Can't Get Over You (Fortune's Island, Book 2)
Page 2
Eight years together, and wham, she was done with him.
Zach slowed the car and rolled down the window. Rain fell inside and puddled on the leather seat. “Jillian, please let me give you a ride. We can talk, like we used to.”
She shook her head. “We didn’t used to talk. That was half the problem.”
“Then let’s talk now. We can—”
“Stop, Zach. Just stop.” The entrance for The Love Shack appeared before them. Jillian shook her head, then turned down the drive for the restaurant and sprinted inside.
Zach parked in the lot, but didn’t turn off the Mustang right away. The rain pounded on the roof of his car, keeping the beat with the classic rock playing on the stereo. He had no reason to be at The Love Shack tonight. It was a Tuesday, a slow night, which meant the band wasn’t needed. He should get out of here, run over to practice at Duff’s house. The Outsiders had been together for three years now, and they were just starting to hit their stride. A lot of good things were coming on the horizon, things Zach had put together, and things he wanted to share with Jillian.
But she wasn’t his anymore. Wasn’t there to listen to his stories or cheer him up when a gig fell through or the band squabbled. He missed her, damn it.
Another car pulled in the lot and an older couple who came in almost every night for the early bird specials got out. The gray-haired husband unfurled an umbrella, then wrapped an arm around his wife and the two of them headed inside, arm in arm. For a second, Zach wondered if that was how Jillian and he would have been, forty, fifty years down the road. If she hadn’t broken up with him, that is. Zach lingered a little longer, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, debating.
The rain didn’t stop, and Jillian didn’t come back out, and nothing changed. Zach told himself it was about time he stopped thinking about the impossible and started concentrating on the future. A future that didn’t contain Jillian Matheson. Not anymore.
He put the car in gear and headed out of the lot. Once, he checked the rearview mirror to see if she’d come outside after all, but the rain had obscured his view. Again.
TWO
“You look like something the cat dragged in, then regurgitated on the Oriental rug,” Darcy said when Jillian came into the restaurant.
“I feel like one, too.” Jillian had been on time for work, but was drenched to the bone, and half upset that Zach hadn’t followed her inside. What did she expect? That he’d make some grand gesture to get her back? She’d waited three months for him to do that, and it was clear that he wasn’t going to. She needed to move on, forget him.
Darcy grabbed a sweatshirt from the hook by the door, and pressed it into Jillian’s hands. “Here. It’s one of mine.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. What are friends for?” Darcy grinned. Blonde and brash, Darcy had been Jillian’s best friend for nearly seven years, as well as the other main waitress at The Love Shack. Most nights, working with Darcy hardly seemed like work at all. There were impromptu dance-offs, risqué jokes, and a constant patter of banter that kept the nights from dragging. And now, with Darcy’s wedding to Kincaid a little over a week away, Jillian was filling the role of maid of honor.
Jillian had worked at The Love Shack for as long as she could remember, starting out as a helper to her mother in the kitchen, sitting on a tall stool to scrub vegetables or peel potatoes. When she turned sixteen, she’d moved to bussing tables, then waitressing. There were days when she dreamed of a life outside of The Love Shack, and other days when she couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here. Especially since she got to work with her best friend every day.
“I’m glad we at least get to see each other at work,” Darcy said. “You’re never around anymore for lazy mornings on the beach or gargantuan lunches at the Boardwalk Café.”
“Sorry. I’ve been hooked on Breaking Bad.” Jillian grinned, hoping her lie wouldn’t show through. She felt bad, but she still wasn’t ready to tell anyone about music school. What if it didn’t work out? What if she changed her mind, or failed, or quit? “Every free minute I get, I’m watching a few more episodes. I’m totally hooked on what Walt is going to do next.”
“I hear you. I’ve been binging on Dexter after I get home from work. Thank God for Netflix, right?” Darcy glanced out the window. “I hope the rain stops. Otherwise, we’ll end up twiddling our thumbs all night.”
“What happened to the sunny day the weatherman predicted?” Jillian brushed the worst of the water off her hair and clothes and onto the floor, then slid her arms into the sweatshirt and zipped the front. It eased the chill.
“Since when has the weatherman gotten anything right? I swear, they just throw a dart at a board and let that be the prediction for the day.” Darcy mocked doing just that. “Hmm…landed on the picture of the sun. I’m predicting a sunny day with zero chance of rain.”
Jillian laughed. “That sounds about right.”
“Those darn weathermen never get it right,” Harry Winslow said. He and his wife Edith sat in the corner window booth every single night, ordered the early bird special, and left before five. They were as predictable as sunrises, and almost as nice.
“The weathermen have a hard job, dear,” Edith said. She patted Harry’s hand. “And no one remembers when they’re right. Only when they are wrong.”
“True.” He grinned at her. “What’d I do to get so lucky, marrying a wise woman like you?”
“Had a single moment of sanity.” Edith laughed, then her fingers curled around Harry’s and held tight.
That, Jillian realized, was what she wanted. A love that lasted decades, that was steady and sure.
“So, how’d you end up walking to work in this mess?” Darcy asked as the two of them moved through the room, doing a final pre-dinner crowd check.
“My car died. A mile from work. In the pouring rain.”
“You should have called, I would have picked you up.”
“Cell died, too. I forgot to charge it again.” Jillian put up a hand before Darcy could start another familiar refrain of you should have. “I know, I know. I’ll get one of those charger thingies for Sylvia next week.” There were a thousand other things Jillian should have done months ago. Like find a job where she didn’t have to run into Zach four days a week.
“Promise? If you don’t, guess what I’m getting you for your birthday.”
Jillian laughed again. “I promise. Now, let’s get these tables pushed together. The Drummonds are coming in with a party of fourteen at four thirty.”
Her mother came hurrying out of the kitchen, beelining for Jillian. “Oh my word, what happened to you?” Grace gathered her daughter into a tight hug, heedless of Jillian’s wet clothes. “My goodness, you are chilled to the bone. Come on in the back. I have some towels in the kitchen.”
Jillian leaned into her mother’s embrace. She might be almost twenty-six, but there were days when it still felt good to see her mom and dad every day. To have that support system around her. Today was definitely one of those days. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her parents had moved to Fortune’s Island over two decades ago, then opened The Love Shack when Jillian was in elementary school. They’d turned their love of food and people into a viable business. It wasn’t making anyone rich, and probably never would, but her parents said the restaurant paid enough to cover the bills and still give them time to go fishing in the slow season. And, her father would always add, with a loving look at Grace, “It gives us every day together, and that can’t be measured by any paycheck.”
Her parents might be sappy, but they were still in love, and that gave Jillian hope that maybe someday she could find something just as wonderful for herself. She’d thought she had that with Zach…
But, no.
A man who really loved her, her mother had always said, would weather any storm, climb any mountain, to be with her. Zach had been gone at the first sign of thunderclouds.
“What happened?” her mother asked, bringing
Jillian into the warm kitchen space.
“I got caught in the rain. My car died, and I had to walk to work.”
“You should have called me.” Then her mother smiled. “But let me guess, your cell phone died and you still don’t have one of those chargers in your car?”
Jillian chuckled. “Darcy said the same thing. You know me well, Mom.”
“That’s because I’m half your DNA.” Grace smiled and pressed a hand to Jillian’s cheek. Her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her face softened with concern. “Let’s get you dry and filled with something warm. I’ll make you some hot tea while you go change.”
A few minutes later, Jillian had changed into a fresh T-shirt and shorts, dried her hair with the hand dryer in the restroom—or at least, dried it enough to put it up in a ponytail, and done an emergency repair job on her makeup with a little mascara and lip gloss. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t like there was anyone here she wanted to impress. She slipped back into the sweatshirt, because her skin still felt cold to the touch.
Her mother pressed a hot cup of tea into her hands when Jillian exited the ladies’ room. “Do you want something to eat, too, honey?”
“I’m good. Thanks.” She raised the tea cup. “I’m just going to take this out back.”
Her mother smiled. “And watch the storm from the deck?”
“Of course.”
Grace brushed a tendril of hair off Jillian’s face. The touch was gentle, as tender as it had been when Jillian was three and scraped her knee, or fourteen and sobbed over a bad day at school. “You always did love to do that. Just be careful if there’s lightning or—”
“Mom, I’m not a little girl anymore. I know to watch out for lightning.”
“Just because you’ve gotten older doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being a mother.” Grace pressed a kiss to Jillian’s cheek. The light scent of her mother’s perfume filled the space between them, familiar and comforting. “Go on out back. We’ve got twenty minutes till we open, and Darcy told me to tell you she has the setup all done, so you’re not to do anything but get warm again.”
“Thanks, Mom.” She kissed Grace’s cheek, then took her mug and headed out to the back deck. The rain danced on the tiki thatch roof, pattered on the wooden steps that led down to the beach. Jillian settled herself against a corner post and watched the rain fall into the ocean, the waves that curled in and out, the dark clouds that made their slow journey across the sky. It was quiet here, peaceful. Perfect.
The putter-putter of a small fishing boat’s motor grew in volume, disrupting Jillian’s perfect moment. The boat edged around the cove, and finally came into view. It was one of those gray flat-bottomed boats, nothing fancy. A man in a raincoat and floppy hat piloted it, steering the dinghy up to the dock leading off the back of The Love Shack.
The dock didn’t belong to the restaurant, but pretty much no one cared about that. Almost every night, someone would motor over to the dock and tie off, then come inside for a bite to eat. In the summer, the pier was so busy, it might as well have been a drive-thru.
But this guy didn’t look like a regular. Didn’t, in fact, look like anyone Jillian knew. He leaned toward the bow, grabbed the line attached to the front, then tied off to a cleat. As he climbed out of the boat and onto the slick wooden surface, he stood there a second, debating, then decided to tie a second line from the stern to another cleat.
Head down, steps purposeful, he strode up the path that led to The Love Shack, then climbed the steps to the back deck. He was at least six feet tall, and filled out the rain coat in ways most men didn’t even fill out a suit. Nice. Definitely nice.
“We’re not open until four,” Jillian said, when he reached the deck, “but you can grab a table if you want.”
The man straightened, pulled off the floppy hat and turned to shake the water off over the railing. He had wavy dark hair, so dark, it was almost black. “I’m not here to eat, but thanks.”
“Just getting out of the storm?” She didn’t know why she was making conversation with him. She’d come out to enjoy the storm and her tea, not make a new friend or exchange small talk with someone who wasn’t even a customer. Especially after this afternoon. Seeing Zach had left her more rattled than she wanted to admit. Every time she thought she was over him, something happened to remind her of the opposite.
“Something like that.” The man turned toward her now, unbuttoning his rain slicker with one hand as he did. The panels of his coat parted, revealing one hell of a body in a short-sleeved button-down shirt and khaki shorts. Jillian had to remind herself to breathe. Holy hotness, Batman.
Yeah, he was definitely not someone she recognized. Jillian would have remembered a guy with eyes that blue, hair that dark, and a lean, defined body that gave a whole new meaning to the terms fit and trim. He was the kind of guy who made a woman’s pulse race. Including hers.
Jillian clutched her mug tighter. “Okay…uh, well, if you need anything, just let me know.”
“In what,” he flipped out his wrist and looked at his watch, “ten minutes?”
She laughed. “I’ll make a special exception for you.”
He took a couple steps closer, amusement lighting his features. “You don’t even know if I’m worth a special exception.”
Oh, he was. A double special exception, if there was such a thing. “You’re out in a boat in this downpour. I think that ups your special exception quotient.”
“Being here at all probably does that. It’s a little far from the world where I normally spend my days.”
“Are you here on vacation?”
“Sort of. More like a working vacation.” He ran a hand through his hair, displacing the waves and brushing off some of the rain. “Do you know a man named Gandy Reynolds?”
“Sure. Everyone knows Gandy. He owns the house next door. Technically, that’s his dock, but most everyone uses it for The Love Shack.”
“I’m his nephew. I’m staying at his house for a few weeks. I haven’t been here in forever, but apparently, I forgot how it is here. I thought I’d go native, and take a trip on the boat and I…locked myself out. In the rain. Apparently, it pays to check the weather report before getting in a boat. So I thought I’d kill some time here while I waited on my uncle to get home.”
So he had been to Fortune’s Island before. How did she not remember a man that looked like that? “You sound like me. My car died, along with my cell. I had to run all the way to work, in the rain.” She pressed a hand to her damp hair and wished she’d done more than throw on some mascara and lipstick.
“Two drowned rats. Probably not the best way to meet.” He flashed another grin at her.
Was he flirting with her? It had been so long since she’d dated someone, she wasn’t sure. “Uh…there’s always hot coffee and tea in the kitchen. Do you want a mug?”
“Coffee would be great, thanks.”
“Okay. Be right back.” She headed inside and detoured for the small mirror on the wall before hitting the kitchen. Not that she cared what she looked like. Okay, so maybe she did. Jillian tugged out the ponytail, fluffed at her hair, reapplied a little of her lip gloss, slipped off the sweatshirt and stowed it under the counter, then figured that was the best she could do on a drowned rat day. She got the stranger a mug of coffee, refilled her tea, then put some creamer and a container of sugars on a tray and brought it back out to the deck.
“You carry that like a professional,” he said.
“That’s because I am one. At least, I am now. Since it’s after four.” She balanced the tray on one hand, then put out her other. “I’m Jillian, your waitress.”
He laughed. “Nice to meet you, Jillian. I’m Ethan Reynolds.”
Ethan. It was a nice name. Seemed to fit him, somehow. With his striking looks and bright smile, he almost had a movie star quality about him.
She lowered the tray and handed him the mug. “I didn’t know if you wanted cream or sugar, so I brought them both.”
She probably should get to work. But there hadn’t been anyone in the dining room except for Harry and Edith when she’d gone inside earlier, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to sit for a few minutes. Building goodwill and all that. Uh-huh. That was what had her grabbing her tea from the tray, then sitting on the bench beside him, stealing glances at his chiseled profile.
For a second she felt guilty, but then she remembered she’d broken up with Zach at the beginning of the summer. Three months ago. Three months when Zach hadn’t made more than a half-hearted effort to get her back. Maybe it was about time she started dating again. Or at least considered a handsome man like Ethan.
Maybe she should test the waters, and flirt a little back with him. See if he was interested, after all.
“So, you know what I do for a job,” she said, then realized the lame line was a clear sign she had almost zero flirting skills. That was what happened when you dated the same guy for eight years. “What do you do?”
“I work for a record company. My boss sent me out here for a few weeks. To scope out some talent along the East Coast. Ever since they found out Meghan Trainor came from Nantucket, the record industry is convinced all the next hot commodities are on the East Coast.”
She started to say her fiancé was in a band, and to recommend he listen to The Outsiders while he was here, but then she remembered Zach was no longer her fiancé, and her concern about his future should be done. Besides, the band had been one of their biggest arguments—the amount of time he spent with the guys, the late hours of practice, the way the music took precedence over everything, including her. She’d supported Zach’s dream, and wanted to see him succeed, but not at the expense of their relationship. “That sounds like a cool job,” she said to Ethan. “Sort of like a sports scout.”