by J. L. Berg
“Oh, shit,” I muttered, reading further.
When interviewed, the employee, Sadie Howlett, said she didn’t want to be treated any differently just because she was dating the boss.
“Wait, what the fuck?” I had to read that last part twice, my mind reeling.
Sadie?
Who the hell was Sadie?
Restroom.
We met in a restroom! Right before the meeting!
Oh my gosh, she was the newbie.
Well, that was quick.
Says the woman who is in love with another man.
Shut up, brain.
I scrolled down in the article, and sure enough, there was a picture of my former boss and lover with the woman I’d met in the restroom—Sadie Howlett.
Maybe she was the one who sent the email?
The moment my mind went there, I immediately shut it down.
Because, really, what did it matter?
Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t. But either way, it didn’t change what was happening in my life, right now.
I’d moved on.
Shaking my head, I stuffed the phone back in my pocket and went on my way.
I’d thought I’d feel more when I found out Lorenzo had moved on.
More of what? I didn’t know.
Anger or sadness maybe?
But the only thing I really felt was pity, because I knew what they had wasn’t love.
It was barely even lust.
Sadie was just the next distraction in a never-ending line Lorenzo kept to occupy himself. We were there to alleviate his boredom, and sure, he played the role well, making us feel special during our short little stint but we weren’t.
We were what we were.
An amusement.
Nothing more, nothing less.
And, eventually, Sadie would come to this sad realization, too. I only hoped she someday found someone who showed her the true meaning of love, as I had.
Just a few days ago, revenge had been my top priority. Revenge and finding a new job. I’d wanted to prove to whoever had sent that email that it didn’t faze me.
And, had I been that same girl I was then, this news would have rocked me to the core. Now, I couldn’t care less.
What a difference a few days made.
Well, that, and a hunk of a man. No, not just any hunky man.
The right man.
Wiping away the copious amounts of sweat that had gathered on my brow, I let out a happy sigh. “I need ice cream.”
“Are you talking to yourself?”
Nearly jumping out of my skin, I looked down to find a kid staring up at me. It took me a moment, but I recognized her as Cora’s little girl.
“Hey, aren’t you a little young to be out and about by yourself?” I asked, taking a look around.
She put her hands on her hips. “I’m almost seven,” she answered, as if this were all the explanation I needed.
“Um, okay. Hey, where’s your mom?” I asked, not really sure how to interact with kids, my only experience thus far being the few precious moments with Ruby, and she didn’t exactly talk much.
“Back there,” she said. “She’s slow.”
I looked to where she was pointing, and sure enough, there was Cora only a few houses back.
Taking another look down at Lizzie, I gave her a sideways stare. “Well, she doesn’t exactly have a scooter to help her out, does she?”
She merely shrugged. “Hey, you said you were going to get ice cream. So are we. Want to go together? I can tell you how they make it on the way.”
“How they make it? Don’t they just freeze the ingredients?”
“Oh, you’re gonna wish you hadn’t asked that question,” Cora said, giving me a quick wave as she finally caught up.
“Oh no,” Lizzie answered. “There are dozens of ways to make ice cream. Let me explain—”
“Actually Lizzie, why don’t you see how fast you can get to the end of the street? I’ll time you,” Cora suggested, giving me a look that said I owed her.
“Okay!” The small girl readjusted her helmet on top of her wavy dark brown hair and waited as her mom pulled out her phone.
“Ready?” Cora asked, looking down at what I assumed was some sort of stopwatch app.
Lizzie nodded.
“Set…go!”
Lizzie tore down the empty road as Cora smiled, turning to me with a satisfied look on her face.
“We have a few minutes to ourselves. I can’t promise that you won’t know all about ice cream rolling or the entire inner workings of an industrial ice cream maker by the time we leave the ice cream shop, but for now, we have some time to chat. How are you?”
I let out a small laugh. “Ice cream rolling?”
“Yeah, it’s this super-trendy thing where they pour out the liquid cream on a—you know, never mind. How are you?”
“Fine,” I answered automatically, as most of us did. But then I stopped myself and thought about it, and I ended up blurting out, “My family doesn’t like the guy I’m dating. Or at least, they’re not sure about him. Not entirely.”
“And you’re upset about this? I mean, you care what they think?”
I turned to look at her. “What? Of course I do!”
She gave a little shrug. “I’m sorry,. I didn’t mean any offense. It’s just that you always seem so self-assured and fearless. I mean, the first time I met you, it was via FaceTime while you were walking through an airport somewhere in Italy, I think.”
“Milan,” I clarified.
“And you seemed like nothing bothered you, so I wasn’t sure if something like this would affect you.”
“Being confident at work is nothing compared to my family,” I said. “And, besides, my career imploded last week, so that tenacity you remember? It’s a little shaken at the moment.”
“What? Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.”
I gave a quick wave of my hand. “It’s fine. I had it coming. Besides, new opportunities are bound to happen, right?”
She eagerly nodded her head. “Do you have any leads?”
“Well, no,” I answered. “But I haven’t exactly started looking yet. I’ve been taking a bit of personal time.”
“You mean, Aiden time?” She grinned. “I saw the way you two were staring at each other at lunch that day, and Molly has filled me in with all the details since. Sounds like it’s going well?”
“Well, if Molly’s filled you in, I’m not sure you’ve gotten all the facts right.”
Her eyes were on Lizzie as she rode in circles ahead of us on her scooter. “She did express some concern, but honestly, she is mostly just glad to have you back home.”
I breathed in the fresh summer air. “It is good to be back. Even if I am sweating like a pig.”
“Yeah, I could definitely use some ice cream.”
“Me, too. Let’s pick up the pace,” I said.
We did and caught up to Lizzie, who had been doing figure eights and circles for some time. Although it practically killed me in this heat, the two of us ran after her, keeping pace with her scooter the rest of the way into town. I’d been keeping in shape since arriving in town but mostly in the morning when the sun had yet to rise and the temperature was at its lowest.
This was insane.
But the light at the end of the tunnel was the ice cream.
I ordered a triple scoop, having no shame in my giant cone as I devoured that sucker before it had even the slightest chance to melt.
“What kind did you get?” Lizzie asked, enjoying her double-chocolate cone with sprinkles.
“Cookie dough, strawberry, and caramel fudge,” I answered.
“That’s a lot of flavors,” she said as she licked her cone in perfect straight lines. She was kind of a strange kid.
I merely shrugged. “I couldn’t decide. How come you went with boring chocolate?”
“Because it’s the best.”
“That’s all?” I asked. “I was really hoping for some comp
licated answer with a hundred different facts.”
“Sometimes, the simplest answers are the best,” she said plainly.
We sat in silence, all three of us enjoying our treats in the shade. It had been a while since I was this far down on the main road in Ocracoke. Not much had changed, mind you, but I still took my time admiring my hometown. There were a few touristy shops clustered together nearby, and I found myself looking across the street to a sign in one of the windows.
“Hey, is Rita’s shop closing down?” I asked Cora.
“Yeah,” she answered with a touch of sadness. “At the end of the season. She’s retiring to Florida.”
“Man, I used to love that store. Do you mind if I pop in for a minute?”
“Not at all. We’ll wait for you.”
“Great, thanks.”
I was already halfway across the street by the time she’d answered, my cone devoured long ago. Beachcombers was a typical store for tourists, but Rita, the store’s owner, always carried a small line of clothing that I loved. It was the one place I could go on the island and pick up something to wear that didn’t have Ocracoke or the Outer Banks plastered all over it. It was still considered beachwear—it had to be to make a profit here—but it was trendy and cute.
Stepping into the little shop felt like a trip back in time. Very little had changed since my high school days. The inventory had updated here and there to keep with the times, but by and large, it was like walking into a time warp, especially when Rita herself appeared from the backroom. Dressed just as eclectic as ever in a bright polka-dot top and pink pants, the plus-sized beauty hadn’t aged a day.
“I heard you were back home!” she said, her voice high-pitched and full of excitement as she opened her arms, demanding a hug I was happy to give. “It’s been too long, Millie McIntyre! Why haven’t you come to visit me?”
“I’m so sorry, Rita,” I apologized. “Time got away from me. I just heard about the shop,” I said.
Her face dropped. “I know; it’s a shame. But it really is time. I can’t keep up anymore, and the truth of the matter is, I don’t want to. I just want to be on the beach, drinking mai tais and not having a single care in the world.”
I laughed. “Well, Florida is the place to do that.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” she said, patting her short, dark curls back in place. “But enough about me. Tell me all about you. I hear Florida has been treating you well.”
I tried not to let the smile currently plastered on my face falter. “Um, yes,” I said. “Very well.”
“Well, I expected no less, sugar. I still remember you coming in here, grabbing pieces off the rack and making them your own. Remember that dress you bought, the same one as—”
“Suzy Mathers?”
She grinned. “Yes, wasn’t it for a dance?”
“Homecoming,” I clarified. “I asked her to take it back since I’d bought it first, and she refused.”
“So, what did you do?” she reminded me.
“I redesigned it,” I answered, remembering how many hours I’d put into that dress. By the end, it was unrecognizable and a hell of a lot better-looking than Suzy’s.
“I hope you’re still impressing people with those skills,” she said, giving me a final pat on the back as a group of tourists came through the door.
I swallowed hard, looking up at the wall of dresses and skirts she had, and thought back to the tired, old sketchbook on my office desk—the one that held my original sketches and designs.
The one I hadn’t touched in years.
Maybe it was time I dusted it off again.
I’d left my sketchbook in Florida.
Of course I had. Because, for the better part of the last seven years, I’d been helping other people succeed while I patted myself on the back and tried to convince myself a life of travel was indeed the life I had intended for myself.
I mean, who wouldn’t want to live out of a suitcase, have a closet most people would die for, and go to fabulous locations, day in and day out?
Sounds amazing, right?
It had been. For a time.
But I had been so busy, so completely immersed in what I was doing, that I didn’t realize everything I’d sacrificed for that amazing sounding life.
My family, friends, an actual existence outside of work.
And my dreams.
That sketchbook had begun to collect dust on the office desk I never sat at, and soon, I’d celebrated others’ success and forgotten about my own.
I’d forgotten about the girl who stayed up all night, redesigning a simple dress for homecoming into something extraordinary. I’d forgotten that sketchbook and all the wonderful ideas it had nestled inside. And I’d forgotten the woman I wanted to be.
But not anymore.
Marching back to the inn, I didn’t let my misplaced sketchbook deter me. Grabbing a blank notebook I found lying around the inn, I took it to the empty parlor and got to work.
Yep, I got right to work.
With a sharp pencil in my hand and a blank notebook, I let the designs flow.
“What the hell?” I said out loud.
“Something wrong?”
I turned to see a very sweaty, very sexy Aiden standing in the doorway. He’d just come in from the patio, and I smiled, happy that the shirt he’d left there was still absent from his body.
“I went for a walk,” I said. “And I came back with all this determination to sketch out some designs, and when I sat down just now, nothing. There’s nothing, Aiden. I’m a failure. All my mojo is gone.”
His hands fell to my shoulders, massaging away the tension I’d developed from the frustration I’d built throughout the day. I nearly groaned as his fingers worked my tired muscles.
“You can’t force creativity,” he said.
“You just did.” I pouted.
He chuckled behind me, deep and low. “Do you want to see what I accomplished today?”
“Yes, very much so.”
I really did. I was always curious when it came to Aiden’s work.
He pulled me off the couch, and I followed him to the backyard, toward my dad’s old shed.
“What the heck?” I said.
There before us was the same chunk of rock that had been delivered that morning.
“Did you do anything?” I asked.
He pulled me toward him, his hands wrapping around my waist. “Yes, I did actually.”
“Are you sure?” My eyebrow rose.
“Always the cruncher,” he sighed.
“I should have never used that stupid M&M metaphor on you. You’re going to use it on me for the rest of our lives.”
He just smiled. “Now, back to your sketchbook. Give it time. Have you tried doing something relaxing? That always helps me.”
“Do you have something in mind?”
Flipping me around, he gave me a wicked grin before bending over. It was the only warning I got before he abruptly tossed me over his shoulder, and the world went topsy-turvy.
“Aiden!” I screamed.
“No yelling.” He laughed. “This is supposed to be relaxing!”
“I’m upside down!”
“Yes,” he said. “Good for the blood flow. Now, grab the key out of my pocket. We’re going to take a shower.”
I did as he’d demanded, shoving my hand in his front pocket, not an easy task when I was upside down and being jostled around.
“Oh, careful.” He laughed as my fingers got a little too close to the family jewels. “Actually, move your hand a little to the right, love.”
Suddenly, Aiden froze in the middle of the foyer, his hand firmly on my ass, as my fingers, still in his pocket, crept toward his hardening cock.
“Uh, hello, Mrs. McIntyre.”
I lifted my head and found my mom staring back at me.
“Hey, Mom,” I said sheepishly.
Her eyes went briefly to Aiden’s hand and my ass before focusing back on mine.
“As much as it pains me to do so, I must remind you that the inn is a place of business and—”
“We’ll keep it behind closed doors, Mom,” I said, swatting Aiden on the behind like a prized steed.
“Lovely to see you again,” Aiden said, always the gentleman.
We left to my mother’s laughter ringing out behind us.
I’d laughed all the way back to Aiden’s suite.
His reaction had been a little less than amused, but after a little encouragement, I’d managed to get him back in the mood for a sexy and very relaxing shower for two.
“Remind me to thank my sister for springing for the dual showerhead. That thing is amazing,” I hollered to him from the bedroom as I rummaged through a few of the things I’d brought over earlier.
I’d all but moved in, abandoning my own room in favor of Aiden’s. We hadn’t really discussed this new living arrangement, but he’d seemed to be pleased when he saw the large stack of my clothes appear on his dresser this morning.
I hadn’t had time yet to organize any of it though, and it was proving to be a difficult process as the once tidy stacks were toppling over onto the floor while I tried to juggle the towel tied around my boobs and the too-tall tower of panties and shorts.
Silk was my ultimate downfall, and I was thankful Aiden was still in the bathroom drying off, as everything went tumbling to the floor.
Including my towel.
“Damn it,” I muttered, reaching for the towel as I bent down to pick up my mess.
I smiled to myself as I caught a glimpse of Aiden’s clothes strewed about nearby, remembering the way I’d ripped them off his sweaty body less than an hour earlier.
I let out a happy sigh.
Next to his shorts, a shiny black wallet had fallen out and faced upward toward the ceiling. Not wanting anything to fall out, I grabbed it, and with all the best intentions, I meant to set it on the dresser for him to pick up when he got out of the bathroom.
I never meant to look.
But something caught my eye, and I couldn’t help myself; I peeked.
There, beneath a clear plastic protector, was a driver’s license.
My brows furrowed in confusion.
He’d said he didn’t have a license. It was why I’d driven him around town that first full day and all the way to Mount Airy. Shaking my head, I tried to make sense of it. Maybe it was expired. Lots of people in New York had expired licenses, right?