Lost Loves
The Secrets of Mackinac Island
By
Katie Winters
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Copyright © 2020 by Katie Winters
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Katie Winters holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Other Books by Katie | The Vineyard Sunset Series
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Chapter One
Wayne struck a match over the cinnamon candle and watched as the flame flickered, growing strong as it swallowed up the thick black stem. He glanced again at the far mirror, at the button-up shirt he’d stupidly donned and the dark jeans and the hair he had tried to handle with a little bit of gel.
It had been a long time since he cared what a woman thought of what he looked like.
Always so handsome, or so the world had always said about him. He’d never necessarily felt that way about himself. He had never had to. He’d had love, and then he had lost it. That had nothing at all to do with his looks or lack thereof.
It was six-thirty, which meant that Elise would arrive in a half-hour’s time. Truthfully, since Elise had moved into the Bloomingfeld Bed and Breakfast and “given Wayne his house back,” the house had felt empty all over again. It had been that way in the year after his wife’s death—something to be expected. Something missing—but slowly, Wayne had gotten used to it, “marking his territory,” making it his own or at least something he could stand after such a horrible reality.
It had only taken a little, slight, brief romance with someone special to remind him just how alone he really was in the world.
The timer blared on the stovetop. He turned quickly to slip his hand into the oven mitt, yank open the door, and remove the admittedly glorious-looking butter chicken. He waved the oven mitt over the top, through the steam, and beamed at what he had created.
I still got it.
His wife had never been particularly domestic. He’d teased her about it, laughing as she’d burnt the toast, delivered him runny eggs, somehow getting worse, year after year, at mixing a cocktail. Wayne had decided a long time ago to take this as a challenge. Cooking? He mastered it. And he and his wife had reaped the rewards of that.
Of course, it had been a long time since he had cooked for anyone new, as well.
He’d told himself to get over this one.
When he had first seen Elise Darby on the ferry over to the island (after he’d had to meet up with his wife’s mother, a really traumatic lunch meeting that had left him stripped down and nostalgic), he had thought—A beautiful woman, alone in the world. I wonder what went wrong to bring her here?
At this, he had demanded of himself why he’d thought anything had gone wrong with her. Obviously, people chose to be alone all the time. Some people preferred it.
Wayne had felt true love, had had constant companionship, had found his soulmate and then she had been taken away. He guessed that was why he felt those who were alone hadn’t planned it. Maybe they’d just never known what true love was and didn’t know they were meant to keep looking for it.
Not that everyone had unlimited energy to keep looking.
Elise had found a way to step back into his life. She had appeared at The Grind with a bleeding leg and large, eager eyes. Wayne could have bantered with her for hours. With a quick joke, he could make her dizzy with laughter.
It was like he had cast a spell over her.
And she had over him, as well.
When she was around, he didn’t dwell on the past in the same way.
He felt hope or something kind of like it.
Wayne hustled to set the table as the chicken cooled a bit. He added garlic bread to the oven and grabbed an aged bottle of wine from the bottom of the cabinet. He second-guessed the way he had set the oven, then readjusted.
He felt like a teenager, preparing for his first date.
Fifteen minutes before seven, he leaned against the counter, yanked the cork out of the bottle of wine, and poured himself a glass. Let it breathe; he heard a voice in the back of his head remind him. He didn’t have time. He wanted to escape these rapid, whirlwind thoughts that raced through his mind.
Elise Darby. Why did he have to like this woman so much? She had brought with her chaos and nothing but trouble.
“If I had another daughter for you, Wayne...”
Dean had actually said those words to him two years before when Wayne and Dean had bonded after the death of Dean’s wife. Two widowers, out on the sailboat, living their single days beneath the sun.
Why hadn’t Dean ever mentioned his affair with Allison Darby?
Had he forced himself to forget?
Elise, I don’t want to be forward, but I haven’t felt this way about anyone in years.
My wife died three years ago.
I know the island is up-in-arms about what a playboy I can be—
But they all know it’s because I’ve been to hell and back again.
I’m prepared to change for you if you want to try this.
I think life is a strange, turbulent thing. I never know what will happen next.
Maybe that’s the best part of it.
That moment, Wayne’s phone buzzed on the countertop.
The name that appeared across it was one he hadn’t seen in a long, long time.
He frowned at it for a good few seconds before he lifted a shaking hand and brought the phone to his ear.
“Cindy?”
“Wayne. Hey.” Cindy’s voice was unstable.
Had she maybe heard about her potential half-sister? About her father’s affair?
“Hey, Cindy. It’s good to hear from you,” Wayne said. Even though I haven’t heard from you in years, and I wanted to rely on you. We should have been there for each other. You gave up on me. You dropped me.
“Wayne, I’m sorry to call you like this. I know... that there’s a lot to be said,” Cindy whispered. “But I just heard from him. I just heard from him for the first time in almost three years, and I don’t know what to do.”
Wayne swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew exactly who she was talking about.
“What did he say? Where is he? Is he okay?” Wayne asked. His words fell out of his lips in slow-motion.
“He didn’t say much. He just told me... that he’ll be home. Tonight,” Cindy said.
She burst into tears after that. Wayne’s heart hammered in his ribcage. He glanced at the clock on the oven. Elise was supposed to be there in seven minutes.
Why was this happening now?
“You know how he feels about his father,” Cindy continued. “When I told Fred about the call, he stormed out to go drink at the Pink Pony. I wanted to scream at him. Ask him—where do you think Michael gets it, huh? But I didn’t have the heart.”
Tears swallowed her words again. Wayne closed his eyes tightly.
“When is he getting in?” Wayne asked finally.
“In the next few hours, I guess,” Cindy said, between sobs. “Megan’s off t
he island this week, and I’m in this big house alone. I don’t want to go to Tracey or Alex with this...”
“Of course not,” Wayne said.
“So, here I am. Asking you...”
Wayne shivered. “Okay. Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? Pour us both a glass of wine, and we’ll wait up for him.”
“Like the old times,” Cindy said softly.
“Yes. But he’s twenty-four, now. He probably has a lot of stories to tell us. A lot of life he’s lived,” Wayne said, wanting to sound optimistic.
In truth, the fact that Michael was returning home like this wasn’t exactly a good sign. It meant something had gone wrong during his fanatical attempt to run away.
“Thank you, Wayne,” Cindy breathed. “I hope you’re right.”
When Wayne hung up, he blinked at the perfect spread on the table, the flickering candle, along with the beautiful butter chicken. He remembered that cute little dimple that formed in Elise’s right cheek, the way his heart floated into his throat when he saw her—the way he had imagined cuddling close to her in bed.
The way he had pictured them growing closer, growing older, making the kind of decisions you only made when you were forty-something and had seen enough of the world to know what mattered most.
But Michael mattered more, right then.
Hurriedly, Wayne grabbed his jacket and hustled toward the back door. Cindy’s house was up on Pontiac Trail Head, just a few houses from her father’s. Wayne knew the route well. After all, Cindy had been forever-best-friends with his wife.
Tara and Wayne had spent endless alcohol-fueled afternoons and frantic nights up at Cindy’s.
Cindy and Fred were in the back of almost all of Wayne’s memories of his early years with Tara.
Even at his wedding, Cindy had shoved him drunkenly against the wall and said, “If you ever hurt my best friend, I swear to God above I’ll make sure you...” But she hadn’t been able to get through it. She had burst into laughter, so much so that tears fell from her eyes.
When Tara had found the two of them, both in outrageous giggle fits, Cindy had confessed, “I tried to threaten him, but he’s just so gosh-darn in love with you. He looks like a little puppy dog! Have you ever tried to threaten a puppy dog? I haven’t, until now, and it nearly destroyed me.”
“Gee. Thanks!” Wayne had cried.
Tara had rolled her eyes at them and said, “I don’t know what I just got myself into. My best friend and my husband are in cahoots. The world may never recover.”
Wayne hustled up to the Pontiac Trail Head. All the while, he stared at his phone as it trickled from seven in the evening to seven-o-three. Was Elise a punctual person? He didn’t know her enough to know. She had said that she was responsible and drama-free outside of the great state of Michigan. Obviously, the events of the recent weeks had made her the number-one biggest drama queen on all of Mackinac Island.
She was the source of so much gossip.
And now that she had been seen with Wayne so often, he’d been bundled up in that gossip, as well.
He tried his best to write up a text message.
There was so much he couldn’t fully explain.
He hadn’t even fully told her that his wife had died.
He hadn’t revealed so much of himself.
He had just been that flirty, bachelor-self—the character he knew could woo a woman, on-command.
But with Elise, he wanted to be real.
Finally, outside of Cindy’s enormous house, he forced his thumbs to draw up some kind of pathetic response.
If Michael had ruined his chances with Elise, then so be it, he guessed.
Michael had to come first.
Even if he had been gone, without a single word, for nearly three years.
Chapter Two
Elise arrived outside of Wayne’s house at five minutes after seven. Ordinarily, she wasn’t late to anything—something that had always made her mother laugh. Allison Darby had been late to almost everything, her blonde (then grey-ish) curls flowing out behind her as she walked into the café or restaurant or movie theater with a ready apology and, sometimes, an extra dessert to share.
We’re so similar and yet so different, Elise, her mother, had said often. We balance each other out. We are ying and yang.
Elise buzzed, with memory of what she had just learned. It felt a little bit like a nightmare.
According to her mother’s diary, Allison Darby had loved Dean Swartz enough to ask him to leave his wife, Mandy, and create a new life with her. The words had been so specific, expressing the fact that Allison could love his children; she could be the second-wife; she was strong enough.
Plus, she was pregnant and she wanted Dean to be in her and her baby’s life.
She had even said something about the whole “actress career” thing. That it had always been juvenile—that maybe she’d only wanted it because she’d never had another option.
But then, Dean had said that his youngest child, Alex, had cancer.
That they had to seek treatment in Chicago.
That he had to focus on his family and step back from the affair and whatever he felt for her.
And as a result, defeated, pregnant, and sad, Allison Darby had returned to California to raise her own California girl alone.
Elise stopped short before she lifted her knuckles to Wayne’s door. Mom did what she had to do to keep Dean’s family intact, alive and well. She gave them space to become this: the richest family on Mackinac Island.
Now that I’ve returned, what am I doing to that memory? Am I tainting it?
Would Mom have wanted me to stay away? Just let the Swartz family live?
She knocked on Wayne’s door twice with her knuckles, then waited. From outside the door, the smell of chicken wafted through the cracked windows. Her stomach gurgled with hunger. When Wayne had left the note on her door earlier that day, she had felt a jolt of electricity.
Would Wayne finally acknowledge whatever it was that brewed between them?
Would he finally be honest about all he hid from her?
Still, what Alex had said on the night of the fire hung in the back of Elise’s mind.
Should she prepare for this guy to break her heart?
Oh, but wasn’t she in the mood for something, anything to happen? If she returned to California with a broken heart, memories of a single night with her father, and knowledge of this other whole world, wouldn’t that be enough?
That’s the trouble about life, isn’t it? Once you taste something, you want more and more of it. You’re greedy, and the greed never ends.
Still, Wayne didn’t come to the door. She glanced from left to right, realizing she had forgotten a bottle of wine. Her mind was a whirlwind. She could hardly put two thoughts together.
Is Wayne tired of hearing about all this Somewhere in Time, Allison Darby, Dean Swartz stuff?
Probably my scavenger hunt to find my “true family” isn’t as exciting as I think it is.
“Wayne?” Elise called toward the cracked window. “I’m here!”
Elise exhaled and shifted her weight. Maybe he was out back tending to the horses? She lifted a hand to the doorknob and found it open; a frequent thing on Mackinac Island after tourist season came to a close, according to Wayne. She stepped into his beautiful foyer, slipping off her jacket and hanging it on the coat rack in the mudroom.
“Hello?”
The smell of dinner permeated through everything. It was a welcoming smell, the kind of thing that allowed Elise to imagine, Yes, this is my life. I’ve returned home from a long day of writing, and my love has cooked me dinner...
“Wayne?”
She stepped into the kitchen and blinked down at the beautifully decorated dinner table, with its glistening china plates, its two forks and knives, and a large tray of butter chicken still cooling on the stovetop. A candle flickered in the center of the table. After a quick sniff, Elise turned around to find a burning loaf of garl
ic bread in the oven.
The thing was charred at the top.
Elise grabbed an oven mitt and placed the tray of burnt bread next to the perfect butter chicken.
Maybe something had happened outside?
Elise rushed to the back door, where she spotted both Darla and Ghost. Darla’s curls fluttered in the evening breeze. Ghost shoved his head into a big vat of grain, removed it, and then chewed contemplatively.
Wayne was nowhere in sight.
But here was the dinner he had made for her. Here was the wine he’d already uncorked. Here was the life, perfectly displayed before her, the one she so craved.
But no Wayne.
Elise heaved a sigh and collapsed on one of the kitchen stools. It was nearly seven-ten. She found her phone in the bottom of her purse. It revealed four new text messages: two from Penny, one from Bradley, and one from Wayne.
Penny’s were about the play.
Bradley’s was about car insurance—he wanted to switch it over to his name.
And Wayne’s?
Elise, I’m so sorry to do this last-minute. It’s really difficult to explain, but I have to reschedule our dinner. I’ll text you tomorrow. Maybe we can talk about it in more detail.
It felt a little like being punched in the stomach.
She stood there amongst the chicken and the black garlic bread and the airing wine and stared at the text message, which gave her absolutely no understanding.
Wayne will hurt you. He’s a bachelor, a player. He has his way with people and then gets rid of them.
This dinner could be for someone else, now.
He might have met another woman today and decided she was more fitting.
Maybe they’re at the Pink Pony right now. He’s showing her the Rum Runners. They’re laughing about something a whole lot simpler than my weird “family chaos” and “secret affair.”
Elise felt like an idiot. She started to text back—something about how okay it was, that sure, they could meet up again for a better explanation...
But almost as soon as she had typed it out, she deleted it.
She and Wayne didn’t owe each other anything.
He had offered dinner as a friend. Now, he had canceled it.
Lost Loves (Secrets of Mackinac Island Book 4) Page 1
