I hope?”

  Mr. Kapowski seemed fidgety and awkward, rubbing his neck like he had more to say but didn’t know how to.

  “Actually,” he finally managed, “the pillow was quite lumpy.”

  “I’m so sorry about that,” Emily said, frustrated with herself for not having tested it.

  “And um…the towels were scratchy.”

  “They are?” Emily said, perturbed. “Why don’t you come and sit in the dining room,” she said, fighting to keep the panic from her voice, “and let me know your concerns.”

  She guided him into the vast dining room and opened up the curtains, letting the pale morning light filter into the room, showing off her latest display of lilies from Raj, the smell of which permeated the room. The surface of the long mahogany banquet style table glistened. Emily loved this room; it was so opulent, so fancy and ornate. It had been the perfect room to showcase some of her father’s antique crockery, and they were kept in a display case made of the same deep mahogany wood as the table.

  “That’s better,” she said, her tone remaining bright and breezy. “Now, would you like to let me know about your room so we can fix it?”

  Mr. Kapowski looked uncomfortable, as though he really didn’t want to speak.

  “It’s nothing really. Just the pillow and towels. And also maybe the mattress was very firm and um…a bit on the thin side.”

  Emily nodded, acting like his words weren’t striking a chord of anguish in her heart.

  “But really, it’s fine,” Mr. Kapowski added. “I’m a light sleeper.”

  “Well, okay,” Emily said, realizing that making him speak was a worse course of action than leaving him unsatisfied with his room. “Well, what can I get you for breakfast?”

  “Eggs and bacon, if that’s not too much trouble,” Mr. Kapowski said. “Fried. And toast. With mushrooms. And tomatoes.”

  “No problem,” Emily said, worrying she didn’t have all the ingredients he’d listed.

  Emily hurried into the kitchen, awakening Mogsy and Rain immediately. Both dogs began yapping for their breakfast, but she ignored their whines as she raced over to the fridge and checked what was inside. She was relieved to see that she had bacon, although there were no mushrooms or tomatoes. At least there was bread in the bread bin, a surplus Karen from the general store had dropped around the other day, and eggs she could source thanks to Lola and Lolly.

  Regretting her choice of footwear, Emily rushed out the back door, across the dewy grass, and to the chicken coop. Lola and Lolly were strutting about their pen. They both tipped their heads to the side at the sound of her approaching footsteps, expecting her to supply them with fresh corn.

  “Not yet, little chickadees,” she said. “Mr. Kapowski comes first.”

  They pecked their frustration at her as Emily rushed over to the hen house where they laid their eggs.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered as she looked inside to discover nothing there. She turned her face down to the chickens, hands on hips. “Of all the days for you two not to lay eggs, you choose today!”

  Then she remembered all the poached egg practice she’d undertaken yesterday. She must have used at least five! She threw her hands up in the air. Why did Daniel make me worry about poaching eggs? she thought with frustration.

  Emily headed back inside, disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to provide the breakfast Mr. Kapowski wanted today either, and began grilling the bacon. Whether it was due to her anxiety or her lack of experience, Emily seemed unable to perform even the most simple of tasks. She spilled coffee all over the counter, then left the bacon under the grill too long so that the edges were crisp and black. The new toaster—a replacement for the one that blew up and ruined the kitchen—seemed to have much more sensitive settings than the last one, and she managed to burn the toast as well.

  When she looked at what she’d produced, the final breakfast on the plate, Emily was less than satisfied. She couldn’t serve that mess of a meal. So she went to the utility room and scraped the whole thing into the dogs’ bowls. At least with the dogs fed that was one thing ticked off her to-do list.

  Back in the kitchen, Emily tried once again to create the meal that Mr. Kapowski had ordered. This time, it came together better. The bacon wasn’t overdone. The toast wasn’t burned. She just hoped he’d forgive her for the missing ingredients.

  She glanced at her watch and saw it had been nearly thirty minutes, and her heart raced.r />
  She rushed back into the room.

  “Here we are, Mr. Kapowski,” Emily said, reemerging into the dining room with the breakfast tray. “I’m so sorry for the wait.”

  She realized as she approached the table that Mr. Kapowski had fallen asleep. Unsure whether to be relieved or annoyed, Emily put the tray down and began to back silently out of the room.

  Mr. Kapowski’s head suddenly sprung up. “Ah,” he said, glancing down at the tray. “Breakfast. Thank you.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any eggs or tomatoes or mushrooms today,” she said.

  Mr. Kapowski looked disappointed.

  Emily went out into the corridor and took some deep breaths. The morning had been incredibly labor intensive, considering the amount of money she was ultimately making for her effort. If she wanted to sustain the business, she was going to have to become a little more efficient. And she needed a contingency plan in case Lola and Lolly had another lay-less day.

  Just then, he emerged from the dining room. It had been less than a minute since she’d delivered his food.

  “Is everything okay?” Emily asked. “Do you need something?”

  Once again, Mr. Kapowski seemed reticent to speak.

  “Um…the food is a bit cold.”

  “Oh,” Emily said, panicking. “Here, let me heat it up for you.”

  “Actually, it’s okay,” Mr. Kapowski said. “I need to be getting on really.”

  “Okay,” Emily said, feeling deflated. “Do you have anything nice planned for the day?” She was trying to sound like a B&B host rather than a panicking girl, although she felt much more like the latter.

  “Oh, no, I meant that I need to be getting home,” Mr. Kapowski corrected.

  “You mean you’re checking out?” Emily asked, taken aback.

  She felt a cold chill spread over her body.

  “But I had you down for three nights.”

  Mr. Kapowski looked awkward.

  “I, um, just need to get back. I’ll pay in full, though.”

  He seemed in a hurry to leave and even when Emily suggested knocking off the price of the two breakfasts he hadn’t eaten he insisted that he just pay the bill in full and leave immediately. Emily stood at the door and watched him drive away, feeling like an utter failure.

  She didn’t know how long she stood there, lamenting the disaster that had been her very first guest, but she became aware of the sound of her cell phone ringing from inside. Thanks to the terrible reception she received in the old house, the only place Emily could get a signal was by the front door. She had a special hall table just for her phone—a beautiful antique piece she’d recovered from one of the closed-off bedrooms in the B&B. She paced over to it now, bracing herself to see who it was.

  There were not many good options. Her mom hadn’t been in touch since that emotional late-night phone call they’d shared in which they discussed the truth about Charlotte’s death and, more specifically, Emily’s role—or lack of—in it. Amy also hadn’t been in touch since her cavalier attempt to “rescue” Emily from her new life, though they had made peace since. Ben, Emily’s ex, had called numerous times since she’d upped and left but Emily hadn’t answered a single one of his calls and now the frequency of them seemed to be diminishing.

  She braced herself as she peered down at the screen. The name blinking up at her was a surprise to see. It was Jayne, an old school friend from New York. She’d known Jayne since she was a very young girl, and over the years they’d developed the kind of friendship whereby months would lapse before they spoke, but the second they got together it was as if no time had passed at all. Jayne had probably heard from Amy, or somewhere on the grapevine, about Emily’s new life and was calling to probe her about the sudden and abrupt change she had made.

  Emily answered the call.

  “Em?” Jayne said, her voice bumpy and her breath ragged. “I just bumped into Amy during my jog. She said you’d left New York!”

  Emily blinked, her mind now unaccustomed to the fast-paced style of talking all her New York friends shared. The idea of jogging while having a phone conversation was alien to Emily now.

  “Yeah, it was a little while ago now actually,” she said.

  “How long ago are we talking?” Jayne asked, the sound of her pummeling footsteps audible over the line.

  Emily’s voice was small and apologetic. “Um, well, about six months.”

  “Yikes, I need to call you more often!” Jayne panted.

  Emily could hear the background traffic, the honking of car horns, the thud of Jayne’s sneakers as she pounded along a sidewalk. It evoked a very familiar image inside Emily’s mind. She had been that person just a few months ago, always busy, never resting, cell phone latched to her ear.

  “So what’s the gossip?” Jayne said. “Tell me everything. I’m guessing Ben is out of the picture?”

  Jayne, like all of Emily’s friends and family, had never liked Ben. They’d been able to see what Emily had been blind to for seven years—that he was so not right for her.

  “Truly out of the picture,” Emily replied.

  “And is there anyone new in the picture?” Jayne asked.

  “Maybe…” Emily said coyly. “But it’s new and still a bit unsteady so I’d rather not jinx it by talking about it.”

  “But I want to know everything!” Jayne cried. “Oh, hold on. I’m getting another call.”

  Emily waited while the line went silent. A few moments later, the noises of a New York City morning filled her ears again as Jayne reconnected.

  “Sorry, babe,” she said, “I had to take that. Work stuff. So look, Amy said you have a B&B up there or something?”

  “Uh-huh,” Emily replied. She felt a little tense talking about the B&B, since Amy had been so vocal about it being a stupid idea, not to mention the whole switch in Emily’s life being ill thought through.

  “Have you got any rooms available at the moment?” Jayne asked.

  Emily was taken aback. She hadn’t expected such a question. “Yeah,” she said, thinking of Mr. Kapowski’s now abandoned room. “Why?”

  “I want to come!” Jayne exclaimed. “It’s Memorial Day weekend, after all. And I desperately need to get out of the city. Can I book it?”

  Emily faltered. “You don’t have to do that, you know. You can just come and stay as a visitor.”

  “No way,” Jayne replied. “I want the full treatment. Fresh towels every morning. Bacon and eggs for breakfast. I want to see you in action.”

  Emily laughed. Of all the people she’d spoken to about her new business venture, Jayne was being the most supportive.

  “Well, let me book you in officially then,” Emily said. “How long will your stay be?”

  “I dunno, a week?”

  “Great,” Emily said, a little ball of joy rolling in her gut. “And when will you be arriving?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Jayne said. “Around ten.”

  The ball of joy grew larger still. “Okay, bear with me one moment while I log you in.”

  A little giddy with excitement, Emily placed her cell on hold and rushed over to the computer at the reception desk, where she logged into the room-booking program and entered Jayne’s details. She felt proud of herself for having technically filled up the B&B every day since it had opened, even if it only had one room to fill, and had only opened two days ago…

  She rushed back to her cell and picked it up. “Okay, you’re all booked in for one week.”

  “Very good,” Jayne said. “You sounded very professional.”

  “Thanks,” Emily replied shyly. “I’m still coming to grips with it all. My last guest was a disaster.”

  “You can tell me all about it tomorrow,” Jayne said. “I’d better go. I’m starting my tenth mile so I need to save my breath. See you tomorrow?”

  “I can’t wait,” Emily replied.

  The call ended and Emily smiled to herself. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed her old frien
d until she’d spoken to her. Seeing Jayne tomorrow would be a wonderful antidote to the disaster that had been Mr. Kapowski.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Exhausted from her long, disastrous morning, Emily found herself sinking into unhappiness. Everywhere she looked she saw problems and mistakes; a messily painted wall, a poorly affixed light, an ill-fitting piece of furniture. Before, she’d seen them as quirks, but now they bothered her.

  She knew she needed some professional help and advice. She was in way over her head, thinking she could just run a B&B.

  She decided to call Cynthia, the bookstore owner who had once managed a B&B in her youth, to ask for advice.

  “Emily,” Cynthia said when she picked up the call. “How are you, my dear?”

  “Awful,” Emily said. “I’m having the worst day.”

  “But it’s only seven thirty!” Cynthia cried. “How bad can it be really?”

  “Really, really bad,” Emily replied. “My first guest just left. I missed serving him breakfast on the first day, then on the second day I didn’t have enough ingredients and he said the food was cold. He didn’t like the pillows or the towels. I don’t know what to do. Can you help?”

  “I’ll be right over,” Cynthia said, sounding thrilled at the prospect of imparting some wisdom.

  Emily went outside to wait for Cynthia and sat on the porch, hoping the sunshine might cheer her up, or, at the very least, the dose of vitamin D would. Her head felt so heavy she let it drop into her hands.

  When she heard the sound of crunching gravel, she looked up to see Cynthia cycling toward her.

  Cynthia’s rusty bike was a common and somewhat unforgettable sight around Sunset Harbor, mainly because the woman sitting atop it had frizzy dyed orange hair and wore bright and very uncoordinated outfits. To make things even more bizarre, Cynthia had recently affixed a wicker basket to the front of her bike in which she transported Storm, one of Mogsy’s puppies that she’d adopted. In many ways, Cynthia Jones was her very own tourist attraction.

  Emily was glad to see her, though Cynthia’s large red polka-dotted summer hat hurt her weary eyes somewhat. She waved at her friend and waited for the woman to reach her.