Sandover Beach Memories
A Christian Beach Romance
Emma St. Clair
Contents
Acknowledgments
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
A Note From Emma
Untitled
Where Is Sandover Island?
Also by Emma St. Clair
2019 Kirsten Oliphant
A different version of this was previously published as Sandover Beach Memories in 2018. This book has significant changes, but also keeps much of the same storyline and characters.
Cover by Bobbie Byrd
Editing by Cindy VanSchalkwyk
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Warning: All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced aside from small excerpts used in a review. Please contact Emma for permissions: [email protected].
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This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s creation and bear no resemblance to actual people, living or dead. Any incidences resembling actual events or people are purely coincidental.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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The characters in this story are fictional and not based on anyone I know. The events are also fictional…with one exception. I absolutely DID get stuck in a Nag’s Head beach house elevator, though with two girls I hardly knew and now call friends. And yep, the fire department did come rescue us. (Read more about this in the Note from Emma at the end!)
Fiona and Heather—I STILL don’t know why I opened the elevator door while it was moving, but I’m really glad you still like me. Even after we had to be rescued by firemen. I won’t forget that time!
Ginny—thanks for making that beach weekend possible! You had NO idea the impact it would have on me! But, to be completely cheesy and truthful, your friendship has impacted every part of my life since. <3
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Rob. Everything in my life would fall apart without you. And no, I’m NOT being dramatic.
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Chapter One
“I know it’s right in front of me, but I just can’t see it.”
Jenna muttered to herself as she pushed a cart slowly through the empty wine aisle of Bohn’s Island Grocery. Monday morning was too early for wine. But she had come to the store desperate for coffee and decided to stock up on some other necessities. After her recent divorce and her mother’s death, this meant chocolate, cheese, wine, and the one thing she couldn’t find: a corkscrew.
When Jenna arrived back on Sandover Island the night before, she hadn’t thought to check her mom’s kitchen for food. In the back of her mind, she thought maybe there would be some non-perishables in the pantry or frozen meals. Instead of doing something practical like seeing what she might need at the house, Jenna had driven straight to her favorite beach access. She longed to hear the comforting roar and hiss of the ocean and feel the sand under her bare feet. The ocean tugged at her soul the way the moon pulled the tides. It always had. How had she lived three hours away for so long?
The sight of giant homes lined up along the beach made her feel sick. Jenna had seen the new builds along the beach front, but still hated them every time with as much venom as the first time she’d seen them. Three-story McMansions on stilts, painted absurd colors like pink and turquoise. Vacation homes.
The real estate agent in her noted all the features: the prime location, the square footage, the many balconies and large windows, protective storm shutters. Properties were still a bit cheaper here than the more popular beaches along the North Carolina coast, but growing exponentially every year. There were fewer and fewer of the historic, weather-beaten beach cottages along the coast. Some were taken by big storms, but more were demolished to make room for the ugly mansions.
Despite the presence of the massive house next to her, the ocean had done its work. Her soul felt lighter and the heaviness of the past year lifted, even slightly. Jenna might have stayed longer, staring at the moonlight on the water, but had caught sight of a man on the dark balcony of the house. From the shadows, he had waved, and she practically ran back to the car. The last thing she needed was to be hit on by some guy looking for a good time on vacation.
Despite creepy watching guy, the few minutes at the beach calmed her enough to face her mother’s empty house. When she arrived, she had collapsed into bed in her old room, not bothering to unpack her car or check the kitchen for food.
Which left her groaning this morning as she realized there was no coffee. After the funeral a few months before, her sister, Rachel, stayed for the weekend to start packing up. Naturally, she started in the kitchen. There wasn’t so much as a coffee filter in the cabinets. The fridge held only a box of baking soda, probably added by Rachel for freshness.
Jenna almost cried at the sight of the little orange box. Her mother had never kept one there. Neither did Jenna. Why was it that these small details and memories of her mother could send grief surging through her? When the wave of emotion passed, Jenna pulled some boots on over her yoga pants and headed to Bohn’s, the only grocery store that On Islanders used, pointedly leaving the Harris Teeter for the tourists.
She should be thankful to Rachel, really. With an entire house to pack up, having any room cleared was a help. But all Jenna could think about was coffee. And finding a corkscrew, since Rachel had emptied the drawers of all silverware and utensils.
Jenna’s cart now held two bottles of white wine, a box of trash bags, chocolate cookies, milk, Community coffee, fresh bread, and a stack of frozen Lean Cuisine meals. She had thrown a roll of duct tape on top. Because you can never have enough duct tape.
“Need some help?”
With her eyes still fixed on the shelves in front of her, Jenna could see the blue of a Bohn’s apron as an employee pushing a cart filled with cheese stopped next to her. She must be looking right at the corkscrews but could not find one.
“Yes! Please. I know it’s here, but I can’t find a corkscrew to save my life.” She ran a finger along one shelf, seeing mixers, decorative shot glasses, and cocktail shakers. Nope, nope, and nope.
A muscular arm moved right in front of her, and she stepped back as the man pulled a corkscrew right from the middle of a shelf. He held it out to her. “You were looking right at it. This one is pretty basic but will do the job.”
She looked up at him, a “thank you” dying on her lips as she recognized his square jaw, golden-brown eyes, and tousled brown hair. A tiny shiver of something moved through her stomach. It couldn’t have been attraction, despite his handsome face and playful smile. No, any feelings she might have had for this man shriveled up years ago—not that she had ever admitted that she had feelings at all. Nope. Never happened. You can’t have feelings for someone you despise.
“Jackson Wells.” His name even sounded like a curse on her lips.
He pretended not to notice and gave a little bow in his blue Bohn’s apron. “At your service, Jenna Monroe.”
She grimaced slightly hearing her maiden name. It felt both familiar and new. Jackson wouldn’t know that she had onl
y recently changed it back. She stood blinking at him, knowing that she should say something else. Coherent words escaped her. She blamed the lack of coffee.
Certainly not the way his broad shoulders looked in the button-down white shirt underneath the apron. Or the dusting of stubble on his jaw, the only real difference in how he looked since the last time she saw him. He still had that roguish bad boy thing going on, but with Jackson, it wasn’t just a look. He had always been the bad boy. Probably still was. Leopards don’t change their spots, her mom had always said.
Last she heard, Jackson had flunked out of business school. Now he was sporting a Bohn’s apron and passing out corkscrews on a Monday morning. Fitting retribution after what he had done to Rachel. Someone—Jackson, she always assumed—had started rumors that Rachel and Jackson had hooked up at a beach party. It humiliated Rachel and seriously ticked off Jenna.
Jenna remembered holding Rachel as she sobbed. “He’s the only one who would have said anything. And it’s a lie, but no one believes me. Because what girl wouldn’t want to be with The Jackson Wells? So now I’m the super-slut of the sophomore class. You should have seen the looks I got at church.”
Jenna had been furious. Still was. But she also felt the ugly prick of jealousy that Jackson had tried hooking up with every girl in school, even her little sister, but never her. Jackson had never so much as flirted or asked her out. She couldn’t remember having a conversation with him. Which had to be some kind of record.
Sure, most of high school she had been with Steve, but her whole senior year she was single. That was the year Jackson tried to get together with Rachel. Was Jenna more upset about the rumor or that he had gone for Rachel instead of her? This wasn’t the first time she had wondered this, but the question came back up as she stood a few feet away from him.
It was an ugly train of thought, making her feel angry and sick. His smirking face before her brought to mind descriptions lifted from the pages of historical romance novels: cad, scoundrel, rapscallion. Modern words just wouldn’t do for someone like him. It wasn’t fair that jerks like Jackson Wells could be so attractive. He’d only gotten better with age.
Stop thinking about how hot Jackson is!
His deep voice interrupted her silent battle with herself. “How about some cheese to go with that wine? I’ve got Gruyere, aged White Cheddar, and some super stinky Gorgonzola.”
Jackson held up three wheels of cheese from his cart, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head when he got to the Gorgonzola. His wide smile infuriated her. He wanted to talk fancy cheese?
“No cheese. Just the corkscrew. I’m surprised you’re still working here. Do they give raises to people who have passed the twenty years of service mark? Or maybe they give you a raise so you finally get above minimum wage?”
That wiped the smile from his face. It also made Jenna feel like the very worst person in the world. She may have been bitter and slightly depressed, but she had never been mean. Jackson scratched his chin, staring through the front glass windows of the store. “Unfortunately, no awards or raises. Just an apron.”
“That’s too bad. That could have topped the list of your life accomplishments.”
As the words left her mouth, Jenna already hated herself. She was being petty and mean. There were plenty of things she regretted from high school. Wasting so much time dating Steve, the boy next door, for one. He was a cheater, just like her husband turned out to be. But she didn’t sit around obsessing over her regrets or the people who hurt her. Why was she still holding this over Jackson’s head? Rachel, happily married with two girls, certainly wasn’t still hung up on the rumor. Next month would be their twenty-year high school reunion. Jenna shouldn’t be carrying around this much negative emotion. But she wasn’t about to apologize either.
The look on his face made her feel even worse. Jackson had gone from staring out the front window to staring at the floor. His shoulders hunched with something that looked like acceptance, like he thought he deserved the darts she threw at him. Jenna wanted to apologize, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words. This wasn’t like her, to be openly rude to someone. Was this because of her grief? Or because of the last few terrible years, struggling with her marriage and losing her mom? Had she turned into the kind of person who verbally attacks a guy in his late thirties working a minimum-wage job? That was low.
His haunted eyes met hers. Jenna’s mother would have been so disappointed. She would have quoted that verse from Ephesians that had once been so familiar, “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouth, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs.” This memory struck her harder even than the baking soda in the fridge. Her throat felt thick with rising tears.
Jenna had to get away from Jackson before she became a sobbing mess in front of him.
“Thanks for the help.” She began to push her cart away.
“Good to see you again, Jenna.”
As she worked to swallow down her tears, Jenna tried to think about the last time she had seen Jackson. Honestly, it might have been high school. As small as Sandover Island was, in all the years Jenna came home to visit her parents and then just her mom, she hadn’t seen Jackson once. Until now, she hadn’t really thought about him either. Not much, anyway.
Now she couldn’t stop thinking about him: the sad look in his eyes and the resigned set of his jaw. The way his hair had that rumpled quality that no hair product in the world could fake. The way his smile turned up on the left side, looking more like a flirtatious smirk than a smile. Had he been wearing a wedding band? She hated herself for even thinking it. She needed to stop thinking about Jackson.
But the feeling that she had wounded him stuck with her, making Jenna feel sick as she reached the checkout. Jenna had been more than rude; she had been cruel. The words soured in her mouth. The woman behind the register eyed her cart and gave her a look, the kind locals usually reserved for Off Islanders. “I’m sorry, hon. You can’t purchase wine until after noon.”
Jenna groaned. “You’re serious? That’s still a thing?”
The woman smiled. “Bohn’s store policy. I can re-shelve them for you.”
Jenna wanted to scream. She was thirty-eight and couldn’t buy a bottle of wine. Not because of a liquor law (though North Carolina did have some odd laws about that), but because Bohn’s never sold alcohol before noon or at all on Sundays. She handed the two bottles over to the cashier, feeling like a child who had been chastised.
This whole morning made her feel like she had time-warped back to high school. Jenna had, like so many On Island kids, moved away as soon as she could. It was too much of a small-town. Jenna had briefly toyed with the idea of keeping their childhood home rather than selling it, but she hadn’t made it twenty-four hours without being visited by ghosts of the past. The beach might soothe her soul, but the people on this island and her own personal history was simply too much.
Chapter Two
Jackson barrelled through the double doors at the back of Bohn’s, sending them crashing into shelves on either side. Once inside his windowless office, he threw his apron down on his desk. His breath came in short pants and his fists were almost vibrating with the need to punch something. Instead, he closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and spread his palms flat on the desk.
Let it go. Let it go. I can do all things through Him.
Let. Go.
Even though he saw Jenna the night before on the beach access below his house, Jackson hadn’t been prepared to run into her this morning. Especially not when he was wearing a Bohn’s apron, restocking shelves. No wonder she thought that he was a minimum-wage employee, not the owner of Bohn’s and about half of Sandover Island.
Would it even have mattered to her? Jenna was hardly the shallow type. She probably wouldn’t be impressed with his beach house or care about the fortune Wells Development had amassed for him over the past fifteen years since his father retired. She probably wouldn’t even care how much o
f his salary Jackson donated every year to various charities. Jenna’s opinion of him formed some twenty years ago and was clearly stuck there.
Why had he thought that might change?
Jackson had been waiting for Jenna to return to Sandover since her mother’s funeral. Because of Wells Development, Jackson kept up with real estate and knew her mother’s house still sat empty. He assumed Jenna or Rachel would come back to pack it up and put it on the market. He had even driven by a few times, noting that someone still took care of the lawn, though the house itself was dark. After the weeks turned to months, Jackson wondered if he had been wrong to think Jenna might come back.
And then last night, there she was. Jackson had wandered out to the balcony, letting the ocean soothe his restless thoughts. Like a dream, Jenna stood on the beach access below his house, looking as beautiful as ever. Heart thumping in his chest, he had simply admired her in the moonlight. Her hair had grown out a little since he saw her at the funeral. She had always kept it long in high school: a golden brown with the slightest wave to it, more if she spent time on the beach. Short hair suited her, framing her heart-shaped face beautifully in the moonlight as the wind whipped it over her cheeks.
Even from a distance he could sense the sadness that still clung to her. She had just lost her mom, but Jackson also heard somewhere that she had gotten divorced. No details, just that her marriage ended. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her shoulders low and stiff.
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