by Terri Osburn
“Hello,” he said, closing the door behind him. Glancing around the lobby, his face shifted to approving. “You’ve done a good job with the place.”
Callie knew he’d given himself a tour the day before. She’d been packing her things and spotted him through the front window of the cottage. The urge to run to him had been almost too much—until she’d reminded herself that he’d made his choice, as had she. That they were over.
“Hi,” she managed to say, cursing the flutter in her voice. Clearing her throat, Callie threw her head back. “I did an outstanding job, considering the time frame I was given.”
One side of his mouth hitched up. “I agree. That’s what I meant to say.”
She should have walked away from him. Joined the party, grabbed a drink, and ignored Sam for the rest of the night. Instead she said, “What do you think of the decorations?”
“Very festive,” he said.
“But not too much,” Callie added.
“No,” he said. “Not too much.”
This was ridiculous. “I guess we’d better join the party.”
“Callie, wait.” Sam took a step forward, pausing as Callie stepped back. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he said, “I wanted to tell you that I’ll be moving back to Charleston in a few months. Maybe we’ll run into each other.”
“You’re leaving Anchor?” she asked. “But what about the hotels?”
“I’ll still own them,” he said, tilting his head. “Someone else will be running them on-site.”
All her stressing over whether to stay, and he’d been planning to leave.
“When did you decide this?”
“A while ago,” he said, being vague, as usual.
“Before I came here?”
He took another step forward. This time she stood her ground.
“No. My decision came after that.”
She wanted to ask more questions. To know if he’d decided to leave before or after they’d fallen apart. Was that part of the plan he’d suddenly had for them, when he’d thought they might have a child together?
Instead, she gave him some news of her own.
“Well, I’ll be staying.”
“What?” he said, his eyes narrowed. “Staying where?”
“Here,” she said. “On Anchor.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t give him the chance. “Don’t worry. I’ll have my things out of the Peabody the day after the wedding. I’ve made other arrangements.”
“But why?”
“Because my job here is done and the Peabody belongs to you. I have to get out.”
“I don’t mean that,” he said, seemingly growing angry. “What will you do here? There are no more hotels for you to flip.”
So, he thought that was all she could do. Of course he did. “What I do after this job is over isn’t really any of your business, Mr. Edwards.” Callie threw in the full name as an extra punch, proof that he was no longer more than a boss to her.
But his blue-gray eyes faded from anger to hurt, and she felt the shift like a blow.
She would not feel sorry for him. Sam was the one who’d declared he would never marry again. He’d agreed to a temporary affair. Even if he changed his mind, he would never see her as an equal, with opinions and enough strength to stand on her own. To make her own decisions.
And if she changed her mind, Callie would fall into all the old patterns she’d worked so hard to break.
They stood there for a long time, staring at each other as if neither could move. Then Sam reached for her and Callie took several steps back.
“I need to join the party,” she said, willing the tears to hold off a little longer. “Thanks again for this opportunity. It taught me a lot about myself, and I’m glad I took it.”
And then she charged into the dining room, where people yelled her name and put a drink in her hand and helped her pretend that her heart wasn’t breaking.
An hour later, Sam stood in the corner of the dining room, untouched drink in hand, pretending he wasn’t watching every move Callie made. He couldn’t believe she was staying. Had never entertained the thought that she would want to. And to think, she’d chosen to do so when she’d believed Sam would still be on the island.
Having to see him around the village wouldn’t have bothered her at all. Un-fucking-believable.
“You should tell her,” said a female voice from beside him. Sam looked down to find a very pregnant Beth Dempsey near his elbow. A glass he assumed held water rested on the top of her stomach. Smiling up at him, she added, “Makes a good table.”
“I’m sure it does,” he said, not sure how to converse with a pregnant woman. Especially one he didn’t know very well.
“What’s holding you back?” she asked.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” He knew exactly what she meant, but telling a woman in her condition to mind her own business seemed . . . precarious.
Beth took a sip of water, then said, “You love her. That much is obvious.”
“That’s the hormones talking,” Sam said.
“Possibly.” Another sip of water. “But I doubt it.”
They stood in silence, Beth humming along with the music Jack was playing from the other side of the room. “I don’t know what this is,” she said, “but I like the tune.” A young male was singing about being weightless. Sam could see how the concept would appeal to a woman roughly the size of a planet.
“I would ask you to dance,” he said, “ but I don’t think it’s wise in your condition.”
She started bouncing up and down. “I don’t know. Maybe dancing would jar this kid loose. The bugger needs to come out.”
“Please don’t do that.” She was making him nervous. “I think you should sit down.”
But before he could get her a chair, Beth’s eyes went wide as she latched a hand onto his arm like a vise grip. “Too late,” she said. “Get Joe. Get him now.”
Since Sam couldn’t walk away without his arm and Beth wasn’t letting go, the only option he had was to yell across the room. On the third try, Joe finally heard him. He turned with a smile, until he noticed Beth’s face. Then he looked ready to kill.
“What is it?” Joe said, crouching under Beth’s nose. She was breathing heavily, making heeing and hawing sounds.
“Water,” she said. Hee hee haw haw. “Broke.”
Sam looked down at the same time Joe did and spotted the puddle between Beth’s feet.
“Lucas, get your car!” Joe yelled, lifting Beth into his arms.
“What?” his brother said. “It’s a BMW!”
“Get the fucking car.”
Lucas did as he was ordered, charging out of the room. The rest of the crowd swarmed behind the couple as they followed, Will and Sid flanking Joe while Randy collected coats. In a whirl, the entire party moved to the porch, watching Joe slide a panting Beth gently into the backseat of a silver BMW, then climbing in with her. Sid jumped into the passenger seat, and through the window Sam could see her on her knees, holding Beth’s hand in her own.
“We’ll meet you there,” Will yelled, as she and Randy ran toward a Malibu.
Seconds later, the snow-covered lot was filled with tire tracks, and what partygoers remained were taking bets on the sex of the impending bundle of joy.
As people filed back into the hotel, Sam spotted Callie farther down the porch, watching the baby parade disappear into the distance. As if she could feel him watching her, she turned to meet his gaze in time for him to see the tear slide down her cheek.
He’d taken a step toward her when a woman Sam didn’t know stepped through the door.
“Callie, I need to call Tom and Patty Dempsey to let them know what’s going on. Can I use the phone in your office?”
Blotting her face, Callie nodded. “Sure, Kinzie. Go ahead.” Sh
e shook her head, as if she could shake the tears away, then headed back into the hotel. Sam touched her elbow, but she jerked her arm away. “Leave me alone, Sam. Please, leave me alone.”
Henri arrived the morning of the wedding. Callie tried not to be offended that her cousin stopped to see Yvonne before driving over to the cottage. Most of Callie’s meager belongings were stacked near her front door, though she had to remind herself the door wasn’t hers. If the cottage had belonged to anyone else, she would have paid any price to stay.
But she wouldn’t rent a place from Sam. She needed to sever all connections with him, and after today, she would. Callie was still technically on Sam’s payroll, representing the Sunset Harbor Inn to the wedding guests, making sure they were happy and the wedding went off without any mistakes or issues.
She was also observing the event from Will’s point of view, seeing how her future boss operated, and learning what would be expected of her when the time came. Will’s nerves were evident to anyone who knew her, but she hid them well when the bridal party was around. The Sunset had borrowed one of Dempsey’s cooks to prepare the reception meal, which looked to be a success.
And Opal had supplied the cake, of course, which was a work of art that tasted as good as it looked. All of the traditions had been completed, including the bouquet and garter tosses, as well as the father-daughter dance, when Callie found Will hovering at the back of the dining room.
“You did it,” she whispered into the taller woman’s ear, which was only possible because Callie was wearing heels, while Will wore flats.
“We did it,” Will replied, nudging Callie’s shoulder. “This place is gorgeous. The bride’s mother can’t stop raving about the rooms, and the bride has already said they intend to come back here every year on their anniversary.”
Pride swelled in Callie’s chest. “That’s good to hear,” she said. “Sam will be pleased to have the return business.”
“I almost wish this place had been an option for Beth’s wedding last spring.”
“Speaking of,” Callie said, “how are mom and baby?”
“Disgustingly happy,” Will said, but her eyes lit up when she said it. “Mary Ann is beautiful, as to be expected. Hard to tell on the hair yet, but I think she’s going to have her daddy’s blue eyes.”
Watching the bride do the twist with her ring bearer and flower girl, Callie couldn’t help but smile. “There’s a lot of happiness going on around here,” she said. “It’s nice to see.”
Her voice soft, Will said, “But you’re not happy.”
Callie considered lying but didn’t see the point. “No, but I will be. Eventually.”
“Are you sure you two can’t make it work?” Will asked. “I happen to know Sam is absolutely miserable.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Randy told me,” she said. “Sam has a tendency to work out when he’s upset about something. He’s been in the gym every night since the party.”
What Sam did or didn’t do was none of Callie’s concern. “Maybe he’s feeling out of shape.”
“You were doing so well with the truth there for a minute,” Will said, dragging Callie out of the dining room. “I get that it’s your life and I need to butt out, but I hate to see two stubborn people screw up a good thing.”
“You don’t—”
“Let me finish. I left Randy once, and it was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Will crossed her arms. “I was smart enough to come back, but when I think of what I could have missed, it scares the hell out of me.”
“Sam and I are not the same as you and Randy. We’re . . . complicated,” Callie said, rubbing a hand across her forehead. “There’s too much between us. Too much history. We’re not a good fit.”
Will raised a brow. “You don’t really believe that.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Callie said. “Sam is leaving, and I’m staying, and we’ll both get on with our lives.”
“Wait, what did you say?”
It hadn’t occurred to Callie that Sam’s imminent departure from the island would be a secret. He hadn’t asked her not to mention it, so it wasn’t as if she was breaking a confidence.
“He told me at the party that he’s moving back to Charleston. He’ll bring people in to run the hotels here, and I assume he has another property in mind over there.”
And then she remembered what else Sam had said. He hoped they might see each other in Charleston. Why would he have said that? She was right here, practically a stone’s throw away right now, and he didn’t want to see her. Hadn’t made any effort to change her mind.
Except he’d reached for her. And she’d brushed him off.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Will was saying, but Callie hadn’t been paying attention.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, laying a hand on Will’s arm, “I have something I need to do.”
Will glanced back to the dining room. “I suppose we can handle things from here.”
“Thanks,” Callie said, grabbing her coat from the back of her office door. “I owe you one, Will,” she tossed over her shoulder, before pulling the hotel door closed behind her.
Callie nearly wiped out twice, thanks to running in heels on snowy gravel, before she reached the cottage. Once inside, she switched to tennis shoes and grabbed her keys.
CHAPTER 28
This was probably the dumbest idea Sam had ever had. And he would undoubtedly regret what he was about to do, but if he’d learned anything from Callie, it was that sometimes you had to be willing to look like a fool to get what you needed.
He’d spent more than an hour packing his clothes. Putting the dress pants in, then taking them out. Finding his oldest jeans and putting them in instead. Sam didn’t own a lot of T-shirts, but he would fix that later. If necessary. For now, the five he could find would have to suffice.
Once he had finished packing, he’d paced his tiny living room, rehearsing what he would say. His first instinct had been to make demands. To say how it was going to be and brook no argument. Then common sense had smacked him upside the head. If he wanted this to work, making demands was the last way to go about it.
So he tried for reasonable. Stating the facts in a practical way. But that wasn’t right either. In the end, he knew exactly what to do. He’d be honest.
And if that failed, he wasn’t above begging.
By five o’clock, he’d practically paced a hole into the floor. Desperate for something to do while he waited, Sam carried his suitcase outside. He could throw it in the trunk now and be ready when the time came.
He reached the Murano only to realize he’d forgotten his keys. Leaving the suitcase in the driveway, he climbed onto his tiny porch but stopped when he heard a car come down his narrow lane. Turning, he saw her. And he saw the moment Callie noticed the suitcase. Pulling into a drive two cabins up, she turned her car around and sped off in the direction she’d come.
She’d been on her way to see him. That had to be a good sign.
Dashing into the house, Sam grabbed his keys and raced back outside, renewed hope sending his heart slamming against his ribs.
How many times could Callie be an idiot before the lesson finally sank in? Sam did not want her. He was leaving the island without even saying good-bye, and she’d been crazy to think that anything could work for them.
If only he hadn’t seen her. That was the worst part. He knew she’d caved. Sam would always know that she’d been ready to come crawling back, when all he wanted was to be rid of her.
Gah! She was such a complete and total idiot.
“Whoa,” Henri said, as Callie nearly barreled her over, stomping into the kitchen. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Callie growled. “Nothing is wrong with me.” Dropping onto a kitchen chair, she dropped her head into her hands. “N
othing except I’m a worthless, pathetic idiot.”
Henri didn’t respond right away, which felt like confirmation and only made Callie feel worse until she groaned into her hands.
“Let’s take a step back here.” Henri pulled out the chair beside her and took a seat. “First off, you are not worthless or pathetic.”
“Yes, I am,” Callie said quickly.
“No, you’re not. And if you say either of those things again, I’m going to give you one of Aunt Melba’s pinches.”
Jerking her head up, Callie covered her upper arm closest to her cousin. “You wouldn’t.”
“If you don’t get a grip, I will.”
Callie wanted to argue, but Aunt Melba did that twist thing when she pinched, and it hurt like hell. And Callie knew Henri wasn’t bluffing.
“Now,” Henri said, “tell me what’s going on. Why did you race in and out of here a little while ago?”
How could she explain that she’d suffered a temporary bout of delusion and thought Sam might actually care for her? Believed, like the idiot that she was, that he might love her?
“Would you buy a temporary-insanity plea?”
“Knowing who raised you, I normally would.” Henri leaned back in her chair. “But not this time.”
Callie ran her hands over her face. “I was afraid of that.”
“You went to find Sam, didn’t you?” Why did her cousin have to be so damned astute? As if she’d heard the question, Henri added, “I write romance novels for a living. I could see this coming from a mile away.”
“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Callie asked. “My life isn’t a book. Real life doesn’t come with happy endings all wrapped up pretty and neat.”
“First of all, not all happy endings are pretty.” Henri tapped a finger on the table as she spoke. “And no, your life isn’t a book. But there’s nothing wrong with fighting for what you want. If you ask me, you should have fought for him a long time ago.”
“No one asked you,” Callie said, pushing out of her seat. “And it doesn’t matter now. He’s leaving.”
