“I’ve signed on for more hours this weekend, to make up for taking off when Keela was in labor, so I probably won’t see you until Monday night.”
Disturbed by the change in mood, she needed to know. “Is everything okay?”
“Some inmates at the men’s colony are stirring things up over there. I’m taking the extra patrol time so the captain can send some manpower to the prison as backup.”
So wrapped up in the kitchen menu and her personal thoughts and wishes—thoughts about rekindling something much deeper than friendship with Conor—she’d forgotten the responsibility of his job and how dangerous it could be. The realization sent a shiver through her. “I hope everything works out.”
“I’m sure it will. Just part of the job. See you Monday.” He reached for her arm and kissed her cheek, then left, leaving her longing for more.
The man was bent on keeping things on a friend level, but had confused the heck out of her by kissing her like old times the other day.
So typical of this one-step-forward, two-steps-back dance they’d been doing since she’d moved home.
*
The following Monday night, Shelby knocked it out of the park, offering the perfect anniversary meal to Captain Worthington and his wife, Felecia. Conor knew firsthand since he and Mark and Laurel and his parents all enjoyed every course in the kitchen, while the couple had The Drumcliffe dining room all to themselves. Conor also made a point to keep his distance from Shelby, something that grated on her, but she had plenty to keep her distracted.
“She’s loving every bite,” Abby reported, upon her return from collecting the main course dishes. The desserts were all ready and cappuccinos made, waiting for table delivery.
“I’m so happy to hear it,” Shelby said, cutting a couple more pieces of pie, then on another plate two more pieces of cake for the Delaney clan to share.
But it seemed odd how everyone focused on how Mrs. Worthington liked the meal. Wasn’t this for both of them?
Abby had said the Worthingtons had decided to share both desserts, just like they had every course she’d made for the night. “But what about Captain Worthington, isn’t he enjoying it, too?”
“Oh, yes, but it’s the Mrs.’s opinion that really counts.”
Why? Because she was the one unhappy with the marriage? Shelby thought Conor wanted to do this special thing for his boss. Didn’t his reaction count? Conor shoved a huge bite of cake into his mouth at the exact moment she caught his gaze with questions on the tip of her tongue.
Things weren’t adding up, but she was still thrilled the night had been a success. Exactly for whom, she was no longer sure, though.
“Oh, my Lord, this is delicious.” Maureen was the first to swoon over the red velvet cake with confetti bits in the cream cheese frosting that added a celebratory flare.
“Mmm, like sex on a plate,” Laurel said, glancing at Mark and then at his parents, her eyes slightly widened, as she blushed bright red. “Also, I need to get some of your appetizer ideas for my B&B.”
Good subject change!
“Anytime. We can make plans to meet here in the kitchen and I can show you a few quick, easy, but delish recipes.”
“I’m definitely taking you up on that.” Laurel smiled before eating another bite of cake and rolling her eyes with the goodness.
Shelby couldn’t help but think she could become friends with a woman like Laurel. In fact, each week of her employment, she felt a little closer to the entire Delaney family. Except for Conor, who kept pushing her away.
Padraig appeared at the back entrance to the kitchen. “What’s all this? I thought we were closed on Mondays.”
“We are,” Sean said. “Didn’t you get the memo? It’s a private anniversary party for Conor’s boss. Come, have some food.”
“No one said a word to me,” he said, looking disappointed or confused. “I just had a sandwich at the pub, but you can cut me a piece of that pie. Tanks.”
“Yes we did. I personally told you about tonight last week,” Sean said, a touch of worry to his brow.
Was Conor’s grandda’s memory slipping? Now Shelby was worried, too. She glanced around the kitchen. The only ones missing from the Delaney clan were Daniel and his wife, Keela, but they had a good excuse—their new baby. Plus Brian, who was busy bartending in the pub. A warm and frighteningly inviting sensation tiptoed up Shelby’s spine. The group felt like a second family, and she was getting in way over her head. She’d come home to get back on her feet and move on. Then Conor had thrown a wrench in the works by forgiving her and being willing to be her friend. She’d hurt him to the core, and their supposed friendship made him a bit flinch-y, but he was trying. Honorable as always. And lately, running the kitchen at The Drumcliffe, she was finding that her big chef dreams seemed to be landing much closer to home. If only she could make Conor give her a second chance.
*
An hour later, when the group cleanup effort was finally done, Conor put the largest pots back in their spots on the highest shelves.
“Hey,” Shelby said, at his back. “Will you walk me home?”
Mark, Dad and Grandda helped move the tables in the dining room back to their regular places, and Mom and Laurel were loading the last of the dishes to be washed. All looked to be under control, except for his heartbeat. Did he want to walk Shelby home? Yes! Would it be wise? No! Should he walk Shelby home anyway? He wasn’t sure. But she’d worked so hard for his personal cause, which also secretly happened to be her cause, so he’d go with his gut.
“Sure. After all that great food, I could use some fresh air.”
Felecia and the captain had been so appreciative of the special evening when they’d left, Conor thought his arm might be shaken off his shoulder. Still, it felt good to do something extra-nice for someone, even if there were some ulterior motives and lots of rewards, as in also having a great meal. Who but Shelby would think up lobster and pork bellies over lo mein noodles? Genius!
Mrs. Worthington had also given Conor a meaningful wink when she’d said good-night. “You’ve got a good chef at The Drumcliffe.” She nodded, businesslike, and he hoped it meant she’d write Shelby up for her newspaper column. He didn’t dare ask and risk ruining the whole evening. It was their anniversary after all.
The one thing Conor didn’t like about heading out with Shelby was the knowing look that passed between his parents. He swore, sometimes they were as bad as his grandfather.
The late April air was brisk and cut through his polo shirt, making him think Shelby must be freezing. He thought about putting his arm around her, then realized she’d come prepared with a hoodie sweatshirt. An odd mix of disappointment and relief confused him, as did all things with Shelby. They walked in companionable conversation. Her going over the meal and how everything came out exactly the way she’d hoped.
“I’ve told you before how talented you are,” he said. “You should be working in some big city where you’d get noticed.”
The look she returned was not what he expected. The excitement had left her face and she got quiet.
“I’m just being honest, Shelby.”
“But I just got here. Do you want to get rid of me already?”
“Things are different now. You know that.”
“I thought what we all shared was different, but in a good way. It felt great to be a part of the Delaney team tonight. Why are you always pushing me away?”
She had the nerve to ask him that? “Me pushing you away? You were the one who didn’t show up.”
She took a deep breath and attempted to walk faster than him, obviously forgetting how much longer his legs were than hers.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Okay? That was a low blow. I’ll stop bringing it up.”
“But you’ll never stop thinking it. I blew it. I know. I was just kind of hoping that after tonight, especially after tonight, we could start to move past that.”
He slowed a bit, and she waited for him to get in stride with
her again, a hopeful expression in her eyes. “I can’t guarantee anything.”
She shrugged. “Well, that’s better than a no.”
All the good feelings they’d shared for the entire evening had somehow been dragged out of the way, leaving them facing their old and tiring truth. He’d waited for her and she’d stood him up.
Still, something shifted in her eyes. She took his hand and pulled him along for the last block to her house.
“I know you probably would’ve rather been home with Benjamin tonight, so thanks for everything.”
She squeezed his hand as they walked toward her front porch. “I still get to sneak in his room and kiss his forehead and watch him dream, and I get to be the first person he hugs in the morning, too.”
The idea of having that with a child surprised Conor. A kid’s love had to be the purest form of love, long before all the complications of life set in. He’d found out how forgiving little kids were when he’d babysat for Laurel’s twins. All they wanted was him to like them, and anything he did was like the greatest thing in the world. After getting over feeling ridiculous sitting on a tiny chair and pretending to play tea party with them, he’d enjoyed himself.
Shelby pulled him up the three stairs to her front door, then maneuvered him away from the porch light, to a darkened corner. “This is for believing in me,” she said, going up on her tiptoes and reaching for his neck, then planting those sweet lips on his.
And they were definitely getting used to kissing again. He reached around her back and pulled her close, kissing her deeper, teasing with his tongue, then wandering to her earlobe for a quick nibble and enjoying her quiet gasp. Memories of how quickly they could catch fire invaded his thoughts. Was it wise to take the kiss to the next level? Definitely not, but everything about her felt great, great like she always had, and he couldn’t resist. When he kissed her again, his hands drifted to her butt to pull her closer still, intent on letting her know what she did to him. A faint murmur escaped from her throat. It drove the point home, and he balked. He was nothing but a moth to flame, making out with Shelby again. And he was the one bound to get hurt. Not her. Why let history repeat itself?
“I should be the one thanking you,” he said, easing up with his hands, pulling away just enough to use his mouth for something other than making out. Trying not to be obvious. “You knocked it out of the park tonight.” Like right now with that kiss.
Instead of kissing him again, she studied his eyes, hers moving back and forth over the bridge of his nose, like she was working up the gumption to say something. It would be easy to kiss her again, but he knew they shouldn’t keep this up, that it could lead to her bed. He was the one who needed protecting where Shelby was concerned.
“What do I have to do to win back your trust?” She’d obviously sensed his hesitation, and there was the hint of frustration in her whisper. He owed her the truth and took a moment to give it.
“Erase the past. I can’t see beyond that to trust you again.”
“You want me to erase my kid?” she blurted, appalled by his statement.
“Not that part, of course I didn’t mean that.”
“Because he’s the whole reason I let you down.”
“No, Shelby, you let me down by getting involved with someone and forgetting about our promise.”
She dropped her hands from his shoulders and backed up. “I never forgot it. But I did get distracted. I’ve said I’m sorry over and over.”
“And I believe you. For the record, I even like Benjamin. It’s just…”
“That I can’t erase all the rest. Right?”
With tremendous regret, he had to come clean. “Right.”
She pulled completely away. “So you and I are impossible.”
What could he say that he hadn’t said already?
She walked backward toward her door, dug in her pocket for the key. “Good night. Thanks for walking me home.” Then, as quickly as she could, she let herself in.
And Conor stood staring at the door until his pulse slowed down and his weak legs were ready to walk again.
Chapter Seven
It was impossible. Shelby could never win back Conor’s trust, he’d said so just now on her front porch before she’d left him standing in the dark. Which meant any hope for a relationship was lost.
After checking in on Benjamin in the tiny sewing room now turned into a toddler haven, and saying good-night to her mother, who was reading a book in bed in the master bedroom, Shelby fell on her mattress and cried. Silently, so her mother wouldn’t hear. Mom could never stand to see her sad, and boy, was she. Tears streaked across her cheeks and pooled on her pillowcase. Coming home and facing the man she’d left behind had been the second scariest part of her life, after having a baby in a big city all by herself. She should’ve come home immediately when she’d found out she was pregnant, maybe she could have prevented this whole fallout, but she’d been headstrong and determined to handle her mistakes by herself. She’d expected Conor to understand.
Wrong! And what was she thinking, that he was perfect or something?
She shook her head—she may have made some humongous mistakes, but she’d never think of Benjamin as being one. He was the best thing to ever happen to her. More tears flowed over the sorry circumstances since returning to Sandpiper Beach.
She should be riding high from the success of the night—the anniversary dinner was near perfection. But Conor had managed to rip away the dream that mattered most. There was no way to erase the past. It’d made her who she was today.
Unable to sleep, she turned on the light and, wanting to find a few of the memories she was supposed to erase, decided to rummage through her old closet. Mom had kept so much of the stuff she’d left behind.
She had to push the wooden desk chair into the definitely-not-a-walk-in closet, to reach the shelves where several boxes had been placed. Architects didn’t plan for much closet extravagance in the kind of 1930s California bungalow she’d grown up in. But after living in New York for the past ten years, her bedroom and closet felt like a palace, and she didn’t even have to share the small room with her son.
She pulled down the first long plastic-lidded box, put it on her bed and rummaged around inside, only to find old report cards dating all the way back to elementary school. Are you kidding, Mom? There were achievement awards—probably every single one she’d ever received—term papers and projects, art projects from when she was five. She laughed. On and on. Underneath it all she found a stack of school class pictures, from first grade and up. In the sixth-grade graduation picture, her being short, she stood in the front row looking ridiculous with bangs nearly covering her eyes and straight hair long past her shoulders. It was almost blond back then. Two rows behind her was Conor with the tall kids, and he towered over everyone. She’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He looked cocky and confident and she seemed completely dorky. It made her laugh, remembering she’d regularly beat him at tether ball. It was all in the angle when hitting it, and for once her being short was the advantage. Man, he had to have taken heat about that from his super jock friends.
On to the next box, which had an abundance of baby items, and since Benjamin was a boy, she didn’t spend much time with that box. The third box had more of her personal things. Old diaries. Wow, she’d forgotten how diligent she’d been about telling her various diaries everything going on in her life, like it really mattered. Again, she smiled, holding one in bright pink covered in white hearts close to her chest. She didn’t dare open it because each and every one after the age of ten would have focused on Conor Delaney, the “man she’d marry one day.”
An ache centered in her chest. Talk about lost dreams. Her smile quivered and more tears flowed.
At the bottom of the storage bin she found an eight-by-ten wooden box with a lid that fit imperfectly. Like something made in wood shop, which she’d never taken, preferring to use her class electives for the few cooking courses hidden in the family and consume
r sciences department way back in middle school. Even then she knew what she wanted to be. On the back of the unevenly stained box, the letters CD were carved. Conor Delaney.
As her heart got infected by the ache in her chest, she inhaled the scent of the musty wood and memories rushed through her. Maybe it was from crying, but her head went woozy with those thoughts. He’d given it to her in eighth grade, the year they’d first tried out kissing. Her fingers fumbled to open the box, only then remembering what she’d deemed special enough to keep inside. A wallet-sized picture of him in tenth grade that was signed, “Love ya, Conor.” Suddenly she channeled the moment he’d given it to her, and how thrilled she’d been. That summer she let him feel her up, not that there was much to feel, but man, he seemed really excited about it.
More grins, wet ones, along with the mixture of feelings coursing through her. Old innocent times, when she lived safely tucked away in her town and school. Like a snow globe, but of the beach. The hardest part of her life had come early when her parents fought all the time and eventually got divorced when she was eight. Those were sad times, but she and her mother had made the most of it. And though her father had cheated on her mother, she’d never bad-mouthed him in front of Shelby. Though she’d eavesdropped on many of her parents’ heated phone calls, and remembered being scared. Like she and her mom might become homeless or something without Dad. She’d sworn that when she grew up and loved someone, they’d never argue like that. As she got older and learned the truth about her parents’ divorce, then firsthand experienced her father’s disinterest, she formed her own opinions about the man. About men in general. She hadn’t gotten the kind of dad she’d hoped for, and Benjamin wouldn’t have the dad he deserved. That was how life worked.
Dear Diary, Conor would never be that way. She’d distinctly remembered making an entry or a dozen like that years later when she’d first started crushing on him.
A few special letters and birthday cards were bundled together, many of them from Conor, and… Oh, my God! The ring. The Claddagh ring he’d given her in eleventh grade was in a tiny black velvet drawstring bag. She picked it up, turned it around, remembering the special meaning. It was delicate as a glass wing butterfly, and it wasn’t just the silver braiding, or the design, with the crown, heart and clasping hands, that made it so special. The meaning extended all the way to which hand and what direction it should be worn. She squinted to remember. In a person willing to consider love with another, the tradition was to wear the ring on the right hand with the crown pointing away from the heart. When he’d given it to her, she wore the heart pointing inward, because that meant they were in a relationship. If the ring was meant as an engagement, it was worn on the left hand, crown pointing out. She remembered secretly wearing it on her left hand when no one was around to see, pretending Conor had asked her to marry him, then daringly pointed the crown inward, toward her heart, imagining how happy they’d be married.
Reunited with the Sheriff Page 11