by Jean Oram
“I’ve got you.” Her cool, smooth fingers were wrapped around his wrists as he guided her to the front walk. Her lashes tickled his palms as he lowered his hands.
“Surprise,” he said.
She looked to her left, taking in the new camellia hedge. It would flower later in the year in a riot of gorgeous pink blooms, brightening an area that had once been spotty and dull. At their feet, where the public sidewalk met her private one, he’d replaced the old cracked concrete slabs with flat stones, beach sand tamped between them to help keep them in place.
She tipped her head up, taking in her white, blue-trimmed little Cape Cod-style cottage. “It’s nice.”
He took her hand, leading her onto the grass and around the side of the house. “There’s more.”
As they rounded the corner she gasped, her steps halting. She turned to him, eyes ablaze with delight. “Ashton!”
She hurried forward, clasping a hand over her mouth as she took in what he felt was the best part of the entire design―the gazebo he’d promised not to get for her. But Dallas knew a guy who didn’t want his anymore, and for a few hundred dollars in moving charges, the large cedar structure was now looking splendid in Zoe’s yard. He’d strung the gables with patio lanterns and hung strands of fairy lights above the eating area. He’d partially enclosed the sides with a gauzy fabric recommended by the florist when he’d picked up a small bouquet as a centerpiece.
The table in the gazebo was set for two.
“This is amazing.” She turned to him and planted her free hand on his chest. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But I thought we’d settled on no gazebo.”
“Dallas knew someone who was looking to have his relocated.”
She turned to the structure again, leaning back against Ashton’s chest. He took the hint and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “I don’t even know how to express how amazing this is.” She let out a squeal. “Is that a hammock?”
In the corner of the yard, where the side and back fences met, he’d hung a sunny yellow one. Strategically placed bushes and flowerbeds gave it a private-escape feel.
“This must have been so expensive.” She had slipped from his embrace and was taking in the details, her face lit with awe.
“When people heard I was doing your yard they all had something for you.”
“Really?”
“This shrub is from Caroline. You know about the gazebo, and Dallas coordinating the move. The hammock is from the neighbors. The flowers from Miss Lucille.”
“Her precious bluestars? You’re joking?”
“Not her prize-winning ones. These were rejects she was planning to toss, but figured they were good enough for your yard.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Zoe nodded seriously.
“She made me promise that you wouldn’t turn them around and beat her out in the annual competition.”
“That almost makes me want to develop a green thumb.”
Ashton pointed out a few more donated items, continuing the tour.
“This is amazing,” she said, when he was done.
“Everyone wanted to be a part of something that made you smile.”
“That’s so sweet. Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
“Will you join me for supper?” he asked, drawing her toward the gazebo where a fresh crab salad was waiting on ice in a cooler.
“Tonight and every night,” she said under her breath, following him.
And that was all he needed to know.
Zoe watched Ashton over the rim of her wineglass. She was still stunned at the beauty of her yard, front and back. The gazebo was amazing, and the personal touches he’d added made it special. Made it hers. From the lights that hung above, to the literary quotes hanging on faux weathered boards, it was all perfect. And enjoying a meal with Ashton, here in the midst of it all, made it even better.
This was the man she knew and understood.
“This is so amazing,” she repeated. “Thank you!”
Ashton smiled, feeling as though they were moving toward the right track. The one where he’d wake up happy for the rest of his life, her at his side, nuzzling in for a sweet, good-morning kiss.
“Hey, I haven’t had a chance to ask—did you make an offer on the fixer-upper?” she asked.
His appointment to view the property had been pushed back to yesterday. He’d texted her saying the place had potential, and that he was seriously considering making an offer contingent on what an inspector said.
“It’s structurally sound, and the areas that need work are things I already identified on my own, so that’s reassuring. It’s a big project, though.”
“Will you live there while you renovate?”
“Probably.”
“So you’re buying it?”
He turned her hand over in his. “I can see you thinking.”
“And what am I thinking?”
“That I don’t have a contract with the school district beyond November.”
She nodded. It was true. But she did love that he was looking at putting down roots, making plans to stick around.
“What if you can’t find work locally after that?”
“I have other skills.”
“You wouldn’t be pursuing your passion.”
“Maybe I have other passions.” His sly smile warmed her gut, and made her want to giggle.
Stay focused, she chided herself. They were sliding in fast toward home plate, just like last time, and their relationship hadn’t been strong enough to allow them to trust each other when things got tough. If she was going to let herself go down this path, she had to be sure they took things slower, and developed that trust.
She felt as though they were working on getting there, but hadn’t quite arrived. Hadn’t quite dissected why things had gone wrong last time.
“If I decide I don’t want to live there,” Ashton said, “I can sell it for a profit or rent it out when the renovations and updates are complete.”
“So either way you can’t lose?”
“There’s always a way to lose,” he said, with a meaningful glance.
She took the last sip of her wine.
“More?” he asked, letting go of her hand and lifting the bottle.
“No, thanks.”
They sat for a moment, letting the conversation sink in.
He was staying in Indigo Bay. Was he staying for her?
“I was wondering, would you want to play mini golf next weekend?” Ashton asked.
“Mini golf?” She set down her glass.
“Maybe stay at a bed-and-breakfast.”
Like old times.
“As friends?” she asked pointedly.
“Of course.”
They finished their dessert, a decadent chocolate mousse, in awkward silence. When Zoe heard her phone ringing deep inside her purse, which she’d ditched at the entrance to the gazebo, she just about flung herself at it.
Her heart had wanted him to say “more than friends,” but she was also relieved he hadn’t.
“Sorry,” she said to Ashton, as she lifted the phone to her ear.
“Zoe, it’s Dallas.”
“Is everything all right?” She didn’t want to leave, but didn’t want to stay, either. She was afraid of what her next reaction might be. It could be anything from take Ashton to bed to fight with him.
They had reached a tentative forgiveness, and it scared her. She wanted the future, but didn’t want to repeat their past mistakes, and those still felt inevitable.
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that tent I saw pitched behind your cottage a few nights back.”
“There’s no tent.” Hadn’t been for almost a week now.
“Oh?” Dallas asked, a hint of amusement tingeing his voice. “Where are you staying?”
“My house’ll be done in a few days. And don’t leap to conclusions,” she said in a hushed voice as she padded across the lawn. Ashton must have be
en watering it, for it felt plush and wonderful underfoot. Amazing what a bit of dedicated care could do for it. “It’s a two-bedroom cottage.”
“That you’re making Ashton pay for?” He quickly changed topics. “Speaking of which, how’s the newsletter coming?”
“He’s been helpful. Maybe you could reimburse him the cost of the cottage?”
“He’s your guest then?”
“Well, no.”
“So it’s complicated?” She could hear the teasing tone in Dallas’s voice.
Zoe glanced over her shoulder. Ashton was sitting patiently, waiting for her. “Not yet.”
“Speaking of Ashton, the real reason I’m calling is because there was someone here looking for him. There’s a message at the front desk. But I wasn’t sure where to find him, since his tent was gone, and nobody was answering the door or phone at the cottage.”
Zoe ignored the implied innuendo. “He’s showing me what he did to my yard. Do you want me to put him on the phone so you can pass on the message?”
“Sure. How do you like the gazebo?”
“I love it,” Zoe declared, as she made her way back to Ashton. The structure, complete with the lights and gauzy curtains, looked romantic and dreamy in the fading evening sun. She could only image what it would be like once the climbing roses he’d planted around the base began to soften it. “Thanks for helping him get it here.”
“He wants to impress you.”
“I know.”
“Is it working?”
“Time will tell.”
She smiled and handed the phone to Ashton, then tried not to eavesdrop, especially when she could tell by Ashton’s expression that the message was an important one.
“Who’s looking for you?” Zoe was watching him, and Ashton felt as though he was being tested, to see whether he’d open up about the call.
“Quentin. Jaelyn’s real dad.”
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know.”
Zoe was eyeing him closely, analyzing everything he didn’t say. He knew the yard, the romantic dinner, followed by the promise of a trip, had been him pushing things a bit fast. She was already on edge, and he feared this small thing could easily become a fight.
“Are you going to call him back?” she asked.
“I don’t know. After my last court-mandated visit to ensure Jaelyn was completely settled in, he made it very clear he didn’t want me in their lives.” Ashton was sitting at the table, and he poured himself another glass of wine, wishing it was something stronger.
“But aren’t you curious why he’s trying to find you?” She took the seat across from him, her brow creased in concern. “Or worried?”
“Curious, yes. Worried? Trying really hard not to be.” Ashton was struggling to remain as cool and calm as he wanted to be. Quentin had cleaned up his life before claiming his daughter, but Ashton was still nervous for her, despite the court’s home visits and investigations proving that he was a fit father. But after Maliki died, a few unsavory people had come by the apartment looking for Quentin, and Ashton worried that maybe his past was catching up with him.
Or, more likely, Quentin was already missing the free babysitting provided by Ashton. Otherwise known as his court-appointed visits to help transition Jaelyn into her new home.
“Jaelyn’s in state-approved hands,” Ashton said, unsure whether he was trying to ease the worry pinching Zoe’s lips, or his own.
“You should call him.”
“Yeah.” He was afraid what he might say to the man. Afraid what he might hear.
“For Jaelyn,” she urged.
He closed his eyes. It hurt being dragged back into Quentin’s business, Jaelyn’s life.
Quentin had rejected Maliki and Jaelyn when she’d approached him in her first trimester. So Maliki had decided to go it alone until her prognosis—a bad one—had come in. Then she’d looked up Ashton. Things hadn’t turned out anywhere close to the way she’d planned, and while he’d fought hard for Jaelyn, at the end of the day she simply wasn’t his, and Quentin had proved to be a fit father.
It left a serious knot in Ashton’s stomach when he thought about how the man who’d rejected Jaelyn was now raising her, as it had been Ashton sitting by her crib in the neonatal intensive care unit for days on end, fretting over every surgery. He felt as if he’d given up everything for Maliki and Jaelyn. And now what did he have left? A hurt and skittish Zoe, who he still loved with all his heart, and a lost daughter, plus medical debt the courts wouldn’t transfer to Quentin.
But Ashton believed in second chances. He had to. He was counting on one himself.
Chapter 6
Ashton had tried calling Quentin, but the man didn’t pick up, and didn’t reply to his messages. Ashton tried not to assume the worst. He had his overnight trip with Zoe to focus on instead, and he liked how they were settling into new routines, a new friendship.
She’d insisted on driving, which he figured was her way of maintaining a semblance of control.
“Where do you see yourself in a year? Five years?” Zoe asked, as she slowed to take an exit off the divided highway.
It was an old game of theirs, where they’d present silly answers in an attempt to make the other laugh. But he knew Zoe was trying to get at something more than that today.
Ashton exhaled slowly, focusing on what to say. The problem was, he wanted to tell her exactly where he saw himself: married to her. In five years they’d have three adopted children running around in the backyard of a not-yet-paid-for larger home, the two of them cuddled in a hammock, watching their kids, hearts warm and full.
Happiness. Contentment. Fulfillment. Family.
And he was fairly certain that would spook her at this point, as he’d seen the wariness in her eyes when he’d mentioned buying a place in town. But he also didn’t want her to think he was feeling cavalier, or taking her extended olive branch for granted.
“Ashton?” she prompted.
“Five years. Living on a boat and battling scurvy.”
“Aye, ye scurvy dog. Walk the plank!” she growled.
He chuckled. “And you?”
“Same as ever,” she said with a theatrical sigh. “Dealing with yet another Oscar win.”
“Then maybe in five years I see myself beating the paparazzi from your door. Pumping iron so I can be your devoted bodyguard.”
“Oh, I like that idea. Carry me away from the crowds, big man.”
“Your wish is my command.”
They smiled, silence sifting back into the vehicle as palm trees and suburbs gave way to desolate sand dunes, before becoming beachside homes once again as they got closer to their destination.
“Do you really see yourself at my side in five years?” she asked.
And there it was.
“If you’ll have me, yes. That’s where I’d like to be.”
“What would make me say no?”
“Say no?” He mentally stumbled, confused.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t pretend to know your mind,” he said at last, “but I’ll do whatever I can to prevent you from turning me away.”
“I’m afraid we’re going to repeat past mistakes,” she blurted out. “That our relationship won’t be strong enough.”
“Okay,” he said carefully.
She pushed her hair from her face. “Last time, we moved really fast and we didn’t have the skills to overcome…life.”
“So I guess I should have left the engagement ring back at the cottage, huh?”
She spared him a glance, not impressed with his joke.
“I’m just teasing. We’re not going to let our past mistakes reoccur. I promise.” There was no way he was being suckered again. Ever. Nothing could chase him away from Zoe. Unless it was her wish.
She slowed at an intersection outside a small town. “Is this where I turn? We got it wrong last time, but I can’t remember if this was the way or not.”
And wasn’t that the me
taphor for all her worries? Were they doing things right this time, or inadvertently repeating the past?
“Go left,” he said decisively.
Since the night of their supper in the gazebo, Zoe had been trying to figure out where she’d heard the unusual name Quentin before. As she pulled into the parking lot in front of the bed-and-breakfast, it came to her. The guy with the scar who kept coming into the resort had been asking for a Quentin. Quentin Valant. Was that Ashton’s Quentin? And if so, who was the guy with the scar? And why did he want Quentin, who in turn was looking to speak with Ashton?
She mulled over why the whole thing felt off as she put the car in Park outside the bed-and-breakfast Hole-Inn-One. It was a little after noon, the day overcast but warm, and she put down her window as she turned off the car.
“Ashton?”
“Yeah?”
“Is Jaelyn’s dad’s last name Valant?”
“Yes. Why?” Ashton’s stared out the windshield at the bird feeder hanging off an oversize golf club in front of the sprawling B & B.
“Someone keeps coming by my desk at the resort asking if there’s a reservation for Quentin Valant.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t think he’s ever left a name.”
Ashton ran his hands down his thighs, his brow furrowed.
“What do you think’s going on?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but maybe I can find out. Quentin knows where I’m staying. Perhaps he told someone he was coming for a visit? It doesn’t feel likely, but maybe.” He lifted his phone and dialed a number, then left a message for Quentin, asking him to call back.
“What are we going to do?” Zoe asked when he was done.
The sat in silence for a long moment. “Mini golf?”
Zoe laughed. She supposed there really wasn’t a ton they could do at the moment if Quentin wasn’t answering his phone.
“Okay.” She turned to him. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For phoning him.”
“Hopefully, when he returns my call it will be a socially acceptable time of day to drown my sorrows or rage.” His faint smile was tinged with frustration.
