Leo turned his attention back to the performance on the terrace, although he didn’t bother watching the actual band. Not the guy with the guitar, singing about heartbreak, or the gorgeous, tall blonde with the fiddle, or even the cute redhead with some other stringed instrument he didn’t recognise.
He just watched Christabel, and how she came alive in the music. And he watched his daughters, watching her and beaming, wiggling where they sat until Christabel pulled them up to dance with her, twirling in the afternoon sunlight.
Who was she? An ex-hedge-fund manager who decided to fix bikes for a living instead? Who lived in an ambulance? Who did that?
Whoever she was, Leo knew he wanted to get to know her better. And, watching Abby and Mia spin under her arms as they danced, he knew they’d enjoy that too.
Emily had Mark, and the kids loved him. Maybe it was time he found someone his girls loved being with, too. Someone who could help him show them he was still a real, important part of their family. Still their dad.
‘You’re staring,’ Miranda said, pointedly. ‘A lot.’
‘I’m watching my girls dance,’ Leo objected.
Miranda rolled her eyes. ‘Sure you are.’
‘So wait. You rented these guys rooms?’ For some reason, he’d figured this had to be Juliet. It was such a Juliet thing to do – let a band take over the whole B&B – and she’d been so adamant about looking after the Lighthouse in their parents’ absence.
‘Christabel knew they were looking for a place to stay, somewhere out of town so they could practise in peace. It seemed made to be. So she messaged them and they came.’ Miranda shrugged. ‘Hey. Speaking of our little sister, want to go check how Juliet’s getting on in the kitchen?’
‘No.’
‘Please.’
Leo gave her a sideways look. ‘You do it if it matters so much to you.’
Miranda huffed an impatient sigh. ‘What are we? Twelve again?’
‘You’re the one asking me to do your chores for you.’
‘I am not! I was asking you to check on our sister, who clearly has something going on she’s not telling us about or she wouldn’t be on Seashell Island in the first place.’
There, at least, Leo had to admit Miranda had a point. ‘She hasn’t told you why she’s here yet?’
Miranda shook her head. ‘You?’
‘Not even a hint. Well, maybe one,’ he amended, remembering that strange, secretive but excited conversation with Juliet in London, a month or more ago.
‘What did she say?’ Miranda pressed.
‘Nothing, just . . . when I saw her in London last month, she said she’d have something exciting to tell me soon. Then last night I asked if this meant it hadn’t come off and she kind of shrugged and nodded.’
‘You don’t know what it was, though?’
‘No idea.’ Leo shrugged. ‘I guessed it was maybe a promotion?’
‘Or a new boyfriend.’ Sighing, Miranda leaned back against the terrace railing. ‘But whichever it is, you know she won’t talk to me about it.’
Which Leo had to admit was a fair point. ‘She might not talk to me about it either, you realise.’ It had to be something pretty bad for Juliet to decide to hide out on Seashell Island.
‘So you won’t even try?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Although, if he was honest, he didn’t really want to. Not because he didn’t love his sister, or because he didn’t want to help her. But because he’d had the same conversation so many times already. There were only so many times he could tell her that there’d be another opportunity around the corner, or that the right person would come along eventually.
Not to mention that it would mean walking into a kitchen with Rory and Juliet in it, and he was still mentally scarred from the last time he did that.
At least this time the odds were better on them both being clothed.
Miranda sighed. ‘Maybe it’s better to wait until the morning, when there’s less going on around here.’
‘The morning sounds good.’ Or never. Never sounded pretty good too.
She gave him a sceptical look, like she’d heard the second half of his thoughts, then pushed away from the railings and headed towards the terrace. As she drew closer to the band, he saw Christabel grab her arm and say something that made his sister laugh in a way he didn’t remember seeing for years. What was it about this woman that brought out things in people they’d thought were hidden?
Whatever it was, Miranda said something back and then headed towards the kitchen, still smiling, and sharing another snatched conversation he couldn’t make out with the band’s frontman on the way. He wondered if the fact Christabel had sent the band to them meant that they were part of her big plan to help Miranda find her focus and path in life. Probably.
‘Daddy! Come and dance!’ Abby twirled across the terrace and caught his fingers, trying to drag him over to where Christabel was still dancing like no one was watching, even though he really, really was. Mia, on the other hand, hung back.
‘Daddy doesn’t dance, Abs,’ she said, taking her sister’s hand. ‘Come on.’ She led her back across the terrace, to where Christabel was dancing with the guitarist.
Leo stared after them. Mia was right: he didn’t dance. Emily had always hated that he’d never dance with her, not at weddings, parties or even in bars and clubs. She’d danced with her friends, but never with him. He just didn’t have the rhythm.
But suddenly, a strange, new part of his heart wanted to dance. With his daughters.
With Christabel.
For a moment he stood, torn between clinging to the terrace rail and the cool detachment he normally cultivated – which, to be fair, had already been ruined by his bike crash that morning – and giving in to the impulse to move to the beat.
Then, before he could decide, his back pocket started vibrating and he whipped out his phone automatically.
Tom, the screen read.
With a last, apologetic smile in the direction of the dancers, he stepped down off the terrace and onto the grass below, searching for a quiet spot in which to take the call.
There’d be other chances to dance, anyway.
JULIET
‘You don’t have to stay, you know.’ Juliet cracked an egg into the pan, then held her hand out for another one.
Rory passed it over bang on cue, like they’d been doing this for years, rather than minutes. ‘And you don’t have to cook breakfast for your guests at dinner time, but here we are.’
Juliet shrugged. ‘Miranda, Leo and the girls need feeding anyway. And, as much as it might surprise you, I actually like cooking. When I get the chance.’
That made him raise his eyebrows. Probably because the girl he’d known had complained endlessly about everything she had to do at the Lighthouse – even the parts she enjoyed, like cooking. Admittedly, when she’d left the island, a full English was about the only thing she could cook. But she’d had to learn, out in the world by herself and not wanting to live on bacon and eggs, especially when she was starting out and couldn’t afford takeaways or ready meals that didn’t taste like cat food. So she’d actually used the cookery book for students Miranda had given her when she left – not that she’d ever admit it – and learned the basics. Once she realised that she could feed herself better and cheaper by making meals herself, it had become a bit of a hobby, even before she started working in the industry.
But usually, she’d only been cooking for herself, or maybe her current boyfriend or flatmate too. Never breakfast for nine. Ten, if she counted that woman who’d arrived with Leo. Eleven if Rory stayed, too.
‘Do you think we have enough sausages?’ she asked. She’d picked the pork and apple ones, because she knew they were Miranda’s favourite, and it meant she could save the more traditional breakfast ones for actual breakfast another day. Maybe she�
��d do pancakes in the morning, with crispy bacon and maple syrup, or blueberries and yogurt.
‘You have plenty,’ Rory assured her. ‘And I’ll bring more in the morning.’
She glanced up from the egg frying perfectly in her pan. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘I know,’ he said, simply. ‘And I think that egg’s done.’
He was right. Juliet hurriedly flipped it out onto the waiting plate and put it back in the warmer, then reached for another to fill the space in her pan.
‘Why are you?’ she asked, after a moment of nothing but the sizzle of frying fat. ‘Helping me, I mean?’
She didn’t look at his face as he answered. If she was honest with herself, she was almost afraid of what she might see there. ‘Because it’s you.’
She bit her lip. Rory had told her he wouldn’t get any ideas, right? She risked a glance. There was no lust, no hope in Rory’s expression. No slight leer of suggestiveness, like she’d have expected in Callum’s.
Instead, he looked . . . resigned? As if this was just the way the world worked, and he was going along with it against his better judgement.
‘Well . . . thank you.’
She wanted to say more, although she had no idea what. And even if she’d been able to find the words, there wasn’t the time because at that moment the kitchen door swung open, letting in a blast of music, laughter, and Miranda.
‘How are things going in here? Are those the pork and apple sausages? They’re my favourite.’
‘They are! And they’re just about ready,’ Juliet said, sliding the last egg onto the sausage bap waiting for it.
‘Brilliant! I’ll help you take them out.’ Miranda crossed the kitchen and gave Rory a hug, leaving Juliet looking on in astonishment. ‘Hey, Rory.’
Since when had her sister been on hugging terms with her ex-boyfriend? Not that she’d have noticed, Juliet had to admit. She always tried to avoid the town when she was on the island. Her visits were always so fleeting, it was easiest just to head straight up to the Lighthouse and stay there until it was time to catch the foot ferry. It wasn’t even Rory in particular she was avoiding, just everyone. Everyone who’d want to know how life was on the mainland, who’d judge her based on who she’d been when she lived there, and everything she’d said she wanted to achieve and then hadn’t.
Not having to face Rory had just been a blessed side effect. But of course Miranda would have seen him. His restaurant was only a stone’s throw from her office. And in winter, the population of Seashell Island contracted so much that if one person started ignoring another they’d lose a significant proportion of their human interactions.
She just hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t thought about how Rory’s life would have gone on without her. But it obviously had. And far more successfully than hers had gone without him.
It was a thought that occupied her mind as they took the food out onto the terrace, and the band stopped playing long enough to demolish it. Given the way they’d been hitting the honesty bar, Juliet had to admit providing them with food had been self-preservation.
Suzi, the redhead who played what Juliet had learned tonight was called a bouzouki, sidled up with a mouthful of dinner to thank her. ‘Pretty sure supper wasn’t in the B&B tariff Owain agreed with your sister. But it’s appreciated all the same!’
Juliet shrugged. ‘It’s nice to see the place full of life again.’
And it was, she realised as she said it. Over the last few years when she’d visited, guest numbers had definitely been dwindling. Growing up, she remembered the place packed with visiting families and holidaymakers bringing tales of the outside world – or so it seemed to her – and other kids to play with. Kids who went to schools with thousands of other pupils, not less than a hundred. Kids with trains into the city or huge concert arenas or actual things to do.
Those were the visitors who had inspired her to leave in the first place.
Her gaze roamed around the terrace, taking in the new life they’d brought to the Lighthouse. Leo was nowhere to be seen, but Abby and Mia were having a brilliant time chatting with the band and Christabel. Robyn and Ryan seemed to be competing for who could eat the most sausages in a bap, which seemed particularly unfair given their slender forms. And Miranda and the band’s lead singer, Owain, were leaning companionably on the terrace, heads close as they chatted.
Maybe, Juliet thought, as she watched Miranda laugh out loud at something Owain had said, bringing life back to the place could be good for all of them.
Not drinking had its benefits, Juliet decided, when she awoke first the following morning. While it took a moment for her to start feeling human, it wasn’t anything like the full day procedure a hangover required. Later, the erroneously named morning sickness would kick in, probably around mid-afternoon, but for now she felt pretty good.
And hungry.
It had been long after midnight when they’d all finally crashed into their beds. Rory had stayed and chatted to Leo when he’d returned from wherever he’d gone to take some vital phone call, then disappeared without saying goodbye, leaving Juliet feeling vaguely out of sorts for the rest of the night.
It wasn’t as if she’d imagined she’d slip back into Rory’s life after a decade away. But at the same time, it was unsettling to feel almost like a stranger – or, at best, an acquaintance – of someone who’d been such a big part of her childhood and growing up.
Resolving not to dwell on the Rory situation, Juliet decided to focus on something she could fix. In this case, breakfast.
Pancakes. That was the answer to everything this morning. With bacon and syrup and fruit and fresh orange juice. If that didn’t wake people up, nothing would.
She hummed to herself as she bustled around the kitchen, sifting flour and breaking eggs and setting the old-fashioned coffee-maker, the one without environmentally unfriendly pods, bubbling away. In fact, she was so focused on the task at hand, she didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs, or her sister arriving in the kitchen.
‘I had no idea you liked cooking so much.’
Juliet jumped at the sound of her voice. ‘God! When did you get here?’
‘Just now.’ Filling her coffee cup, Miranda leaned against the table watching her. ‘You make pancakes as well as a full English now?’
‘And many other things.’ Juliet tried not to sound annoyed. ‘I mean, food, cooking . . . it kind of went with the job.’
Miranda frowned. ‘With temping? How?’
‘I haven’t been temping for three years, Miri,’ Juliet said, frustrated. Although, given how little attention she’d apparently given to what had been going on here on Seashell Island, perhaps she shouldn’t feel so resentful that her sister cared so little about what went on off it. ‘I worked for a company that specialises in promoting up-and-coming food brands. I was in charge of organising all sorts of street-food events and stuff.’ She caught herself and stopped, hoping Miranda wouldn’t have noticed her use of the past tense.
‘That sounds fun.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Or it had been, until she screwed it up by screwing the boss. ‘I got to sample all sorts of world foods, as well as talk with chefs and cooks from around the globe. Plus it turns out I’m actually pretty good at the organising side of things. Making sure things get done.’
Miranda waved her coffee mug towards the fridge. ‘I guess that explains your sudden conversion to the way of the rota.’
‘It all needs doing.’
‘It does.’ Miranda peered closer at the rota. Juliet tried to pretend she wasn’t watching her, but she was. She wanted to know what she thought. After all this time, apparently she was still desperate for her big sister’s approval. ‘And it looks good. I notice you’ve given yourself most of the breakfast cooking duties.’
Juliet shrugged. ‘Like I said, I enjoy cooking. It’s soothing.’
‘And there’s something going on in your life right now that you need soothing about? That’s why you’re here on the island, and not in London organising street-food festivals?’
Damn.
Juliet considered her answer carefully. Odds were, whatever she’d said Miranda would eventually twist it round to her motivations for coming home. It wasn’t like she hadn’t known this conversation was coming. And she’d deal with it the same way she’d always dealt with Miranda – by attacking, not defending. But not like she had as a moody teen, with ranting and yelling. Like an adult, who deserved to be part of the conversation.
Because she was an adult now, even if she didn’t always feel like it.
‘Speaking of things going on in our lives, why didn’t you tell me you and Paul split up?’ she asked, as neutrally and calmly as she could.
Miranda tensed and froze. ‘Rory told you?’ she said after a long pause.
Juliet nodded. ‘Apparently it’s all anyone in town is talking about.’
‘Of course it is.’ Miranda swore under her breath, and Juliet’s eyes widened. Had she ever heard her perfect older sister swear before? She wasn’t sure.
‘What happened?’ Juliet asked. ‘I mean, if you want to talk about it. Rory said there were a million different versions going around.’
‘Yeah.’ Sighing, Miranda put down her cup and hopped up onto the kitchen stool beside her.
Turning down the hob as the last of the bacon finished frying, Juliet flipped the pancake in the second pan – and then reached for the jug of fresh orange juice in the fridge, pouring her sister a large glass. Vitamin C was important, and always helped with a hangover.
Miranda smiled gratefully and took a large gulp.
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ Juliet said, suddenly feeling guilty for putting her sister on the spot. ‘I know we’re not the girly-talk and secrets kind of sisters.’ She’d always had her friends for that. And Miranda had had . . . well, Paul, she supposed. Miranda and Paul had got together when Juliet was only nine or ten. She barely remembered a time before Paul was joining them for Sunday lunches and summer barbecues.
Summer on Seashell Island: Escape to an island this summer for the perfect heartwarming romance in 2020 (Riley Wolfe 1) Page 14
