Meet Me at Sunset (Evening Island)

by Olivia Miles

  She nodded. Swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat.

  “Please don’t hate me for moving on. Or for caring about you. Because I’ll always care about you, Ellie. And I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

  She turned now, giving him a watery smile. “You didn’t give me the wrong impression. I think I…saw what I wanted to see.”

  “Professional habit?” he grinned, but there was a sadness in his eyes that touched her.

  “Could be worse things in life, right?”

  They stood in silence, and then, without a word, Simon stepped forward and set his hand back on her shoulder again. “I’m proud of you, El. You did what you always wanted to do. You didn’t care what anyone said. You didn’t succumb to the pressure to do what others expected of you.”

  She frowned at him, wondering if there was more to what he was saying than just his own opinions of her life choices. He wasn’t happy. She could see that. But she also knew that he had made his choice.

  And she had made hers, hadn’t she? She’d chosen to stay here, on Evening Island. To run this studio. To stay inside that huge, empty house all winter long. It was supposed to be everything she’d wanted.

  She watched him go, until he was just a small dot out the window, until he was just a boy she used to know, back when they both had big dreams and big plans.

  He’d followed his path. And she’d taken hers. And she didn’t regret it.

  But she needed something more to keep her here. And Simon wasn’t it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hope

  After last week’s “fish situation,” which Gemma did get a good laugh from, she offered to listen out for the girls during their nap, and in exchange Hope decided to pick up a fresh strawberry pie from Island Bakery on the way back to the house. It would be a reward for Gemma working so hard to finish her book, and an excuse for the sisters to sit outside and enjoy a fine, warm evening, hopefully with less drama than the weekend had brought them.

  First, she had to get through her meeting (because that’s what it was, surely) with John without letting the nerves get to her too much.

  Only they weren’t nerves, she realized, as she stopped outside the Lakeside Inn. What she was feeling was excitement. It was something she hadn’t felt in a very long time, and damn did it feel good.

  She walked up the brick paved path to the front porch, where John was waiting, tapping at something on his phone from one of the rocking chairs. He looked up when she said hello and immediately put his phone in his pocket.

  “You can finish your email or text,” she said as he stood.

  “Later,” he said, giving her a grin.

  She sighed happily and turned to take in her surroundings. It had been a long time since she’d been to this inn and her memory didn’t do it justice. Like many others, it was painted white, with crisp black shutters, and a wide porch lined with rocking chairs. The lawns were carefully maintained, the grass green and lush and the flowers so well taken care of that she didn’t see a weed or wilting petal in sight. The inn faced the town, with its back against the lake, but standing here, from a distance, she could see the white dotted store fronts and flags and lampposts that made the island what it was. More than just a piece of land. It was a community, for those lucky enough to be a part of it.

  “Should we go in?” John asked, and Hope nodded. She was eager to see what the Altmans had done to the place, and when she pushed through the door into the lobby, she realized that nothing had been done.

  That the inn, much like Gran’s house, and Darcy Ritter’s house, was frozen in time. It was like walking into a memory. A place where everything had stayed the same in a moving world.

  In some ways, that was what she loved about it.

  She caught her reflection in a mirror near the umbrella stand, John at her side.

  So much was the same, only so much had changed. Before, when she visited the island, she was a girl. Her life, while planned out for her in so many ways, was still wide open. She didn’t have to follow the carefully laid course—it was just easier to do so. She could have veered to the left, at any moment, and chosen her own path.

  Like she was doing now.

  “Thoughts?” John slid her a wide-eyed look, and she did her best to suppress a laugh.

  “Carpet needs to go,” she whispered in his ear.

  He laughed. He had a great laugh: rich and loud and warm. The kind of laugh you yearned to hear again. The kind of laugh that said so much about his character. He was honest, sincere, and kind.

  And in another lifetime, he could have been someone she loved.

  “Wait until you see the dining room,” he said, motioning for her to follow him to the back of the lobby, where the floor-to-ceiling windows boasted a view of the lake even if they were flanked in heavy gold drapery.

  Merriment made his eyes twinkle as he turned to look her way, and she could only shake her head. Really, what was there to say?

  They continued their tour to a few of the unoccupied bedrooms upstairs, each done up in heavy wallpaper with matching fabric on the upholstery and bedding, and only once they were outside, on the back deck that dropped down to the pool area and beachfront, did they allow themselves to speak freely.

  “It needs a lot of freshening up,” she confirmed. “But so much potential! Do you think the new management has any ideas?”

  He gave her a funny smile. “Oh, I think they could be convinced.”

  She spread her arms wide, taking in the view of the South Bay lighthouse in the distance, and the harbor on the other side. “I mean, look at this! Think of what this place could be!”

  “Oh, I know what it could be. And I was thinking that you could be the design expert. If you’re interested.”

  She blinked and turned to stare at him. Giving her ideas for the place was one thing. Working on a project of this scale was another. “Me?”

  “Why not?” He shrugged. “You know the island. You know the people and what they like. You’d be true to the history, authentic to the charm of the place.”

  She would. She could. She could be everything that he was describing. But taking on a job like this was a commitment—it meant more than asking Ellie or Gemma to watch the girls for a few hours. More than helping people like Darcy freshen up their homes. It meant…It meant a whole new life. A whole new set of possibilities.

  “I need some time to think about it, if that’s okay.”

  He held up a hand. “Of course.”

  “And thank you. For thinking of me. I just don’t want to give my word unless I can truly commit.”

  “Do you mind me asking what’s holding you back?” He stopped himself, shook his head. “Sorry. That was unprofessional and I overstepped. But, this meeting wasn’t purely professional, if I’m being honest.”

  “Neither was my dinner the other night,” she said gently.

  They locked eyes, and what she saw in his, she realized, was hope.

  She cleared her throat and began walking down the steps, eager to keep moving, even if a part of her was anxious about what would happen next.

  “So, how is it that a guy like you isn’t already married?” she asked, giving him a rueful look.

  “I was married,” he said simply, and she tried to hide her shock. Why hadn’t she considered this before? A man like John, patient, kind, supportive…he wouldn’t have just sat on the market, and he didn’t seem like the type who was set firmly on being an eternal bachelor either. “It was short lived. No children, much as I would have wished,” he added, casting her a glance.

  Something in her tugged. He would have made a great father. He still would. After all, he was only a couple years older than she was, from what she knew. He’d be the kind of father who got down on the ground and played with the kids, who helped not just wrap the birthday presents but pick them out too. The kind of husband who’d hold doors and get the strollers through them.

  “Katherine and I married young,
right out of college,” he elaborated.

  Hope nodded. “Evan and I met in college too.” He’d been cute, interested, and he’d seemed like the perfect choice. Her parents’ approval had only confirmed that. Made her think she was on the right path.

  But had her heart ever raced, or her stomach ever fluttered, the way it did now, talking to John?

  She wanted to say that it must have. But she couldn’t be so sure.

  “It’s all so much simpler when you’re young, isn’t it? She was my first serious girlfriend. I didn’t know any other way. I didn’t even know who I was or what I really wanted from my life.”

  Hope nodded. Yes. Yes. Yes. He understood. So, so well. What she thought she wanted was just the comfort of what she’d always known. And now…now she wanted something different.

  “So we got married, and let’s just say that it was a lot tougher than we thought it would be. I was trying to move my way up at the company and I was working a lot, and Katherine struggled to find work, and that made me work even more, and then she complained that I wasn’t around, and, well, the long and the short of it is that she left me.”

  Hope stopped walking. She stared at John. Possibly, she gaped. “She left you?”

  The astonishment must have been clear on her face because John gave a low laugh. “Don’t look so surprised. To hear Katherine spin it, I was an absentee workaholic husband who didn’t treat her like she deserved.” He shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t.”

  “I find that very hard to believe,” Hope said, shaking her head.

  They had reached the beachfront now, and a breeze was blowing in off the lake. Hope slipped off her heels and let them dangle in her hand.

  “Going through a divorce that young changed me,” John said. “At first, I threw myself even more into work. Told myself that I wouldn’t be punished for working too hard. Told myself that I was good at something, even if I’d failed in my marriage.”

  “And now? Did you ever date?” she asked, even though she almost didn’t want to know. The thought of John with another woman bothered her, even though she knew it shouldn’t.

  “Some. But none of it really stuck. And as the years went by, more and more women were already paired off.” He gaze pulled her in. “But I’d like to have a second chance. I’ve changed my ways. And I know what’s important now. I just sometimes wish I’d learned that lesson a little sooner.”

  He stopped to face her and grinned, and Hope felt a strange sense of propriety toward him, a tenderness that extended beyond her own desires, a need for him to find what he was looking for.

  A second chance. After all, wasn’t that what she was hoping to find for herself?

  “Well,” she said when the shoreline turned rocky and it made sense to turn around. “I suppose I should head back and check on the girls before they do something like turn my sister’s novel into confetti.”

  John laughed, and she did too.

  “They wouldn’t really,” he said, but there was enough hesitation in his tone to prove he’d met her kids.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, they would.”

  “They’re sweet kids. You’re lucky, Hope. I just…well, hope that everything works out for you.”

  “I feel like it might,” she said, slipping him a shy smile. The inn was behind them, tall and white against the clear, blue sky, and she blew out a breath, imagining all the possibilities that lay inside. And right here, on the island.

  “Well,” she said again, meeting his eye as she pulled herself back to the present. “I’ll see you soon?”

  “I’ll be here,” he said, backing away.

  Yes, Hope thought to herself. She had a feeling that he would. And that he always would.

  ***

  Hope’s mind was spinning with possibilities by the time she reached the cottage. She could picture the inn, transformed, light and airy with shades of blue and green and gray and the big dining room windows open to show off the sweeping view of the lake.

  And she could picture John, with his kind eyes and genuine smile. She could picture herself, talking to him, getting to know him even more than she had in this brief amount of time.

  She was smiling as she walked up the porch steps. Gemma had offered to watch the girls for her past their nap time, claiming she needed a day off from writing that Hope prayed had nothing to do with Leo not stopping by in a few days, or Gemma’s reluctant to offer more than a grunt when Hope mentioned him by name. Gemma had let herself be derailed by matters of the heart once before and Hope could only cross her fingers that Gemma wouldn’t let that be her guide again…

  Except—wasn’t that exactly what Hope was doing now?

  She pushed that thought away as she opened the door and stepped inside, taking in the sounds for a moment. No screams coming from inside. That was a good thing. Still, the afternoon was getting on; surely the girls were up by now.

  She’d take them down to the market; get some fresh produce for a salad for dinner. Maybe some good bread, too, if there was any left. All the food from the party had been eaten, and the house was clean, as if the night had never happened, and was instead some strange sort of dream—an alternate existence. Hope of Evening Island. Not Hope of Willow Lane. She felt restless, and excited, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to sit still, not when she couldn’t stop thinking of all the ways she could revive that historic inn.

  When she couldn’t stop thinking of John, and the way she felt when she was with him.

  She climbed the stairs to the landing. “Gemma? Girls?”

  “They’re visiting some horses,” a deep voice said behind her.

  Alarmed, Hope turned around, and came face to face with her husband standing in the front hall, looking up at her.

  “Evan,” she said breathlessly. He felt out of place here in this house where he had never been, that represented a life before him, a life without him. A life where she was free to be herself, just Hope, not the roles that had come to identify her since they’d been married.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, and then, seeing the hurt in his eyes, she corrected that statement. “I mean…how did you get here? I thought you were in Singapore until at least tomorrow.” Often, the trips ran longer than originally planned.

  “I came back early,” he said.

  She dropped her chin and stared at him, gripping the banister. Evan didn’t come home early for anything. Not when she had influenza and a fever and was too sick to make the girls dinner, let alone get out of bed. She’d had to call Gemma to come up and help her, because Evan had a big client meeting and couldn’t cancel it. Not when she had a migraine and asked him to get home early to pick the girls up from preschool. Then he’d had another client meeting. He couldn’t leave his client in a lurch. She’d had to put on her darkest sunglasses and deal with it, even when he hadn’t come home until well after the girls were in bed (client dinner).

  “You came back early?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why? Deal fell apart?”

  Evan had the decency to look ashamed. “That’s a fair statement, but no. I came back because I missed the girls. And I missed you, Hope.”

  She stared at him for a long time. He was still handsome, tall and fit, with the same dark hair and eyes that had caught her eye all those years ago. He was familiar. But right now, standing here in this house, on this island, in the life she had created for herself here, he looked strange and out of place. She knew the correct response would be to tell him that she was thrilled, that she missed him too, and not long ago she might have done just that.

  But she wasn’t that person anymore. And the truth was that she didn’t know who she was anymore. Or where that left them.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gemma

  Gemma was working at the table on the porch the next afternoon, a glass of lemonade at her side, the sunshine on her face, and the wilting bouquet of lilacs from the weekend’s party front and center, pulling her thoughts away from the chapter she needed to finish
by end of the day and back to other, personal matters. Conversations she’d rather forget. Feelings that never should have crept up in the first place.

  What had she done, allowing herself to develop feelings for Leo, of all people, just because he was friendly, and cute, and…something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something that defied all logic and tapped right into the part of herself that she no longer trusted, and shouldn’t have trusted. Her heart.

  Exasperated, she finally lifted her fingers from the keyboard, pushed back her chair, and grabbed the vase. She marched it through the side door to the kitchen of the house and crossed through to set it in the center of the underused formal dining room, and then walked purposefully back to her computer.

  There. Out of sight, out of mind.

  If only it were that easy.

  She posed her fingers over the keyboard and skimmed her last paragraph, trying to get back into the feel of the story. After taking a day off yesterday to help with the girls, she was now nearly three hundred pages into the story. She knew the characters. She knew what would happen next. She had one week to finish the draft, and then…then she could fall apart.

  She wrote two more lines—slowly—and then looked up when she heard something crunching over the gravel driveway. It was Ellie, home early, it would seem. She dragged her foot across the kickstand and left the bicycle at a precarious angle on the front path, waving when she saw Gemma sitting on the porch.

  “Writing?” she asked.

  Gemma smiled. “I was. I could use a break if you want to join me for some lemonade.” She motioned to the pitcher on the table.

  Ellie grinned and pushed her long braid over her shoulder. “I’ll grab a glass.”

  She went inside and returned a moment later. She filled her glass and took the seat next to Gemma, staring longingly at the water in the distance.

  “I feel bad about how I behaved the other night at the party,” she said, darting a glance in Gemma’s direction.