by Blake, Toni
Funny thing, though. There was more on his mind. More than the weather. More than the catch. More than the sorting. There was Meg. His Maggie May. He’d meant what he’d told her—he was going home soon. He’d thought for a very long time that the lake, this boat, was his home—the place he felt the most at home. But maybe that was changing. Her inn, her arms, were a damn good place to be—and to call home.
The Emily Ann puttered along a little farther north today than she’d been yesterday, and even farther north than she’d been the day before that. Summer Island rested up at that northern tip of Michigan’s mitten, and he’d found himself working his way in that direction over the past several days without quite admitting to himself that he had a particular destination in mind. Only he knew now that he did. He was working his way home. And when he got there, he was going to make things different with her, going to make things right.
* * *
AS MEG WALKED UP Harbor Street in denim capris and a tunic with an open blouse over it to ward off the morning chill, she realized that she’d found herself running to her friend for advice and support a lot lately. She gave Suzanne a hard time about pushing romance away, but as she put one tennis shoe in front of the other, she had to admit that she was in too deep here and it was starting to eat her alive. For the first time, she could almost see Suzanne’s side of things—it might require a little rudeness to a nice guy, but at least she didn’t have quandaries over which man to love raining down on her.
And whoa—love? With Seth? Was she falling in love with him? Her younger con artist handyman? She’d never even imagined that word entering the picture with him—this was supposed to be a fun summer fling. And yet...she felt more than that. An attachment and affection that went beyond sex. She cared for him.
And maybe the ironic part was her struggle to be fair to two men, neither of whom had ever expressed the wish to be in her life in a committed way.
Maybe she was reading too much into Zack’s phone call and other recent behavior. And maybe Seth would leave tomorrow. For all she knew, the joke would be on her—she’d worry and toil over which man to choose only to find out in the end that neither cared about her as much as she cared about them.
After hanging up with Zack, she’d downed her glass of juice and dressed in clean clothes from a laundry basket downstairs that hadn’t yet been put away. And now she was walking through the front door of Petal Pushers, in need of her friend.
Suzanne smiled at her from behind the counter. “You look rumpled. Is that because you had great sex last night?”
She sighed. “It’s because I got dressed in the laundry room and snuck out of the house without brushing my hair—or teeth.”
Suzanne made a slight face and motioned to a small bowl of peppermints on the counter. “Trouble in paradise?” She scrunched up her nose. “I hope not, because I like him. He’s fun. And more friendly than Zack, frankly.”
Meg unwrapped a red-and-white mint and popped it in her mouth. “Not trouble with Seth exactly,” she said around the disc of candy. “Just...confusion.” Then she filled Suzanne in, and also added the part about her conversation with Dahlia last night, which she hadn’t been able to share at the time.
“Am I crazy?” she asked Suzanne. “To be looking back on Julia’s death and letting it count for so much that he saw me through it.”
Suzanne tilted her head, sighed thoughtfully. “You know I’m not a big fan of Zack’s, but...stuff like that matters.”
Meg nodded. “I know. It really does, right?”
“Did I ever tell you I used to be a nurse in a former life?”
Meg lowered her chin. “No. And that seems like a big thing to have left out of our getting-to-know-you process.”
Suzanne just shrugged. “I gave it up after Cal died. I wanted to help people, but I wasn’t cut out for it—it drained me emotionally. Taking care of someone who is ill or injured or dying is just plain hard—it takes a special kind of person to do it. So... I do give Zack a lot of credit for helping you through that.”
“I just wish,” Meg said wistfully, “that he was one way or the other, you know? All the way supportive and into us, or all the way distant and neglectful.”
“Most people aren’t,” Suzanne pointed out. “One way or the other, I mean. Most people are a mixed bag a lot of the time, just doing the best they can on any particular day.” She stopped, smiled wryly. “That’s what I tell myself when I imagine someday being able to make Beck Grainger understand that I’m not a raging bitch but just a socially stunted widow not ready to move on.”
That made Meg sad. “You really don’t want to explore his interest in you? At all? Aren’t you afraid you might miss out on something really great?”
Suzanne let out a wistful yet acceptant sigh. “I can’t handle it. That’s all. I just can’t handle it.” She sounded so sure that finally Meg decided to quit arguing the point with her.
And she had enough problems of her own to worry about anyway. “I’m not sure I can handle what’s on my plate right now, either. No one has asked me to make a choice, and yet it feels like one has to be made. I think, deep down, I’m just a one-man woman. Any advice, o celibate one?”
“Yes,” Suzanne said solemnly. “On one hand, I think it’s pretty clear that any change in Zack’s behavior here is a result of being afraid of losing you to Seth.”
“Agreed. But does that mean it isn’t real? Or that it won’t last? Even if the timing is suspicious, maybe it’s a wake-up call that really changes things.”
“True. To all of that. Because on the other hand, maybe you’re right, it’s the real thing, and your fishing boat has finally come in here. But only time will tell.”
“So you’re saying I should trust in it—or not?” For someone who’d acted like she had advice—to give to someone who usually didn’t need it—Suzanne wasn’t providing Meg with the clarity she sought.
“I’m saying I’m not sure—but that as long and hard as you’ve loved this guy, maybe it’s worth giving him a chance.”
Meg sighed. She supposed she couldn’t blame her friend for not knowing the mind of an unpredictable man.
“And as much as I’m Team Seth in most ways,” Suzanne went on, “I think it makes sense to take a little step back from him right now to help you think clearly.”
“Me, too.” Meg nodded, having already reached that particular conclusion herself. “That’s why I snuck out of the house like an adolescent.”
“After that,” Suzanne said on a wistful sigh, “all you can really do is follow your heart.”
“What if my heart is being pulled in two different directions?” Meg asked.
“See which side pulls harder.”
* * *
IT SURPRISED SETH to wake up alone in Meg’s bed. It surprised him even more to discover she was nowhere in the house. He’d pulled on blue jeans and gone from room to room looking, calling her name. He’d found the cat in the parlor, sitting in the front picture window like a large figurine—but no sign of Meg.
That’s when he caught a glimpse out the window of a chubby old gray-haired man trudging up the street wheeling a roller suitcase behind him. Shit—it was Saturday, and the first ferry must have already run because guests were arriving. And where was the Summerbrook Inn’s proprietor?
He bounded back up the stairs, taking them two at a time, grabbed the T-shirt he’d shed at the bedside last night, and yanked it on as he went back downstairs. Then glanced down at his bare feet. But the old man was already turning past the mailbox and onto the front stone walk, so he’d have to be greeted with no shoes.
“Morning,” Seth said, holding the front screen door open.
“And a splendiferous morning it is indeed,” the elderly gentleman replied, smiling up at Seth as he maneuvered the roller bag up the wooden porch steps.
And Seth realized this old man wasn’t
the Mr. Carmichael Meg had mentioned—this was his grandfather. Twenty years older and grayer, twenty pounds heavier. In fact, he looked considerably older and heavier than even in the picture on Meg’s bulletin board.
“I’m...the handyman,” Seth began, feeling unexpectedly stymied. His heart had tightened into a knot in his chest, which he hadn’t anticipated. He’d somehow thought a life of scamming had drained all the sentimentality from his soul. But apparently some things didn’t leave you—they just hid inside until some moment when you least expected it. He forced himself to keep talking. “Not sure where Meg got off to this morning—can’t seem to find her.” He looked toward the parlor, the window still adorned with a calico cat. “If you want to take a seat on the sofa there, I can get you something to drink while you wait.” He thought he’d seen a fresh pitcher of tea in the fridge last night, along with the other beverages she kept on hand. “Can I get you a glass of iced tea, water, a Coke?” He glanced toward the kitchen, thinking out loud. “I don’t believe there’s coffee.” Meg wasn’t a coffee drinker, he’d learned—same as him—though she’d mentioned often keeping a pot made during the summer for guests.
“Thanks, Seth—but I’m here now. So sorry I wasn’t here to say hello myself, Mr. McNaughton. I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.”
Seth turned to see her entering the front door with a smile, and now looking to her guest—his grandpa. Who he’d never expected to see again. Until showing up here. He probably should have given more thought to how that would feel—but getting all wrapped up in Meg the last few days had made it seem like...well, like a thing that wasn’t real, wasn’t really gonna happen.
“No problem at all, my dear—I just decided to make the whole drive up to St. Simon yesterday and get an early start on my excursion. And my, the entire island looks to be in glorious bloom!”
“I’ve got your usual room all ready for you,” she said. “And Mr. Carmichael should be right behind you. I heard Seth offering you something to drink—what can I get you?”
That was when his grandfather turned to look at him, harder than before in a studying sort of way. And he knew that quickly that he was trying to put pieces together, so quickly that he could barely form another thought before his grandpa remarked, “Seth, did you say?”
Meg nodded. “Yes, Seth has been doing some work for me around the inn and has become a good friend. Seth, this is Stanley McNaughton.”
She hadn’t used Seth’s last name. “Pleased to meet you,” Seth said. That was all it would take, his last name, to confirm what his grandfather was surely trying to figure out. Yep, he should have given this some thought. It would seem that Meg had truly stolen all his powers of logic. And now here he stood without the slightest of plans in place.
Well, here was a plan. Extract himself from the situation. “I’m gonna do some work outside,” he said—and slipped out the front door before Meg could even reply.
There wasn’t actually anything outside that needed doing. But he’d find something.
As he moved briskly down the porch steps, another old gentleman came up the walk. “You must be Mr. Carmichael,” Seth said with a grin, thankful for the timing. A second guest would surely distract his grandpa from wondering if he’d just seen his long-lost grandson.
Of course, he didn’t know how long the man could stay distracted from such a thing. He’d have to figure out how to handle this.
But as he plopped down into one of Meg’s Adirondack chairs in the lilac grove, he glanced toward the sky and had to laugh at himself just a little. Ron Darden would hang his head in shame if he could see how fast and far his son had fallen. He might have a valuable diamond ring in his possession, but his conning skills had clearly been wiped clean from his brain by the charms of Meg Sloan.
He’d come here feeling so damn in control, so clear on what he was here for and how he was going to get it. Now everything had changed and any control he’d had was a thing of the past. And he saw himself as just...floating. Floating like a lost blow-up inner tube in the choppy Lake Michigan waves. He’d try his damnedest to stay afloat here, get through this unscathed—but his fate would largely be a matter of where the waves carried him.
* * *
MEG HAD NO idea why Seth had gone rushing out—one minute he’d been the consummate gentleman, going above and beyond the call of duty welcoming Mr. McNaughton, and the next he’d made an awkward exit that had filled the room with tension. Or maybe the tension had been there before—she wasn’t sure. Or hell—maybe she’d brought the tension; God knew she was experiencing enough of it.
But now both of her guests had been checked in and were resting in their rooms. Mr. Carmichael, she’d learned, planned to meet his granddaughter and her husband for lunch at Dahlia’s in an hour, and Mr. McNaughton intended to unpack and then rent a bike for a leisurely ride around the island.
So her hostess duties were done for the moment, though she did promise both men a pot of coffee would be waiting upon their return. After starting the coffee, she began thinking about lunch. She had fresh cold cuts in the fridge—as more guests began to arrive, more lunches would be eaten on the run—and a hot ham and cheese sounded good on this partly cloudy, breezy day.
Of course, it begged the question: Should she make one for Seth? Normally, she would, but she was supposed to be pulling back. And for all she knew, his rushing away had something to do with her sneaking out of bed this morning. Or maybe not. Her mind was in too much of a whirl to have a firm grasp on the situation. And what on earth was he doing outside anyway when everything was already done?
She made only one sandwich, and decided to carry it out to the lilac grove where maybe she could do as Suzanne had suggested and clear her head.
Only as she entered the area with her lunch and a glass of iced tea in hand, she found Seth bent over part of the brick walkway that passed through the garden. Unduly alarmed by the sight, she snapped, “What are you doing?”
He looked up. Appeared a little sullen. “Thought I’d fix this walk. The bricks are loose. I can mix up some grout and repair it.”
“No,” she said quickly.
“Why?”
Good question. But then she understood her unmeasured response. “It’s one of the places my grandma used to hide things—under the bricks. It’s silly maybe, but I guess I just...don’t want it sealed up.”
He gave his head a solemn tilt, looking serious—no sexy Seth grin charming her today. “I thought you were moving and wanted the place spruced up. So what does it matter?”
She pulled in her breath. Moving. Leaving. Somewhere along the way, that plan had fallen to the back of her mind. With Seth falling into her bed, perhaps. Yes, somehow what had started out to be about leaving and finding a new life had morphed into feeling torn between two men here, on the island.
“I never said I was leaving for sure, and I’m definitely not sure. Maybe you were right. That it’s okay to be someplace that feels safe. Maybe... I don’t want to leave after all.” She shook her head. “Or maybe I do. I’m a little confused about some things right now.”
His expression softened as he pushed to his feet. “Things like what?”
“You. And Zack. And going or staying.” Another more pronounced head shake. “I’m usually so much more grounded than this, steady—but lately that’s left me.”
“Funny,” he said, “since that’s what I’m trying to get to—grounded and steady. You...make that seem possible for me.”
“I do?” She met his gaze, surprised. “Why?”
“Even at your most frazzled, Meg,” he said, that grin coming back now, reliable as lilacs in June on Summer Island, “you feel steady as a rock to me. A safe place to lean. But...don’t let me lean on you if you’re not comfortable with that.”
She drew in her breath. She hadn’t planned on telling him any of this—she’d aspired to be more distant. But jus
t like most everything since his arrival, it wasn’t going as expected. “I’m not sure. Because... I think I care for you both. And Zack’s not here right now, but he will be sooner or later, so...” She stopped, sighed. “There’s my confusion. Which maybe is pointless, because I don’t know your plans and maybe you’ll leave tomorrow and it’s silly of me to be trying to sort through all this anyway.” Yep, so much for pulling back.
“I’m not leaving tomorrow, Meg,” he informed her. Sounding pretty damn steady himself. In a way that made her believe in him all the more. That he was changed. That he was worth...considering. And maybe taking risks for. “But I need to ask you a favor, darlin’—something important.”
She lowered her chin, surprised. “What’s that?”
“Mr. McNaughton in there,” he said, motioning vaguely toward the house. “Don’t tell him my last name.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“He’s my grandfather.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MEG LOWERED HERSELF onto the edge of an Adirondack chair. “What did you just say?”
“He’s my grandfather. The one I told you about.”
She stared at him, dumbstruck. This man was just full of surprises. “How is that even possible?”
“Remember I mentioned I’d been here as a kid?”
“Oh.” That was how it was possible. But... “You didn’t tell me. When you saw his picture and I told you his name.”
A spark of guilt flashed through his eyes before he said, “I don’t know why. Just didn’t expect it, I guess, and wasn’t sure I was happy about it. And I’m still not. Which is why I don’t want him to know who I am.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. I mean, you made your grandparents sound like the best part of your childhood. Why wouldn’t you want to—”
“This part I did tell you, remember? I’m not proud of where I am in life, Meg. And I guess... I guess I’m pretty pissed he wasn’t in it. Because I missed him—missed them both. And maybe if they’d been in my life, it woulda gone better.”