by Bella Andre
Her face had paled as he’d recounted his narrow escape. He was glad to see her laugh again. “I can only imagine what a wild eighteen-year-old you were, making up for lost time after ten years’ grounding.”
“I’d say you already have a good sense of just how wild I can be,” he said with a grin, just as his cell phone rang.
“Got a date you’re standing up?” she quipped.
Once he picked up his phone, he realized she was almost perfectly on the mark. “It’s my brothers and Flynn.” Turner’s text was quick and to the point.
Just finished playing hoops. Heading to pub. Should we save you a seat?
“I was supposed to meet them for a pickup game of basketball.” He’d never forgotten before. Then again, he’d never known anyone as distracting as Zara. “They’ve just headed for a post-game drink at the pub.”
Immediately, she shoved the blanket off her lap and stood.
He reached for her hand. “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving so that you can go hang with your brothers. I’m sure you’d much rather do that than sit here and argue about what we’re going to watch on TV.”
Yet again, she had it wrong. Although it had driven Chelsea crazy that he was always wanting to do something or make something rather than waste time lounging around on the couch with her, tonight he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up under a blanket with Zara. Even if they fought over the remote the entire time.
Still, he didn’t feel right about blowing the guys off. When Rory gave his word, he stuck by it.
“You could spend the night here, if you want.” He liked the thought of Zara making herself at home in his kitchen. Of finding her asleep in his bed when he got home.
Judging by the firm shake of her head, she wasn’t a fan of his suggestion. “I’ve already stayed too long.”
“I like having you here. In my house. In my arms too.” He kissed her, hoping that would help her see that he meant everything he’d just said.
But from her uncharacteristic silence on the drive back into town—for once, she didn’t even complain about his music—he was pretty sure she hadn’t.
* * *
Turner, Hudson, and Flynn were on their second pints of Guinness by the time Rory arrived at the pub.
Since Turner had returned from Los Angeles to continue growing his animation business from Maine, rather than California, Rory saw his younger brother at least once a week, whether on the basketball court, in the family café, or at their parents’ house.
It was far rarer to see Hudson these days. The oldest at thirty-seven, he’d moved to Boston not long after marrying Larissa. Rory liked Hudson’s wife. Unfortunately, he wasn’t certain that Larissa and Hudson liked each other all that much anymore. Hudson was in town for a few days to work on a landscape-design commission at one of the big estates on Mount Desert Island.
Flynn was the most recent addition to the group. Six months ago, after becoming the legal guardian for his niece, the award-winning screenwriter had come to Bar Harbor from Hollywood to escape the paparazzi. Their cousin Smith had arranged with Cassie for Flynn and Ruby to stay in her cabin in the woods—at which point Rory’s sister had fallen head over heels in love with both Flynn and the baby. Fortunately, Flynn was just as smitten with Cassie. Otherwise, Rory would have had to tear the guy apart with his bare hands. It helped that Flynn wasn’t just some soft-handed zillionaire writer from California. He more than knew his way around a pile of wood and a saw and hammer. He wasn’t bad with a basketball either.
“You’re usually first one on the court,” Turner said once Rory was settled into his seat with a beer. “Where were you?”
“It’s been a pretty strange forty-eight hours.”
Flynn’s storyteller antenna went up. “How so?”
“You know Zara from the warehouse?”
When Hudson shook his head, Turner quickly filled him in. “Zara makes eyeglasses frames in an office down the hall from Rory’s woodshop. They are always at each other’s throats.” Turner turned his focus back to Rory. “I’d guess that the two of you finally killed each other were it not for the fact that you’re sitting here in one intact piece.”
“Something happened on Friday morning,” Rory explained. “It’s her story, not mine, so I won’t go into the details. But as a result, we’ve been together a great deal since, including an overnight trip to Camden last night and this morning.”
“And by together you mean…” Hudson made a rude gesture with his hands.
Rory had never gotten angry with his brothers for doing something like that before. Now he was downright furious. “Don’t ever talk about Zara like that again.”
“Sorry, I won’t,” Hudson said. Then, turning to the others, he said, “That’s a yes.”
“Cassie told me she thinks your bickering is hiding a deeper passion,” Flynn noted. “Those were her exact words.”
When Rory didn’t disagree, Turner’s eyebrows went up. “Are you saying this isn’t just a one-night stand?”
“That’s what it was supposed to be. That’s what Zara thinks it still is.”
“Hold on a second. Are you the one gunning for more?” Hudson looked as surprised as Turner. “Even after what happened with Chelsea?”
“Zara isn’t anything like Chelsea,” Rory snapped.
“No,” Turner agreed, “they don’t seem to be similar at all.”
Rory wasn’t sure what Cassie had told Flynn about Chelsea’s accident, so he quickly explained, “Chelsea and I dated for a couple of years, before I finally broke it off. This was before you came to town. She didn’t have an easy time with the breakup and wound up in the hospital after drinking too much and falling outside a cocktail bar. She blamed me for nearly killing her.” He took a sip of his beer to wet his dry throat. “I blamed myself too.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that in past tense,” Turner noted.
“Talking with Zara has made me see things differently,” Rory told them. “I thought I was always going to be crap at relationships, considering that Chelsea wasn’t the first woman to crash and burn after we broke up. Even when I knew I wasn’t feeling it with the women I dated, I still always felt like I needed to be their knight in shining armor—and that it would be cruel to revoke the invitation to be a part of our family when they all seemed to need it so badly.”
“That’s an impossible standard to live up to,” Flynn commented. “Even if you could be a knight in shining armor once or twice, no one can live that way all the time. I’m still trying to accept that I’m going to fail Ruby and Cassie sometimes, no matter how much I want to be there for her every second of every day.”
“I can’t get my head around failure either,” Hudson mused, frowning yet again. “Even when it seems inevitable.”
If Rory hadn’t been so twisted up over his situation with Zara, he would have pinned Hudson to the wall about the marital troubles he’d been hinting at for a while now. But if Rory couldn’t figure out his own life, what kind of helpful advice could he give to his brother?
Turner was looking thoughtfully at Rory. “What about Zara? Does she expect you to be perfect too?”
Rory couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Zara doesn’t expect anything from me. In fact, I’ve never been with anyone who has lower expectations of me than she does. Which, in an ironic twist, is making me want to do whatever it takes to prove to her that I’m someone she can count on. But I only have until Saturday to convince her that we should be together.” Frustration roiled through him that he still hadn’t come up with a foolproof plan.
“Why Saturday?” Flynn asked.
“That’s the deadline we’ve given ourselves to break up.” At the other men’s confused expressions, Rory said, “Again, I can’t explain why without breaking her confidence. Regardless, the clock is ticking down on our last five days together—unless I can figure out how to convince her to stay.”
“Bring her chocolate,” Hudson sugge
sted. “That’s always worked for me. At least it used to.”
“Good tip,” Rory said, though he knew it was going to take a heck of a lot more than chocolate to convince Zara to give her heart to him.
“If I had your talent,” Flynn said, “I’d make her something tangible to show her what she means to you.”
“Another good suggestion.” If only Rory knew what to make that would strip away her wariness about being with him. He shifted his attention to Turner. “Got any brilliant ideas to add to the mix?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be going home to an empty house, unlike these two. Although I have to wonder, what are you doing here with us when you’re on such a tight deadline with Zara?”
Turner was right. If Rory headed out now, he could make it to the grocery store to pick up some chocolate cake—she’d mentioned it was one of her weaknesses, after all—before it closed. And then he could beg Zara to let him share it with her tonight.
Despite the fact that his glass was still full, he stood. But before he left, he asked Flynn, “Am I still on to babysit Ruby tomorrow afternoon?”
“If you’re sure you’re up for it. She can be quite a handful now that she’s mobile.”
“Of course I’m up for it. Drop her by my woodshop as early as you need to.”
Rory headed straight for the grocery store. It wasn’t until he was walking inside that he realized the song playing over the store’s speakers was Can’t Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon. He had to laugh at just how on point the cheesy pop song was. And before he knew it, he was channeling Zara by whistling along as he walked the aisles.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As soon as Rory had dropped Zara off at her cottage, she’d decided to tackle the most difficult item on her to-do list: Call her stepmom and advocate for a change of wedding location for Brittany.
Margie wasn’t an evil stepmother. Truthfully, she had never been anything but kind and patient with Zara. That didn’t mean she was a pushover, however. And perhaps Zara would have had a more difficult time convincing her to switch wedding venues during their phone call had Margie not been so distracted by questions about Zara’s unexpected party date.
Her stepmother wanted to know absolutely everything about Rory. Specifically, did Zara think Rory was the one?
Though she knew she had to keep pretending if she wanted everyone in her family to think they were an item, she should have laughed inwardly at the preposterous idea of Rory being the one for her.
But she hadn’t laughed.
Instead, she’d stuttered and stumbled over her words until Margie said in a delighted voice, “That’s exactly how I was both times I fell in love—first with Brittany’s father and then with yours. I was hardly able to string two words together. And I was glowing with happiness, just the way you were last night. I’m so happy you’ve been able to move on with someone so wonderful.”
In love?
In love?
Was that how Zara and Rory had seemed to everyone last night? Yes, they were now friends. And they obviously had the hots for each other.
But had they been signaling something more in the way they’d looked at each other?
In the way they’d talked?
In the way they’d touched?
Zara had never come close to falling in love. Even with Cameron, her hurt feelings had far more to do with his cheating on her than with breaking her heart.
So how on earth could the guy she’d been bickering with day in and day out at work end up being the one to break through to her heart? Even if it turned out that Rory was a far nicer, sweeter, more thoughtful, and caring guy than she’d ever imagined.
No. She shook her head hard enough to make it ache.
Just no.
Still, even after she texted Brittany with the good news about the wedding location, she felt shaken up inside. Talking to Margie about the wedding had reminded Zara all too keenly that she would never be able to talk about weddings with her own mom. Nor would they be able to talk about all the things that came before a wedding, like meeting the guy of her dreams and falling in love.
Or being confused about whether or not she’d already met the guy of her dreams in the guise of the last person she’d ever thought to dream about…
On the nights when she most missed her mom, Zara always did the same thing—she pulled the hope chest from her closet and brought it into the living room.
Her mother had given her the wooden box when she was eight years old. The chest held precious memories and symbolized her wishes for Zara’s life to be full of hope and dreams and love. As soon as Zara was born, her mother had begun to fill the chest with photo scrapbooks, favorite recipes, a baby quilt she’d used during the first few years of her life, a charm bracelet that had been passed down from her grandmother, and even silly things like Zara’s favorite superhero Halloween outfit she’d worn three years in a row.
Though the thin wood chest hadn’t weathered well over the years, and the latch and hinges were on the verge of breaking, everything inside was in good shape. Sitting cross-legged on the couch, Zara opened the chest and carefully lifted out each of the items. Her first pair of baby shoes. Her first lost tooth at six. Her first-place swim ribbon from third grade. The family recipe book. The funny jokes on the notes her mom used to leave in Zara’s lunchbox.
Her hand trembled as she lifted a picture her dad had taken of Zara and her mom during the Family Fun Day that the Kennebunkport town council put on each summer. They had their arms around each other, and they were laughing. So happy. So carefree.
And without a clue about the horrible thing that would happen just seven days later.
A knock at the door startled Zara so much that the picture fluttered from her hand. She quickly picked it up and put it back in the chest, then got up to see who was visiting her so late on a Sunday night. Most likely it was Ellen from down the street. Zara’s neighbor was always doing late-night baking and running out of sugar or flour or chocolate chips. Zara had gotten in the habit of buying extra of those ingredients just in case.
But it wasn’t Ellen at the door.
“Rory?” Zara was hit with the strangest feeling as she saw him standing on her front porch—she’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life. It was almost like her grief over missing her mother had triggered a telepathic message to Rory, letting him know how much she needed to be with a friend tonight. “What are you doing here?”
“I missed you.” His simple answer landed right in the center of her heart. “And also…” He lifted the lid on a pink pastry box. “Chocolate cake.”
She read the label. “Double dark chocolate fudge.”
“I would have asked for triple, but the woman behind the counter was already giving me the stink eye for keeping the store open.”
“Or she could have been giving you the stink eye because it’s fun to see a big, brawny, know-it-all guy squirm.”
“It’s certainly possible,” he agreed. And then, “Can I come in? Or should I just hand you the cake and head home?”
She feigned having to think about it. “That’s a tough one…” Then she took the cake from him and stepped aside. “Of course you can come in, if only to make sure I don’t eat the entire thing by myself.”
“It’s good to feel needed,” he teased.
As she headed for the kitchen to cut the cake and put it on plates, she realized everything from her hope chest was still strewn on the couch and coffee table. Knowing he must be trying to figure out why she was looking at old pictures and scrapbooks and a kid-sized superhero outfit, she put the cake box down, then went to explain as she began to put things away.
“That’s my hope chest. My mom gave it to me when I was eight.” She tried to play it like it was no big deal, but the catch in her voice gave her away, as did the way her hands were shaking so hard she had to stop clearing up.
He reached for her hands and wrapped them in his. “You must miss her a great deal.”
Not t
rusting her voice, she nodded.
“I’d love to hear more about your mom.” He looked from the chest, then back to her face. “If you feel up to talking about her, that is.”
Her stomach felt all twisted up. Zara’s dad had always become so sad when she brought up the subject of her mom that she’d learned not to speak of her at all. And it had never seemed fair to talk about her with her stepmother.
Brittany was the only person Zara had ever really been able to talk to about her mother…and even then, she’d never been brave enough to tell her stepsister absolutely everything. Then, as they’d grown older and Brittany had stopped bringing up her father so much and seemed to have recovered from losing him, Zara had taken that as a cue to stop bringing up her mother too.
Even though she hadn’t gotten over losing her mom at all.
Suddenly, she realized just how badly she wanted to talk with someone about her. No, not just someone.
Rory.
Zara wanted Rory to know how special her mother had been. How loving and smart. How she’d been brilliant at needlepoint. How her smile could light up a room. How she could never get into a kayak without tipping it over.
And how Zara still longed for her every single day.
“You would have loved her. Everyone did.”
Rory led her over to an open spot on the couch. “Was your mom a firecracker like you?”
“She most definitely was.” The thought made Zara smile. “She was really sweet and kind, but if you disappointed her, you were going to hear about it. And she could yell so loud it made your ears ring.”
“That sounds a lot like my mom. Tell me more.”
“She had a job in human resources at a manufacturing company in Kennebunkport and always swore that she was more comfortable behind a desk than out trying to sell people something or being bubbly and chatty. But one year, after a bad storm destroyed the playground equipment in the local park, she spearheaded the biggest fundraiser our town had ever seen. I hated having to go door to door asking for donations when the rest of my friends were goofing off, but she was right that our town needed that park rebuilt. We both went and talked with nearly every single person in town. If I hadn’t done that with her, I’m not sure I would have had the nerve to ever start selling my eyeglasses frames.” Zara was silent for a moment. “Looking back, it’s easy to see how much we take our parents for granted. That they’ll always be there for us and to teach us the things we’ll need to know later in life. I wish I had been mature enough to tell her how special she was and how much I learned from her before she died.”
