“I have advised you, Rebecca, not to do this interview without a lawyer present but you have chosen to proceed without a lawyer, is that correct?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Please tell us in your own words why you’re here, Rebecca.”
Her gaze moved between Michael and Jeff, and any color that was in her cheeks drained out. “I’m here to confess to a murder that my brother, Stuart Devlin, and I covered up four years ago.”
Always the professional, Michael kept his face blank but he reeled inside.
Well … fuck, he thought, I did not see that coming.
“I think we should invite Ivy to our lady gatherings,” Bailey said.
She, Emery, Jess, and I were strolling down the boards with frozen goodness in hand. It was too hot in the bookstore so we’d all closed up shop during Jess’s lunch break and grabbed an ice cream together to celebrate my lack of a sling.
“I’m up for it.” I nodded. “Ivy and I share a bond now.”
It was true. In the three months since Freddie Jackson had attacked us, Ivy stopped by my shop every week to chat. There was something still faraway about her, like she was living in her head somewhere elsewhere the rest of us couldn’t reach, but she was much better than she had been. She hated the apartment, of course, and had temporarily moved back in with her parents. She was, however, about to close on a very nice place on Johnson’s Creek. She didn’t want to move back to Hollywood but wouldn’t tell us why, so we could only guess at the reason. But she’d started to write again, which I took as a good sign.
She and Bailey were also hanging out again, and it was pretty darn hard to be miserable around Bailey Hartwell. I knew that firsthand.
Jess shrugged. “Sure. I don’t know if I’ll have anything in common with a stunning Hollywood screenwriter, but I’m game.”
“She’s not like that,” Bailey promised. “Ivy can get along with anyone.”
We wandered in silence—Emery hadn’t given her approval for the idea.
I shared a look with Bailey and then Jess as Emery stared ahead.
I nudged Emery. “Em, you’re awfully quiet about it.”
She pursed her pretty mouth. “We’re not in high school. You don’t need my permission to add someone to our group.”
“But?”
“No buts.”
“There’s a but,” Jess surmised.
“Definitely a but,” Bailey added.
“A big one.”
Emery rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing.”
“Oh, for the love of God, spit it out,” Bailey said.
Flushing, Emery threw her a dirty look. I also saw that as a good sign. Every day she trusted us more and more to be herself. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”
“Then talk.” Bailey bit into her ice cream and then made a face. “Brain freeze.”
Ignoring her antics, I turned to Emery. “Is there something you don’t like about Ivy?”
“It’s not Ivy.” Emery stopped and leaned against the railing, looking out at the ocean. We followed suit, crowding around her. “You guys … you guys feel like my family. I feel comfortable around you. I’m worried that’ll change with someone else around.”
I snuggled into Emery’s side and pressed an affectionate kiss to her bare shoulder. She looked down at me in surprise, and I grinned. “Then we wait.”
“Yeah,” Bailey agreed. “It can just be us for a while.”
“It’s terribly selfish of me,” Emery said. “Ivy probably needs good friends too.”
“Ach, she’s got Bailey. That’s enough for anyone to handle.”
“Hey!” My best friend whacked me on my shoulder.
I pretended to wince. “Gunshot wound!”
Her face paled. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
I grinned. “Wrong shoulder.”
“You are such a brat.”
“What was that about high school?” Jess asked Emery.
Em didn’t smile. “We can invite Ivy to our lady gatherings. I’m being selfish.”
“Let’s just see what happens,” Jess offered. “Let things take their natural course.”
Emery relaxed and we stood in comfortable silence, enjoying the way the sun glittered over the water, the waves lapped at the shore, the laughter of kids as they ran circles around their parents on the soft, hot sand.
Gulls cried overhead while the sounds of arcade games played somewhere in the distance.
“I’ve been here almost ten years,” I said. “And I’ve never been happier than I am right now.”
Bailey slid her arm around my waist and gave it a squeeze. “It feels like things are falling into place.”
“Yeah,” Jess said. “About that …”
We turned to her expectantly.
Tears shone in her eyes. Happy tears. “I’m pregnant.”
I was sure our squeals of delight scared the absolute crap out of anyone in our vicinity, but we didn’t care. We crowded Jess, taking turns to hug her and pepper her with questions.
“Yes, of course, Cooper knows.” She laughed at Bailey’s query.
“How, why, when?” I blurted.
“Well, we’ve been trying for a while, and I was starting to worry that I couldn’t. But then it happened.” She looked relieved. “Coop’s hovering because he didn’t know that once a woman hits thirty-five, it’s considered a mature pregnancy, and there are more tests involved.”
“Are you too hot?” Emery asked. “Maybe we should get in the shade.”
“I’m fine,” Jess assured her. “Please, don’t you guys start hovering too.”
“How far along are you?”
“Twenty weeks. We wanted to keep it quiet. Miscarriages are common in those early weeks.”
As we strode toward Main Street, we planned our future as aunts.
“Everything is falling into place.” Bailey sighed in contentment. “All we need now is for Emery to meet a guy.”
“Yes, I’m sure I’ll snag a fine eligible bachelor with my witty repartee and finely honed seduction skills.”
I snorted at Em’s sarcasm.
Bailey rolled her eyes. “Now, what kind of attitude is that?”
“An honest one.” Her gaze turned melancholy. “Let’s focus our wishes on something that might happen. Say …” She turned to me. “You and Michael getting engaged.”
I grinned not only at her using me to take the heat off her but at the thought of being Michael’s fiancée.
“One day.” I was confident of that.
* * *
That evening I let myself into the apartment with takeout in hand. Michael had called to let me know he was finishing up at the station and he’d agreed to Chinese food. He was a health nut, but I’d persuaded him that one treat a month would not kill him.
After I’d gotten off the phone with him, my sister called to check on me. I heard from at least one member of my family every day, but I wasn’t complaining.
It was pretty freaking great.
Plus Darragh, Krista, and the boys were taking a vacation in Hartwell with Dad in two weeks. Davina, Astrid, and Dermot would stop by for one of the weekends too. I couldn’t wait.
Dumping the cartons of Chinese food in the kitchen, I rolled my shoulder and winced. Michael would lecture me for carrying the food upstairs, and maybe he was right. Grumbling to myself and my impatient desperation to be fully healed, I strolled through the apartment to our bedroom to change into yoga pants and a comfy T-shirt.
As I walked toward the closet, however, something shining on the bed caught my eye.
Frowning because there hadn’t been anything on it when Michael made it that morning, I walked over to it.
My pulse raced as recognition moved through me and I rounded the bed on shaky legs.
I stood, looking down at the object as goose bumps rose all over my body.
The silver rose brooch I’d made for Dillon sat perched in the middle between my pillow and Michael’s. Like a bridge betw
een the two.
The silver rose brooch I kept locked in a treasure box I was pretty sure Michael didn’t even know existed was on our bed?
“Earth to Dahlia,” Michael’s voice broke through.
I glanced up, surprised to see him standing in the doorway.
He frowned. “You okay?”
I looked down at the brooch. “Did you put that there?”
Michael stared at it and shrugged. “No. What is it?”
Knowing he was telling the truth, the little hairs all down my arms stood on end.
Dillon.
Not answering him, I hurried to the closet, pulling the little decorative chair over that I kept in the corner of the room. The one I usually piled clothes on, driving my neat-freak boyfriend nuts. Stepping up onto it, I pushed through the shoeboxes arranged on the top shelf and felt for my treasure box.
“Dahlia, what the hell are you doing?” Michael huffed. “Watch what you’re doing with your shoulder.”
“I am,” I grunted, pulling out the box.
It was still locked.
Jumping down off the chair, I hurried past a very confused Michael and back through the apartment to the sideboard in our living room. Opening it, I searched through until I found the trinket box I was looking for.
Pulling it out, I flipped it open. Small familiar keys sat inside.
The keys to my treasure box. Right where I’d left them.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Michael followed me as I hurried back to the bedroom and to the treasure box. My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside were letters between me, Davina, and Dillon when we were younger. Letters from Aunt Cecilia. A movie ticket stub from the first movie Michael had taken me to, and a letter my dad had sent me when I first moved to Hartwell. No brooch, even though I’d kept it locked in that box for years. No brooch.
Because it was on our bed.
Somehow.
I shut the box and rounded the bed again to stare at the silver rose.
Dillon.
An unbelievable sense of peace moved through me. Eyes bright with tears, I looked up at Michael.
“What am I missing?”
I smiled, the tears spilling over. “It’s Dillon.”
Michael moved around the bed as I reached for the brooch. Curling my hand around it, I turned to him as he wrapped his arms around me. I melted into him. “I made it for her. Years ago. It’s the only thing of hers that I kept.”
Michael reached for it with one hand while he kept his other tight around me. He studied the brooch. “I remember it. It’s beautiful.”
“I kept it locked in that treasure box, Michael.”
Understanding dawned. “You’ve never moved it?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t looked at that brooch in years. It was buried at the bottom of my treasure box. I came in here to change, and it was just … there.”
“And you think … you think it was Dillon?” I could hear the uncertainty in his voice. Michael was a realist, not given to flights of fancy or notions about ghosts, but the circumstances were weird, and he knew it.
I didn’t know if it was Dillon. I’d never believed in that kind of stuff before.
But something had settled in my soul at the idea of my little sister finding a way to send me a message. To tell me she was happy for Michael and me.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. Joy, so much I could burst with it, warmed me from the inside out. “But I’d like to think so.”
Love blazed from Michael’s eyes as he dipped his head to kiss me softly.
“I love you, Michael.”
“I know.” His arms tightened around me. “I love you too.”
“I’m going to say it until you’re tired of hearing it. I’m going to say it for all the times I left it unsaid.”
“There’s only one thing wrong with that plan,” Michael replied, easing me gently down on the bed and covering my body with his. “I’m never going to tire of hearing it, dahlin’. Not in this lifetime, or the next.”
Fans of the Hart’s Boardwalk series had to wait a little longer than usual for this book and I must not only thank you all for your patience but also for supporting these characters and this world. A particular thank you to my wonderful Polish readers who have embraced Hart’s Boardwalk. Your love for this series gave me the inspiration I needed to write Dahlia and Michael’s passionate second chance romance. Thank you!
For the most part writing is a solitary endeavor but publishing most certainly is not. I have to thank my wonderful editor Jennifer Sommersby Young, a talented, witty lady who always keeps me right. You’ve made me a better writer, friend. Thank you.
And thank you to my bestie and PA extraordinaire, Ashleen Walker, for handling all the little things and supporting me through everything.
The life of a writer doesn’t stop with the book. Our job expands beyond the written word to marketing, advertising, graphic design, social media management and more. Help from those in the know goes a long way. Thank you to every single blogger, instagrammer and book lover who has helped spread the word about my books. You all are appreciated so much! On that note, a massive thank you to all the fantastic readers in my private Facebook group Sam’s Clan McBookish. You make me smile every day!
Moreover, thank you to Hang Le. You create the most beautiful art and the cover for THINGS WE NEVER SAID is no exception. It’s so emotive of Dahlia and Michael’s love and one of my most romantic covers ever. Thank you!
And thank you to Jeff at Indie Formatting for making this book slick and stylish.
As always, thank you to my agent Lauren Abramo for making it possible for readers all over the world to find my words. I’m so grateful for you.
Finally, to you my reader, the biggest thank you of all.
Samantha Young is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author from Stirlingshire, Scotland. She's been nominated for the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Author and Best Romance for her international bestseller On Dublin Street. On Dublin Street is Samantha's first adult contemporary romance series and has sold in thirty countries.
Visit Samantha Young online at
www.authorsamanthayoung.com
Twitter @AuthorSamYoung
Instagram @AuthorSamanthaYoung
Facebook @AuthorSamanthaYoung
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Things We Never Said: A Hart's Boardwalk Novel Page 32