by Sophie Moss
What the hell was he going to do if he had PTSD?
A cold wind whipped over the Bay. A few fishing boats bobbed in the distance. He couldn’t imagine life outside the teams. Being a SEAL wasn’t a job; it was a way of life.
But his ability to control his emotions was what set him apart from other men, was what had drawn him to Spec Ops in the first place.
He had no intention of ringing the bell on his career now, not after everything he’d gone through. Not after his teammates had made the ultimate sacrifice and he had come back in one piece, still able to serve.
He would be a SEAL until his body broke down and forced him into retirement, or he died in action.
Quitting wasn’t an option.
He glanced down at the phone in his hand, scrolling through his contacts for his former teammate, Colin Foley.
Colin answered on the second ring. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite Lieutenant Commander.”
“You know you don’t have to call me that anymore,” Will said, watching an osprey dive into the shallow water.
“As long as you keep calling every Friday to check up on my progress, I’ll keep calling you that,” Colin shot back.
Will smiled as the osprey lifted a wiggling perch out of the Bay. “How’s the leg?”
“Not bad,” Colin said.
Not bad. It was the same answer Will got every time he asked. “Are you still training for the 5K in January?” Will asked. “The one in Baltimore?”
“Yes,” Colin answered. “Why? You want to sign up?”
Will knew he was joking. The charity run was barely over three miles, and before the grenade had blown off his friend’s leg six months ago, they’d both been able to run that distance without breaking a sweat. But Colin was still getting used to the prosthetic that had taken the place of his leg, and still working on restoring the muscles that had gone dormant after the amputation. It was going to take him a long time to get back to the point where he could run three miles. “No, but I could help you train.”
There was a long pause at the other end. “What? Over the phone?”
“No.” Will watched a powerboat cut through the water. “I’m still in Maryland.”
“At your grandparents’ house?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you were selling that place?”
“I am. It’s complicated. Listen.” Will leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Why don’t I come up to Annapolis one day this week? We can go through some of the drills your physical therapist recommended.”
“I don’t need your help, Will.”
Will winced.
“That’s not what I meant,” Colin said, backpedaling, but his voice had grown weary.
Will gazed down at the thin cracks snaking through the wooden planks. He knew what Colin meant. He didn’t want Will calling every week to check on him. He didn’t want to be treated like a charity case.
SEALs didn’t ask for help. They were the ones who gave help, the ones who answered the call of duty when no one else could.
But the ability to answer that call had been taken away from Colin—because Will hadn’t been able to protect him.
“I have to go up to Walter Reed on Monday for an adjustment,” Colin said. “I won’t be able to run for a few days after that anyway.”
Walter Reed.
Will still regretted not being able to visit his former teammate at the military hospital when Colin had been bedridden for several weeks earlier this year. But Will had remained in Afghanistan to finish out his deployment after Colin had been medevac’d out, and his other two teammates had gone home in body bags.
“What time is your appointment?” Will asked.
“1:30,” Colin answered. “Why?”
Colin might not be lying in a hospital bed at Walter Reed anymore, but there were plenty of other service men and women who were. The medical center in Bethesda was less than two hours away from Heron Island. He should have thought to make the trip sooner.
Even if all he could do was offer moral support, it was better than nothing. “I’ll see you at Walter Reed on Monday.”
Patience, Annie thought, was not one of her strong suits. Over the past week, business at the café had slowed to a trickle. Her first loan payment was due in ten days, and at this rate, she wasn’t going to make it.
She needed to make that payment.
Flipping the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED, she walked back to the kitchen to help Della pack up the leftover desserts. “We need more customers.”
Della draped a layer of plastic wrap over the coffee cake. “Business will pick up. Give it time.”
“We don’t have time.”
“The Waterfowl Festival is two weeks away,” Della said. “We’ll get a surge of tourists then.”
But what about after the festival? The Waterfowl Festival was the last local event that would bring tourists to the island before the winter lull set in. If the café was going to make it through the winter, they needed to find a way to reach out to the islanders. They needed to offer more than good food and a charming atmosphere; they needed to find a way to integrate the café into the local community.
She and Della had been tossing ideas around all week: offering to host the monthly waterman’s association meeting, providing a discount to teachers and firemen on the last Saturday of the month, catering fundraisers for local charities, starting a monthly book club with a themed menu based on the chosen story.
All good ideas, but none of them would spike sales overnight. She needed to find a way to get people in here this week.
Picking up a tin of peanut butter cookies, she searched for the matching top as Taylor walked into the kitchen holding up a paper butterfly. “Mom, look!”
Annie softened as she took in the orange wings with black spots, the long strand of purple yarn threaded through them. “It’s beautiful.”
Taylor beamed.
“Do you want me to help you hang it?” Annie offered.
Taylor shook her head, gravitating toward the cookies. “I made it for Will.”
Annie froze. Ever since her conversation with him last night, she’d felt an endless range of conflicting emotions—concern, sympathy, frustration, begrudging respect.
She didn’t want to respect him. She didn’t want to worry about him. She wanted him to sell the inn to the resort company.
Or, at least, she had until she’d found out the Hadleys owned Morningstar. Now she didn’t know what she wanted.
Taylor snagged a cookie from the tin. “He said the monarchs are almost all gone, so I made him one to remember them by.”
Annie’s heart constricted. Taylor had disappeared over an hour ago saying she had something “important” to do upstairs. This was what she’d been doing? Making a butterfly for Will?
She stole a glance at Della. The other woman’s gaze was glued to the butterfly.
“Taylor,” Annie suggested lightly, “why don’t you grab a sweater from upstairs and we’ll walk down to the marina to watch the sunset?”
“But what about the butterfly?” Taylor protested. “We need to take it to Will.”
Annie struggled to come up with an excuse.
Della caught Taylor’s hand, drawing her back to stand beside her. “You know,” she said, tucking Taylor’s hand through her arm, “the best spot on this island to watch the sunset is at the inn.”
“It is?” Taylor asked hopefully.
Della nodded and Annie heard a faint clanging of copper wind chimes out on the porch—the same ones she’d heard last night as she’d lain awake thinking about what Will had told her, about how he blamed himself for his teammates’ deaths, about how he couldn’t seek help for the flashbacks and the nightmares because it could cost him his career.
Della gestured to the tin of cookies Annie was holding. “I was going to take those leftover cookies by the inn tonight, but why don’t you and your mother take them instead? I’m sure Will would much rather see you than me.”
Taylor looked up at Annie. “Can we go see Riley, mom? Please?”
Riley.
Annie let out a breath. Of course. Maybe Taylor had only made the butterfly as an excuse to see Riley. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with Will.
She looked down at the butterfly, suspended from the strand of yarn from her daughter’s hand.
Maybe the only way to find out was to go to the inn, watch Taylor give Will his present and see for herself.
The moment she sensed even a hint of attachment on Taylor’s part, their friendship with Will would be over. Done. She’d end it so fast Will wouldn’t know what hit him.
Because Taylor was her priority—her number one priority. She would not let her get caught in this. She would not let her get hurt.
“We can go,” Annie said slowly, “but we’ll only stay for a little while. I still have a lot to do tonight.”
Taylor grinned, unwinding herself from Della’s arm and darting out of the kitchen to grab her sweater.
Della and Annie stood in the small kitchen for several long moments, watching each other. Annie finally broke the silence. “I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about Will and me.” She held up the cookies. “Or trying to play matchmaker.”
“Taylor made him a present,” Della said quietly.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No.” Annie caught the tiny flicker of hope in the other woman’s eyes, remembering what Della had said last week, that the only way Will would ever get over the loss of his mother and sister was by starting a family of his own.
She couldn’t possibly think that Annie and Taylor…?
No, Annie thought. That was crazy.
She wasn’t the kind of woman men turned their lives upside down for. She wasn’t the kind of woman men put down roots with. She was the kind of woman men left, the kind of woman men dated briefly and forgot about just as fast.
At the sound of Taylor’s footsteps on the stairs, she turned and walked out to the dining room. “Ready?”
Taylor nodded.
Annie followed her out to the porch and down the steps to where her car was parked on the street. They drove down the long flat road leading to the inn, taking in the late afternoon sunlight slanting over the marshes. Taylor chatted away happily, stealing a cookie from the tin whenever she thought Annie wasn’t looking.
By the time they pulled into Will’s driveway, the butterfly had crumbs all over it, and a new worry had sprouted wings inside her. What if Will had company? What if he had asked someone else over to watch the sunset? What if she and Taylor were interrupting?
Her hand hovered over the gearshift. She should have called first, at least to tell him that they were coming.
A dog barked and Riley bounded around the side of the house to greet them. Taylor opened her door and the yellow lab jumped inside and gave her a big sloppy kiss. Taylor squealed when Riley grabbed her broom and darted away with it. She scrambled out of the car, her paper butterfly flopping behind her as she raced after the dog.
There was nothing Annie could do but turn off the car and follow her. Climbing out of the driver’s seat with the cookies, she heard music playing from a muffled stereo in the back yard. She followed the sound around the side of the house to where a rusted ladder led up to the roof and rotted shingles were scattered over the lawn.
She glanced up, catching the expression on Will’s face as he watched Taylor chase Riley across the yard. He was smiling and his eyes were filled with warmth. The relief that he didn’t already have company, that he was actually glad to see Taylor, was replaced instantly by a deeper emotion as he stood and made his way across the roof.
He’d taken his shirt off, and when he swung down to the ladder, the sleek muscles of his back and shoulders gleamed in the fading sunlight. A pair of ripped jeans hung low across his narrow hips, and she could see the outline of his hard thighs through the worn denim.
A muted clang rang through the air as his work boots tapped the metal rungs of the ladder. He jumped easily down to the ground and then turned, spotting her. All Annie could do was stare as a rush of heat shot straight through her.
He started toward her and she lifted the tin, desperate to put something physical between them. “Della sent cookies.”
Will’s lips curved. “Cookies?”
She nodded, gripping the metal tin as sparks threatened to shoot from her fingertips.
He paused when he was standing directly in front of her, when he was close enough that she could smell the salt and soap on his skin. “What kind?”
“Peanut butter.”
“My favorite,” he murmured.
Annie’s knees almost gave out when his hands covered hers so they were both holding the tin instead of taking it from her. “Taylor might have eaten half of them on the way over.”
He laughed, a deep rich sound that rolled all they way through her. “Is that why you came here? To bring me cookies?”
Annie shook her head. “Taylor has something for you. She made you something.”
“She made me something?”
Annie nodded.
He held her gaze for a long moment, and she caught the shift deep in his eyes, the silent question that swam into them. Slowly easing the tin from her hands, every brush of his calloused fingers sending jolts of electricity crackling through her, he turned. “Taylor,” he called, his deep voice echoing over the yard to where she was playing tug-of-war with Riley for her broom.
Taylor finally managed to snatch the broom back from Riley. Lifting it up over her head, she ran across the yard with the dog on her heels. By the time she got to them, she was out of breath, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were shining with pure joy.
Will smiled down at her. “Your mom said you made me something.”
Taylor lifted the paper butterfly. “It’s a monarch.”
Will gazed down at the butterfly. The wind snatched at the orange paper, causing the wings to flutter and flap. “You made this?”
Taylor nodded, suddenly shy. “So you won’t miss them when they’re gone.”
Will knelt slowly, taking the butterfly from Taylor. It looked so small, so fragile in his big hands. “Thank you,” he said when they were eye-to-eye. “I’ll treasure it.”
Taylor took a tentative step forward, lifting her arms and wrapping them around his neck.
No, Annie thought helplessly. Taylor wasn’t supposed to hug him. She was supposed to give him the butterfly and run away to play with Riley again.
But she wasn’t running away. And now Will was hugging her back.
Annie’s throat felt tight. Her daughter hadn’t come here to see Riley. She’d come here to see Will.
Will pulled back, standing. “I know just the place for it,” he said, taking Taylor’s hand and leading her toward the house.
“Wait,” Annie said.
Will turned.
“We have to go.”
“What?” Taylor asked.
“You just got here,” Will protested.
“And now we’re leaving,” Annie said, struggling to keep the emotion out of her voice. If she cut off their friendship now, it wouldn’t hurt as much later. “Say goodbye to Riley, Taylor.”
“But we need to help Will hang the butterfly,” Taylor said, refusing to let go of his hand.
“Annie?” Will asked, his expression confused.
“I have a lot to do tonight,” she said simply. “I told Taylor this would only be a short visit.”
“We’ll be quick, mom. I promise,” Taylor said. “We just need to help him hang the butterfly.”
Annie fought back the urge to grab Taylor and race back to the car before this went any further.
“If you’re that busy,” Will said, keeping his tone light, “why don’t you head back to the café and I’ll bring Taylor over in a little while.”
That was the last thing she wanted.
“Mom,” Taylor said, “don’t
you want to see inside the house?”
No, Annie thought. She didn’t want to see inside the house. She didn’t want to know what it looked like. She didn’t want another reason to feel closer to this man.
But she didn’t want to leave Taylor alone with him either.
Taking a deep breath, she looked up at Will. “We’ll come in to hang the butterfly and then we’re leaving.”
He smiled. Turning, he led Taylor across the yard and up the rotted porch steps, pointing out where to place her feet so she wouldn’t fall through. Dodging the loose floorboards, he opened the door and guided Taylor inside, holding it open for Annie.
Annie crossed the threshold, and the feeling of home swept over her so fast it stole her breath. A big, family-style kitchen opened up to a cheerfully cluttered living area filled with two oversized couches, cozy armchairs, and a wide brick fireplace. Built-in floor-to-ceiling shelves held paperbacks, board games, and videos.
There were pictures everywhere—pictures of the Dozier family, of guests eating dinner on the patio in the summer, of men holding up enormous rockfish on the dock, of Will in his dress uniform decorated with medals.
Releasing Taylor’s hand, Will walked over to a casual wooden dining table nestled into a breakfast nook. Lifting the butterfly, he looped the strand of yarn around an antique country chandelier that hung from the ceiling.
“What do you think?” he asked, stepping back.
Taylor climbed up on the chair beside him, readjusting the yarn so that the wings were even. “It’s perfect,” she said, beaming.
The sun sank lower on the horizon, painting their profiles in a soft orange glow. Taylor’s gaze shifted to a string of sparkly bottle caps dangling from one of the arms of the chandelier.
She reached up, touching one of the bottle caps. “Who made this?”
“My sister.”
“She makes wind chimes, too?”
“She used to,” Will said. “She passed away a long time ago.”
Taylor watched the bottle caps spin. “Do you miss her?”
“I do.”
“I miss my friends,” Taylor said quietly.
Annie started toward her. She didn’t want Taylor bringing Will into this. She didn’t want her turning to him to seek any kind of comfort.
