“Six or seven? It’s only one wedding.”
“It’s an entire weekend.”
Arielle tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Three dates.”
“Four.”
The pause between them was filled with the pitter-patter of rain. Finally Arielle extended her hand. “Four.”
Sabrina put her hand in her cousin’s, and they shook on it. “Deal.”
Harbormaster: When I can’t sleep, I work.
Sweetpea: When I can’t sleep, I write to you.
Chapter Nineteen
“Why are you here so early?” Nate asked Tucker as he ducked into the office, out of the rain.
Tucker wiped his face dry and pulled his schedule for the day.
“You look awful.”
“Thanks.” Tucker had a grand total of three hours sleep. He’d worked until eleven and risen before dawn. He was avoiding the inevitable phone call or email from Sabrina. He’d had his cell phone off since his run-in with the Sweetpea imposter the morning before and hadn’t checked his email since. Sabrina must be wondering what was up.
“Something going on?” Nate scanned the schedule. “Business all right?”
If only it were that simple. “Business is fine.” Why did relationships have to be so complicated? He’d pursued Sabrina for over a year, and he was farther than ever from winning her.
“Must be a woman.” Nate chuckled.
Tucker scowled.
Nate sank into Dorothy’s chair and spun around, lacing his hands behind his head. “Women are complicated, man. I’m just glad you’ve moved on to a real, live relationship.”
Tucker had recently confided in Nate about Sweetpea, but had never told him it was Sabrina. She was as real, live a woman as you could get. Unfortunately, she didn’t want a real, live relationship.
“You have moved on . . .”
Tucker pulled a file and looked over the bills. “Not exactly.”
“You’re still mooning over some woman you don’t know?”
“I do know her.” He knew her better than he’d known any woman. Maybe that was why it hurt so much.
“Dude. She could be a man.”
“She’s not a—” Oh, for crying out loud. “I mean, I really know her. In person.”
Nate’s eyebrows scrunched under his hairline. “I’m confused. This is that email chick we’re talking about, right?”
He made it sound cheap and meaningless. “She’s not an email chick.”
“Well, when you don’t know her name—”
“Sabrina.” What could it hurt? Nate didn’t go to the café, and there must be a dozen Sabrinas on the island.
Nate smiled. “Ah, she does have a name. So you know who she is. What’s the holdup?”
“The holdup is she knows who I am, but she doesn’t know I know who she is.”
“Come again?”
Tucker exhaled hard. “Stay with me here. I met her . . . where she works. I wanted to get to know her, but she was kind of standoffish.” More like a brick wall, but why put a nasty spin on things. “I found out her email and started writing her anonymously, and that’s how this whole thing developed.”
“But you said she knows who you are. At least, I think you did.”
Tucker clenched his jaw. Thinking about it still caused a jolt of humiliation. “After we wrote awhile, I sent her my picture.”
Nate smirked. “Pretty gutsy.”
“Pretty stupid. She didn’t own up to knowing me.”
“Ouch.”
“She sent me a photo of some other woman, passed it off as herself.”
Nate leaned back in the chair until it bumped the desk. “What, is she, like, homely or something?”
Tucker narrowed his eyes. “No, she is not homely.” She just thought she was.
“Just asking.”
“She’s very attractive. I don’t know why she sent some other woman’s picture.”
“She doesn’t want to meet you.”
“You think?” It wasn’t something he liked to dwell on. He was a decent guy who just wanted to love her. Having that love rejected wasn’t the best feeling in the world.
Tucker explained how he’d devised a plan to spend time with Sabrina and how they’d spent the past six weeks working together.
“You’re paying her, and she’s pretending to help you find her own self.”
“Basically.”
“You’re both nuts.”
He was beginning to think so too. “It wasn’t going too bad until the other woman showed up yesterday.”
“What other woman?”
“The woman from the photo. Sabrina said she’d found my friend and, voilà, here she is.”
“Dude. That’s bad.”
Uh, yeah. He checked his watch. Should he go to the café as usual? Would the imposter be waiting for him? He didn’t know what to do.
“Who’s the woman from the picture?”
“No idea.”
“This Sabrina chick must have some reason for not wanting you to know. You sure she’s not, like, married?”
He was tired of defending her. “She’s not married.”
“Well,” Nate set his arms on the armrests, smiling. “What’s this other chick look like?”
“I don’t care what she looks like. It’s Sabrina I care about.” And he’d been so close to a breakthrough. That last night when he’d driven her home. The way she’d looked at him, her defenses crumbling down to her feet. He felt it. He’d been certain he was making headway. That it was only a matter of time before she admitted who she was.
And then she’d gone and found an imposter to play her part. Had the moment in the car scared her? Made her retreat even further? What was it that kept her away?
“What are you gonna do?” Nate’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
There was the question. So far he’d avoided any possibility of seeing or hearing from Sabrina, but that couldn’t continue forever. He’d have to do something. He needed to figure it out soon, though, because Sabrina expected him at the café in fifteen minutes.
“Don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know.”
Sabrina topped off Oliver’s coffee, then bussed table six for Evan, who’d spilled milk down his apron and gone for a fresh one. Business was slow that morning, the drizzling sky keeping most of the tourists in their hotels.
She checked the clock and saw it was time for Tucker. He hadn’t responded to the message she’d sent first thing that morning. She’d awakened early and spent forty-five minutes writing one paragraph while Arielle hung over her shoulder. What was he thinking? Surely he was eager to see Arielle.
The bell above the café’s door jingled, and Tucker entered, dripping wet from the rain. From the corner of her eye, she watched him navigate the tables and seat himself in his usual spot.
She grabbed the coffee and headed his way, her heart speeding in anticipation. Keep your cool. He doesn’t know anything.
He flipped his cup as she arrived at his table. “Morning,” he said, then cleared his throat.
She forced a smile. “Good morning.” She poured the coffee. “Did you get Arielle’s email?” Well, that was abrupt. She bit her lip, wishing for a little tact.
He sipped the coffee. “No, actually. I got in late last night, and I was at work before dawn this morning.”
Oh. She hadn’t figured on that. Well, don’t just stand here with the coffeepot like an idiot. “She wants to see you, of course.”
“Funny, she didn’t before.”
Sabrina panicked, speechless. Think of something! “You’re right. I—I had to do some fast talking, and you were right all along. She was afraid of taking the relationship to the next level. But she can explain all that to you later.”
He nodded once. “Right.”
He didn’t seem eager. He hadn’t even asked why Arielle hadn’t contacted him yesterday.
“She’s staying with me.”
“Really.” His cap was pulled low ove
r his eyes. When he looked down, she couldn’t see them at all.
“So you can reach her there. Or email, whatever.” At least if he wrote, she’d still have contact with him. You truly are pathetic.
“I’ll do that.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Why didn’t he seem happy? Why were his eyes as dim as the harbor on a moonless night?
The kitchen bell dinged. Table four’s order. “Great.”
An awkward silence bloomed. “I’d better fetch that order.”
“Sure.” He snapped his damp paper open to the front page.
She turned toward the kitchen before she realized she hadn’t refilled Oliver’s cup and he hadn’t said a word. How was she going to survive the day? How would she survive the next two weeks knowing Arielle and Tucker were together?
And what if Arielle and Tucker . . .
No. She wouldn’t even consider it. Wouldn’t allow herself to remember what had happened the last time the man she loved connected with one of her cousins.
Harbormaster: Where were you last night? I missed you. I kept imagining you were out with some hot guy, and he was whisking you off to some fancy restaurant in his convertible. I almost came over there and beat him up when you came home. Oh, wait. I don’t know where you live.
Sweetpea: Smart aleck.
Chapter Twenty
Tucker turned down the collar of his polo and fastened the bottom button. He’d found Sabrina’s email when he returned from work.
I’d love to see you tonight. It doesn’t matter what we do.
She’d suggested he email or call to set up a date. He’d replied and suggested dinner out. At least a restaurant would offer distractions, and he wouldn’t have to worry about awkward silences.
His cell phone rang, and he snatched it off the table, along with his keys.
It was Tracey. “Hey, sis, how’s it going?”
“You’re on your way out the door, aren’t you?”
“How the heck did you know that?”
“I have my ways. I just called to chat. Want me to call back?”
Tucker got into his car and started the engine. Tracey sounded better than she had the week before. She was going to get through this. “I can talk on my way there.”
“Your way where?”
“On a date.” That was going to invite the questions.
“Oooh, I’m so happy for you. You’re finally getting somewhere with Sweetpea. I think I hear some wedding bells in your future.”
He gave a wry laugh. “Not exactly. The date isn’t with Sweet-pea.”
“What? I thought for sure she was the one you’d finally bring home to Mom.”
He turned onto Main Street, already crowded with summer people heading to dinner.
He didn’t feel like talking about Sabrina and her stand-in. “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later. How’s your new job going?” He worried about her starting over in a big city like Atlanta. But if the accident several years ago had revealed anything about Tracey, it was her iron-core strength. He’d never seen anyone fight so hard through rehabilitation.
“I really like it. The people are friendly, and I feel useful—which I needed.”
They chatted a few minutes about her job.
“You been eating?” he asked when there was a break in the conversation.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Someone has to keep you in line.” He turned onto Sabrina’s street. “Speaking of which, have you heard from Mom and Dad lately?”
“Only every other day. Sheesh, you’d think I was suicidal or something.”
He thought of Sabrina’s dad and all the pain his selfish exit had caused. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“Sorry. You know what I mean though. I am starting to feel like I can breathe again. I found a good church too. I’m thinking about joining the choir.”
“That would be good for you.”
He pulled into Sabrina’s drive and turned off the ignition.
“You’re there, I’ll let you go.”
He smiled. “Am I on hidden camera?”
“Have fun on your date.”
“Not likely.”
Tracey laughed. “Lucky girl.”
They said goodbye, and Tucker pocketed his cell, exiting the car. He was so not looking forward to this.
His good shoes crunched on the gravel of Sabrina’s driveway as he approached the steps to her loft. Would Sabrina answer the door? If only he were going out with her. He’d wondered a hundred times if he should call an end to this absurdity. If he should admit he knew who Sweetpea was. But he was in too deep now. To do so would, at the very least, embarrass her, and, at the worst, anger her to the point of excluding him from her life. He was, after all, guilty of gross deceit. Then again, so was she.
In the end, he’d convinced himself to get through the dates. How long could Arielle possibly stay? A few days? A week at most? Sabrina hadn’t said in the email. At least, he assumed it was Sabrina who had written. But maybe not.
He shook his head, frustrated, as he approached the door. Get it together, McCabe. He raised his hand and knocked.
A few seconds later, Arielle appeared in a white dress. “Hey there!” Her smile was Julia Roberts wide. “Let me grab my bag, and we’re good to go.”
As she reached somewhere to the side, he peeked inside, hoping for a glimpse of Sabrina, but the interior was dark and empty.
“All set.” Arielle slipped the thin strap of a wallet-sized bag over her bare shoulder.
He led the way down the stairs, opened the car door for her, then slid behind the wheel. He wasn’t sure what to say, how to act. Maybe he should save them both a lot of trouble and tell her he knew she was an imposter. Before he could weigh the thought, she spoke.
“It’s a gorgeous night, oh, my goodness. Even the rain was nice last night. I love the smell of rain, and the sunshine today . . . I could stay here forever.”
She had a soft Southern twang that sounded nice. Comforting. “Summer’s nice, but it gets pretty cold in the winter. We year-round residents have to take extra precautions to preserve heat in our homes. Especially the homes on the shore.”
“Still, the summer is to die for, and the whole place has great energy. How many people can say they live on an island? It’s awfully romantic.”
He turned out of the drive, wishing she hadn’t mentioned the r word, because now an awkward silence filled the car. He turned up the air. If only he’d thought to turn on the radio before he’d arrived. It would’ve filled the silence, but to do so now would be rude. Would she expect him to hold her hand? To kiss her goodnight? His palms grew sweaty and sticky on the leather steering wheel.
“Well,” she offered, “I guess since we already know so much about each other, we can skip the small talk, huh?”
“Guess so.” He pulled his lips upward and hoped for the best. “Though I don’t know what you do for a living or where you live. You’ve been a little secretive about that.” He spared her a quick glance.
She laughed, nervously, he thought. “I live in Georgia, but you probably guessed that by my accent.”
“Where ’bouts?”
“Macon. Born and raised there. I teach preschool, which I love. Not for everyone, I know, but those little rug rats are a hoot.”
Even if he hadn’t known Arielle wasn’t Sweetpea, he would’ve been suspicious by now. She had too much energy, and she talked more and faster than his friend did. It hit him that her job gave her summers off. Still, surely she couldn’t stay long on a preschool teacher’s salary. Though since she was staying with Sabrina, there weren’t many expenses involved.
Arielle related a story of a boy in her class who’d gotten a LEGO stuck up his nose. His mom took him to the ER to have it removed. She chuckled at the memory.
“Reminds me of when I got that Tic Tac stuck up my nose. But you already know all about that.” Wasn’t he feeling ornery tonight.
“Right, right.” She fidgeted with her fingernails.�
��Those kids. Oh, my goodness, the things they say. I could fill a book. One day in the spring, I went home early because I’d developed a fever, and Mia, this adorable little girl, told her mom I went home with a temper! Can you imagine?”
“Must be pretty entertaining.” She was nothing like Sabrina. Not that she wasn’t nice. She seemed sweet, but she wasn’t Sabrina.
He pulled alongside DeMarco’s clapboard building and parked, then helped Arielle from the car. The shingled sign over the front windows swung in the wind.
“This looks so quaint. I love Italian.”
Tucker opened the door for her, and the host greeted them.
“Hey, Tucker.” Brant Morgan shook his hand.
Tucker introduced Arielle, then Brant seated them at a table for two by the front window. The restaurant smelled of seafood and garlic, and Tucker’s stomach gave a rumble.
Across the room, he recognized an older man he’d taken to Martha’s Vineyard a couple days before, along with the man’s wife. The Wescotts were old money—he’d seen all the signs—and Mr. Wescott was a semiretired attorney.
Mr. Wescott caught his eye, a quick look of recognition followed by a crease on his forehead. Before the man could look away, Tucker nodded his chin upward. The guy probably wondered how a boat driver could afford a place like this. Tucker’s lips twitched.
Arielle opened the menu, but her eyes took in the restaurant’s atmosphere. “It’s like a cozy country inn, very intimate. And it has nice flow, which is unusual for a restaurant.”
Tucker opened the menu and perused the items, though he knew what he was ordering. “Are you interested in decorating?”
“It’s a hobby. I’ve already rearranged Sabrina’s loft. The furniture placement was all wrong. She needs to change the wall color, but I haven’t quite decided on a color.”
“Well, you just got here.”
Her smile seemed to freeze for a minute. “That’s true. I’ve got plenty of time to decide. That olive green is so dark and depressing.”
He wondered what she meant by “plenty of time.” “How long can you stay?”
She closed her menu. “A little over two weeks. We’ll have plenty of time together.”
Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle Page 63
