Now Amelia sat on a stool at her parents’ kitchen counter, editing the photos, ready to upload them to Facebook. The scent of her mother’s chocolate cookies fragranced the house, guaranteed to call Ingrid’s children from afar. She had gone out to deliver the first gooey batch to John and Max, their fire pit rebuild turning into an overhaul of the entire beach area.
“Oh, my goodness, look what I found on the front stoop!”
Amelia turned toward her mother’s voice, only to find her face obscured by an array of six long-stemmed red roses wrapped in green paper and covered in cellophane. Ingrid set them on the counter. “Who are they from?”
Amelia searched through the bundle, produced a card. “They’re from Seth.” He’d signed it with just his name, bold, simple, and she found a smile for him.
“Wow, that’s sweet.” Ingrid retrieved a vase from over the sink, filled it with water, then returned to the counter, scissors in hand.
Amelia unwrapped the flowers and snipped off the ends, adding them one by one to the vase.
She hadn’t realized the quiet that settled into the room until she looked up. Her mother was watching her, an eyebrow lifted. “Care to elaborate?”
“He wants us to get back together,” Amelia said. “I . . . I don’t know.”
Her mother let the words sift through the air without comment. Amelia went back to selecting photos to upload, not sure what to think about the flowers.
“Those are nice,” her mother said from over her shoulder, referring to the photos. She set a glass of lemonade beside Amelia’s laptop, along with two cookies on a napkin. “What are they for?”
“Vivie asked me to take shots of the Sawdust Sweeties. It sort of got out of hand, but I captured some keepers.”
“The Sawdust Sweeties. They’ve held that competition for nearly thirty years. I remember wanting to enter years ago.” Ingrid began scooping cookie dough onto a pan for the next batch.
“Seriously? Mom, it’s a beauty pageant.”
“With a scholarship as a prize. Some girls pay for college that way.”
“I’ve always thought it was silly. Girls in Daisy Dukes, getting judged on their ability to twirl a baton?”
“Twirling a baton is harder than you’d think.” She put the cookies in the oven. Tossed her hot pads on the counter. “Seems like an ingenious way to pursue your dreams.”
If she had dreams left to pursue. These days, she seemed fresh out. Amelia checked her notifications and found a number of likes attached to her previous shots of the river. And over a thousand for the photo of Yulia standing on the rock, staring at the waterfall, her ribbons a bright red against the watery backdrop. Someone had left a link with a comment. Prize-worthy? Check it out.
She clicked through to the website. “Someone sent me a link for a photography contest called Capture America.”
“Really?” Ingrid came over to look, a cookie in her hand. “How does it work?”
“It looks like I submit pictures and the world votes on them. The photographer with the combined highest score after three rounds wins a cash prize. Wow, five thousand dollars.”
“Huh.”
Amelia returned to her photo, to the comment containing the link. “It was posted by Java Cup.”
“Someone at the coffee shop likes your photography apparently.”
Her mother’s words settled a sweet curl of warmth into Amelia’s bones. No . . . it couldn’t be, but . . . ?
“Wow, nice flowers.” This from Grace, who was coming down the stairs with Yulia, wearing what looked like new jeans and a sweater, her hair braided. “Who are they from?”
“Seth,” Ingrid said. “Yulia, would you like a cookie?” She picked one off the plate and handed it to the little girl.
“Trying to keep up with Roark, huh?” Grace said as she swiped one of her own.
Amelia frowned, and it took Grace a second before she followed up with, “Ames, did you not see the flowers in the entryway? They came earlier today. You must’ve walked right by them.”
“Oh, those were for Amelia?” Darek said, walking into their conversation from the resort office. “I thought Mom ordered them for the front entry for Mother’s Day.” He set his coffee cup in the sink, then went to the entryway.
“Two suitors?” Ingrid said. “My, my.”
“Mom, it’s not like that.”
“I think that’s exactly what it’s like,” Darek said as he brought in the vase of a dozen pink roses. “There’s a card here, which I gather Grace already read.”
“I was curious.”
Amelia retrieved it. Thinking of you, sweetie. Roark.
“Sweetie?” Darek said, reading over her shoulder.
She yanked the card away. “Darek!”
“I’m just sayin’ . . . ‘sweetie’? He sounds like either a Texan or a throwback from the seventies. Who calls their girlfriend ‘sweetie’?”
“I’m not his girlfriend.”
“Clearly,” Grace said, dumping out a puzzle for Yulia on the counter, then turning over the pieces. “Two deliveries of long-stemmed roses in one day? To have your problems.”
Darek shook his head. “I feel sorry for Seth.”
“What?” Grace said. “Are you kidding me? What about Roark? He came all the way over here to win her back—I think you need to cut him some slack.”
“Cut who slack?”
Amelia hadn’t heard Casper come in, but he was toeing off his shoes in the entry, dressed in a suit coat, tie, oxford shirt, and dress pants. Raina followed, carrying her daughter, Layla. Casper took the baby from her and walked into the kitchen. “Anyone want a baby kiss?”
“I’ll take that action,” Ingrid said and reached for Layla, untying her hat, then kissing her fat cheek.
“I was just defending Roark to Darek, who still, apparently, wants to run him out of Deep Haven.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Raina said, joining Casper in the kitchen. She set the diaper bag on the counter, began to root inside it. “Roark came all the way here, ready to apologize, and you all nearly crucified him.”
“He can’t be trusted,” Casper said in a tone that reminded Amelia that he’d seen exactly how Roark’s behavior had ruined her, for a time.
Yes, maybe she should keep that in the forefront of her mind. Still . . . “You guys don’t know him like I do. He can be trusted.” She held up a hand to Casper’s protest. “I overreacted in Prague.”
“So he didn’t step out on you with another woman?”
“We weren’t exactly dating—so no . . .”
Darek’s mouth tightened.
“And he said she was just a friend.”
Even to her, that sounded lame.
“Listen, if it weren’t for Roark, I might be human trafficked somewhere. He saved my life.”
Okay, she hadn’t meant for that information to leak out. But there it was.
Her mother stared at her, wide-eyed. “What are you talking about?” she said in a whisper that seemed to thunder through the room.
Amelia glanced at Darek, then back to her mother. “If I tell you, promise not to freak out and lock me in a tower?”
Silence.
It appeared that Darek might be contemplating that very action.
“Just for the record, it all ended well.”
Casper eased the baby from Ingrid’s grip.
“And it wasn’t really my fault.”
Grace kept turning over puzzle pieces, her expression grim.
“Fine. It was about a week after I arrived in Prague. My roommates heard about an art show across town and asked if I wanted to join them. I thought it sounded fun, and it was a Saturday night, and we didn’t have a lot in common, so I decided to go along. Turns out it was more of a graffiti show, with local street artists showcasing their styles in an old, giant warehouse. A band played a mix of funk and fusion—not my kind of music—and the minute I arrived, I knew I wouldn’t stay long. My roommates got drinks, started dancing, and well . . . I
’m not a great dancer, either.”
More silence. Not even a twitter from the audience.
Ho-kay. “So I stayed to watch the drinks. But somehow we ended up scattering, and after about an hour, I decided I wanted to go home. Problem was, I wasn’t sure exactly how we got there. So I went out and found a bus—thought it was mine—and ended up in the south end of the city. When it pulled into the terminal, long after midnight, I realized it was the end of the line. I got off thinking I’d find a bus route that led back to Lesser Town, where I lived, and saw that I’d managed to stray into the run-down part of the city. More graffitied cement buildings, feral dogs, trash trickling along the sidewalk in the wind. I walked for about six blocks looking for a different route and . . .”
“You were scared,” Ingrid said, her hand now fisted around a cloth on the counter.
“Yeah. And it got worse. A car pulled up, and the driver identified himself as a taxi, asked if I wanted a ride—”
“You didn’t—”
“I was desperate. And lost. It looked like a taxi, even had a permit in the window. But when I got in, he didn’t start the meter, and I realized . . .”
Ingrid pressed her hand over her mouth.
“I was really scared, and I didn’t know what to do, so I got out at the next light and just started running.”
If Amelia closed her eyes, the night could crawl over her: the sound of her boots on the sidewalk, the odor of garbage and sewer as she lost herself in alleyways and rutted, dark yards. The taste of fear, metallic and hot in her throat. “I hid behind a Dumpster and tried calling my friends. But no one answered. I’d only met Roark a couple times. On the Charles Bridge, and we had dinner once after class, but he seemed nice. He’d given me his number in case I needed anything, so . . . I called him.”
He’d answered on the first ring, with a simple Amelia. The way he said it, like he’d been waiting for her to call, was crazy, but she’d heard a calmness, a strength in his tone. It had reached right through her phone and stilled her careening heart.
She could still dredge up the tremor in her voice as she said his name. Still cringe at the way she burst into tears.
Still hear his simple, lifesaving words: Tell me where you are.
She didn’t know. So she went out into the street and described the landmarks, the stores, the street signs, sounding them out terribly.
He’d kept her on the phone, his voice soothing, as he got into his car and headed south, toward the bus terminal, then worked his way north, following her recollections, all the while telling her about being a new boy at Eton. Just his voice in her ear, soft, with the lilt of a knight, calmed her pulse, and yes, she might have fallen in love with him while huddled in her trench coat behind a Dumpster, avoiding the rats and tomcats.
She definitely gave him too much of her heart when he finally found her, pulling up right alongside her hiding place and venturing into the murky shadows.
“He came out into the night and searched for me,” Amelia said to her now-rapt audience. She left off the part where she’d flown into his arms, and the way he pulled her tight, his own breath just a little ragged as if she’d scared him too.
“He drove me home without a word of lecture—”
“Too bad,” Casper said.
“And never mentioned it again. Every Saturday night after that, he called to make sure I wasn’t sitting at home alone.”
Ingrid had folded her arms, leaned back against the counter. “There are some things a mother shouldn’t know.”
“I know. That’s why—”
“But this isn’t one of them. You should have told us, Amelia,” Ingrid said quietly.
“I didn’t want you guys to think I couldn’t take care of myself. That I was being reckless.”
“Seriously?” Darek turned away, shaking his head.
“Calm down, Dare,” Grace said. “She’s fine. You can’t hover over her, making decisions for her anymore. You have to let her grow up.”
He rounded on her. “Stupidity is not a sign of growing up!”
Ouch. Amelia scrambled for a retort—one that didn’t sound like she was a three-year-old—as the door closed in the entryway. Amelia saw her father come in, followed by a very grimy Max.
It gave Grace the time to regroup. “What would you prefer, Darek? That we lock her up? Forbid her from leaving the house?”
“What did I miss?” Max said.
John walked over to his wife, put his arm around her. Amelia couldn’t fail to notice her mother’s white-as-a-sheet expression.
“Oh,” Grace answered. “You just missed another infamous Neanderthal moment from the Christiansen boys. Apparently the women in this family aren’t allowed to think for themselves, make their own choices about the future.”
Max glanced at Darek, Casper. Swallowed.
“I, for one, am glad Roark is back. He’s a hero in my book. Dashing and handsome and not afraid to live dangerously, even if it cost him his heart!” Grace returned to fitting together pieces of the puzzle with Yulia, her hand shaking just a little.
Yeah, what she said. Only Amelia had the craziest feeling that perhaps Grace had stopped talking about her.
Clearly, however, Darek didn’t catch on. “Roark is just going to break her heart. He doesn’t belong here, and he’s muddying the waters. Everyone knows that Seth and Amelia belong together. They’ve been dating for years, and Seth’s a great guy.”
Darek’s words raked up Seth’s, still haunting her. He’ll leave once he breaks your heart again, and you’ll have no one.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to settle down with the woman you love,” Casper added. “Especially in Deep Haven.”
“But just because she made a mistake doesn’t mean she’s stupid, Darek,” Raina said, handing Casper a toy for Layla. Her gaze darted to Amelia. “I saw 007 down at the coffee shop. He’s very handsome.”
“So is Seth!” Darek said. “What is it with women and European men? He wouldn’t last one day in Deep Haven.”
“Seems to me he’s been here for a week already.” Ivy, Darek’s wife, had materialized, probably hearing the conversation all the way in town. She held baby Joy in a carrier against her chest and dropped her satchel on the floor. “And he’s something of a hero down at the courthouse. I stopped in today, and Kyle Hueston couldn’t stop talking about how Roark refused to come out of the icy water until they recovered the body.”
“Oh, for cryin’ in the sink,” Casper said. “Has everyone forgotten that he broke Amelia’s heart? That he’s the reason she dropped out of school and came home?”
“He’s not the reason I failed, Casper.” The words launched out of her. “I came home because—”
“The cookies!” Ingrid grabbed her hot pads and opened the oven. The acrid smell of burned dough seemed to hit everyone at once as she pulled the ruined, blackened cookies from the oven, slid them onto the stovetop. “Oh no.”
John went to open a window.
But Casper hadn’t taken his gaze off Amelia. She felt his eyes on her even as she wanted to yank back her words. He’s not the reason I failed. She didn’t exactly know when she’d come to that realization, but the words felt true, albeit raw.
For too long, she’d blamed Roark for cutting her trip short, for sending her home with a broken heart. But if she was honest, the truth could be unearthed from the quiet hour she’d spent in the dank alleyway, waiting for rescue.
She wasn’t the heroine of her story. She was exactly what Darek said. Stupid. Or more—foolish. And a coward.
Without Roark, she’d feared stepping outside, feared getting on the bus and ending up lost. She feared making a fool of herself every time she opened her mouth. Feared eating something that might make her sick. Feared, really, everything about Prague.
In every way, Roark had saved her from returning to Deep Haven a week after she’d left.
And in truth, without him, she’d never leave again. Maybe Darek was right. What was so w
rong with settling down with the man you loved in Deep Haven?
Amelia reached for a pink rose, pulled it out, smelled it. Slid off the stool. “I’m going to town. I have something I need to do.”
Three days seemed long enough for him to get the message. Worse, Roark had even seen Amelia peering into the Java Cup window yesterday as if looking for him. If not for a line of people at the counter, he might have wadded up his apron and taken off after her, catching up to confirm that she’d agreed to let him back into her life.
Provisionally.
Without the lies.
He set the benching bar on the rack, breathing for a long moment before he got up to add more weights. The weight room at the YMCA reeked of sweaty towels and slick rubber, all mixed with the cloying scent of chlorine drifting from the pool down the hall.
He’d had to admit he didn’t mind working at the coffeehouse. Kathy, his boss, let him run the counter, and he’d penciled into his brain the favorites of all the regulars. Jake Goldstein, local floatplane pilot, liked a tall cappuccino. Jorge, who captained the Fossegrim, a three-masted schooner for tourists hoping to sail along the rugged shore, preferred a frothy macchiato. And Roark always had a tray of hot black java ready for the early morning fishermen headed out to haul in the daily catch.
After he’d finished his shift today, he spent some time online, then decided he needed a vigorous sweat to leach the guilt out of his chest. Help him work free of the burgeoning sense that he should jump on the first flight over the pond and resign himself to the fact that he would muck this up.
With the anniversary of his nightmarish past, maybe pitching in the towel made sense. A guy on the wrong side of God’s grace had to keep a weather eye over his shoulder, keep one step ahead of catastrophe.
He could admit he’d run on adrenaline and heartbreak since returning to Prague to find Amelia gone, through his relentless search for her and his determination to niche out a place for himself in her town and win back her love.
But was it truly love? What if it had only been a fling? Not for him—but for her? He hadn’t exactly taken her words apart, examined them from all sides, but . . .
Of course. He was five years older than she was. An eternity, perhaps, to her. At twenty, she hardly wanted to settle down with a man who would be chained to his desk for the next decade. Sure, he’d shown her around Prague, but with the schedule his uncle plotted, he wouldn’t come up for air for a good three years. Even then, he might end up in Zimbabwe, manning a hotel under his uncle’s “train from the bottom” program.
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