by Olivia Miles
Her phone pinged, pulling her attention away, and she did so reluctantly. On her screen was an alert, one she must have forgotten to delete five months ago when her world fell apart. Final dress fitting. One hour from now.
She wasn’t even aware that she was shaking until she accidentally dropped the phone, letting it hit the wooden floorboards with a thud. Her wedding dress was still in her closet back at the apartment, zipped in its dress bag, hidden from view. She had held onto it for reasons she couldn’t explain, even to herself. It had been expensive, but that wasn’t a reason to keep it. It was hope, perhaps, that she had clung to. Hope that as the days ticked by, something would change. That her wedding would still go forward, as planned.
Only it wouldn’t. She knew that now. And the dress just served as a hurtful reminder of everything that might have been and wouldn’t be.
She had no idea if it fit or not anymore. She had let the shop know when she went to pick it up—when she tried to return it and was told that she couldn’t, since it was custom made. But she hadn’t deleted the appointment from her phone. And now…now she knew that she wouldn’t get any more work done today.
She closed out of her document and went to the bathroom to run a brush through her hair. It was after lunch already, late afternoon really, and she hadn’t been outside all day. She’d take a walk, and if that walk happened to lead to a chat with Leo, then so be it. She should probably thank him for raking out that vegetable garden, after all. She’d watered it as he’d instructed, letting Rose and Victoria assist, and she thought there might just be a chance to save some of the summer crop after all, if she worked hard at it.
What was she saying? She was selling this house! What did it matter if she saved some squash?
Because it mattered to Gran, she realized. And therefore, it mattered to her.
And even though she knew it was impractical to hold onto this property, she wanted to be sure that it was shiny and polished, taken care of, and loved.
They wouldn’t just sell to anyone. They’d sell to another family, a family who would have the time to come here every summer, just as they all once had.
And then… Then she hadn’t gotten much further.
Deciding she couldn’t think about this anymore right now, especially when Ellie was still avoiding any mention of the subject—and her, at all costs, it would seem from her continued absence—Gemma went downstairs and stepped out onto the front porch, deciding she would take a walk along the beachfront if Leo didn’t happen to catch her eye first.
Admittedly, she was darting her gaze in that direction.
Catching her stare, he held up an arm in a wave, and damn it if her stomach didn’t flip over a little at that. Honestly, how ridiculous was this? She’d been holed up in her apartment for so long that she now got all weak in the knees over the slightest kindness from a random man?
Only he didn’t feel random. He felt…well, like a friend.
“Nice day out!” she said.
He set down his toolbox and took the steps down to the grass. She swallowed hard as he crossed the lawn toward Sunset Cottage. “I don’t see you out much.”
She grinned, wondering if he had been looking for her and then telling herself that this was ridiculous. It was an observation, and a fairly obvious one.
“Work keeps me busy. I’m under a tight deadline.”
“What do you do?” he asked, tipping his head.
“Oh…” She dreaded this part, when she had to state her profession. Once, she had said it with pride. Made the announcement with no hesitation. But lately, she felt like a fraud, like people could see through to her struggle. “I’m a writer.”
“Anything I’ve heard of?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Not unless you read romance novels.”
His jaw seemed to harden. “Can’t say that I do.” He studied her for a moment. “So you believe in all that stuff?”
“Stuff?”
“Happy endings and all that,” he said, narrowing his gaze.
Even if she hadn’t found it for herself, she knew that it existed for some. Hope was proof of that. She shrugged. “Doesn’t everybody?”
“Not everyone,” he said briskly, and she had the distinct impression that she had hit a nerve.
She gave a little smile, feeling a kinship that bordered on a connection with this man. “That’s why I’m here for the summer,” she explained. “I’m finishing up my next book.” Finishing up. She nearly snorted on that exaggeration. “There’s a room upstairs that I like, with a view of the lake, and well, it’s working out better than my place in Chicago.” That much was true. She was at least producing words, which she hadn’t done since Sean left her.
Leo stood on the grass looking up at her, thrusting his hands into his pockets, little beads of sweat dotting his forehead, and Gemma took this as a reason to invite him in.
“Can I offer you a glass of cold lemonade? I owe you at least that much for helping out with Gran’s vegetable garden.” She was stalling, she told herself, not flirting. She was avoiding the page.
“A break would be nice. I’ve pretty much been at it over there since the day I stepped foot off the ferry.”He came up the stairs until he was side by side on the porch with her. She could feel the heat off his skin, smell the grass on his body.
She swallowed hard and yanked the door open so hard that it banged against the hinges. Embarrassed, she caught his look of surprise. “Darn thing. Just one of many things that needs some updating around here.”
She led him back into the kitchen and poured them each a tall glass of lemonade with extra ice.
“I see your fridge light is out,” he observed, fighting off a smile. “I could fix that, but I have a feeling that you’re capable of screwing in a light bulb.”
She laughed. “Capable, yes. It’s finding the time that’s the problem.”
“I have time,” he said mildly. “There’s a lot of time on island time.”
“What brings you to the island?” She saw the set of his jaw, and immediately realized that she had overstepped. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I can be nosy. Professional habit.”
“It’s okay, I’m just not one for talking about the past.” His brow burrowed before he took another sip from his glass.
“That makes two of us,” she said with a grin. She cocked her head toward the parlor. “There are a lot of things that need work around here. Maybe I could show you around?”
She led him through the rooms of the first floor, commenting on the items that would need tended to and fixed up: loose doorknobs, broken window sashes, appliances in desperate need of replacement that would have to make do with a repair.
Finally, they ended up in the parlor, with its shelves of books and the grand piano in the corner of the big bay window. Someone had set a vase of fresh flowers beside it. Hope, no doubt. She was thoughtful like that. She had a way of making any house feel like a home.
Leo noticed a copy of her book on the shelf and picked it up, turning it over in his large hands, his expression blank. Gemma felt her cheeks burn. She’d written that book at a happier time in her life. She didn’t like to think about that time anymore, and she didn’t like to talk about it either.
Eager to avoid the topic, she scanned the shelves, only then noticing the dozen or so other copies that Gran must have bought, her heart tugging at the silent gesture of support. She noticed Leo following her gaze and said quickly, “I’ll donate some to the local library. If they’re interested.”
He frowned at her as she took the book. “I can’t imagine they wouldn’t be.”
She shrugged. He was probably right, but she struggled to convince herself of this. “Sometimes it’s easy to lose sight of your own work when you’re too close it.”
He gave her a long look. “Not a bad problem to have though, is that? Something you care about?”
“Depends how you look at it, I suppose,” she said, her mind trailing back to Sean. She was so close to him she
hadn’t even seen that he had fallen out of love with her, or maybe, never loved her at all. “Sometimes it’s scarier to care.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” he said, holding up his glass to hers, and she again wondered about him. He had a past. Everyone did. But not many people’s pasts brought them to a remote island in the Great Lakes.
Yet somehow, hers had.
“This house…” she started, and then stopped. “Well, we’re probably going to sell it.” Not probably, she told herself.
He looked surprised at the news. “Aw, but it’s such a piece of history,” he said, stirring up the doubts that were already there. “Ellie never mentioned it when I’ve bumped into her.”
“Well, I live in Chicago and so does my sister Hope. And Ellie…” Here she paused and blew out a breath. He’d seen the vegetable garden, hadn’t he? “It doesn’t make sense to hold onto it. It’s too large, for starters.”
He looked around and then nodded. “These old places are hard to maintain, especially up here on the island. But I’d buy it myself if I could afford it.”
So he was planning on staying on Evening Island, was he? She tried not to think about that too much.
“Do you have family here?” she asked.
To her surprise, he nodded. “You asked about Edward the other day. He’s my grandfather.”
“He is?” Gemma was astonished, but now, studying Leo’s face more carefully, she saw the resemblance. The same strong features. The same kind eyes. “I don’t remember ever seeing you on the island.”
“I never visited before. But my mother summered here as a girl before my grandfather moved here full time, and she always spoke fondly of the island. I know she wished she had come back more often.”
Gemma knew the feeling all too well. She smiled. “Well, your grandfather was always kind to my grandmother. And to me and my sisters, too.” She made a note to seek him out before she left the island.
Left the island. She pulled in a breath, not liking the way that settled.
“Come on out to the porch,” she said. “It’s stifling in here. I’m afraid of how bad it will be come July.”
Not that she would know, she realized, feeling suddenly sad at the thought. She couldn’t impose on Ellie forever, and if they were going to list the house, they’d have to do it before the weather turned, anyway. Summer was tourist season. People would come, fall in love with the island, and be tempted into returning on a regular basis.
She’d have to talk to Ellie again soon.
“You don’t work out here?” Leo looked around the porch with approval. “If I lived here, I’d be out here all day.”
It occurred to her that she didn’t know where he lived, but he was private, and determined to remain so, it seemed.
“I never thought about that really, but maybe it would help. I’ve been struggling with my writing. It’s why I came here,” she admitted. The table was more than big enough to spread notes out, and her laptop had a strong battery, one that could last for hours without needing to be recharged. And Hope was spending more time out of the house, meaning there was less chance of the twins interrupting her.
“So you came all the way here and stay cooped up inside writing?” Leo gave her a quizzical look.
Well, when he put it like that…
“I guess I’m set in my ways,” she thought aloud. “At least, that’s what my ex always said.”
It was something that Sean had accused her of, once their relationship started taking a turn. That he didn’t know her anymore. That she had changed their routine by staying home, writing all day. That he liked her better when she was on the same schedule as him, at the office, breaking for lunch, commuting back and forth from the business district to their north side apartment. They had more to talk about then. It had masked how little they had in common.
She was aware that Leo was giving her a strange look now, and she felt her cheeks warm. “I’m over-sharing. I’m sorry. I must not get out enough.”
“Let me take you out then,” he said. “A writer needs to see the world.”
She felt her breath grow heavy, not liking where this going, afraid of where this was going, really. She pulled a face, prepared to let him down, but he held up a hand before she could speak.
“For the record, I’ve got an ex too. No pressure. Just two friends. Getting out.”
Friends. She liked the sound of that, even if it was almost…disappointing? No, she couldn’t allow that.
“How does Thursday look for you?”
The same as every other day, she thought. Until now. Now it felt…promising.
“Okay then,” she said, grinning.
“Good. It’s a date,” he said, and immediately Gemma felt a heat flare up in her cheeks.
They stood there, letting the awkward moment pass. Finally, Leo said, “Well, the paint’s probably dry on the Taylors’ porch by now. I should get that second coat going.”
“Of course,” Gemma gushed. She didn’t want to keep him from his work. And she really shouldn’t keep herself from her work either.
And now, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she felt that she had more work in her.
The gardener was becoming a bigger and bigger character in her story, and maybe, not just in her book.
“And I’ll get over here soon to do those repairs. Just jot down a project list. I can work within your budget.”
“Thanks. It will really help sell the place.”
“If you decide to sell,” he said over his shoulder as he walked down the porch steps.
Gemma leaned against the doorjamb to the front door, careful not to press against the screen. She didn’t need to go damaging anything else in this house. “We’ll be selling. This house is too much for my sister to take care of on her own, and my other sister and I don’t get up here much.”
She watched as Leo’s eyes shifted and landed on something over her shoulder. She turned, hoping to see Hope, but dread sinking in when she saw Ellie, standing a few feet away in the hallway, the look on her face telling Gemma that she had heard everything and that she wasn’t happy about it at all.
“Ellie,” Gemma said. She must not have heard her come home when she was upstairs working, and now she had some explaining to do. But before she could say anything more, Ellie shook her head and pounded up the stairs, leaving Gemma and Leo in an awkward silence at the base.
Leo whistled out a breath. “Hope I didn’t get you into trouble,” he said.
“Not anymore than I’m already in,” she said, only she wasn’t so sure that this was true. Because as he held up a hand and crossed the lawn to the house next door, she realized that she couldn’t wait to see him again, and that no good could come from thinking that way. About him. Or anyone.
Chapter Fourteen
Ellie
The studio was her special place, even more than Sunset Cottage. Certainly more than her bedroom back at her parents’ house, because that one had been decorated by her mother in colors that didn’t inspire her: muted mauves when she would have preferred something bright and blue. She hadn’t even been allowed to put a nail in the wall; hadn’t been allowed to hang one of her own paintings. Granted, some of her early work was amateur, but she had improved over time, gotten a scholarship to the Art Institute when her father refused support of any kind, wanting her to get a degree in education or marketing instead, where she could “apply” her interests in a way that better suited him. He didn’t understand that it wasn’t the same! “Hobbies are hobbies,” he’d said in one of their worst fights. “And hobbies don’t pay the bills!”
Now, she wondered if he was right. Between rent on the studio, bills at the house, and the everyday expense of life, her inheritance was dwindling, rapidly, and while the paintings she sold were proving to be a steady stream of income, it wouldn’t cover the upkeep needed to keep the cottage running indefinitely. And without her sisters’ support as co-owners, she was in a very bad situation.
Would they
refuse to pitch in when the roof needed to be replaced? Because it did need to be replaced. She was no dummy. And it should probably be replaced before the heavy snow hit—not only because it would be next to impossible to get a replacement installed once the ferry stopped running, but because she knew that a leaking roof and subsequent water damage would only add to the cost. And what about when the water heater failed? It was imminent, she knew, but she hadn’t told them that yet—not when they were grumbling over the washing machine being less than reliable. And now, she didn’t feel she could. It would be one more reason for Gemma to want to sell. And why wouldn’t Hope agree when it came down to it? Hope was practical. And the house…was not.
She knew it, of course, deep down. It was huge, for starters. Far too big for one person. And it was old. And any kind of construction or repairs on the island was costly; it was why Gran, like so many year-round islanders, took care of what they had, preserving it, making it last.
And it was also more than Ellie could handle on her own.
Still, she was angry at Gemma. Angry at Hope, for not really sharing much opinion either way. But mostly, she knew in her heart of hearts, she was angry at her father.
And right now, Gemma was sounding more and more like him. Wanting to sell Sunset! He always claimed the house was run-down, in need of modernization. He failed to see that what he saw fit to critique was exactly what made the homes here so cherished and loved. She rather liked the peeling wallpaper; it gave it character! Each squeaky floorboard told a story. But try telling that to her family.
She angrily stroked her brush across the canvas. She was painting a thunderstorm, coming in over the water. Dark clouds and angry waves. Grays and blacks and navy. It wasn’t like her usual whimsical, light, and colorful paintings that she was known for on the island. But right now, she didn’t feel happy. Right now she felt…scared. As scared as she’d been last summer when Gran was gone and life again felt uncertain, because much as she hated to admit it, even now, the reason she had been so upset with Gemma was because deep down she knew that her sister was right.
