by Tracy Brogan
So much for discretion. Emily turned and shrugged. “I don’t know what to do about it. I like him.”
“Well, stop it.”
“I’m not sure if I can.”
Brooke was right. Emily knew that. She should stop liking Ryan, but she knew she wouldn’t. Getting his advice and sharing her ideas about this cottage with him had been fun. Riding horses and taking walks and having coffee with him—all fun. And heaven knew kissing him had been fun. More than fun. It had been thrilling, and she hadn’t been thrilled about anything in a very long time.
Her sister sighed and pushed her feet against the porch with a squeak, making the swing sway back and forth. “I’m just going to mind my own business from now on. No one listens to me anyway.”
Ryan reached the bottom of steps in another minute, and Emily’s body hummed with anticipation, which she tried very hard to contain. It wasn’t as if she could, would, should fling herself into his arms, even if Brooke wasn’t there.
“Hi,” she said. “You’re back.”
“I’m back,” he answered, and then they stood there staring stupidly at each other and smiling.
“Oh good Lord,” Brooke muttered.
Ryan’s head turned in surprise. “Oh, hi, Brooke. I didn’t see you there.”
“Gosh, I wonder why?” She stood up. “Did you just come through Bridget O’Malley’s yard?”
He looked over his shoulder and down the hill. “What? No. I mean, I don’t know. I just came up this way because, um, I got lost.”
“Lost.”
“Yeah, I was heading here and I guess I took a wrong turn somewhere.”
“That’s generally how people get lost,” Brooke said mildly.
“Yeah. Hey, listen, Emily. I can’t stay because Tag’s waiting for me at the Clairmont, but, um, we’re back from Seneca Falls, obviously, and he’s dragging me to that square dance tonight. I’m a little terrified. Are you still going? To help out Tiny?”
“Of course she is,” Brooke said, stepping up to the railing and resting on her forearms. “She wouldn’t miss it for the world, would you, Em?”
“So, you’ll be there?” He looked up at Emily, his expression so optimistic and mischievous she knew there was just no way she wasn’t kissing him again.
“I am. I guess I’ll see you there.”
“I guess you will. Okay, see you later then.” His smile was lopsided, his gait a little jaunty as he turned and walked back down the hill. The sisters watched him until Brooke rested her chin on one hand. “I wonder if he knows where he’s going?”
Chapter 23
“Oh, Mom, it does look magical, don’t you think?” Chloe said, twirling around slowly.
Emily was inclined to agree. The churchyard of Saint Bartholomew’s Catholic Church was transformed by a few cheap white twinkle lights surrounding the patio. Old wine barrels cut in half served as seating, and Father O’Reilly had tied a red bandana around his black-and-white priest’s collar and put on his straw cowboy hat. Clancy, also known as He Who Rides Naked, had thankfully put his clothes back on and was playing the banjo. Jimmy the mailman and Tom the veterinarian were strumming guitars, and Gladys the bank teller was on the keyboards. Gigi was holding court on one side of the patio with several of her stiff-haired geriatric friends, while Mrs. Bostwick and the Mahoney sisters sat at a table near the punch bowl. Eye-darts were flying back and forth. You could practically hear them zinging by.
“Now circle to the left,” Father O’Reilly called out over the music and the laughter. “And shoot the star.”
Emily’s gaze scanned the crowd, looking for Ryan.
“Hi.”
She spun around and there he was, standing there looking just as fine as always. Her heart did a slow twirl of its own.
“Hey, Ryan.” Chloe hopped over and gave him a fist bump. “Good to see you. Got to run, though. I see some friends.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Emily said, laughing. “What about me?”
Chloe gave an exaggerated shrug, along with an expression that said uh, what about you? “You wanted me to make friends, didn’t you? Mission accomplished. See you later.” And with that she was gone.
Emily turned toward Ryan, feeling awkward and exhilarated at the same time. “That’s the second time that kid has stood me up.”
“I like that about her.”
Emily felt a blush stealing over her skin even as she smiled. “So, what do we do now?” she asked.
“Pretty much anything except dance.”
“Now acey-deucey to the right,” Father O’Reilly shouted as Ryan stepped a little closer.
“I have some suggestions,” he said quietly in her ear, not that anyone would be able to hear them over the clamor.
She had some ideas, too, but at the moment, her brain was too distracted by the width of his shoulders to respond. She’d had her arms around those shoulders, so now she knew they were all muscle.
Before she could come up with any sort of clever response, Emily felt a hand touch her elbow.
“Peach? Finally! People kept telling me you were in town, but I didn’t believe it.”
She turned again to find Reed Bostwick garbed in full colonial costume, and her breath came out in one big huff of surprise. Thirteen years. Thirteen years since she’d seen him last, and other than the outfit and the British wig perched on his head, he looked exactly the same as she remembered. Maybe a little bit thicker, with a man’s face instead of a teenager’s, but mostly the same. A bored-looking stick figure of a woman with big eyes and small glasses, also in colonial costume, stood by his side.
“Reed, oh my goodness! How are you?” she said, leaning toward him. The hug was only mildly awkward, made slightly more so because when he leaned forward, his white wig fell right off his head. The stick figure automatically bent to pick it up and handed it back to him. This must be Mrs. Reed Bostwick, and she did not appear to be a fan of square dancing, judging from her terribly bored expression. Or maybe she didn’t like wearing a costume. Or the most likely reason? She may have heard Emily’s name before, and not in a flattering way. Thanks for that, Olivia Bostwick.
“I’m very well, thanks. Doing great, in fact. I work for the governor, you know. I’m terribly important, according to my mother.” He laughed, proving he thought his mother was just as pretentious as everyone else did, and the sound of it was also just as Emily had remembered. Big and genuine. She’d probably been dumb to leave him. She’d often thought that, and yet seeing him now? Nothing stirred inside her other than mild interest in an old friend and a wave of sweet nostalgia. No flutters or ripples or twinges. No regrets. Not really.
“Yes, your mother told me as much, but I was very glad to hear you’re doing well. And is this your wife?”
He seemed startled by the question, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “What? Oh, yes. Emily, this is Marissa. Marissa, this is Emily. You’ve heard me mention Emily.”
The stick figure smiled tightly. “Only about a thousand times. Nice to meet you, Emily.”
Somehow Emily did not think Marissa found it nice at all. “Likewise.”
Ryan cleared his throat beside her.
“Oh, Reed, this is . . . my friend Ryan. Ryan, Reed Bostwick. He works for the governor and he’s terribly important.” She and Reed laughed. Marissa and Ryan did not.
Reed reached out to shake Ryan’s hand, forgetting he was holding the wig. He tossed it to his other hand at the last second, leading to a fumble of motions, some nervous laughter, and a roll of the eyes from Marissa.
“Good to meet you.” They did the he-man single shake.
“So, what’s with the outfit, Reed?” Emily asked. “You look quite convincing, by the way.”
He bent at the waist like a proper colonial might do, then righted himself. “I am currently wearing a British uniform of the King’s Eighth Regiment as earlier this evening I had the dubious honor of representing Captain John MacGillicuddy of His Majesty’s service during a reenactment at
the old fort. Of course, I’m sure you recall MacGillicuddy is the guy who lost the fort to the Americans.”
“Well, I guess it could have been worse. You could have been representing Chief Eagle Feather.”
Reed laughed and nodded. He turned to Marissa. “Chief Eagle Feather was the one—”
“Yes. Yes, I know. He was the guy who rode naked through the town. I’ve been here before, Reed. I’ve heard the story a thousand times.”
He turned back to Emily, not seeming very insulted by Marissa’s manner. Something told Emily he was used to it.
“So, rumor has it you’re renovating one of your grandmother’s rental cottages. Which dead husband did that one belong to?”
Emily laughed again. “The second one.”
Reed asked another question, and another. Locals were observing but quickly grew bored when they saw that this was nothing much to gossip about. Reed mentioned something about a particularly wild party they’d had in the woods near Croton Hill back when they were about sixteen, and soon the two of them were laughing at old memories, but still, nothing stirred inside her other than a sense of thirteen years of guilt floating away. She’d always wondered how it would feel to see him again. Would he be angry or wounded? Insulting or dismissive? Nope. He was just Reed. Smiling, affable Reed. The same one she’d left before.
Marissa tapped her colonial fan against her wrist, not even trying to look interested. After a few minutes, Ryan moved a little closer, his shoulder coming into contact with hers in a not-so-subtle statement of possession, and he put his arm around her waist. It caught Emily off guard, but she didn’t react, as if she didn’t even notice it at all.
Reed did seem to notice, though. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to your evening. Emily, let’s grab a coffee soon and catch up some more, shall we?”
“Definitely. Let’s. It was nice to meet you, Marissa.”
Marissa blinked pale eyes behind her tiny glasses. “Uh-huh. You too.”
Reed and his wife moved on to chat with a group of other friends, and Emily turned toward Ryan, crooking an eyebrow. “Very subtle.”
He dropped his arm from her waist. “Just trying to protect you. Obviously you didn’t notice his wife giving you the stink-eye.”
“Was that Reed?” Lilly said, showing up next to them, her voice breathless. “How did that go?”
“Fine,” Emily answered. “Just two old pals catching up.”
Lilly chuckled. “Glad to hear it. You guys are going to dance, right?”
“No,” they said in unison.
“Excuse me, Ms. Chambers?” Another voice from another side. Emily suddenly understood how her father felt after church services with so many people coming up to talk to him. She turned again to find Tiny standing next to her wearing the biggest plaid shirt she’d ever seen in her life.
“Hi, Tiny. How are you doing?”
“I’m very well, thank you. And yourself?”
Matt had been coaching Tiny on his people skills, and it was definitely helping. “I’m very well also. Thanks. Tiny, you know my sister, don’t you? And you remember Ryan?”
Tiny nodded. “Nice to see you, Ms. Callaghan. Mr. Taggert. May I say both of you ladies look very fetching this evening.”
“Why thank you, Tiny. You look very handsome in that shirt.” She patted his meaty arm.
“Thank you. Matt suggested that perhaps I should ask one of you ladies to dance so I could get a little practice. He says if I dance with you, Gloria will notice me.”
There was very little chance of Gloria not noticing him. He was about as unobtrusive as a hippo in a tutu.
“Hey, speaking of Matt,” Lilly said as she leaned toward them and lowered her voice. “Did you guys hear he was asked to do a porno film?”
“He was?” Emily gasped.
“Yep. He turned it down, though. Rumor has it that’s when he had his spiritual awakening and decided to leave New York. Guess what the title was? Scrotal Recall.”
“Eww.” Emily grimaced, but Tiny and Ryan chortled like a couple of frat boys.
“I know, right?” Lilly said to Emily, ignoring the other two. “But at least he turned it down.”
“That shows some good judgment, if you ask me. And he’s cute, don’t you think?” Emily prompted, from habit.
“Yep. He’s cute. Doesn’t matter.”
“So, about dancing?” Tiny said again.
“Oh, yes. Dancing. Okay, Tiny. I have a slightly better suggestion. Will you trust me on this?” Emily wanted to get this ball rolling, get Tiny taken care of so that she could talk to Ryan.
“Um, sure. I guess.” He looked doubtful but willing.
“Excellent. Okay. Wait here. Don’t move.”
Emily looked around, and it didn’t take long to spot Gloria in her lime-green and white polka-dotted sundress and her rhinestone-studded sandals. She had her spun gold hair twisted into an updo decorated with silk clip-on daisies, and she was drinking a can of orange soda from a straw. She was a vision of garish colors and questionable choices. Tiny gasped as Emily strode directly over to his dream girl.
“Hey, Gloria.”
Gloria had her back to them, and Emily maneuvered around her to keep it that way. “Why, Peach! How are you, girl? Recovered from drunk puzzle night?” Gloria leaned forward and did the air kiss-kiss near Emily’s ear. “How are things going at your granny’s cottage?”
“The cottage is an adventure, but it’s coming along nicely. I have a great crew.” That was stretching it, but there was no point in giving Gloria the actual rundown on the caliber of her workers. “And I’m really fortunate to have an impressive foreman, Tiny Kloosterman. Do you know him?”
“Oh yeah, sure. Everyone knows Tiny. He’s kind of hard to miss!” Gloria threw her head back and laughed, making her equally hard to miss. Then again, that lime-green dress didn’t exactly cause her to blend in, either. Emily leaned forward and felt like they were twelve again, passing notes back and forth. “What do you think of him?”
“Who?” Gloria wrapped her glossy, frosty, plum-colored lips around the straw and slurped loudly as she sucked up the last of her drink.
“Tiny. I’m not sure, but I suspect he may have a bit of a crush on you.” Bit of a crush was an understatement, but she didn’t want to oversell things.
“A crush on me? Really?” She set her pop can down and patted at her hair, securing a loose daisy and peering around at the crowd as if to find him. Tiny took a step backward, hiding behind Lilly, which was entirely pointless because he was three times her width.
“I think he might. Would you like me to see if he’d like to dance with you?”
Gloria’s smile was wide. “Why, you know I love to dance. In fact, I said to myself tonight, I said, ‘Gloria, tonight would be a fine night to kick up these heels,’ so if he’d like to dance, why I sure as hell would say yes.”
“Perfect. Stay here. Don’t move.” Emily strode back over to Tiny. If only breaking up Tag and Lilly was half as easy as getting Tiny and Gloria together, Emily’s life would be a lot simpler. “All right, Tiny. I’ve primed the pump, as it were, so now the rest is up to you. If you go ask her to dance, she’s going to say yes.”
He pulled out a handkerchief and wrung it in his hands. “Are you sure? What did you say to her? Are you sure she didn’t think you were talking about someone else?”
“How many Tiny Kloostermans are there on this island?”
He thought about that a moment, as if tabulating. “One.”
“Right, and that’s you.” She patted his broad chest. “I told her I thought you might like to dance with her, and she said that was great and she’d like to dance with you, too. So, you’ll have to take the rest from here. But Tiny, I think you have a real shot, so just be yourself and be bold.”
He nodded. “Be bold. Be bold,” he muttered as he took baby steps in Gloria’s direction. She’d turned around by the time he got there, and she practically lunged toward him and dragged him to the
center of the patio.
“Did you just play matchmaker, Emily Callaghan Chambers?” Lilly asked.
“I sure hope so.”
It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time Ryan and Emily finally left Saint Bart’s. Chloe had left with Gigi an hour ago, and now the moon was high and the sky sparkled with stars. Off in the distance Ryan could hear music coming from the park, but that would be ending soon. He had learned that things on the island quieted down well before midnight, with only a few pubs staying open into the wee hours. Now they were walking down a flower-lined avenue without another person in sight. Emily was wearing a white dress that seemed to shimmer under the few streetlights, and fireflies were everywhere.
“They’re pretty, aren’t they? The fireflies?” she asked.
“Mm-hm.” In truth, he wasn’t really thinking about the fireflies. He was thinking about her skin. And her hair, and her mouth. Pretty much all of her.
“I used to love seeing them. When we were little, my mom would turn off all the outside lights and we’d sit on the back porch and try to count them. She told us that the ones that glowed bluish weren’t actually fireflies at all. They were angels waiting to go on up to heaven.”
Her tone was wistful, and no wonder. Her mother had died when Emily was just a kid. Far too young. His mother had died last year when he was thirty-three, and even as a grown man, it was hard to take.
“That’s sweet,” he said softly.
“Yeah. Sort of. But I remember the day of her funeral. No one would really talk to me. The adults just kept trying to give me something to eat. I’m sure they had no idea what to say, and I’m not sure I really grasped the situation anyway. She died so unexpectedly.”
Ryan felt a sudden pressure in his chest that had nothing to do with wanting to kiss her and everything to do with wanting to hold her tight and squeeze her sadness out, if only that would help, but of course, grief didn’t work that way. You couldn’t squash it out or get over it. You just had to get through it, but it was like a spider’s web. It clung to your skin. Sometimes you could barely feel it, but you knew it was there. He slipped his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze anyway, and she went on, speaking slowly, as if she was just dusting off an old memory she’d found in an attic chest.
