by Katy Regnery
Maybe, he thought, they could try another truce? This time for Rory and Brittany?
But he quickly squashed the idea. It had fucked with his head for them to be cordial to each other the weekend the Rileys had visited. It had messed with him, making him hope, making him dream, making his desperate, fucking longing for her multiply with every second. Since that night at the campfire, he’d listened to “Carrickfergus” no less than one hundred times, remembering her steady gaze across the campfire—the way they couldn’t look away from each other and the feelings it had stirred in him.
He couldn’t have her.
But he couldn’t help wanting her.
And the whole thing sucked.
A few mornings later, he stirred his coffee, his thoughts a mishmash of Hallie and Jenny and Rory’s upcoming wedding, as Finian walked into the kitchen in flannel tartan sleeping pants and a white T-shirt.
“’Morning,” said Ian. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“’Mornin’,” said Finian, taking a cup for coffee. He turned to Ian, leaning against the counter and humming “The Death March” before taking a big gulp. “Two more days.”
Ian couldn’t help chuckling. “I don’t think Rory feels as dreary about his wedding as you do.”
“Eh. I don’t feel dreary. Good for him.”
“If memory serves,” said Ian, “you like a party.”
“That I do,” said Fin, “and Rory asked me to play a wee song or two at the reception.”
“What’ll you play?”
Fin pulled out a chair, spun it around, and straddled it. “I was thinkin’ of Carrick-bloody-fergus, but you’ve gone and ruined it for me.”
Ian rolled his eyes, adopting a brogue. “Tell me somethin’: are you stayin’ in my house, lad?”
“I am.”
“Then I can play whatever feckin’ songs I feckin’ want.”
“Maybe you should do more than play songs,” suggested Fin, lowering his chin to give Ian a look over the rim of his cup as he sipped his coffee.
“What does that mean?”
“Yer moony as a wee buachaill. Yer obviously in love with the lass. Why don’t you do somethin’ about it, then?”
Feeling unaccountably annoyed by Fin’s accurate observations, Ian stared back at his cousin, crossing his arms over his chest.
Fin wasn’t going to let it go. “She wasn’t lookin’ at me over that campfire, mind. Only had eyes for you.”
Ian continued to stare, cracking his knuckles loudly.
“You rebuilt her whole bloody house for her, for Jaysus’ sake.”
Eh, it was no use. Fin wasn’t going to be intimidated into dropping it, t’ scrappy little bastard. Ian cleared his throat, taking a sip of coffee. “Doesn’t matter how I feel about her. She hates my guts.”
It was Fin’s turn to stare. “Say what, now?”
“She. Hates. My. Guts.”
“That’s what I thought you said, and I have two things I need to say about that,” said Fin. “Ready? Good. One, hate isn’t the opposite of love. That’d be indifference. So maybe she hates you, but that means she still has feelings for you, and it’s not such a long way from love to hate, Ian. And two,” he scoffed softly, “no she doesn’t. No woman looks like that at a man she hates.”
“This isn’t helpful,” said Ian, even though his foolish, hopeful heart was already clinging to Fin’s words like a life raft.
“I get it. The truth can hurt…”
“Shut up, Fin.”
“…but that doesn’t make it any less true,” he finished, standing up, swinging his chair around, and taking his coffee back to his bedroom.
***
After such an exciting Thanksgiving Day, it was almost impossible to put Jenny to bed, but with Rory and Brittany’s rehearsal tomorrow and rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, Hallie’s little girl needed her sleep. Hoping it would help her drift off, Hallie lay down beside her.
They were still sharing the same bed that Ian had put together for them weeks ago, in the same room they’d slept in since arriving in New Hampshire. Although she could set up one of the upstairs bedrooms for Jenny, Hallie figured there was time enough for that after the new year. For now, she sort of loved listening to her daughter breathe in and out beside her, watching her sleep, grateful for the miracle of her life.
Britt had contacted Sergio several times over the past few weeks on Hallie’s behalf, and Jenny had become accustomed to talking with him over Skype, which had seemed to reassure her that her father hadn’t disappeared. Hallie was even considering Sergio’s suggestion to meet in Miami next summer so that he and Jenny could spend a few days together. No matter how much Hallie despised him, he was Jenny’s father and finding a place for him in Jenny’s life was important.
As for the other man headlining Jenny’s life, lately it felt like every one of her daughter’s sentences started with Mr. Haven did this…or Mr. Haven did that…and damn, but it was hard to put someone out of your mind when your child was so focused on him. But Hallie did her best to avoid Ian, to disappear when he was around, planning market runs and errands when he was on his way over and visits to Brittany when he was about to go. She didn’t want to exchange pleasantries. She didn’t want to run into him. She didn’t want to encourage the feelings he had for her and she had for him. She just wanted them to go away.
On Friday, he’d left a message for her in the mailbox. She’d seen him leave it, standing in the upstairs window and watching as he closed the lid. He’d locked eyes with her and placed two fingers behind his ear just like he used to do. I left a note for you.
Then he’d dropped his hand with a frown and walked over to his truck.
After he left, she hurried downstairs.
But the note was maddeningly brief:
Halcyon,
The work’s finished.
Thank you for letting me make amends.
Ian
She recognized the handwriting, running her fingers over the bold letters, her heart clenching with longing and telling her something she knew deep inside, and was now forced to acknowledge:
I don’t want you to be finished.
I want more.
I shouldn’t, but I do.
For weeks he had done everything possible to prove to her that he was a changed person. And for weeks she’d rewarded those efforts with avoidance and contempt. Was it fair? Was it fair that she was still making him pay for something a decade in the past? What was the statute of limitations on hating your cheating seventeen-year-old boyfriend? Just shy of forever?
She sighed, throwing an arm over her forehead and glancing at her sleeping daughter. Jenny had raced to Ian today at the Summerhaven Thanksgiving dinner, and he’d swooped her up in his arms after their five-day hiatus from one another. And after that, Jenny wouldn’t leave his side.
Wedding guests had arrived steadily all day until most of the Oxford and Cambridge cottages were full, and the Thanksgiving dinner acted as the kick-off to Rory and Brittany’s wedding weekend.
Hallie and Jenny had been seated with Mr. and Mrs. Toffle, Burr, Tierney, and Ian at Thanksgiving dinner, which made avoiding him that much harder. Especially when she kept catching him looking at her with that heartbreaking expression—the one currently worn by her heart, which was bursting at the seams with unrequited yearning.
Since he’d finished the work on the cottage last Friday, she’d felt indescribably lonesome for him. Every morning at eight, she listened for the sound of his truck, disappointed when she didn’t hear it. Even though she’d avoided him, she’d been comforted by his presence, heartened at the thought of him improving her home, making it safer and warmer over the countless hours he’d selflessly given to her. He’d done thousands of dollars of work for nothing, and she was grateful. She was so very grateful. In fact, gratitude didn’t fully describe her feelings anymore. They had grown beyond gratitude to tenderness, and the more she fought it, the stronger it held on.
“Mommy, I loved Thank
sgiving today,” said Jenny in a dreamy whisper.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Almost,” said Jenny, opening her mouth to yawn. Her eyes opened sleepily. “Mr. Haven is my best friend.”
“It was good to see him, huh?”
“I missed him, Mommy. On Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday. I missed him,” she said, yawning again, unable to keep her eyes open. “I like it better when he’s here.”
“He can’t come here every day,” said Hallie. “He has other jobs he needs to do. But remember, he’s our neighbor. He’s just through the woods and up the path. Not far.”
“Not far,” repeated Jenny in a whisper, snuggling closer to Luna and falling back to sleep.
Not far enough, she thought, thinking of Ian’s face across the Thanksgiving table earlier that evening, and what a slippery slope existed between hate and love. With such heavy thoughts weighing her down, it wasn’t long before she drifted off into a deep sleep of her own.
The morning sun rose high and strong for November, and Hallie woke up, still dressed in her clothes from the night before. From the great room, she could hear the hum of Jenny’s morning TV shows, and she checked the clock on the bedside table: 7:54 a.m. They had plenty of time before Rory and Brittany’s four o’clock rehearsal in the barn, followed by dinner for the entire wedding party…including Ian, of course.
Ian, for whom her feelings were so confusing. She was still angry at him, of course, but her anger was quickly waning, outlapped by gratitude and tenderness.
You just need to get through today and tomorrow, she told herself. After the wedding, Britt will leave on her three-week honeymoon, and you won’t see another Haven until Christmas. You can do it. Just stay out of his way today, and for God’s sake, Halcyon, don’t keep looking at him. In fact? No looking. None. You’re not allowed to look at Ian Haven today.
Thus determined, she took Jenny for a long walk, spent the late morning cleaning the cottage, then took a long, hot shower. She dried and curled her hair with care, and chose a royal-blue Dupioni silk cocktail dress for the rehearsal and dinner.
When the doorbell rang unexpectedly around three thirty, she rushed from the bathroom to open the door, but Jenny got there before her.
“I’m Jenny. Who are you?”
“I’m Tate. Where’s your momma?”
“Tate!” cried Hallie, beaming at her old friend as she hurried to the door.
“Hallie, Hallie, bo-Ballie!” said Tate, wrapping her skinny arms around Hallie and squeezing tight. “Look at you, beautiful!”
“When did you get in?” asked Hallie, pulling away from her friend.
Tate Jennings was one of those rare women who didn’t age—she could pass for nineteen even though she was twenty-seven. Tan and petite, with platinum-blonde hair cut short like Michelle Williams and wearing stylish short-shorts on surprisingly long legs, she looked more like a pixie pin-up than a charter boat captain in the Florida Keys.
“Five minutes ago,” said Tate in her strong southern accent. “I’m in Lady Margaret, but without any roommates, I was feeling lonesome. Thought I’d sneak through the woods and see how you’re doing.” She looked over at Jenny and smiled. “I’ve seen pictures of you, small fry…on Christmas cards. But you’re way purtier in person.”
Jenny grinned, half hiding behind her mother’s back.
“Brought you a little something.” Tate reached into her purse and pulled out a conch shell. “It’s the ocean, Jenny.” She showed Jenny how to put the shell up to her ear and listen. “You try.”
Jenny’s eyes widened with her smile as she took the shell from Tate and listened, racing over to Luna to give her a chance to listen to the ocean too.
“Well, she’s beautiful,” said Tate, pushing her sunglasses up on her head and unmasking her blueberry-blue eyes. She glanced up and down Hallie’s trim form in her fitted dress. “And you look like dynamite, sister.”
“Hair and makeup,” said Hallie. She flicked a glance at her watch. “Speaking of which…we have to be at the rehearsal in twenty-five minutes. You coming?”
Tate shook her head. “No, thanks. Weddings make me itchy. I’ll show for the dinner tonight, but tomorrow’s nuptials will be more than enough monogamy for me.”
Hallie cocked her head to the side. “Wait a second. Didn’t Britt tell me you were dating someone down in Florida?”
Tate shrugged. “I’ve dated a lot of someone’s. No one special.”
“With all those wealthy businessmen booking charters, you won’t be single for long.”
“Unlike Britt, I ain’t looking for anything serious. I’m only looking for fun.”
“Someday you’ll settle down, Tate,” said Hallie, “won’t you?”
“Ha! He’d have to catch me before he could keep me, and I ain’t met the one who could catch me yet.”
“Fair enough.” Hallie laughed. That was Tate—the freest free spirit God ever created. “Want to come hang out in the bathroom while I finish getting ready?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Just came to say ‘hey.’ I’ll see you at the dinner later, okay? I asked Britt to put us together.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. Can’t wait to hear all your news!”
Tate waved good-bye, calling farewell to Jenny before heading out.
Hallie finished getting ready, helping Jenny into a light-blue party dress, with white tights and patented leather shoes, then rushing both of them into the car.
It wasn’t until she was halfway to the barn that Hallie realized this was the first time she’d be back there since the morning of her seventeenth birthday. Suddenly she remembered that morning with blistering clarity: the dust motes in the air and the soft sigh of Vicky Lafontaine as she resettled her head across Ian’s bare chest.
But another picture—one Hallie hadn’t revisited in years—also developed in her mind: Ian’s face that morning. Huh. For the first time in a long time, she thought about his expression. He didn’t look caught, or sheepish, or sorry. He looked…surprised. Almost as though he was as shocked as she was.
“Mommy! Look! Look how pretty!”
From the top of the hill that led down to a car park area, she looked at the old barn, which had been painted since her summer camp days. It was once barn red, but now it was bright white and sparkling, roped with white lights and flowers for Brittany’s rehearsal. It was more than pretty. It looked like a magical fairy castle hidden in an enchanted wood.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, driving down the hill and pulling into a parking place.
Looking at the barn through her windshield, she felt a gladness—a mixture of relief and wonder—that the old place should be so transformed. It didn’t look like the same spot where her dreams had been crushed and her heart broken. It looked different. And decorated for such a wonderful occasion, it hummed with warmth and hope. It was the perfect place for her best friend to practice her wedding to the boy she’d loved since childhood.
Jenny unbuckled herself from her seat and bounded from the car as soon as Hallie opened the door, no doubt looking for Ian.
Meanwhile Hallie walked slowly up to the building, remembering the last time she’d opened the door and walked inside.
Hello?
Hello? Ian?
She half expected to see sunlight filtering through the high windows and dust motes floating in her sightline, but happily, she was greeted with no such reminders. The inside of the barn had been as meticulously renovated as the exterior.
The floors shined with multiple coats of shellac, the walls and overhead beams were painted a bright white, and the old fireplace in the center had been rebuilt. The room had been split into two distinct areas tonight. Half of the barn had two rows of seats with a center aisle, and the other half had about six round tables—enough seating for sixty.
“Hallie! You’re here!”
Beautiful Brittany, dressed in a pale-pink satin skirt and matching top, crossed the room, taking Hallie’s hands a
nd kissing her friend on both cheeks. “You look…stunning.”
Hallie grinned. “Says the prettiest girl in the room.”
“No. I mean it,” said Brittany, extending her arms so she could look at Hallie. “You look hot. You curled your hair and—”
“You’re making me blush,” said Hallie, clapping her cool palms over her cheeks. “You’re just used to seeing me in crumbling cottage mode.”
“I guess. Been a while since I’ve seen you like this…dress, heels. Wow.” She met Hallie’s eyes, her own narrowing. “Couldn’t be you wanted to look extra gorgeous for anyone in particular?”
“What? Of course not! No! I mean, you, I guess. It’s your rehearsal. Oh, look! Rory’s coming over.”
She dropped Brittany’s hands to accept a kiss on the cheek from Rory, and that’s when she saw him—over Rory’s shoulder, looking so much like his teenage self, her heart literally stuttered.
Gone were the thick black beard and long black hair that he’d kept back in a ponytail since their reunion in October. His face was clean shaven but for a dark shadow of scruff, and his thick hair was short. He looked…devastating.
“Ian,” she whispered, unable to keep the words from passing through her lips, unable to stop herself from gawking at him when she promised herself she wouldn’t.
With his eyes locked on hers, he crossed the room with long, confident strides, standing behind his brother as Rory pulled away from Hallie.
“Hey, Halcyon,” he said softly.
“Hey, Irish,” she answered, her voice a whisper, her heart racing.
Rory and Brittany took hands and left them alone without a word.
He was ridiculously beautiful, standing before her in a navy-blue suit with an unbuttoned white dress shirt beneath. There was a faint tan line around his jaw where his beard had hidden his face from the summer sun, and her fingers twitched at her sides, itching to trace the line on his skin.
“You shaved.”
Ian smiled.
He smiled at her, and it almost blew her mind because she wasn’t ready for the brilliance of it; for the megawattage of Ian Haven’s smile without a thick beard hiding it. She gulped softly, reminding herself to breathe.
