Match Me Perfect

by Jessica Ames

  The open water is my home. There’s something calming about the sea, although I’m also all too aware of its power as well. A healthy respect for the ocean keeps you coming home at the end of each day. Forgetting she can destroy you is a sure-fire way to get into serious trouble.

  And that means the moment I step on the Scarlet Rose I need to have my head in the game. Being distracted can lead to dire consequences—permanent consequences. Since I have my life, Alex’s life and the other two crew members, Mason and Tanner, in my hands I need to keep my focus.

  Concern that I’m not focused today is probably why my former brother-in-law keeps shooting me stink-eye from the stern of the boat where he’s loading supplies into the lockers on the deck. It’s mine and Mara’s wedding anniversary today; a painful reminder to us all that she’s gone before her time. Usually, I would be a wreck, but with every year that passes those feelings get less acute.

  Mace thinks I can’t see him watching me, but I can feel his eyes boring into my back, practically stripping the flesh off my shoulders. I know why he’s worried and for that reason I shouldn’t be annoyed, but it’s getting old. Fast. I know how to do my job, and there isn’t a chance in hell I’d step one foot on this boat if I couldn’t do it. Mace knows this—so do Alex and Tanner—so his watching me like a hawk for the past twenty minutes is irritating. If he doesn’t stop I may smack him.

  I head towards the stern of the boat, stacking up the supplies we’re going to need for today’s trip in front of him to load into the lockers. As I drop the boxes, I straighten and decide the best approach is to clear the air and clear it fast. I don’t want this festering over us while we’re out in the water.

  “If you’ve got something to say, then spit it out already.”

  Mason gives me a look that suggests innocence, but I’m not stupid; I’ve known him all his life—even before I married his sister; I can read him better than he can read himself.

  Mace is three years younger than Mara and is also from a long line of fishermen. He’s a bloody good deckhand although he and Alex fight more than an old married couple. I feel for Tanner who gets stuck listening to their bullshit.

  But I’ve worked with Mace for years, meaning his anxiety is pissing me off even more. He knows I’m careful.

  “I don’t have anything to say,” he tells me.

  I cock a brow at him.

  “You’ve been looking at me like you think I’m going to break since we started loading the boat.”

  To his credit, he does look a little sheepish. His hand goes to the back of his neck, rubbing as he straightens from his crouch. This brings him to his full height, which is, annoyingly, at least four inches taller than my five foot ten. He’s always enjoyed this fact, given I’m also older than him.

  “I’m not giving you looks. I’m just…” He meets my gaze and sighs. “I’d understand if you need to take the day off. We all would.” He indicates Tanner and Alex, the former who is studiously ignoring our conversation by seeming consumed with checking the lines, and the latter who is glaring at Mace as if he can maim him with a look. If I don’t get control of this situation fast I’m going to have a fight on my hands.

  I let out a calming breath. “I don’t need to take a day off because I’m fine.”

  “I know you’re fine but—”

  “But nothing,” I interrupt. “I’m fine. You have nothing to worry about. Maybe you should take a day off instead.”

  “I’m not the skipper.”

  “He said he’s fine.” Alex steps in, growling his words and inwardly I sigh.

  My cousin might be younger than me, but he’s always had that protective streak when it comes to family, and he and Mace don’t exactly see eye to eye.

  “I’m not worried, Cal.”

  “If you aren’t worried,” Alex mutters, “then why in the hell are you bringing it up?”

  Mason turns to my cousin, his expression irritated. “What’s this got to do with you?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  I hold up a hand, stopping their argument before it gets started. “Alex, chill. Mace, I’m fine, okay?”

  He sighs, his gaze going out over the bay. The passenger ferry is docked near to the boat at the moorings, but won’t go out for another two hours, meaning we’re the only people at the dock. This is not unusual; we’re usually the only idiots up this early in the day.

  Behind us, Kildirk rises against the backdrop of the sea, and the mainland can just about be made out on the horizon to the north of us, even through the early morning thin layer of mist.

  After a moment, Mace brings his gaze back to me. “Mum said—”

  “I can imagine what she said,” I interrupt, and I can. Loretta, my former mother-in-law, is a bigger worrier than my own mother. “But I’m fine. No way in hell would I be out here if I wasn’t, and you know that. My focus is on this job.”

  And that is the truth. I would never risk the lives of others. That he would even suggest it pisses me off.

  “Just finish loading the boat, yeah?” I turn on my heel and head back to the dock to grab more supplies.

  I know Mace means well. I know they all do, but I don’t need to be coddled. It’s been six years. Does it hurt still? Yeah, it does. There are days when my heart feels void, and there are days when I feel whole, but I can’t keep living in the past. It’s exhausting. I loved Mara; I still do, but she’s gone and life… it goes on. Do I wish she were still here? Of course, but I can’t change the facts. I can’t bring her back and I’m tired of living in the past.

  When I bring the next lot of boxes up to deck, Mace looks a little unsure.

  “I didn’t mean to piss you off, man,” he tells me. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  I drop the boxes and sigh. Sometimes, I feel like the entire island has put me under the shadow of the past and won’t let me come out from under it. How long am I expected to play the grieving widower?

  “It’s fine. You didn’t piss me off.”

  Mace’s gaze is distant. “I just miss her. Every fucking day, I expect she’s going to come home, you know?”

  And I do, because I expected that too for a long time.

  I put a hand to his shoulder and squeeze it, hoping this reassures him. “Let’s finish loading and go make some money.”

  Mace gives me a tight smile but doesn’t say anything more. We finish loading and get the boat out into the open water, using the onboard radar equipment to search for schools of fish. I’m manning the controls while Tanner and Mace hover at the stern, watching the water.

  Alex enters the cabin and hands me a flask of coffee. I murmur my thanks and expect him to head back out onto the deck, but he doesn’t.

  I wait for him to gather his thoughts enough to speak, and it takes him a moment to collect them.

  His eyes dart over my face, eyes that are similar to mine but different too. He definitely inherited mainly Vanstone genes.

  “They expect you to mourn her forever. It’s not right.”

  “They just miss her.” And they do. Mara was loved by everyone, not just me.

  Alex nods then says, “Mara’s gone, Cal. You’re still here. If you don’t live your life you might as well have died with her.”

  And with that parting shot, he leaves the cabin.

  He’s not wrong though, and I know it. The thing is I’m ready to move on with my life; I’ve been ready for a while, but I know even entertaining the thought of it is going to lead to some backlash.

  4

  Sadie

  My father died when I was six years old. It was sudden, completely out of the blue and utterly devastating. He had a massive heart attack in his sleep one night. He kissed my mother goodnight, closed his eyes and never woke up again. That scared the hell out of me enough to develop a sleep disorder throughout most of my teenage years. Even now, I find sleep difficult.

  I’m now thirty-one and my father has been gone for twenty-five years. As each year
passes my memory of him becomes hazier, like a photograph left in the sun to fade. I wish I could hold onto those memories of him for longer, but in time I know I will have lost it all.

  And that is how I feel about Richard. There are days when I remember his touch vividly, but there are others when I can barely recall how it felt to be in his arms. He is a ghost in my life, a stain on my history.

  Jilted.

  It’s a horrible word. It’s one that is now synonymous with my name in our social circle. I will forever be ‘Jilted Sadie’. The humiliation and devastation will never leave me. There is a hole in my heart and a heavy feeling in my gut that no amount of time can heal.

  Rejection is hard enough; public rejection is a whole other ball game.

  It’s been three months since he told me those terrible words: “I don’t want to marry you.” It feels longer, yet the pain is stronger. Time is supposed to be a healer. For me, this has not been the case. I hope it will lessen because I can’t imagine feeling this way forever. Everything feels smaller, less colourful without him. I know I should hate him for what he did, and a part of me does, but mostly I just miss him.

  I hate coming home alone, going to bed alone, waking up alone. I hate being Sadie, and not Sadie and Richard. And I hate that I hate that. I should want to cut his balls off and feed them to him; my friends had heatedly threatened that—and worse. But what I feel for him is at odds with what they think I should feel for him.

  And everyone seems to have an opinion on this.

  The funny thing about people is they will let you grieve in the open for a time, then they stop listening. It’s funny how compassion has a shelf-life. My window to feel upset about Richard has come and gone. I had a month’s grace. Then the eye rolls started.

  So I stopped talking about Richard, but I didn’t stop feeling. I don’t know that I’ll ever stop. It feels some days like he died. It would have been easier if he had. I know I should move on but it isn’t that simple. My friends and my family tell me it’s “his loss”, as if that makes me feel better. It doesn’t. If anything it makes me feel worse because if I was such a great catch he would have stayed. He didn’t.

  And before I can take a further trip into self-pity city, I slide the box I’m carrying onto the kitchen counter.

  My new flat in Islington is a world away from the apartment I shared with Richard in Chelsea, an apartment I packed up the day after his big announcement in the wedding venue.

  It is a tiny one-bed boho place in need of some serious redecorating, something I’m looking forward to trying my hand at. My mother nearly had a coronary when she walked through the front door. It’s not particularly in the best street, nor are my neighbours exactly what my mother deems ‘the right kind of people’. She demanded I come home with her immediately and when I refused she threw a small wobbler and insisted Henry call someone out to fix the locks. My stepfather was all too happy to oblige. I don’t think he was any less pleased by my new digs. I, on the other hand, love it. Okay, so it’s a little rough around the edges and it definitely would benefit from a couple of throw cushions—not to mention a plasterer—to give it a homey feel, but it’s reasonably priced and close to the Tube station. It’s also far enough away from my old stomping ground that I don’t run the risk of running into my ex or any of his arsehole friends.

  As I slide a box onto the kitchen counter, I can’t help but feel like this is the start of something, and for the first time in months I feel like a piece of my heart has been repaired. Not the whole heart—that may never happen—but some of the cracks have been fixed and papered over.

  “I’m really not sure about you staying here, Sadie,” my mother says as she emerges from the bedroom. It’s off the main living area, which is smaller than her dressing room.

  “I’ll be fine,” I tell her with a slight roll of my eyes.

  I love my mother, but she is a little overprotective at times, and while I appreciate her looking out for me, she also needs to understand I’m an adult—an adult who was on the cusp of getting married and setting up my own family just a few short months ago. Sometimes, I think she forgets that. Then again, I wasn’t exactly level after the wedding. I probably acted half-crazed and in need of protecting.

  But I’m better now—I’m dealing—and I just want to get back on with my life. Richard devastated me, but I won’t allow him to have any more of me than he already has. I need to find Sadie again and discover who Sadie is without Richard. I can’t do that living under my mother’s roof. I need to be independent.

  “I don’t doubt you’ll be fine; you’re a Greenwood, after all, but that doesn’t mean I’m still not worried. This place is barely fit for habitation.”

  “It’s fine, Mum.”

  Henry sighs as he deposits another box on the floor by the cooker and brushes his thick hank of salt and pepper hair back from his forehead. He’s wearing slacks and a polo shirt—his idea of casual. I don’t think Henry owns a pair of jeans. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen denim near him—or my mother for that matter. I, on the other hand, am a jeans and baggy jumper kind of gal.

  “I can’t say I’m happy about you going, love. It’s been nice having you at home with us.”

  His words warm me to the core. Henry may not be blood, but he is family. The only thing that stops me calling him dad is respect for my late father.

  “It’s been nice staying, but it’s time to get back to real life. I can’t just hide out there forever.”

  He scoffs at my words. “You’re not hiding, Sades. You were regrouping.”

  And this is why I love my stepfather—because he is always in my corner, no matter what. But I was hiding a little. Their house is an hour’s train ride outside of London—far enough away from the gossip mill for me to regain my strength without scrutiny but near enough I could commute into work, when I finally returned that was. Plus, I didn’t really have a choice. I was technically homeless after the wedding debacle since there was no chance in hell I was going back to the apartment. But I love Henry for saying that.

  “Well, now it’s time to regroup in the real world.”

  “You say that as if we’re not in the real world,” Mum complains.

  That’s because they’re not. They live in the lap of luxury. Henry has a car for weekend driving, for Pete’s sake, and my mother has an entire walk-in wardrobe for her shoe and bag collection.

  “I don’t mean it like that. I just mean, I need to get back to some semblance of normality, and that includes not living in my parents’ spare bedroom.”

  “You could have stayed in the annexe.”

  I could have. It’s a self-contained two-bedroom home at the back of the main house that is beautifully decorated. It was used by Henry’s mother before she passed away a few years back and has been empty ever since. Henry considered renting it out, but Mum wasn’t keen on having strangers on the property.

  “I like being in town, near my friends.” Which is true. “Besides, you and Mum have already done more than enough.” That’s also true.

  The wedding didn’t go ahead, but that didn’t mean Mum and Henry weren’t left footing the bill. I should have paid the outstanding balances but after the wedding I’d been in such a state I didn’t know what day of the week it was, let alone who Richard and I owed money to. Henry took care of it all. I tried to repay him but he wouldn’t have it. “Besides, you don’t need me hanging around all the time.”

  He doesn’t say any more, although I suspect he wants to tell me he really doesn’t mind. And I also suspect that is the truth.

  “Do you want us to help you unpack?” Henry asks.

  Mum wanted him to hire a moving firm, but since I only have a handful of boxes and the flat came part-furnished, he didn’t see the point—me neither, for that matter. Plus, I think secretly Henry likes to do the dad thing, which includes moving his emotionally battered stepdaughter into a hovel in central London.

  “I think I’ll manage, but thank you. Both of you.�
��

  Mum’s smile fades as she glances around my living area and her nose wrinkles. “Darling, there is still time to change your mind.”

  I give her a gentle nudge towards the door. “I’m not changing my mind. Let me buy you both lunch.”

  I take them both across the city to a small restaurant off London Bridge. I love it down here. There are lots of little hidden bars and restaurants, all overlooking the River Thames. We are given a table in the window at my mother’s insistence and once we’re seated order our drinks.

  I’m sipping a raspberry gin and tonic when my mother says, “Oh, bugger.”

  “What?” I ask, trying to twist in my seat.

  Mum’s hands flash out and snag my arms, stopping me.

  “Don’t turn around?”

  “Why not?”

  Henry is glaring daggers at something behind me and is half out of his seat before my mother releases me to snag his arm. As she removes her hold on me, I twist quickly to see what she was trying to stop me looking at.

  I should have stayed facing forward.

  On the other side of the restaurant is Richard. And he’s not alone. The woman he’s with is a good decade younger than me, although she’s also blonde. They are holding hands across the table, their heads dipped closely. It’s an intimate scene, that much is obvious, and he’s giving her that smile—the one he used to give me before he told me he loved me.

  My heart feels like it’s shattering into a million pieces and all the reparation I did is coming undone. I’m coming undone.

  I raise my chin and turn back to my mother and Henry. Then I force a smile.

  “Are you ready to order?”

  “We can go elsewhere,” my mother says.

  Henry takes a more direct approach.

  “We’re not leaving, Margaret. If anyone is leaving it’s that bast—” Mum grabs his arm and yanks him back into the chair before he manages to find his feet.

  “Sit down,” she hisses, “and don’t make a bloody scene.”