by Toni Blake
Are you really doing this?
She started down the winding hill that led to the coast.
Maybe you are, maybe you’re not. You’re just taking a walk right now, that’s all.
But when she reached Harbor Street, she turned left, the direction that would lead out past the Algonquian Hotel and then into the quieter, undeveloped area where the East Bend Lighthouse rose from the shore.
Madness. It’s pure madness. And even if you’re trying not to think—well, maybe you should. If you’re seriously doing this, you need to think about why. So why?
She put one foot in front of the other, late day sun shining down as she walked through the residential area where her parents lived, passing tourists on bikes, pastel homes and inns, and the little white church she’d once fantasized about getting married in—the Algonquian soon visible in the distance.
I’m going because…nothing has ever made me as happy as Trent. No man has ever made me feel even a fraction of the affection or passion I have for him. I’ve never really wanted anyone else. I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried. But it’s always been him—only him.
Wow. Okay then. She’d been trying like hell not to acknowledge all that, because his presence here had seemed so temporary. But now that he was promising more, maybe it mattered. Maybe it was worth letting it matter.
Her heart beat like a drum as she passed the historic hotel on the island’s southeast edge. She’d walked this path hundreds—maybe even thousands—of times, but the wooded area ahead suddenly felt mysterious, eerie, a little dangerous. Walk into the trees and there’s no turning back—the lighthouse is dead ahead. And logic still told her that the smart way to take care of her heart was to let him leave and get back to the quiet little life she’d been leading here without him.
But you deserve more. You always have. And maybe you can really have it this time. Maybe you can have the man of your dreams—finally. It’s not enough to forgive—you have to also forget. You have to trust. You have to believe.
It took every ounce of courage and bravery within her to approach the lighthouse. But she kept putting one foot in front of the other with the brand new notion that…well, Trent wasn’t the only one who’d run away from troubles. She had, too—just in a different way—up to her private little cottage, where she ran from everything.
Maybe that realization made it easier. To forgive. And to forget, as well.
It was time to stop running.
* * *
THE SUNSET ON the other side of the island reflected in the Lake Michigan waters, turning its surface to a mirror of pink and gold. Dusk had come—and almost gone, the last light of the day ready to fade to black. She stood out on the lighthouse deck—alone.
The past hour had felt like a lifetime. At first, after her decision, she’d been filled with joy, excitement.
And then the waiting had started. And she’d begun playing that nervous game of anticipation with herself:
Where is he?
Well he’s not late yet, so it’s fine—of course he’s coming.
But…why isn’t he here already? For something this important, wouldn’t he show up a little early, like you did?
Still, it’s all right—he gave you the kite less than twenty-four hours ago and seemed committed. You can trust him this time.
But come on, Trent—just show up already.
And then more time passed, moving painfully slow even as her heart beat faster—until he really was late. Wasn’t he? Dusk wasn’t a specific time, after all. But still…
Did he change his mind?
That fast?
Could he really be abandoning you—again?
No. No, of course not—don’t even think that.
He’s coming—of course he’s coming.
I’m sure of it, absolutely sure.
Unless…
She blew out a shaky breath at the harsh reality that it was getting dark. No, had gotten dark. Even if she didn’t want to see that, believe it.
It’s not dusk anymore. Not even close. It’s dark. Only a sliver of moonlight lit the water now with a pale ribbon of light.
She’d stood on the shore near the big boulder awhile—yet eventually she went inside, climbing the stairs. Do you think he’s hiding up here or something? That’s how desperate you are?
But of course he wasn’t there, either.
He wasn’t…anywhere.
As she stood outside on the lighthouse platform, peering out into the dark Michigan summer night, she closed her fists tight around the railing and slowly began to accept the crushing truth. They’d stood in that very spot, only two nights ago, connecting in the deepest of ways—but now that equaled…nothing.
He’s not coming.
He’s really not coming.
He left you again.
With nothing but some memories and a kite covered with lies.
* * *
TALK ABOUT BEING late for a very important date. Trent stood up from the table, where one miserable paperwork mistake after another had drawn this godforsaken closing out for hours now, and said, “You know what? I’m sorry, but I have to go. I can come back later, or tomorrow, but right now, there’s something I have to do that can’t wait.”
Linda’s eyes flew wide. “What? You’re just—walking out?”
He spoke through gritted teeth, trying to stay calm. “I’ve been telling you for two hours that I need to go.” Then he glanced out the window where a streetlamp shone down on a few bicycles parked outside. “And you know what else? See that blue bike?” He pointed. “I’m borrowing it. I don’t know who it belongs to, but whoever it is, they’ll just have to understand. I’ll bring it back later.”
Only vaguely aware of the other gaping faces around the small conference room table, he rushed from the room without another word. And rode like a man possessed. Up Harbor Street, as fast as the damn bike would carry him, past the Algonquian Hotel, and out toward the lighthouse.
The whole place was dark, quiet, when he reached it. He ditched the bike against a tree, then went barreling through the unlocked door, up the steps, and out onto the planked walkway.
Only to find himself standing there alone. Out of breath and panting. For nothing.
Damn. She hadn’t come.
Probably foolish to have thought she would.
Yet that didn’t stop his heart from crumbling in his chest as he leaned his head back, the jolt of pain hitting him fully.
He’d just thought maybe, maybe, she’d be able to let go of the past and give them a chance at a future. But she’d been hurt too bad.
God, why had he left? Why hadn’t he called, written? Why had he been such an immature kid when what she’d needed was a man?
I wish she’d let me be that man for her now. I swear I’d never disappoint her again.
“Trent?”
Where had her voice come from? God, she was here? He darted his head around the platform, but he remained alone. Was he hearing things? “Allie?”
“Down here,” she called—and he scoured the darkness below, where he spotted the vague shape of her on the ground.
And his whole world changed. “Allie!”
“I thought you weren’t coming,” she called from the shore. “Thought you changed your mind.”
“No! No, never!” he assured her. “Wait, I’m coming down!” He rushed back through the door and down the winding stairs, his heart feeling as if it floated somewhere up above him. She’d come—she’d really come.
Dashing back outside, he hurried toward her in the rising moonlight, soon taking her hands in both of his. “I’m so sorry—that damned closing wouldn’t end.” He shook his head, still mired in the frustration of it. “I called your shop and begged for your number, but your employees wouldn’t give it to me. And they probably think you have some kind o
f lunatic stalker now, by the way.”
To his surprise, she let out a short laugh. Then asked. “Is it done—the closing?”
“No, not yet—I ran out, said I had to go. I maybe even stole a bike.”
Despite the darkness, he could make out her bewildered expression. “You stole a bike?”
“I had to get to you before it was too late. And everything else can wait. But this can’t.”
“I…have to be honest with you, Trent. I almost didn’t come, because…because…so many reasons.”
“Name them.”
She blew out a sigh. “Well, are you sure this is what you want, to live on this island? All year round? For a place called Summer Island, the summers are short and the winters are brutal, and the world here is a lot smaller than the one you’re used to.”
“I know all of that, but it’s the place that’s made me the happiest. And I’ll be with the person who’s made me the happiest. So yeah—I’m sure, Allie Cat. If you’ll have me. If you can trust me again.”
She bit her lip, looking as pretty and sweet as she had at twenty-one. “The trust…will have to grow.”
“I’ll spend every day making you believe in me.”
“And I know your parents are gone—but everything about this decision would be a disappointment to them,” she pointed out. “So have you thought about that? Are you okay with it?”
“I have—and who gives a damn?” he declared with a short head shake. “It’s my life, always has been—not theirs. And I’m so, so sorry for the ways they interfered. I guess parents mostly do what they think is best for their kids, but I can’t blame you if you always have bad feelings toward them.”
“Believe it or not,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully, “at the moment I’m actually…grateful to them. To your mom especially. For leaving you the house. And bringing you back to me. She could have left you one of the others—but she left you the one here.”
Trent blinked in realization. Because without even meaning to, Allie had just shown him what had been right in front of him this whole time. His mother had done a lot to keep the two of them apart—presumably even stopping the family’s summer visits here. But on her deathbed, she’d done something to bring him back—back to Summer Island, and back to Allie girl. His mother had been many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them—right up until her dying day she’d made deliberate, well-thought-out decisions. So if she’d chosen to leave Trent the house on East Overlook Drive, she’d done it for a reason. And he had to believe it was this—a second chance with his first love.
“Maybe she wouldn’t be disappointed, after all,” he said. “Maybe she had a change of heart.”
He couldn’t wait another second to kiss the girl he’d loved for so many years. To kiss the lips he’d thought he’d lost forever. After the slow, deep kiss, her fingers curled into his shirt as she leaned warmly into him—a gesture that felt like trust and forgiveness and safety all at once, reaching to his very core.
“I’m grateful to her, too,” he said softly. “And I’m grateful to you—for giving me another chance.”
Allie knew they still had a lot to work through, but everything had changed. She’d seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. And as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, she knew. For sure. This was happening. This was real. At last.
And though a little regret laced her own voice, she pulled back slightly to suggest, “Maybe you should get back to the closing?”
He just grinned down at her. “Who cares about that? I’m the happiest guy on earth right now.”
“Still,” she said, “let’s get it done—it’ll be like turning a page to a new start.” Suddenly, shutting that old door in order to open a new one seemed important. Like a symbolic way of really putting the past to rest so a new future could stretch before them.
“All right,” he agreed. Then squeezed her hand in his. “Come with me. I’ll sign the last papers, then…how about we have a celebratory dinner on Dahlia’s deck. She’ll be thrilled.”
Allie couldn’t help laughing. “You’re right, she will. But…on one condition. After dinner, we celebrate in private. At my house. Or here.” She smiled up at him. “This seems to be our special place again.”
“Damn—celebrating in private sounds so, so good. And what sounds even better is knowing I get to celebrate with you in private for the rest of our lives.”
She bit her lip playfully. “We’ll have to find lots of things to celebrate.”
“Like…buying the livery,” he said. “And having dependable bicycles.”
She held up one finger. “And bringing legal counsel to Summer Island.”
He tipped his head back, clearly trying to think of more. “Knitting bees. Knitting bees seem worth celebrating. There’s one every week, right?”
“Yes. And there’s a new signature drink at the Pink Pelican. We could celebrate that. Maybe even have a couple.”
“And we have a brand new kite to fly in front of the Algonquian.”
“Oh, that’ll be fun,” she said. Then suggested, “Sunrises.”
“And sunsets. Both worthy of celebration, I’d say.”
“I’m pretty sure we can come up with something to celebrate in private every day if we want,” she told him.
“Oh, I want.”
“Well, then let’s go sign those papers and get to celebrating.”
And celebrate they did—all night long.
* * * * *
Lose your heart to Summer Island, where summers are easy, winters are cozy and friends welcome you with open arms
Keep reading for a preview of the first full-length novel in the Summer Island series,
The One Who Stays
by USA Today bestselling author Toni Blake!
CHAPTER ONE
HER GRANDMOTHER HAD always claimed the secret to living on Summer Island was owning a good sweater. “The kind that feels like an old friend when you put it on, warm and comfy. One that always feels a little like…coming home.”
Meg Sloan had collected a few such sweaters over her fifteen years here and she wore one now—a thick cable-knit cardigan of cornflower blue. She wrapped it tight around her as she stood on the wide front porch of the Summerbrook Inn, looking out over Lake Michigan, watching as a fishing boat named the Emily Ann disappeared into the silvery morning fog like a ghost.
It was cold—but then, mornings here were almost always cold, the small island being situated off the northern tip of Michigan’s mitten, near the spot where Lakes Michigan and Huron met. She told people she was used to the cold and didn’t feel it anymore—but sometimes it snuck up on her, surprised her, and today the chill seeped right through the cable-knit and into her bones.
She watched the boat until no trace of it remained in sight, and even though it wasn’t much farther away than it had been a moment before, the distance was palpable—and that seeped into her bones, as well. He was gone.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered to herself.
Of course, it did matter—when you have to talk yourself into something, obviously it matters. But she didn’t want it to matter, and she knew that if you told yourself something enough times, it started to become true. “It doesn’t matter.”
It doesn’t matter, even if you already thawed the steaks.
It doesn’t matter, even if you need help with the shutters.
It doesn’t matter, even if the bed feels colder now.
It always did on the first night Zack was gone, no matter how many blankets she added.
She took a deep breath, drawing the brisk morning air into her lungs, letting it wake her up a little more. A glance up Harbor Street revealed just how early it was—no one stirred, every business and home sitting quiet and still. A robin twittered somewhere behind the inn, reminding her spring had come and summer would soon follow. Life went on, with or without Zack, and
as the island’s name suggested, summer was everything here.
When a bit of movement drew her gaze to the flower shop up the street once run by her great-aunt Julia, she saw Suzanne Quinlan unlocking the front door. With her dark hair drawn up into a messy bun and wearing a thick sweater of her own, the current owner waved at Meg. “Someone’s up and out early!” she called.
Regretting the reason for that, Meg forced a smile. I could have stayed in bed, should have stayed there. Watching him go didn’t change anything—it was simply a compulsion, a silent goodbye. “I was thinking of making some pancakes,” she called back impulsively. “You should come over—we’ll have breakfast before you open.”
Suzanne tilted her head, looking pleased by the suggestion. “Yum! Be down in five.”
Meg was about to turn and head inside the inn—empty of patrons this early in the season—when she heard a familiar voice. “Is this pancake soiree a private party, or can anyone join?” She leaned forward past the wooden porch railing to see Dahlia Delaney pedaling her lavender bicycle up the street. The older woman owned a quaint lakeside café named after herself, which sat almost directly across the street from the flower shop—and she also happened to be Zack’s aunt, the person who had introduced them five years ago.
Dahlia was a woman of her own, one who’d perfected the fine art of being both pragmatic and flamboyant at the same time, and Meg never minded spending time with her. “I think we can squeeze a third plate on the table,” she informed Dahlia, this smile coming easier. A pleasant morning with friends would distract her from Zack’s departure—at least for a little while. And as she walked in the door, her heart lifted at simply knowing her kitchen and sunroom would soon be filled with laughter.
The inn had been her home since the age of twenty-four. And it had been her beloved grandmother’s home before that. It got quiet during the long winters. Quieter still it seemed when Zack took to the water, even though she knew it wasn’t really any quieter than before he’d arrived in her life. She just noticed it more now, and maybe she was happy to postpone that quiet a bit longer.