by Katy Regnery
***
Rory found that doing improvements around Summerhaven—hard, manual labor—was one of the best ways to shut down his thoughts of Brittany Manion. And though he hadn’t been this impacted by a woman in a long time, he had to admit that little by little, day by day, his feelings for her softened and faded.
He hadn’t seen or heard from her in a week in a half, though he still held her deposit. No doubt she was busy back in Boston, making plans for her wedding. And though part of his heart still clenched at the thought of her, Rory had mostly made his peace with the fact that Brittany couldn’t be the girl for him.
That said, meeting her and becoming infatuated with her had shifted some things in Rory’s head. He could see himself spending his life with someone like Brittany—having a slew of kids and living happily ever after. Up until now, Rory hadn’t thought much about the sort of woman he wanted to marry—hell, even though his parents’ marriage had been strong and sound, Rory hadn’t really thought much about a wife at all. But now he found he couldn’t shake the thought of finding someone like Brittany and settling down—finding her on the couch in front of the fire every day after work, taking walks around the Summerhaven campus in the fall, skinny-dipping in the lake on hot summer nights, and—he always smiled when he thought of their conversation—breeding. Oh, yeah. Lots and lots of breeding.
“Hand me some more nails?” muttered Ian.
As his hot daydreams scattered, Rory reached over to the plastic cup holding nails and grabbed a handful for Ian, taking a look at his brother as he passed them over.
Squatting on the cottage roof with the sunlight on his black hair, Ian looked so much better than he had when he arrived on Tierney’s doorstep, but he still had a long road of recovery ahead.
He’d put on weight over the past two weeks because Tierney was spoiling him with their mother’s Irish specialties every night. And days like this one—spent in the sun making repairs on cottages or cleaning up and mulching the various Summerhaven gardens—put some healthy color on Ian’s face. His hair was back in a ponytail and his jaw was still covered with a thick black beard, but his eyes were clear.
He was attending the AA meetings in Sandwich, Holderness, and Moultonborough religiously, and Rory knew he hadn’t had a drop of drink since he’d arrived at Tierney’s. But he still worried. These were the most tenuous days of recovery, and Ian still needed all the support he could get.
“You look good, Ian,” said Rory, pushing a roof shingle into place and securing it with nails.
“I feel like climbing the walls,” he grunted.
“We knew it wouldn’t be easy.”
“We?” demanded Ian, nailing another shingle to the roof. “Are you the one in AA? Are you the one whose life is shit?”
This was a common thread among recovery alcoholics: self-pity, or the feeling that life was shit and couldn’t be fun, couldn’t be enjoyable, without alcohol. Rory knew from everything he’d read that it would take a while for Ian to achieve actual sobriety, wherein he was not only abstinent from alcohol but also found meaning and purpose in life without it.
“It’s a process, Ian.”
“Yeah. It’s a fucking process, all right.”
“Mr. Haven? Mr. Haven? Oh, Lord, is this working? Mr. H—”
Rory unclipped the walkie-talkie from his waist. “Hey, Mrs. T. You looking for me?”
“Oh! There you are. Over.”
From beside him, Rory heard the unexpected sound of Ian chuckling—a gritty sound, like that of a machine that hasn’t been turned on in a while, all rusty cogs and unoiled gears. “I forgot she did that.”
Rory grinned. Thank goodness for Miranda Toffle for adding a little levity.
“What’s up, Mrs. Toffle?”
“There’s a guest here without a reservation, looking for a place to take a retreat. Hoping to stay in one of the Oxford Row cabins for a few weeks. Over.”
Unscheduled guests at Summerhaven were pretty unusual, though not unheard of. “Well, we’re working on Trinity now, and we’ve got Kellogg, St. Anne, and Pembroke scheduled for maintenance this week and next.”
There was a slight pause before Mrs. Toffle asked, “How about Lady Margaret? Over.”
“All done,” said Rory. He and Ian had finished all maintenance issues on Lady Margaret earlier in the week.
“So, it’s available? Over.”
“For how long, Mrs. Toffle? We have the Manion wedding over Memorial Day weekend, and I still don’t have a headcount. We might need it.”
“I’ll ask. Over.” A few seconds passed before Mrs. Toffle returned. While he waited, Rory looked out at the lake. From his vantage point on top of Trinity, it sparkled like diamonds in the spring sunshine.
“That’s no problem. She’ll just rent it for six weeks. Over.”
She. Hmm. For just a second, he wondered about this “she.” Perhaps it was fate that a fresh face would arrive on campus for an extended stay just when Rory had decided that he was interested in meeting someone new.
“Mrs. T, can you be sure she understands that it’s $200 a day? That’s…” He did the math quickly in his head. “That’s $8,400. Close to $10,000 after state tax.”
“Hold, please. Over.” A minute later, she was back on the line. “That’s fine. Over.”
“Okay, then. Write up a contract and take a deposit, please.”
“All set,” said Mrs. Toffle. “I’ll bring her down in a golf cart as soon as we’re sorted. Over and out.”
Rory clipped his walkie-talkie back on his belt loop and looked over at Ian. “Someone wants to rent Lady Margaret for the next six weeks. Some kind of retreat.”
Ian nodded. “Probably a writer.”
“Or an artist.”
“Or a photographer,” said Ian, giving his brother shit about June.
“Or a super limber yoga instructor,” said Rory, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, God, please,” said Ian, cracking a rare smile.
Rory chuckled, reaching for his T-shirt and putting it on as he stepped over to the ladder at the edge of the roof. He could hear the golf cart approaching and ran a hand through his hair after he climbed down. He probably looked like hell after sweating on the roof all morning, but hopefully their new guest would be the understanding type.
As Mrs. Toffle came into view, driving at approximately three miles per hour, Rory felt his whole body freeze as his mouth dropped open. There, beside Mrs. T, wearing sunglasses, with her beautiful blonde hair in a ponytail, was Brittany Manion.
A fire lit in his chest, sparks alighting inside of him, heating his blood with barely restrained want. And every feeling Rory had been fighting against, every thought he’d tried to shelve, every stupid hope he’d almost given up on came rushing back, whirling into his heart like a tornado and displacing everything else there before.
Britt was back.
He felt his smile grow until it had spread from ear to ear, his eyes focused like lasers on her face as the golf cart rumbled to a slow stop in front of Lady Margaret, two cabins down from Trinity.
“Britt!” he exclaimed, offering her his hand to help her form the cart and telling himself that he didn’t know her well enough to draw her into his arms, no matter how much he wanted to. “Welcome back! I had no idea you were coming! You should have…”
His voice trailed off as he looked closer at her. She didn’t offer him a smile and pulled her hand away pretty quickly once her feet were firmly on the ground. Suddenly Rory wished he could see her eyes.
“Hi, Rory,” she murmured.
“Hey,” he said, taking a step back from her, still scanning her face, trying to figure out what was wrong. Was she thinner than she’d been two weeks ago or was it just his imagination? No. She was definitely thinner. What was she doing here? And—Oh my God—it suddenly occurred to him that she was staying for six weeks. What about the wedding? What had happened?
He had a million questions, but he was distracted by Ian, who shuffled up
beside him. “Hey, it’s Britt.”
“Hi, Ian,” she said softly, without looking at him. She stood where she was, as though frozen in place, presumably staring back at Rory behind those dark sunglasses.
“I’ll get her bags, Mrs. T,” said Ian, who took Brittany’s suitcases from the back of the golf cart and carried them into Lady Margaret. When he came back out, he joined Mrs. Toffle in the cart. “Drive me back up for lunch?”
“Of course, dear,” said Mrs. Toffle to Ian. Then she turned to Brittany. “Welcome back to Summerhaven, Miss Manion. I hope…well, I hope it’s just what you need, dear.”
“Thank you,” said Brittany, her voice breaking on the word you.
As Mrs. Toffle backed up the golf cart and started back up the hill toward the dining room and office, Brittany removed her glasses, pushing them up on her head.
Rory heard his sharp intake of breath—her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, as if she’d been crying for days. “What—what’s wrong, Britt? What happened?”
A sob tore from her throat as she stepped forward, and Rory’s arms opened just in time as she fell against him. “He—he w-went back to h-his ex.”
Wrapping her up against him, the shoulder of his T-shirt absorbing her tears, he felt his heart lurch with a combination of feelings: fury that Dr. Douche would hurt a woman as sweet as Brittany, and sadness for her, that her dreams of getting married and starting a family had been crushed. He hurt for her—really hurt, from his head to his toes and everywhere in between—but he sure wouldn’t mind being alone in a dark alley with her ex-fiancé for a few minutes. He knew which one of them would walk away alive.
“I’m sorry, mo mhuirnín,” he whispered near her ear, holding her tighter as she sobbed against him. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. You deserve so much better.”
“He was s-smart and t-talented and a g-g-great dad,” she stuttered, her broken voice making Rory feel helpless. “But he d-didn’t w-want me.”
“His fucking loss, Britt. His loss. Not yours,” he growled.
“I was so c-close,” she grieved, “to having everything I always w-wanted.”
“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he murmured.
“A h-husband and k-kids. A f-family to love.” She sniffled, and it was a ragged sound that made his heart twist in his chest.
“You’ll still have that,” said Rory, leaning back a little to look into her watery eyes. “I promise you. You’ll have all that one day. Just not with him.”
She took a deep breath, reaching up to wipe her cheeks. Realizing for the first time how intimately he was holding her, two bright spots of red appeared in her cheeks and she stepped back. Though he would have happily held her forever, Rory loosened his arms and let her go.
“I’m just f-feeling sorry for myself,” she said with another ragged sniffle. She looked up at him, offering him a sad, small smile, and it took every ounce of strength for him not to reach for her again. “I’m…a mess. I j-just…I feel so raw, Rory. I wanted to come here and…I don’t know—heal a little, I guess. I thought you could keep my deposit and I’d come and stay for a few weeks. Sort out my head a little…get away from Boston. Just have some quiet time to heal.”
Rory nodded, putting his hands on his hips. “Of course. I’m glad you thought of me—I mean, of us. Of Summerhaven.”
“I did think of you.” She wiped her eyes and smiled again, a little broader this time. “Though I didn’t imagine myself crying all over you the second I arrived.”
“Eh,” he said, brushing at the wet spot on his T-shirt. “Consider it part of the service.”
“You’re kind,” she said, taking a deep breath and looking at Lady Margaret. “I’m so glad she was free.”
“Are you sure you want six weeks?” asked Rory. “You don’t have to get back? For work?”
“I took a leave of absence from my foundation so I could plan my…” She sniffled again, letting her voice trail off.
“Stay as long as you need,” he said, eager to head off her thoughts. “Our first summer week doesn’t start until June 4. It’s yours until then.”
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s exactly where I want to be.”
He watched as she turned and stepped over to the cottage, opening the screen door.
“Britt,” he said, wanting to do more for her, hating to leave her alone, even though that’s probably what she needed, “do you want to have dinner with me and Ian tonight?”
“I don’t think I’d be very good company,” she said softly.
“That doesn’t matter to us. We—”
“Another time,” she said, stepping into the cabin and closing the door behind her.
Rory stood rooted on the spot, half hoping she’d come running back out again and he could hold her for a while longer. But there was no sound at all from her cabin, and after a few minutes, Rory backed away, walking numbly back over to Trinity and climbing up the ladder.
He grabbed his cup of Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee and sucked on the straw, then sat back, knees bent, staring out at the lake. He actively hated Dr. Douche’s guts, and his heart ached for Britt, but underneath his anger and sympathy, a different feeling came quietly rumbling to life. Although he couldn’t name it, he immediately recognized parts of it: hope and excitement, wild attraction and intense longing. And suddenly, it was though an invisible cord he’d never noticed bound his beating heart to the one beating three cabins away.
A male loon defending his territory somewhere on the lake issued a tremolo, and Rory looked toward the sound but saw nothing except water and woods.
She’s injured, his conscience whispered.
But she won’t always be, his heart replied.
He took another sip of watered-down coffee, then set the cup aside, crawling up the little roof to the place where he’d been working. Shoving a roof shingle into place, he nailed it into the frame.
Put up your dukes or move along; love is the biggest battle there is.
June’s advice echoed in Rory’s head, and though he’d never been in love, nor given it much thought until lately, Rory wondered what he wouldn’t do to win…if the prize was Brittany Manion’s heart.
CHAPTER 10
After leaving Ben at the hospital on Tuesday, Brittany had raced home, falling on her bed for a long cry. She’d briefly considered reaching out to Ben and demanding to see him; had she been too hasty in giving the ring back? Should she have forgiven him and tried to figure out a way to make things work between them? But then she reminded herself that Ben was still in love with his ex-wife and wanted to rebuild his life with her. There was no place for Brittany in that equation anymore. It was just hard to get her head around the fact that yesterday, she’d been an engaged woman in a tiff with her fiancé…and today, suddenly, she was utterly and completely single all over again.
On Wednesday, she’d packed up Ben’s things—a toiletry bag, some slippers, and a few changes of clothes he’d left at her place—in a box and had her doorman arrange for them to be delivered to his apartment. And then she’d ordered garlic bread, fettucine alfredo, tortellini in pesto sauce, and tiramisu from Toscana, gorging herself until her stomach hurt.
On Thursday, she’d contacted her parents and close friends via e-mail, telling them, in as few words as possible, that she and Ben had decided to call things off. Her father offered a curt reply about last-minute schedule changes being irritating to his wife, and her mother offered a breezy condolence, asking if Brittany wanted to visit her in Tuscany to “get over things.” Hallie had offered to come over with two pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, and Brittany had briefly considered it but decided against it. Her friend had enough on her plate with her divorce and custody proceedings; she didn’t need the added burden of nursing Brittany’s broken heart.
On Friday morning, she’d stopped by A Better Tomorrow, but the staff she’d left in charge of her foundation had everything in hand, and besides, with her red-rimmed eyes and forlorn face, she wasn’t ex
actly inspiring to the recovering addicts they were trying to build up. She’d headed back to her apartment, which felt vast and empty without the promise of little feet pitter-pattering down the hall in a year or two.
In fact, her home was suddenly unbearable, and the thought of joining her mother and Gilles—who liked to sunbathe nude and make love wherever and whenever the mood hit them—in Tuscany made her cringe. Though she did like the idea of getting away. She wanted an escape from her friends and her apartment, from Boston and everything else that reminded her of Ben. And only one place felt right—felt like the perfect place to heal: Summerhaven. Without making a reservation, she’d packed four large suitcases, wheeled them down to the parking garage, shoved them in her car, and set out for New Hampshire.
By noon, she was there.
By a quarter past twelve, she was crying on Rory Haven’s shoulder.
And by one o’clock, she was fast asleep between crisp white sheets, a thick down comforter the only armor she needed against the outside world.
She slept for twenty hours, waking up at nine o’clock the next morning, already feeling a bit better. Distance from her real life, it seemed, relieved the tightness in her chest and the throbbing of her head. And when she got dressed and took a walk down to the lake, breathing the clean New Hampshire air deeply, her tears were scattered and few. She sat on a dock by the water for hours, thinking about her broken engagement, and found that losing Ben hurt far less than she’d expected it to.
She and Ben had fallen fast and furious for each other—they’d only dated for nine months before becoming engaged—but they’d never lived together and never gone on vacation together. Ben had never really invited her into his life with his daughters, whom she’d only met a couple of times, and she’d only introduced Ben to her parents once, at her mother’s annual Christmas party in Boston. They didn’t have a lot in common—Ben loved exercise and healthy eating, and his phone was practically attached to his wrist, whereas Brittany preferred to relax on the beach with a book and could take or leave her phone most days, unless she was expecting an important call. Even their musical taste was different, Ben preferring the music that had been popular during his college years, when Brittany was only a toddler.
