by Blake, Toni
She watched now as Seth rolled over onto his back, peering up at the blue sky, today cloudless and flawlessly clear. “Ah, darlin’, I gotta tell ya—this is nice.”
“What’s nice?” She lay across the blanket from him, on her side, propped on one elbow.
“All of this. This place. This weather. You.” He shot her a grin. “Not in that order, mind you.”
She laughed softly. Liking him more and more. Almost wishing she didn’t. Wanting to stay wary. Zack would think it wise to be wary, crazy to be cavorting with him like this. Jealousy notwithstanding. And maybe he’d be right. She wondered vaguely for a moment what her grandma would do.
And she suspected she knew the answer. Kiss the scary one but stay with the safe one. And as far as she’d ever been able to tell, Gran had never harbored any second thoughts. She and Grandpa John had always been happy. Ace the hoodlum had apparently become a distant memory.
“Do you miss your father?” she asked without preamble.
Seth’s expression didn’t change—he appeared to be searching the sky for...something. “Less than I thought,” he told her. “I loved him. But I’m not sure I liked him much. There’s a difference.”
“I guess that does make it easier,” she said. “I’ve never really had that—love for someone I didn’t like. When Drew left me, I truly missed him. Because I truly enjoyed being with him. We laughed all the time. We found the same things funny, the same things smart. Sometimes, when I let myself think back on the relationship, I still can’t believe he did that to me.”
“Probably regrets that weakness every day of his life,” Seth suggested.
But Meg shook her head, feeling wistful as she tried to remember Drew’s face. “No—probably denies it instead. Probably put up some wall and never even lets himself think about it. Probably married with two kids, living in a big house in the suburbs, some kind of perfect life, and the people around him don’t even know he was ever engaged to a girl who got leukemia.”
“If that’s the case, you’re better off without him.” He glanced over at her. “You know that, right?”
She did, of course, so she nodded. But it still hurt sometimes to have felt so ultimately unimportant to someone she’d loved so completely. So she’d still missed him when he’d gone. Just as she missed her parents when she hadn’t seen them for a while—her sister, too. And if she was honest with herself, she missed Zack even now, darn it.
Yes, it was convenient not to have him around at the moment, given the circumstances, but despite what she’d told herself the other day, deep down she still missed his company. She missed his quiet masculinity. And the fact that it was simply easy to be with him at this point in their relationship. She hated realizing that, but couldn’t change it.
“Sometimes I feel like I ran away,” she suddenly confessed. “Coming here. Staying here. Like maybe I hid here—and have been hiding all this time. I don’t want to be a person who runs from things.”
Seth glanced up at her. “Guess by that logic you could say I ran away, too.”
“It’s not the same.” She shook her head.
“Sure it is,” he argued. “When you boil it down, I left a life that didn’t feel good to me. I went someplace that felt better. Nothin’ wrong with that. Nothin’ wrong with trying to find what feels better, staying someplace that feels good. Seems to me it’s the opposite that makes no sense. What would be the point in staying someplace you’re not happy?”
When she didn’t reply, he went on. “I can see why you stayed, darlin’. This place feels good to me. Maybe better than any place I’ve ever been.”
“It’s cold in the winter. And in the fall. And in the spring.”
He laughed and added, “Good in other ways besides the weather.”
And she wasn’t sure if he meant the landscape—the vast waters and the lighthouses and the bicycles and the pastel-colored buildings...or her. Or maybe even something else entirely.
But she decided not to ask. Because it was good enough simply to know she was part of it, part of why he liked being here. When you broke it all down, it was just nice to be appreciated and wanted in this world.
* * *
HOURS LATER, MEG and Seth walked up Harbor Street to see Suzanne approaching from the other direction, a gallon of paint in one hand, a bag from the hardware store in the other, the handles of paintbrushes visible.
“Paint party time!” she said as they met. “You must be Seth—I’m Suzanne. Thanks for being shanghaied into working for free tonight.”
Seth chuckled in his good-natured way. “I’m in it for the burgers after,” he teased. “And the company of two pretty ladies.”
“You were right,” Suzanne said with a teasing grin, looking to Meg and then back to Seth. “She said you were smooth.”
He let out another laugh. “Sincere,” he claimed. But Meg could tell he knew damn good and well just how smooth he was.
Just then her eye was drawn past Seth to Beck Grainger, exiting Dahlia’s across the street. Without forethought, she raised her hand in a wave. “Beck!”
The tall, handsome man glanced over, smiled—and headed their way. “Looks like this is the fun side of the street.”
Meg smiled, thinking it was a generously playful comment given how coolly Suzanne had behaved toward him so far. “Fun if you like to paint,” Meg said.
Beck’s eyes dropped to Suzanne’s paint can, and despite that she hadn’t even acknowledged him, he asked her, “What are you painting?”
And as before, when she didn’t answer immediately, Meg jumped in. “The picnic table behind the flower shop.” She motioned vaguely in that direction. “It’s an annual thing, from back when my aunt owned the place. We pick a new color every year. This year’s is—” she bent over to read the label on top of the can “—hot lavender.”
He let out a good-natured laugh and said, “I didn’t know lavender could be hot, but I’m intrigued.”
“Welcome to Summer Island,” Meg teased, “where the nights are chilly but the pastel colors are sizzling.”
Beck introduced himself to Seth, and as they shook hands, Seth followed suit.
“Well,” Beck said, addressing them all again, “if you have an extra brush, I’m happy to pitch in.”
“I only bought three,” Suzanne announced. And it was all Meg could do not to cringe. She wanted to strangle her friend. And sensed Seth teetering on the edge of offering to go get another at the inn, praying he wouldn’t. Since, while it was tempting to continue to try to include Beck, she was afraid Suzanne would only become ruder. If that was even possible.
“Well then,” Beck said, “you guys have a nice night—I’ll let you get to it.”
And then he was walking away. And the three of them stood quietly. Until Seth said, “Did I miss something?”
“I’m socially misfit with handsome men who want to spend time with me,” Suzanne replied like it was a totally normal thing to say.
It took him a second to form a reply. Which came as a simple, “Why is that?”
Suzanne shrugged. “Long story. Dead husband, came here to be alone—and don’t ya know there suddenly has to be this ridiculously good-looking man who wants to chat me up. Come on, let’s paint. I’ll turn on some music, pour some wine, and it’ll seem fun again.”
As they followed her in through the front door of Petal Pushers, Meg and Seth exchanged glances, and she knew they were both back to thinking about people who came here to escape something. And whether or not that was good or bad.
* * *
THEY WERE ON the second coat of paint, and second glass of wine, when Dahlia came walking around the corner of the building. “Heard there might be a little party over here,” she said.
Meg’s first thoughts: She feels left out since the three of us usually get together more than we have lately. And she’s just noticed ther
e’s a man here.
“This gives new meaning to a paint and wine party,” Dahlia went on, but her smile was now stiff at best. She looked to Seth. “I’m Dahlia—I run the eatery across the way. And I’m also Zack’s aunt. Have you met Zack?”
Okay, so Suzanne wasn’t the only person creating awkward moments around here tonight. And it was a shame, because the Beck incident notwithstanding, they’d been having a nice time. Suzanne and Seth had hit it off well and the painting had indeed been fun. It was a pretty good little party, if people would stop trying to ruin it.
“Yep—couple times, just briefly,” Seth answered. Then stepped forward to offer her his hand, the one not holding a paintbrush with lavender bristles. “Seth Darden.”
Her handshake was brisk and short. “You’re Meg’s handyman, I believe.”
“Yes ma’am.”
A nod, equally brisk and short.
“Want some wine?” Suzanne asked, apparently trying to relax the situation. “We’re almost done, but heading to the inn to grill out if you want to join.”
“No,” Dahlia said. “Thanks, but just thought I’d poke my head in to see what was happening. Café’s still open another couple hours.” Dusk was falling, and Dahlia generally let other staff close up, but it was obvious she didn’t want to hang out with Zack’s competition. And clearly she considered Seth just that.
And as she started to leave, Meg felt the need to follow her—although she had no plan for what she was going to say, and the two glasses of wine she’d consumed didn’t exactly have her feeling quick-witted.
“Dahlia,” she said as the older woman started across Harbor Street, the thoroughfare busy with some pedestrian traffic and a few bikes trying to reach their destinations before the sun set completely. A purpling sky loomed above like a ceiling lowering down over them.
Zack’s aunt stopped, turned. And in this moment she was definitely Zack’s aunt—not just Meg’s friend. Her connection to Zack nearly dripped from her right now.
Meg searched for more words. It isn’t what you think. No, not that—because it was what she thought. I’m not doing anything wrong. No, that sounded like someone who was doing something wrong. Finally, she heard herself say, “Please don’t be mad at me.”
Dahlia took a step back toward her, looking serious and fraught. “I can’t tell you what to do, Meg—you have to follow your heart. But my heart breaks for him a little, that’s all.”
It made her feel defensive. Why was Zack always the good guy in this situation? “He could be here doing this with me if he wanted. He’s not. And don’t say it’s about his work. He could do the same work without being gone for weeks or months on end. He chooses to.”
Dahlia let out a sigh, her voice softening. “You’re right, you’re right.” Her expression melted into sadness. “I just defend him because I love him, and because I know he loves you.”
Meg took that in, weighed it. A lump rose in her throat. “It’s hard to be sure,” she said around it. Then turned and walked away. Hating the drama of it. Because it was one more thing that made her question her choices here—the right, the wrong, the safe, the dangerous.
For someone whose life had seemed almost too simple a few weeks ago, it had somehow gotten pretty damned complicated pretty damned quickly.
* * *
BY THE TIME they’d cleaned up the grill and Suzanne left the inn, it was late. Both Mr. Carmichael and Mr. McNaughton arrived tomorrow, so a good night’s sleep seemed wise. Not that this notion prevented Seth from seducing her. It didn’t take much. Touches in the kitchen. Kisses on her neck in the bathroom as she wiped her makeup away. A fingertip on her shoulder, under her top, under her bra strap, as she turned back the covers. She didn’t want to tell him no, so she didn’t.
As on the previous few nights, they slept naked beneath the sheets.
And she awoke with the sun, well rested and happy.
When her cell phone rang, she reached absently for it on the bedside table, then saw a picture of Zack on the screen. And despite herself, it felt somehow obscene to be with Seth like this, knowing Zack had no idea.
Thoughts raced through her mind as she scrambled up and toward the robe on the bathroom door, phone in hand. You don’t know who he’s been with, either. He could be lying naked with someone right now, too. It just didn’t feel like that was the case at the moment, though. And she knew she didn’t have to answer, but she did miss him, damn it. He was part of her now.
“Hello?” she said, stepping out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her. It felt vital to put a door between the two men.
“You sound harried, Maggie May. Did I wake you? You’re usually up by now.” True enough—but it was nice to sleep in when you had a man to cuddle with.
“Yeah—late getting up.”
“How are you? Got any guests yet?”
“The first come today.”
“Ready?”
“Yes—every towel is in place.”
“I’m sure the inn looks great.”
“The lilacs are in bloom.” She had no idea why she mentioned it. Maybe she was sad that he almost always missed it, and it was pleasant to share something you loved with someone. The way she’d been getting to share it with Seth this year.
“Listen, Meg, the reason I’m calling is...guess I just want to make sure everything is okay between us.”
Cripes. “You do?” Since when?
“Of course I do.”
What to say. Nothing came to mind. But given the naked man in her bedroom, it was fair to say things weren’t very okay. “I...guess that surprises me some. You...don’t usually seem to care much.”
She heard him sigh. “I know I’m not good at showing that. I’m sorry for that, honey.” The words made her heart feel like it was bending in her chest.
“Okay.” It was all she had.
“I’ve been thinking,” he went on, “about...about all we’ve been through.”
“Yeah?”
“I was remembering the days we spent with Julia, when she was dying.”
All the air drained from Meg’s lungs. Hard memories. But a time when Zack had been there for her. In the biggest of ways. The illness had progressed quickly, suddenly, in winter when the lake was frozen, and her mother hadn’t been able to get there before Julia had passed. It was hard to nurse someone to their death—for Meg, it had been harder in a way even than her own leukemia. Because she’d recovered. And Aunt Julia hadn’t.
Meg swallowed. Wandered toward the stairs. “Why...why were you thinking about that?”
“I’m not sure. I guess maybe because...it was a tough time. For both of us. A tough thing to handle. And I was just thinking that...there’s nobody besides you I’d want to go through something like that with.”
Meg slumped down on the top step, taken aback. And speechless. “It...it meant a lot to have you there with me.”
“I’d never let you go through something like that alone.”
“I know.” Did she, though? Before this moment? Or...maybe she did. Because he had been there when she’d needed him. He hadn’t run like Drew once had. Maybe she knew that deep down everything Dahlia claimed was true—he loved her, he would be there for her through bad times. But...was that enough? What about being there for the good times, too? The taking down shutters times? The painting picnic table times? The blooming lilacs times?
“I hope so, Meg.”
They talked a few minutes more. About his morning—he was off the coast of Finch Bay, taking up nets he’d set yesterday. And about her night—she told him about painting Suzanne’s picnic table. But of course had to leave out the part about Seth being there. And in her bed right now.
As they spoke, she cinched the robe tight around her, walked on bare feet down the old wooden steps and into the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of orange juice. Before
disconnecting, he told her he’d be home soon.
But he said that a lot—casually, vaguely. Soon could mean so many things, none of them specific. It could mean a week. Or a month. Or more.
Her heart beat too fast, however, with some sense of self-condemnation she couldn’t quite escape. Something she shouldn’t have to feel here, but damn it, she still did. Why did you have to pick now to start being so sweet, Zack?
Of course, maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was a momentary thing and would dissipate as quickly as the wake behind the Emily Ann. But what if it didn’t? What if this was a sign of some real, lasting change in him? What if seeing her with Seth had truly altered something in Zack, finally made him realize what he had to lose? What if he came home to Summer Island to stay?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
IT WAS FUNNY how much peace a man could find standing on the wind-beaten deck of a boat sorting through a net full of lake whitefish. It was a peace Zack never seemed to get enough of. It came with a practiced focus that didn’t let anything else in, good or bad. Just the job, the work. It occupied his hands and his mind, but at the same time put him out under the sun or the clouds or whatever else the sky happened to bring over Lake Huron, letting him feel the elements, soak them up.
Today it was fast-rolling clouds with occasional peeks of blue in between, and a wind that filled his ears. Plenty of mature fish in the catch this afternoon, most around twenty inches long and covered with silvery white scales. A few zebra mussels, along with some younger fish, and even a healthy salmon—a pretty rare sight in Huron these days thanks to the invasive mussels—were all tossed back, creating small plopping splashes to his left.