He caught up with his brothers between customers, and a few songs later a flash of glitter caught his eye. He turned to see the pretty girl approaching the counter. Her eyes sparkled as they settled on him.
His mouth dried up, and his entire body started buzzing like a neon sign.
She walked with an easy grace, her hips swaying just a little in those trendy jeans, her chin tilted at a jaunty angle.
He felt his lips turn up of their own accord. He was vaguely aware of his brothers talking but couldn’t be bothered to listen.
She didn’t take her eyes from him as she neared the bar. She smoothly pulled out an empty stool, hitched her hip, and . . .
Missed.
She wobbled for a moment, then caught her balance before he could lean across the bar.
“Whoopsie,” she said.
Twin flags of pink brightened her cheeks, and he fell just a little in love with her right then.
She righted herself on the stool, cleared her throat, then turned her eyes up to his. Blue, with flecks of silver. Mesmerizing.
“Guess I danced my legs right off.” She bit her lip. “That’s a lie. Actually I’m just a little clumsy sometimes. A lot of times. Okay, most of the time.”
He gave her a crooked grin, her slow drawl weaving around him like a spell. “I find that hard to believe. What can I get you, Georgia?”
Surprise flared in her eyes before they narrowed on him. “How’d you know where I’m from?”
He barely heard Beau’s and Riley’s groans over the music.
Not taking his eyes off her, Zac scooped up the bills and shoved them into his pocket. “I have an ear for accents. Lots of people pass through.”
“Can I get a sweet tea?” she asked.
“Coming right up.” Zac filled a glass with ice and tea.
A mutual friend of his brothers’ showed up, and Zac was glad when they drifted away from the bar, leaving him alone with Georgia.
He set the tea in front of her and braced his elbows on the counter, praying everyone would leave him alone for two seconds. “What brings you to Summer Harbor?”
She shrugged a slender shoulder. “Just doing a little traveling up this way.”
“Passing through?”
She tilted her head. “I don’t know. I like the feel of this town. Nice vibe.” Her ice tinkled against the glass as she played with her straw. “I might stick around awhile.”
That was the best news he’d heard all week. “What’s your name? Or should I just keep calling you Georgia?”
She sighed, her piercing eyes never leaving his. “Yes, please,” she whispered.
He quirked a brow.
Her eyes took on a deer-in-headlights look as the pink on her cheeks deepened. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“You kinda did.”
“I do that sometimes. Add it to the long list of ways in which I embarrass myself.”
He chuckled. Everything about her was so . . . delightfully unexpected. And he could listen to that drawl of hers all night.
He held out his hand. “Zac Callahan.”
She gave a chagrined look. “Lucy Lovett.”
Her hand was small and warm, and he found himself reluctant to let it go. “Lovett—as in Audrey Lovett, the actress?”
“She’s my great-aunt, actually.”
“No way. My mom used to watch her movies all the time.” He tilted his head, scanning her heart-shaped face, her big blue eyes. “You have the look of her.”
“Thank you. She was quite the star back in her day.”
His eyes dropped to the necklace she was toying with—a dainty silver heart with a cross inside. Was it too much to hope they shared the same faith?
“Like your necklace.”
She glanced down. “Thank you. My mama gave it to me the day I was baptized.”
“We have something in common then.”
“Your mama gave you a heart-shaped necklace?”
Her saucy smile made his heart race, and he smiled in return. “I was referring to faith.”
“Well . . . I am from the Bible Belt, you know. Can’t throw a rock and not hit a church.”
“Not such a bad thing.”
“No, it’s surely not.” Her gaze rose to the top of his head. “Are you really that tall, or do you have a platform back there?”
“I’m really that tall. Can I get you anything else? An appetizer?”
“I already ate. The chowder was really good. Have you worked here long?”
“Since high school. It’s mine now. The owner retired, and I’m buying him out.”
“Isn’t that something.” She looked around the restaurant, her eyes taking in the high rustic ceilings, the eclectic wall of license plates, the worn plank floors.
She seemed a little high society for his place.
“It’s the gathering place, right?” she said. “Where everybody knows your name?”
He smiled. “Something like that.”
Her eyes smiled first, followed by her lips. “It’s awful nice. Has a lot of energy, but it’s warm too. Invitin’.”
Invitin’. He was pretty sure men weren’t supposed to swoon, but dang it all if he didn’t feel like doing it anyway. “Glad you like it.”
“So, being the town’s social hub, you must be connected. Know where a girl might find employment around here—if she were to stick around?”
“Whatcha looking for?”
She shrugged. “I’m flexible. I like people, so anything in retail would suffice. I have a sociology degree, but honestly I haven’t had much use for it.”
“Sociology, huh? Where’d you go to school?”
Her eyes fluttered down, then back up. “Um, Harvard.”
He lifted his brows. “I think you might be overqualified for anything around here.”
She waved him off. “I’m not particular. And like I said, I probably won’t hang around that long.”
“Well, I know they’re looking for someone to run the visitor center. It was previously just the Natural History Center, but the town recently voted to make it a visitor center also. Lots of small-town controversy there, but I’ll spare you the details. My aunt manages it, and she’s looking for someone to welcome tourists, hand out maps, point them in the right direction. Like I said, you’re way overqualified . . .”
“No, it sounds fun. I’d learn about the area too, so that’s a bonus. And at some point I’d love to hear the story of the controversy. I find such things fascinatin’.”
Fascinatin’. That’s exactly what he found her to be. He pulled a pen from his pocket and jotted down Aunt Trudy’s number on a napkin. The restaurant phone was ringing, but for once someone else could get it.
He slid the napkin across the counter. “Give her a call if you want. Tell her I sent you. She’s a little gruff, but don’t let that put you off.”
She snapped up the napkin, her eyes sparkling. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”
“Phone, Zac!” one of his servers called.
Lucy slid off the stool, hitching her purse onto her shoulder. “Well, I should get on and let you get back to work. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
He gave her a smile. “Maybe you will.”
A humming sound pulled him from the past, and he leaned back against the desk chair. Across the office Lucy shifted on the sofa, the quilt puddling in her lap. She stilled, her eyes remaining closed.
He blinked away the remnants of the memory. It was a rude transition from that heady first meeting to today. Falling in love with Lucy had been as easy as drawing a breath. Falling out of love, not so much.
Chapter 8
Lucy paced the office, her gaze swinging to Zac as she walked. He was on the phone with the people from county records. He’d made the call at the stroke of nine.
She hitched up her lost-and-found jeans. While they accommodated her generous backside, they failed to follow the curve of her waist. She needed a belt. Or a heavy-duty pair of suspenders.
“Yes,” Zac was saying. “Okay . . . I’m not sure . . . Thank you.” A long pause ensued. His expression gave away no more than his words. He ran a hand over his jaw. She could hear the rough scrape of his tightly trimmed beard in the quiet.
As curious as she was about her old life—and as much as she longed for some decent-fitting clothes and maybe a thriving bank account—she dreaded the answers he was about to find.
“Yes, I’m still here,” Zac said.
He wouldn’t even look at her. Couldn’t wait to get rid of her, obviously. And no wonder, after what she’d pulled. Her pulse pounded in her temples.
She let her eyes rove over his handsome face, the chiseled features that had melted her on the spot the second she’d seen him. He had masculine brows that shadowed his deep-set eyes. Those gray eyes, so serious now, could light up so quickly. He had a goofy side. Could make her laugh until her jaw ached.
But he hadn’t so much as smiled since her return. He was so distant. As if he were determined to keep her far away from his heart.
This whole situation boggled her mind. How could all her feelings for Zac be intact when she had a fiancé waiting in Portland? How could she possibly have fallen in love with someone else?
She couldn’t. She refused to believe it. Whoever he was, he couldn’t have captured her heart the way Zac had. She didn’t want him. Didn’t want to love him, didn’t want a life with him.
And yet any moment the person on the phone was going to tell Zac his name, and Zac was going to escort her out to his truck, tuck her inside, drive her back to Portland, and hand her over to some stranger.
“Ayuh,” Zac said.
She stopped in front of his desk. Her heart rate accelerated, the headache thumping in her temples until she felt dizzy with it. Her fingers itched to hit the End button on the phone’s base. She didn’t want to know his name. She didn’t want to go anywhere.
“I see,” he said. “When?” His lips pressed together as he listened to the county clerk. “Fine. Okay. Thank you for your help.” He turned off the handset and set it on the desk with a loud thunk. His eyes were glued to the desk. A shadow flickered over his jaw as it clenched, and his nose flared.
What? she wanted to ask. But nothing came out. She watched him collect himself while her own heart threatened to explode from her chest.
“Their computers are down,” he said finally.
Her breath released in a quick puff. Thank God. A reprieve. Maybe a short one, but she’d take what she could get.
“They’re hoping they’ll be back up later today.”
“Hoping?”
He nailed her with a look. “They will be,” he said as if he could will it to happen.
“What—what do we do till then?”
“I have a restaurant to open. You should go . . . get a nap or something.”
“It’s a little hard to sleep when my entire future’s up in the air.” Edginess crept into her tone.
“You heard what the doctor said. You should take it easy. Maybe your memory will come back if you—”
“I don’t want it back!”
He blinked at her, those inscrutable gray eyes giving away a flash of surprise.
“I don’t! I don’t want to go back to Portland, I don’t want to know whose name was on that stupid marriage license, and I don’t want—”
“We’ve been through—”
“—my memory back!”
They stared at each other, silence pushing in around them, thick and heavy like a fog rolling into the harbor. The same fog closed over her mind. She fought to hang on to her thoughts, but the wispy edges of them slipped away.
Her pounding head took front and center, stealing any rational thought she might have left.
Zac’s chair squeaked as he got up. He skirted the desk, heading toward her.
Finally. Suddenly all she could think about was his arms around her. She ached for his embrace. She wanted to sink her weight into him and pretend none of this was happening. Her heart sped as he neared, and she stepped toward him.
But he passed by her and went out the door.
Her breath escaped in a little whimper. Her eyes stung and her vision went blurry. Not from the concussion this time, but from the tears. She wouldn’t cry, daggonit. She would. Not. Cry.
She counted the number of books on his shelves to distract herself. There weren’t many, so she mentally alphabetized them. Why should she be so upset when he was apparently just going along like she wasn’t in the middle of a crisis?
She might as well take control of her situation. Make a plan. Maybe she had a memory lapse, but she wasn’t helpless. She’d walk right to the store and find some suitable clothes. Buy a curling iron and some decent conditioner. And lipstick. She’d feel so much better once she—
What was she thinking? She didn’t have a cent to her name. She was helpless. Leastwise until she returned to Portland.
Zac walked back in and stopped, extending his hand. There were two pills in the bowl of his palm. A glass of water in his other hand.
Her eyes stung again at his kindness. What was wrong with her? Why was she so blubbery?
She took the pills and sank against the desk, weariness draping over her like a heavy mantle. She suddenly wanted to fall asleep for a very long time. Who knew forgetting could be so exhausting?
He stuffed his hands into his pockets. She could feel his eyes on her but didn’t look at him. Didn’t want him to see her vulnerability, not when he had that thick wall up between them.
“Lucy,” he said, his tone full of reason. “I know this is hard, but the last seven months happened whether you want to remember them or not. You’ve moved on. I’ve moved on. Whether you remember it or not, that doesn’t change that it happened. The sooner we figure this out, the sooner we can both get on with our lives.”
“What if I never get my memory back?”
“That doesn’t change the fact that it happened. You have a job you can go back to. People who care about you.”
She sniffed. “I don’t care about them.”
But a small part of her rejected the claim. She was the same person she’d been yesterday before the fall. Somewhere inside, she must care about this other man. Somewhere out there, he must be fretting over her. Whether she remembered him or not, she owed it to him to set his mind at ease.
“I’ve been thinking about yesterday,” Zac said. “Maybe it wasn’t your actual wedding day. Otherwise, why would you have been alone in a diner? Maybe you were having your fitting or something. Did you notice if there was a wedding shop nearby?”
“I can’t say as I did.” She pushed against the anxiety threading through her. Bridal shops had restrooms. Maybe she hadn’t been thinking straight since she’d konked her head, but there was only one logical explanation why she was in that diner.
“I guess it’s possible you hadn’t even gotten a license yet. There’s no waiting period, remember?”
He was wrong about all of this. She knew it deep inside, but she grabbed onto the thought like a lifeline. “That’s true.”
“I guess we’ll find out this afternoon.”
Zac hung the order and went to refill drinks at table eleven. Marci had missed her last two shifts.
Lunch rush was just about over, but a Red Sox game was coming on shortly and that meant extra customers. The retired population often stopped by to enjoy the afternoon games. They didn’t order much, but Zac enjoyed their company.
By the time the restaurant cleared out, the supper crew was arriving. A quick check of his watch told him he needed to make that call to the county. He’d been too busy. At least that’s what he told himself. Maybe somewhere deep inside, he didn’t want to let go of Lucy just yet.
You’re a regular masochist, Callahan.
He tossed down the rag he’d been using to clean the bar and strode to his office. He was going to get this over with, and he was going to do it now.
Seconds later he was dialing the number he’d jott
ed on a scrap of paper. It took forever to reach the right person, but when he did, he found that their computers were back up.
Hallelujah.
He paced the floor as he waited for the clerk to pull up the license. She’d put on some kind of easy listening music that was probably supposed to keep him calm. Instead, his nerves jangled like loose change in a server’s apron.
The music cut off. “Mr. Callahan, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“I found the record. Would you like me to fax you a copy?”
“That’d be great.” He gave her his fax number. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
“I’ll send it as soon as I hang up.”
“Thank you so much.”
Zac signed off and pocketed his phone. He walked over to the machine and waited, hands on hips. Soon as he had a name, he’d do a little Googling and find Mr. Right’s phone number. Or maybe the license had that information. Could it really be so easy?
Maybe the guy would even come pick her up. He felt a pinch in his gut at the thought. Could he put her in a car with someone who was a stranger to her? Maybe he should—
No, he chided himself. She’s not yours anymore.
The machine whirred to life, and a paper fed through. As soon as it was done, he picked it up and scanned it.
Brad Martin. Portland, Maine. Age 29. Caucasian.
Bingo.
He headed down the hall and knocked on Lucy’s door.
“Brad Martin,” Zac said the instant she opened the door. His eyes studied her intensely, the silver flecks sparking.
Lucy stood in the doorway, conscious of her sleep-tousled hair and makeup-free face. The pills made her so drowsy. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t think straight.
“What?”
“Brad Martin. Mean anything to you?”
“Um . . . no.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never heard—is that his name? My . . . fiancé?”
He held up a paper. “They faxed your wedding license.”
“Let me see.” She took the paper and scanned the information. Brad Martin. She frowned. Brad Martin. The name meant nothing to her.
The Goodbye Bride Page 5
