“I can start in two weeks, when I finish Renny’s manuscript.”
There was one more matter to discuss, but he felt a smile breaking out on his face and couldn’t stop it. “That’ll be fine. Your hours would be flexible, but evenings are best for me, if that works for you.”
She rubbed her neck, and her charm bracelet slid down her wrist, making a soft jingling sound. “Evenings . . .” Confusion etched lines across her forehead. “Aren’t you going to print off the emails for me?”
He was glad he’d thought this through. “I wouldn’t feel right about that. I feel bad enough letting someone else read her personal thoughts, much less have printed copies floating around.”
“I’d be exceedingly vigilant—”
“I know you would. I just don’t feel right about it. I hope you understand.”
She didn’t understand at all, but that didn’t matter so long as she agreed. He could see her wavering. He drove the last nail home. “If you’d rather I find someone else . . .”
“No. That won’t be a problem.” She scooted to the edge of the bench and stood, hanging her bag on her shoulder.
He stood with her. “Great, then. Two weeks.” He extended a hand, and she returned his firm handshake before walking away. “But I’ll see you at the café before that,” he called to her stiffened back.
He watched her go, her long legs swallowing the distance. Operation Sweetpea was under way, and the future suddenly looked brighter than the sunlight glinting off Nantucket Harbor at noon.
Sweetpea: If I thought planning a wedding was time consuming, it was only because I’d never had to cancel one in six days.
Chapter Three
Sabrina stopped pedaling and coasted, taking a breather. She wished she’d stayed in bed for the day. How had she let herself be persuaded to spend hours alone with Tucker? Didn’t she know how difficult the task would be? How could she maintain her composure, keep her focus with him nearby? She must be plumb crazy.
It wasn’t as if I had a choice. He was prepared to hire someone else if she said no. She couldn’t allow that, could she?
At least now she could control the outcome. She could read the emails, pretend to give her best effort, then tell him it was an impossible task. She could even manufacture red herrings to sidetrack him, just like in Renny’s books.
But you’ll be alone with him for hours . . .
Despite the warm air, the thought sent a shiver down her arms. The relationship had seemed so simple in the beginning, just a friend she traded quips with. She liked the way he valued her opinions and the way he was only a mouse click away. He listened without judging, a rarity in her experience. Her feelings had evolved slowly, and by the time she knew they’d gone too far, she was helpless to stop them.
She signaled left and made the turn onto Renny’s lane. And now she would somehow have to hide them. It was difficult enough facing him at the café, pretending he was a stranger. How would she conceal her feelings when they were alone in close quarters? And she must conceal them. Tucker might think he wanted Sweetpea, but that was only because he didn’t know who she was.
Sabrina followed the gravel lane toward Renny’s two-story oceanfront home. The shaker shingles, previously a pale blue, had faded to gray under the relentless erosion of wind and sand. Lining the front walk, Renny’s flower garden was a riot of pink, yellow, and white. A prolific vine of some kind clung to the front entryway, climbing the white columns and creeping onto the small roof that shaded the patio. Many of the islanders hired men like Oliver for landscaping, but Renny managed her own garden and had affectionately named it Gan Eden, Hebrew for Garden of Eden. The Hebrew language was another of Renny’s interests.
Sabrina parked her bike in front of the garage that housed her loft apartment. She sifted through the mailbox for her mail, then climbed the wooden stairs along the west side of the house that led to her private entry.
A tall oak rose above the roofline, and her eyes searched the length of the closest limb until they came to a nest a robin had built that spring. Cradled in the nook of two intersecting branches, the nest was tilted to the side precariously. Each day Sabrina expected to find the nest gone, blown to the ground by a harbor breeze, but it still hung there.
Cool air and the remnants of Pine-Sol greeted her as she entered and set the mail on the desk, moving quickly, eager to see if Tucker had written before he left that morning.
Would he admit he was trying to locate her, or would he keep it a secret? She sat at the desk and opened her email. They had a predictable pattern. He wrote in the morning after she left for work, and in the afternoon she’d reply. Then when he returned in the evening, messages flew back and forth, mostly short quips about nothing in particular.
Her inbox appeared, and Sabrina scanned the few emails, her heart bailing when she saw nothing from Harbormaster. She browsed the four emails. Two were junk mail, one was a shipping notice from Amazon, and the other was from her cousin Jaylee. The sight of Jaylee’s name jolted her from complacency. Of their own volition, her eyes scanned the subject:
IMPORTANT PLEASE READ.
Sabrina highlighted the email and gave the Delete button a hard tap. The message vanished in a split second. Instead of satisfaction, the action left her with a vague sense of unease. What could Jaylee want? Hadn’t her cousin taken more than enough? For a moment she was tempted to retrieve the message, then decided it wasn’t worth the feelings it would arouse.
But the emotions appeared at the door of her heart anyway, like unwelcome guests. Jealousy, Bitterness, and their close friend, Aching Pain.
No. She would not entertain the feelings today. I choose not to. Willfully, she pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind for another day and closed the email program.
Normally, she looked forward to this time of day. Returning to her little loft with its efficient layout and familiar furnishings, anticipating a message from Tucker. Here she could be alone to read and think and escape. Today, though, offered her none of the above. Her mind whirled like a window fan. She needed to finish Renny’s research, but instead she started a kettle of tea and wandered past the kitchen table to the window overlooking the ocean.
Clouds had gathered, obscuring the sun, muting the daylight. On the water, a blue, triangular sail dotted the horizon. She wondered about the people inhabiting the boat. Were they a vacationing family? A wealthy retired couple killing time? A married man seeking peace and solitude from a nagging wife and a gaggle of boisterous kids?
Other than the ferry that had brought her to Nantucket, Sabrina had never stepped foot on a boat. It seemed peculiar when she was surrounded by water.
She let the curtain fall into place, then went to change into shorts and a crew neck T-shirt. The weather was mild today. Maybe later she’d go for a jog.
When the kettle whistled, she made a cup of tea before settling into her computer chair. Renny needed a poison for her story—something that would leave no trace in a blood test—and she needed it by tomorrow.
Sabrina made it as far as opening her internet program before her restless mind took her hostage.
Spying the stack of mail, she sorted through it, tossing the junk into the can by the desk and slipping the bills into the cubby above her. When she saw the last envelope, she stopped.
Her name and address were slanted across the front of the delicate pink parchment envelope. She would recognize the neat script anywhere, even if not for the return address in the upper left-hand corner. Dread coated her tongue, sticking it to the roof of her mouth.
She wished she could delete the envelope as easily as she’d deleted the email, because the temptation to open it was overwhelming. Three-dimensional letters were apparently more difficult to resist.
Succumbing to curiosity, she turned the envelope and slid her index finger under the flap. The pink scalloped card slid out easily.
Sabrina read the printed script: Mr. and Mrs. Everett Daniels and Mr.and Mrs. Lloyd Tanner invite you
to share in the joy of the marriage uniting their children, Jaylee Daniels and Jared Tanner, on Saturday, the twenty-second of August, at five thirty in the evening.
Sabrina’s eyes returned to Jared’s name and rested there. The card trembled in her hand. How had it come this far without her knowing? Where was the warning, the announcement of the engagement, for heaven’s sake?
Then she remembered the emails from Aunt Bev she’d deleted. She remembered the voice mails from Jaylee and Arielle she’d never returned.
She hadn’t regretted the distance she’d put between herself and the relatives who’d raised her after her dad . . . died. They’d hurt her. It was natural that she’d want space between them, natural that she’d avoid them.
Still, this was a harsh way to find out. It was cruel to pop a wedding invitation into her mailbox with no warning. They should’ve tried harder. She looked at the date again. Less than three months away.
This shouldn’t be happening. How could life be so inequitable?
What does it matter now? I don’t love him anymore.
But she had. She’d loved him so much.
But that was over a year ago. She’d moved on. She’d learned from the experience. She was no longer a naive young woman waiting to have her heart trampled. She was savvier now. A well-protected fortress.
She walked to the trash basket and dropped the invitation. At the motion, her bracelet slid down her wrist, drawing her eye to it. She pulled her hand closer and found the dangling heart pendant. Her thumb ran over the familiar surface.
The old emotions welled up, stuffing her lungs with something thick and stifling. She wrapped her hand around her wrist, bracelet and all, as if she could contain the thoughts as easily.
She longed to throw on her tennis shoes now and run until she was out of steam. Run until she was too tired to think, too tired to feel. But she’d promised Renny an answer on the poison, and it might take all evening. So instead, she sank down into her chair. But still her thoughts rebelled.
Somewhere out there, Jaylee and Jared were choosing place settings and planning a honeymoon. Her aunt and uncle would spare no expense. Where was the event? Sabrina couldn’t remember. Did she even want to?
She did. She wanted to know the truth, every last painful drop of it, because it wasn’t the truth that hurt so badly, but the secrets that preceded it.
Harbormaster: My sister needs a miracle. But I’m not worried. I trust God to work it out. How about you, Sweetpea . . . do you trust God?
Sweetpea: God and me are kind of on the outs right now.
Chapter Four
Sabrina pedaled down Tucker’s lane, parallel to the harbor. The cottages along Nantucket’s wharf resembled enlarged birdhouses perched on pilings at the water’s edge. Their front yards were the ocean, dotted with small, bobbing boats. In the winter these homes, mostly vacant, suffered relentless wind and bitter cold sprays of salt-laden water, but in the summer they drew hefty rental fees from tourists.
The day before, Tucker had jotted his address on a thin café napkin and asked her to arrive around six. His eyes had a boyish light behind them. Hope, she realized, feeling the pierce of guilt.
It was cruel to ignite a fire of hope when she planned to smother every last ember. She had stuffed her hands in her khaki pockets and squeezed the napkin into a tight ball.
She’d weighed her options a hundred times since he’d approached her two weeks earlier. There was no alternative. She would suck it up, and complete the task as quickly as possible.
She would read the emails as though detached from the people writing them. She would list harmless details, making sure they in no way offered any hope of pinpointing Sweetpea’s location. That was her plan, and she was sticking to it. Once it was over, she and Harbormaster would continue their relationship as it was before. The relationship was too important to risk losing.
She arrived at Tucker’s cottage and parked her bike. It was one of the smaller homes on the water, not much more than a dollhouse, but even these ran over a million. Tucker’s house would fit into her loft twice over, but you couldn’t argue with the charm of a harbor house. Weathered shaker shingles clothed the building, and its two front windows, like square eyes, flanked the Craftsman-style door at the top of a stoop. A potted plant was the home’s only exterior adornment, and it looked as if it had been forgotten long ago.
Sabrina knocked, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her heart, beating up into her throat, seemed to have escaped her rib cage, and she wished she could tuck it in place so easily. Darkness hovered behind the windows. Maybe he wasn’t home.
Don’t get your hopes up. Of course he’s home. He asked you to be here at six. Sabrina checked her watch. One minute before the hour. Well, she could hope, couldn’t she? Maybe he’d let her work in peace. Maybe once she was acclimated to his computer, she could come directly after work. He’d be gone, and she could work alone. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
The door opened, and Tucker’s frame filled the doorway. He wore a black T-shirt and faded jeans from which his bare feet poked. Sabrina forced her eyes to his face as he opened the door wider.
“Right on time.” His cap was missing, and his loose curls were damp, as if he’d recently showered.
Sabrina’s tongue felt stapled to the roof of her mouth. She smiled benignly as she squeezed past, catching a faint whiff of his woodsy cologne. The familiar scent drew her.
She held her breath until she was a safe distance away, then forced her eyes around the living room’s dim interior. A lone lamp lit the space, its inverted cone of light splaying upward, highlighting a sparse, clay-colored wall. A sofa, two chairs, and a TV hogged the space. A line of carved marine animals perched on the low mantel.
“The office is back that way.” He pointed to a short hall beyond the living room. “Can I get you something to drink? I have soda, juice, coffee . . .”
“No, thank you.”
She followed him down the hall, her sandals clicking on the wood floor behind his padding feet. She wondered if she should’ve removed her shoes, but they were clean and, judging by the dust ball in the corner, Tucker wasn’t exactly fastidious.
“Here we are. This is my office, slash computer room, slash junk room.”
Everything in the room faded in the wake of the harbor view. Evening light flooded the space through a large bay window, tinting the room golden pink.
“Nice view.” Strange that he’d never mentioned it in his letters. If she had such a view, she was certain she’d find it distracting. Then again, when she wrote Tucker, she was focused on him alone.
“I had the bay window installed after I bought the place. It’s supposed to be a spare bedroom, but it makes a nice office.”
Her eyes left the harbor to travel the small space. An oak desk anchored a large rug and faced a pale blue wall. In one corner, a louvered door covered what she assumed was a closet, and stacks of boxes lined the wall opposite the desk.
Tucker had pulled another chair to the desk and gestured toward it. Sabrina set down her bag and sank into the seat as Tucker settled behind the computer, inches away.
She focused on the screen, a fifteen-inch Dell. Several icons covered a photo of Nantucket’s harbor. She’d just identified Tucker in the picture before he opened his email program.
“We’ve been writing about a year, so there are lots of messages to wade through. Most are just quick back-and-forth stuff, but some are longer. I’ve reread them, trying to figure things out, but like I said, that’s not my thing.”
Sabrina watched him navigate the screen, going to the oldest letters. Something strange filled her at the sight of her email address in his inbox. As he scrolled, she saw there were few messages from anyone else.
“Her email address is right here.” He pointed to the screen. “Sweetpea.”
At least her screen name revealed nothing. She folded her hands in her lap.
“Are you always this quiet?”
She should be asking questions, not acting as if she already knew the answers. Which she did. “I’m just observing.”
“They say it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
His eyes flickered away from the screen long enough to give her a grin. “I don’t know, but they must know what they’re talking about, because everyone quotes them.”
The line was so like the tone of his emails, she nearly smiled, but caught it in time.
Questions. She needed to ask questions. “What kind of factual data do you have on your friend? Perhaps you can make a list of everything you know about her.”
“Sure. Here, switch chairs and you can start reading.”
His arm brushed hers as they passed, and the hairs on her forearm stood on end, drawn toward him as if he were a magnet. She settled into the leather chair and opened the first message.
He’d initially addressed her on Nantucket Chat, a community for those interested in Nantucket. The group was talking about the controversial offshore wind turbine program, a community hot-button issue, and after several days, Tucker emailed her privately.
“I wonder if she grows peas,” he said now, jokingly.
“Sweet peas are flowers, not a vegetable.”
“Oh. See, that’s why I need your help.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t know her occupation, then?”
He pulled a pen and paper from a drawer in the desk and hunched over the corner, way too close. His knee was a fraction of an inch from hers. What if she shifted? What would it hurt to touch him? He’d assume it was an accident if he noticed at all. She wanted to touch him so badly her palms began sweating. If only she could erase the past. If only this could be a normal relationship.
Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle Page 52
