But Taylor’s return meant there was no need for Brynn to stick around. There would be a few loose ends to tie up after the festival, but as of the middle of next week, she would have no reason to remain in Comeback Cove.
Snuggled deep in Old Faithful’s embrace, she opened her laptop with thoughts of finding...she didn’t know what. Distraction, definitely. Hope? That was probably too much to ask for.
She scanned the messages, deleting the ones asking for her assistance in acquiring money from Nigeria and opening the most pressing of those related to the festival. Nothing that couldn’t wait until the morning. When the Northstar ones had been set aside she was left with a reminder from her mother that Trent’s birthday was coming up, a good-luck message from Libby and one from Paige. Her maternity leave plan had been approved. Brynn could start anytime after June fifteenth.
Brynn sipped her tea slowly, trying to soothe the tightness in her stomach. She had liked Paige’s work. Liked the company and the other people working there. And they were located not far from Kingston, which was always a bonus, as was the salary. Plus, it would be a chance to reconnect with and lend a hand to Paige and her growing family.
But the tug was missing.
“I don’t want to go,” she whispered to the screen, to Old Faithful, to any deities that might be listening. “I want to stay.”
The words were out of her mouth before she really grasped what she had said. But they were still sounding in her ear when the impact hit her so strongly that she bolted upright, almost knocking her tea to the floor.
She wanted to stay.
Always before, by this point, she was ready for new faces, new adventures. Not this time. This time, the thought of packing up her hatchback and hitting the road, even to family members who needed her, made her want to rip up her résumé and slash all her tires and glue her shoes to a patch of ground right here in Comeback Cove.
For the first time ever, leaving—even for family—felt wrong. Because no matter how much she cared about Paige and all her cousins and brothers and everyone else, the family she wanted was here.
But Hank didn’t think she was capable of staying. He thought she had hurt his family. He wanted nothing more to do with her.
She closed the laptop and rubbed Old Faithful’s worn leather arm. “What am I going to do?”
Her tea was cold and she was stiff from sitting. She set the laptop aside, pulled herself from the depths of the chair and took her teacup to the sink. Maybe if she kept her hands busy, her mind could wander freely and come up with a miracle.
Hey, it was worth a try.
She put her laptop back in her briefcase. Checked to make sure the folder with her notes was still there. Ran through the day’s agenda in her head, tossed in a couple of nut bars that would stand in for lunch and grabbed her dance notebook.
“One more night for you.”
On a whim, she flipped through the pages. Everything was here—the list of song possibilities, the steps she’d had to write down because she didn’t know how else to remember them, the lineups that she had rearranged more times than she cared to remember. The history of her time here in Comeback Cove could be found in those lineups—the ones that included Ian, the ones without Taylor but with all the Norths, the new one with Ian but without Taylor and Carter...
She stopped. Flipped back through the pages. Remembered Moxie’s words about good things coming from bad, about no one being able to predict love. Remembered Hank in his kitchen offering her Easter candy and saying he would want to keep seeing her if she stayed.
Hank had said that leaving was what she did best. And yes, she had panicked when she realized she was falling in love with him. Things got intense and she got scared and she had pushed Taylor to end things with Ian, knowing full well that to do so would mean an end to her and Hank. But that had turned out to be untrue. She still loved him. She still wanted to be with him.
She wanted to stay with him.
And that, she realized with a lightness in her heart, was what made her different from her father. He had seen trouble, walked away and never come back. But even though she had set things in motion, she hadn’t wanted it to end. In fact, the only things pushing her to leave now were her plans with Paige and the thought that she couldn’t be in Comeback Cove with Hank.
Her father would say that staying now would be too hard, too intense. But she wasn’t him. And even though seeing what he had done to her mother and their family had left her wary of Cupid’s arrow, she didn’t have to let that fear push her away from the place that she knew was right for her.
She had told Millie to walk away from a bully. She’d preached the gospel of accepting and moving on. But what had she done? She had used that as an excuse to walk away from places, from people, before she could grow too attached. She had let the lingering effects of her father’s cowardice come between her and the best thing that had ever happened to her. It was like she’d handed over all control of her life to a man who had turned his back on her when she needed him most.
“The hell with that.”
She wasn’t her father. She was good at a lot more than leaving. Like facing down a challenge. Helping people find new solutions to problems like hosting a festival or staffing a maternity leave. Planning.
She might not be able to make Hank want her again, or believe that she was capable of staying. But she could help him see that she had been acting from good intentions. That she had been trying to help his family, not hurt them.
It was a start. The first step in standing her ground.
No more faking it. It was time to get real.
She put the kettle on for another cup of tea, grabbed her notebook again and began planning.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HANK WAS IN THE Grenadier cabin, helping people from the Comeback Cove Historical Society unpack the displays of period costumes, when he noticed Brynn hovering in the doorway. To tell the truth, he sensed her presence before he saw the historian lady smile and wave. He knew it was Brynn before he turned around. Knew, and tried to suppress the jolt of pleasure that came with the realization that she was near.
It was like trying to change the course of the river with a stick and some leaves. It might work eventually, but it would be a hell of a long time coming.
He braced himself and turned to face her. Not to look at her, though he couldn’t keep himself from noting the dark circles beneath her eyes or the way she managed to appear bubbling and efficient despite the fatigue that was as obvious as the deep turquoise of her shiny T-shirt. She looked exhausted and excited and eager, all at once, and when he remembered other times he’d seen that mix of emotions in her, he had to glance away so no one could read the pain he knew was showing in his eyes.
“Hi, guys!” She ventured into the room, fussing over the outfits, asking questions about lace and material and other things that left him wondering how she knew so much about so many different things. She was more of a sponge than anything that ever came out of the ocean. She had certainly soaked up as much of him as he could give her. When he remembered being on the receiving end of that focus—
Stop. He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. He had cabins to run, a daughter to raise, a family to help. He couldn’t afford to waste any energy or emotion or—or anything on memories and dreams. Even if he did wish with every breath that he could push Historian Lady out of the cabin and lock the door and pull Brynn down to the floor the way she had done to him, right here, mere days earlier.
“Hank?”
For a second he thought he was imagining her voice. He’d certainly done that enough over the past few days. But no—when he tilted his head in her direction, she was watching him, stepping toward him.
“Could I see you outside for a minute, please?”
Oh, no. Alone with Brynn was a dangerous place.
“What do you need?”
“I have to go over some things with you.”
He grabbed a box, deliberately turning in her direction so she would need to step back. “Fire away.”
She glanced at Historian Lady and back at him. “Outside would be better.”
“I’m busy.” And dying inside, but there was no way in hell he was going to let her see that. He might have blown everything else but he still had the cold comfort of his pride.
Historian Lady, who had been watching the interaction with a bright smile and eyes that were a little too curious, looked at Brynn and seemed to make up her mind. “Oh, my. I do believe I left some notes in the car. I’d better go get them before I forget again. I’ll be back in about ten minutes, Hank. Could you stay with the clothes, please, to make sure nothing happens to them?”
“I don’t—”
“Of course he will,” Brynn said. “We’ll take good care of things, Mrs. Collins. You go right ahead.”
As soon as the older woman had departed—carefully closing the door behind her—Hank snorted and turned away. “How much did you pay her to conveniently forget her notes?”
“No payment needed. She’s Casey’s child-care provider. She adores me, and I think she’s amazing.”
Trust Brynn to already know more people in town after four months than he did after a lifetime.
“Tonight is the final rehearsal to get Ian worked into the dance.” She set a worn blue notebook on the nearest box. “I can’t be there. You’ll need to lead things.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
He turned back to the boxes. “Forget it.”
“You know the steps. You know the music. There are detailed instructions.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s enough that I’m doing the damned dance. I’m not going to try to lead everyone tonight. Give it to... I don’t know. Cash, maybe.”
“Cash isn’t here right now. Neither is Moxie or Ian or your parents. You are the only one, and, believe it or not, I don’t have time to hunt people down.” She picked up the notebook and shoved it in his direction. “Take it. Pretend you’re someone else, if that’s what you have to do to get through it. Maybe you can talk Millie into leading it. But I need to know I can count on you.”
There was an underlying edge to her voice that made him decide it was wiser to agree than to risk pushing her over whatever cliff she was on.
“Fine.”
Some of the tense lines around her eyes disappeared. “Thank you.”
He shoved the book into his toolbox, putting aside the warmth that had sprung up inside him at making her world a bit easier, and squatted in front of it. Brynn stayed in the center of the room. He didn’t need to see her to know that her eyes were tracking his every move.
“Something else?”
Her deep breath seemed to pull all the oxygen out of the cabin. “Yes. Could you give Millie a message from me?”
He grabbed a screwdriver he didn’t need and stared at it. “Depends what it is.”
“Fair enough.”
Footsteps told him she was coming closer. He braced himself for her voice, her touch. Instead, she knelt beside him. From the corner of his eye he caught the deep blue of her jeans, the brighter top that clung and curved, the way her fingers twisted together on her lap.
“Please tell her that when I said she should walk away from Noelle, I was wrong. Leaving... There are times when it’s right. This wasn’t one of them.”
Deep in the muddle of longing and sorrow and hurt and want and crazy love swirling inside him, one piece stilled. Hope reared its stupid, persistent head.
Get real, North.
“Easy to say.”
“Harder to do. I know. And I know I’ve been kind of boneheaded about that. But you can tell her that I’m not as smart as...as other people.” Her voice dropped. “And that sometimes, people don’t even know they’re afraid until it slaps them in the face.”
She was afraid? Brynn?
He didn’t dare say anything, certain that if he tried, all reason would be hijacked by the voice urging him to let it go, believe her, tell her you love her. Maybe if his family hadn’t been involved...maybe if he hadn’t already carried Millie through one desertion...maybe if it were only him and his heart on the line...
A small sigh escaped her. “Okay.” She pushed to her feet. “Thanks again for taking over tonight. The sound guys and the vendors and I all owe you.”
That was rich. She owed him?
He set the screwdriver back in his toolbox and pawed sightlessly through a collection of nails to keep his hands busy. The vibration of her departing steps echoed through him.
“Hank?”
He risked a glance over his shoulder. She stood in the doorway, fingers twisted together. For the first time ever she seemed uncertain. Vulnerable. Scared.
“I don’t think I ever told you, but before everything happened, Moxie offered me a permanent job at the dairy. Given everything that I knew was coming down the pike, I said no.”
Hope peeked out from behind a wall of fear. He tried to push it back into place.
“I thought I was turning her down because of Taylor and everything, but since then, I’ve figured out that Millie wasn’t the only one being bullied. Except she was smart enough to know it was happening. I was kind of a clueless participant.”
What the hell?
“So I decided that I wasn’t going to let my life be run by some irresponsible idiot anymore.”
“You’re not—” He blurted the words out, twisted to look at her more directly, then realized what he was doing and shut both his eyes and his mouth.
A soft, short laugh surrounded him. “Actually, I was talking about my father. But thanks.”
Her father?
A man who’d had one curveball after another tossed at him over the past few weeks should have learned how to anticipate and duck by this point. Seems he was a slow learner.
“Anyway, my point is...this morning, I told Moxie that if the offer was still good—you know, considering all that has happened—I would like to take the job. Because it turns out...” Her voice cracked.
So did a piece of his heart.
“It turns out I really want to stay here in Comeback Cove.”
She wanted to stay?
Thank God he was squatting. It made the dizziness that much less dangerous.
“I thought you had plans. Maternity leave for your cousin, Moxie said.”
“Yeah, well, when I called to tell her I might not be able to do it, she said she had just decided she wasn’t going back after this baby.”
His hand tightened around a fistful of nails. “What did Moxie say?”
“She is, understandably, not quite as enthusiastic about the idea as she was when she made the offer. And she’s kind of distracted today. Also understandable.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “She’s going to get back to me.”
Oh, God. He knew what that meant.
Moxie was leaving this up to him.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, alone at his kitchen table, Hank thumbed through Brynn’s notebook. His ham sandwich sat untouched on the table and the beer he’d allowed himself as a reward for making it through Brynn’s revelations intact sat untouched.
She wanted to stay.
It made no sense. Why had she waited until everything fell apart? Why did she want to stay here, where her name would be associated with one of the biggest gossip-worthy events to hit town since Heather walked out?
Why now, when he knew exactly what he felt for her and how much was on the line by even thinking that they might have a chance after all?
It had taken every bit of strength to stop himself from saying anything more after her bombshel
l, to keep himself parked by his toolbox when she made a funny little noise and whispered goodbye and walked out the door. He’d waited for a slow count of five before jumping to his feet and watching out the window as she walked slowly up the path. Away from him.
Yet she said she wanted to stay.
He flipped a page, ran his thumb over the notes she’d scribbled beside her stick-figure lineups. Maybe her decision had nothing to do with him. After all, she had a brother here, a nephew, Taylor. Family.
Family.
At that first meeting when Taylor had proposed they hire Brynn, she had said that Brynn was all about family. He’d seen that himself. Family determined all her actions, guided her every move. She could well be choosing to stay here because of her family.
His gut told him there was more.
And what had she meant when she said that she’d been letting her father control her life?
He grabbed the beer, let about half of it slide down his throat. The woman had turned him inside out since she’d arrived. In the past weeks he’d learned that no one was who he’d thought they were—that even his own brothers were hiding things. The ground beneath his feet seemed so shaky these days that he might as well be in California.
But for a while there, before it all fell apart, he had been happy.
He shoved the beer aside, grabbed the sandwich, turned to the notebook. Sitting here thinking was only making things worse. He had people running all over his grounds and lights he had to install and now, on top of everything, a new dance lineup to learn so he could freakin’ teach it tonight. All so he could show his kid that you couldn’t let some idiots keep you from doing what you wanted.
Except it was more than that now.
He shook his head and focused on the notebook. In the first pages, the Norths had been merely Xs on the page, gradually progressing to stick figures with names and notes. Move Millie up front—cute. Moxie hips? Hank=great butt. Make him shake it.
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