by Toni Blake
Toni Blake returns with the most emotional, tender novel yet in her enchanting Summer Island series.
Suzanne Quinlan has been through a lot lately, so nothing sounds better than a peaceful winter in her cozy cottage on Summer Island, Michigan. The last thing she wants is a massive lifestyle adjustment—especially when it comes in the form of an injured Zack Sheppard, who is sullen, angry and completely dependent on her.
Zack values his independence above all else. But when he falls down his icy steps, he finds himself with a serious leg injury and in need of round-the-clock care. The only person available to help is his ex’s best friend, Suzanne. It doesn’t hurt that Suzanne is far more attractive than he ever realized, but he’s never been one to settle, and he sure isn’t going to start now.
As Suzanne and Zack grow closer, they both realize they’re in this thing more deeply than they ever thought, and it’s started to cause tension in their small close-knit community, too. Will Zack be able to commit this time, and will Suzanne be able to trust him? One thing is certain: come spring, the lives and loves of Summer Island will never be the same.
Praise for Toni Blake
“Toni Blake’s romances are so delicious, so intoxicating and addictive, a good night’s sleep isn’t even an option.... No one does it like Toni Blake.”
—New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr
“The perfect small-town romance.”
—Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author
of Born to Be Wilde, on One Reckless Summer
“With sizzling sensuality and amazing depth, a book by Toni Blake is truly special.”
—Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author
of Driven to Distraction
“Toni Blake’s One Reckless Summer is one wild ride! This is just the book you want in your beach bag.”
—Susan Wiggs, New York Times bestselling author
of Between You and Me
“Sexy and emotional.”
—Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author
of Dream, on Letters to a Secret Lover
“The pages are practically drenched in the scent of lilacs and fresh paint in this delightful new series debut from Blake... Readers looking for a gentle summer romance with a dose of family secrets will wish they could stay on Summer Island.”
—Library Journal on The One Who Stays
“Toni Blake tells the perfect story for a summer afternoon in The One Who Stays.”
—BookPage
“Whisper Falls is the enemy of productivity. You start this novel, and nothing will stop you until you finish.”
—USA TODAY
Also by Toni Blake
Summer Island
The One Who Stays
The Giving Heart
A Summer to Remember (ebook novella)
The Destiny Series
One Reckless Summer
Sugar Creek
Whisper Falls
Holly Lane
Willow Springs
Half Moon Hill
Christmas in Destiny
Coral Cove
All I Want Is You
Love Me If You Dare
Take Me All the Way
The Rose Brothers
Brushstrokes
Mistletoe
Heartstrings
Swept Away
Tempt Me Tonight
Letters to a Secret Lover
The Red Diary
Wildest Dreams
For a complete list of books by Toni Blake,
please visit www.toniblake.com.
TONI BLAKE
The Love We Keep
To my mother, who passed away during the writing of this book, for a love that will never be equaled and that I’ll carry with me always
Contents
PART 1
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PART 2
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
PART 3
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Part 1
Excerpt from a letter to Suzanne:
They say adversity builds character. But I believe it builds your very soul. Now, I know what you’re thinking—your soul has already put up with its fair share of construction. And you’re afraid if it has to endure much more, it might just collapse like a house of cards under the weight.
But your soul is stronger than you think. So please don’t close it up. Throw open the doors and the windows. Let in the sun and the rain and the snow and the wind. Otherwise you might just miss the rainbows. And I promise you, there will be rainbows. Beautiful, glorious rainbows.
CHAPTER ONE
THE DAYS GREW SHORT, but the winter loomed long as Suzanne Quinlan hung a new calendar on the wall, the top part blooming with flowers, the bottom reminding her it was only January. Perhaps clichéd that a florist would select a calendar laden with flowers, but December had been unusually snowy and cold, even by Great Lakes standards, and she longed for color, sun—things that could blossom and grow.
Sometimes she wondered if she’d made a mistake in coming here. A place called Summer Island—it fairly beckoned you, drawing you in with its summertime beauty, the whole place bursting to life with lilacs and trillium and periwinkle, all against a backdrop of lush green trees blanketing the hillsides and shores. Bicycles, rolling past shops and cottages painted in pastels, were the main form of transportation in a place connected to the mainland only by passenger ferry, and life here just felt simpler, easier.
Until winter, that is.
In fairness, simpler still held in winter, but easier fled the island with the last autumn leaf that blew away before the lake effect snow began. And this wasn’t her first winter on the tiny island near the Straits of Mackinac, where Lakes Michigan and Huron connected between Michigan’s upper and lower peninsulas. Yet already it felt colder and longer to her than last year’s. For December had held romantic heartbreak.
Thank God for her dear friends, Meg and Dahlia—bright spots even in winter. She’d found herself hibernating since Christmas, but Dahlia had declared by text message yesterday that a lunch was in order to start off the new year. If anything would get her through to spring, it would be her friends.
Thus she put on her snow boots and the black calf-length parka hanging on a pegboard by the front door. Adding a scarf and mittens, she headed out into the snow, grateful for some sun and blue peeking through a layer of flat, white clouds. Reminders that winter didn’t last forever.
The whole island shut down this time of year—and if you were one of the hardy year-rounders, you relied on Koester’s Market and only a handful of other businesses to sustain your needs. One such place was the Skipper’s
Wheel, the solitary restaurant that kept regular hours all year, weather permitting. The diner-style eatery served all-day breakfast and sported a fisherman’s theme of boat wheels, fishing net, and old-time pictures of sailors strewn on the walls as haphazardly as if someone had just thrown them up to see where they’d stick. It boasted the narrowest storefront on Harbor Street but was deep enough to hold a long Formica counter with vinyl-covered stools and more tables than you’d think could fit.
She found Meg and Dahlia at a table in the back, and their smiles warmed her as she shed her coat and traded greetings.
A waitress named Jolene approached to say, “Know what you want?”
The locals usually did. “Blueberry waffles and coffee,” she answered, suspecting her friends had already ordered.
“Feels like it’s been forever,” Meg said, standing to greet her. “Your hair even seems longer.” She finished on a soft laugh, reaching to twirl a finger through a lock of Suzanne’s dark, naturally curly hair.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Suzanne said in reply. At thirty-nine, Meg was only a year older than her and the two had instantly clicked upon meeting, becoming close friends. But Meg and her live-in boyfriend, Seth, had been away visiting family before Christmas, and since then...well, heartbreak and hibernation.
“Why didn’t you come for New Year’s Eve?” Meg asked, chestnut hair falling loose and wavy around her shoulders. She was perhaps the most sensible, even-keeled friend Suzanne had ever possessed.
Suzanne pursed her lips, scrunched her nose. “I was in a funk.” She’d hated not responding to Meg’s invitation to her Victorian home-turned-inn, but...heartbreak. It could really drive a girl to lethargy and ice cream.
“And just how is that funk going?” Dahlia asked. Their older friend sported silver hair and a hippie style, today expressed by a brightly hued sweater and tiny, purple-lensed spectacles.
“Still funky as ever,” Suzanne confessed dryly.
“Sounds like we’re in need of a serious catch-up,” Meg said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. Funny how much one small touch could do, especially when there had—lately—been so few.
Suzanne nodded. “I have a lot to tell you.” She blew out a heavy breath and tried to smile—tried to be a friend even as she needed a friend. “And I want to hear all about your holidays and everything I’ve missed.”
At this, Meg smiled widely. “I do have some big news. Unless—have you heard? But probably not, or you’d have called me for the details.” Her smile faded into a scrunched nose. “Or is it insensitive to shove happy news down your throat when you’re sad about something?”
That was Meg—always concerned for other people, always seeking a middle ground even if it came at her expense. But Suzanne was glad someone had something to be happy about. “No, I’d love to hear your news. Maybe it will distract me from my own garbage. Let ’er rip.”
“Okay, here goes,” Meg said. “Lila and Beck got engaged!”
Suzanne’s heart dropped like a stone and she could barely breathe. She tried to hide her reaction, but from Meg’s expression, knew it was written all over her face.
“What’s wrong?” Meg asked.
Suzanne switched her glance from Meg to Dahlia and back again. Dahlia knew full well what was wrong—she’d been in on every heart-wrenching bit of it while Meg was away. And Dahlia surely already knew Meg’s news and just hadn’t had the heart to break it to Suzanne. Nor to break it to Meg why her younger sister’s engagement wasn’t good news for everyone.
“A funny thing happened while you were in Pennsylvania,” Suzanne said to Meg now. She’d been planning to tell her anyway, of course—just under slightly less embarrassing, painful circumstances.
“What?” Meg asked, her voice barely a whisper beneath glaring overhead lights.
Suzanne swallowed around the lump in her throat. Last summer, when Beck Grainger had been pursuing her, she couldn’t have dreamed it would turn out like this. “I...decided I liked him.” The words came out more softly than intended, but she barreled onward. “More than liked him. I decided I was completely and totally smitten. And that I should make a play for him. And when that didn’t work, rather than take the hint, I somehow convinced myself I should throw myself at him. Because suddenly he was the one—the one guy I wanted, the one who could help me move past Cal, the one I was sure still had a thing for me, too.” Stopping, she pressed her lips flat together and pushed out a tired sigh through her nose—at the memory of her late husband, and the next part of the story. “Only by then, Lila was already here housesitting for you, and Beck had a thing for her.”
“Oh God.” Meg’s face went ashen. Suzanne really should have told her all this before now—but she just plain hadn’t wanted to.
“Though... I didn’t know it was this serious,” she informed Meg. “Like engagement serious.” Feeling a little weak, she picked up one of three glasses of water and took a big drink. “But it’s great. I’m happy for them. It’s wonderful when two people find happiness together.”
“You don’t have to say that,” Dahlia told her.
“You really don’t,” Meg agreed. “I mean—I had no idea. If I had, I wouldn’t have blurted it out all bubbly and overjoyed. Because I’m really happy for my sister—but now I’m also really sad for my best friend.”
Overall, Suzanne felt like a heel. “Do I know how to bring down a party or what?”
“It’s okay,” Meg told her softly, again touching her hand.
But Suzanne suddenly found it hard to look at Meg—who was clearly taken aback, suddenly shoved into an invisible tug-of-war between her sister and her bestie. And having lost the tug, the whole thing left Suzanne feeling a little pathetic.
“And now I suspect I’m going to bring the party down even further,” Dahlia announced.
Both women flicked their gazes to her, and Suzanne feared she knew what was coming.
“I’m taking a trip,” Dahlia announced, a thin smile unfurling on her face. “Heading south for the winter—like the rest of the sane world.”
Meg’s brows shot up, but Suzanne only sighed. Dahlia had warned Suzanne she might leave the island until spring—but since she was still here, Suzanne had assumed she’d changed her mind. It shouldn’t matter so much—and yet it made her feel like a sixth grader finding out her BFF is going away to summer camp while she’s stuck at home.
“Why don’t you look happy about it?” Meg asked Dahlia.
Dahlia shifted a wisdom-filled gaze back and forth between them. “Because I know you both like having me around, perhaps most of all in winter. And I’m going to miss you.”
“Then why exactly is it that you’re leaving?” Suzanne inquired.
Dahlia shrugged. “Just a thirst for some sun and sand. I used to see the world, you know.” Actually, Suzanne didn’t know. Dahlia was the sort of woman you instinctively sensed had lived an adventurous life, but she seldom felt the need to talk about it. “I became the stay-at-home type after coming to Summer Island, and I’m ready for a getaway.”
“Where specifically are you going?” Meg asked.
For a woman in her sixties, Dahlia just then managed to look downright mischievous. “To be determined as I go. But sandy beaches and an ocean view are definitely on the menu.”
This time it was Meg who sighed, rather dreamily. “Sounds lovely.” Meg seldom traveled, either, and the trip to see Seth’s grandpa last month was the first time she’d left the inn for more than a few days since acquiring it upon her grandmother’s death over fifteen years ago.
And a crazy, whimsical idea hit Suzanne. We should all go! The ultimate girls trip—Summer Island chicks in paradise. Only she knew Meg wouldn’t leave the inn again so soon, and she probably wouldn’t leave Seth—their romance was still in the honeymoon phase. And besides, flitting from beach to beach all winter would be expensive, making h
er wonder if Dahlia harbored secret riches. And... “Are you traveling with Mr. Desjardins, by chance?” Suzanne had been sad to see Dahlia’s pre-holiday tryst, a charming older Frenchman, leave the island. A yes would make her feel at least a little better about Dahlia’s departure.
“Oh—no,” Dahlia said quickly, as if the very suggestion were absurd.
“I really need to get the full scoop on Mr. Desjardins,” Meg remarked. She had missed the whole affair, after all.
“There’s little to say,” Dahlia threw out with a wave of her hand.
“There’s a lot to say,” Suzanne countered.
Dahlia switched her glance back and forth between them, looking surprisingly impish. “Then you can fill Meg in when I’m gone. But the man is entirely off my mind, I assure you.”
Suzanne bit her lip. “Then who are you traveling with?”
“A friend,” Dahlia said airily. And when Meg and Suzanne both looked perplexed, she added with a laugh, “You two aren’t my only friends in the world, you know.”
“Well, who is this friend?” Meg asked.
“Her name is Giselle.”
Dahlia’s shortness left Suzanne itching to ask more, but she feared she came off as nosy when she pried into Dahlia’s life. For someone they knew well in ways, she kept a lot to herself. Only when Mr. Desjardins entered the picture had Suzanne started seeing Dahlia through a new lens. She was more than just the wise woman they all turned to for advice—she had an entire past they knew little about.
“When you get back,” Suzanne said, “I want you to tell us stories. About your life.”
At this, their older friend laughed. “I do have some good ones.”
“So it’s a deal? We’ll gather at the inn or on the deck of the café.” Dahlia’s Café sat directly across Harbor Street from Suzanne’s flower shop, Petal Pushers, and overlooked the water. “We’ll drink wine and you’ll tell us all the wonderful stories you never have.”
Dahlia gave a succinct nod. “It’s a deal.”
“How’s Zack?” Meg asked then. Zack Sheppard was Dahlia’s nephew and Meg’s ex-love, who’d driven her straight into Seth’s arms with his commitment phobia. Meg was well shed of him as far as Suzanne was concerned, but he’d devolved into a dejected lump of surliness since the breakup.
