The One Who Stays

by Blake, Toni

  But in the end, it hadn’t taken a plan at all—it had only taken showing up at the right time to find Meg Sloan struggling to control a tall shutter too heavy for her slight build. It had only taken stepping up to help. She’d made it easy and he appreciated that. For both their sakes.

  He’d always known how to talk to women without even trying—his father had called it his love potion. “Get out that love potion of yours.”

  “Just sprinkle your love potion on her.” It came instinctively, but with someone like Meg Sloan, even more so. She was attractive. And genuine. And honest. He felt all that just dripping from her.

  His father hadn’t believed him that he didn’t try with women—his father thought everything every person on the planet did was a scheme, a strategy. And he’d taught Seth an awful lot about scheming over the years, that was for damn sure—but when it came to women, Seth just did what came naturally.

  And so all that flirtation hadn’t exactly been part of the plan—because, again, she’d taken his plan away, made it so he didn’t need one. The flirtation had just...happened. And maybe more would happen than just flirtation. Time would tell. There were things he’d come here to do—but she could add an element of pleasure to that he hadn’t expected.

  She struck him as a woman who needed to loosen up a little, have some fun. He’d be willing to help her with that if she let him. And given that he needed to get inside the house, have some time to look around...well, it just seemed like fate was smiling on him for a change. And if he seduced Meg Sloan in the process and they had some hot summer fun together, all the better.

  Rounding the bend in the narrow road, he came on to the south shore where most of the businesses and homes were located. The cool morning air smelled fresh with spring and the sun cast a bright, sparkling ribbon of light onto the easternmost tip of Lake Michigan. Soon enough, the sunny yellow inn on the outskirts of town came into view.

  * * *

  MEG HADN’T SLEPT WELL. But for entirely different reasons than she’d expected earlier in the day.

  She’d sent Seth and his flirtations away, but the effects had stayed with her.

  She’d tried all day to simply write off her responses to him. Sexy younger guy who turns on the charm and has a rocking hot body—it’s normal to notice that. Maybe even feel that in certain places, experience particular sensations.

  But when he was long gone and she was still feeling them in the shower, and when she lay down to sleep a couple of hours later to find herself still unwittingly contemplating that vision, of the two of them naked, writhing together in the dark—she had to face a certain truth. She was attracted to him. And not just in that momentary way she’d been trying to fluff off. It was more real than that. And you have to own that, not pretend it isn’t there.

  He was still too young for her, and she still wasn’t going to do anything about it—but the upshot was...last night had opened her eyes. Last night Seth had shown her...everything.

  You act, in your heart, like someone who is stuck—stuck in situations you have no control over. You hide on this island from the rest of the great big world, afraid of being abandoned and alone. And maybe she had good reason for that. Plenty of people had left—albeit in many different ways. Drew. Gran. Aunt Julia. And Zack—over and over again. But you aren’t stuck at all. You can do and have anything you want. And staying on Summer Island hadn’t kept anyone from leaving.

  Now she’d eaten breakfast and dressed, and she found herself walking from room to room in the big house, peeking inside them all, feeling them all. The blue room, where Lila had always stayed when they’d come to visit as girls—with its two pretty twin beds. The lilac room, which had become her parents’ over time when they were on the island, mainly because it had been her mother’s as a girl. The yellow room, where she herself had stayed. “Because you need the sunshine, my Meg, to help keep you bright inside,” Gran had said to her once as they’d stood by the window, the sun beaming in through white sheers, the wall color seeming to reflect and illuminate it even more. She’d said it privately, like it was a secret. And perhaps a gift. It had been Gran’s favorite room. And even now, Meg only gave it to guests she felt warmly toward.

  And she hadn’t really known what Gran meant about keeping her bright, but there had been some concern in her family when she was young that she was too serious, didn’t have enough fun. She’d always argued that Lila was frivolous enough for both of them, and she’d meant it. She loved her sister, but someone had to be the responsible one.

  Her family had been so happy for her during the two short years when she’d moved to the city, loved her job, and gotten engaged. Her parents’ relief had been palpable. Look, she’s not so serious after all—she’s going to be fine. But then cancer had come along and turned everything pretty damn serious again.

  As she stepped into each room for a minute—now the mint room, and then the rose room—a certain love emanated from each for her. This inn was her world, and her grandmother’s world before her. She’d played here as a child, she’d healed here as a girl, she’d matured here as a woman. Gran had been right about the house having a soul—Meg felt connected to the inn. Connected enough to refuse to let it go at a time when that would have made all the sense in the world and been, by most people’s standards, the sane and reasonable thing to do.

  And coming here to recover and ultimately never leaving had...limited her. She never wanted to admit that—she always wanted to insist that she loved her life in every way—but in truth it was an existence that came with limits. Limits she’d let herself accept and believe in over time. Her life came with limited views, limited scenery. Limited places to shop, limited places to eat or drink or have fun. Her life came with a limited number of people, social options. Her life came with...a limited number of men.

  Over the years, she’d had a few boyfriends—usually due to the matchmaking skills of various island folk. Mostly her romantic interests had lived on the mainland, though, and putting miles of Lake Michigan between herself and a guy she was dating had usually made it feel challenging, less than ideal. And she’d never found one who’d made her want to change her lifestyle to help the relationship progress. Of course, maybe having only the tiny old town of St. Simon as a dating pool had been part of the problem, too. The only reason St. Simon really even existed anymore was the ferry.

  And then had come Zack. Whom she loved deeply. But who disappointed her time and again. He’d never made promises. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe she wanted a man who made promises. Maybe she wanted the luxury of meeting more men, of not feeling like she had to settle for one who, love him though she did, broke her heart a little more each time he left.

  It wasn’t that Zack wasn’t enough—it was that he didn’t want the same things as her. She kept thinking he would. That what he wanted would change. Or what she wanted would change. That they’d meet in the middle somehow. But the middle didn’t seem to be getting any closer, no matter what Dahlia said.

  And last night Seth had shown her: Her choices were only limited by where she chose to be. This lovely, quiet, empty place. This lovely island of few options.

  Even if a product of manufactured charm, Seth’s attention had made her feel brand new in a way, braver in a way, and more alive than she could have imagined when Zack had left that morning.

  This one meeting with a handsome stranger was giving her the courage to think about...changing things, changing her life. It was making her think about...doing something new, being something new—starting a new life somewhere else and leaving this isolation behind. Once upon a time, she’d had good reasons for staying. Taking care of her heart, wrapping this island around it like a protective pillow, at a time when it was fragile. But maybe those reasons were gone now.

  She’d been on Summer Island her entire adult life, and more than an attraction to her handyman, another thing she had to face was that she’d b
egun to feel trapped here. Her love for the place had made her lie to herself about that for a long time, but last night with Seth, she’d realized it—Summer Island had caged her in. And a part of her had begun to stagnate; a part of her had begun to feel as if she wouldn’t know how to function anywhere else.

  And Great-Aunt Julia was gone now, so what was really holding her here? Zack? He wasn’t here himself half the time. And maybe she was tired of wanting more from him than he was willing to give.

  She was standing in the orange sherbet room—Gran had refused to refer to it as the peach shade it really was; for her it was always orange sherbet—when she caught sight of Seth Darden approaching up the road. Today he wore a navy blue T-shirt that hugged his body just as nicely as yesterday’s black one, and he carried a red toolbox. Good thing, too. She winced, smiled to herself, realizing she’d still forgotten to charge her electric screwdriver.

  She supposed she’d been a little distracted. Contemplating life-changing decisions. And being reminded she was a vibrant, alive woman who could attract a handsome, younger man.

  He looked good, and even from that distance, she suffered a twinge of awareness.

  Lord. You’d think I’d been deprived of good sex. But she hadn’t. Zack, when he was here, made her very happy in bed. That’s how I know this counts for something, that it’s real chemistry.

  Too bad he’s so young.

  Yet...if he wasn’t, would that change things? Would she be more tempted? She’d never been one for frivolous affairs. No, that was more Lila’s department. Sex, for her, required a certain level of comfort with a man, not something she built over a night or two.

  Well, except for with Zack. With Zack it had happened fast. It had just felt right. She’d let herself be swept off her feet in a way she never had before.

  Otherwise, though, it had always taken some time for her—a build-up.

  Though she had a feeling if her grandmother were here, she’d say: Go ahead, be a little frivolous.

  Her instant response: But what about Zack?

  And she could hear her sweet grandma’s voice in her head, clear as a blue sky, answering: How often has he made it obvious that there’s no permanent tie between you? You owe him nothing. For all you know, he’s with someone else right now. A thought that always stung—and always hung in the air in an uncommitted relationship.

  She pushed the unpleasant thought aside—it was time to go work on shutters. And to...keep exploring this new idea. Of leaving Summer Island.

  Descending the long mahogany staircase to the foyer, her eyes fell upon...a penny. Faceup. At the bottom of the stairs, dead center. She bent down, grasped it between forefinger and thumb. See a penny, pick it up, and all the day you’ll have good luck. Funny, though—where on earth had a penny come from? She wasn’t exactly carrying pennies around the house. Maybe from Seth, from a pocket, on one of his bathroom trips? She stuffed it in the hip pocket of her blue jeans remembering the notion of a penny being a message that someone in Heaven was thinking of you. Gran? Aunt Julia? Either way, a nice idea.

  As she stepped out onto the front porch, she realized it was less foggy than yesterday—the sun was out early and had already burned the hazy moisture away. She could already see the old South Point Lighthouse offshore, its red and white stripes gleaming.

  “Mornin’, darlin’,” her handyman said. Normally, it annoyed her when men she didn’t know used that kind of endearment—but from him, there was something about it that appealed, even if just on a visceral level.

  “Good morning,” she answered with a smile.

  As he came up the walk, he slanted her a grin and said, “Afraid I got some bad news for ya.”

  She blinked, went a little rigid. “What’s that?”

  The sun made him squint up at her as he got closer. “I still think you’re beautiful.”

  A warm flush ran the length of her body. You don’t have to hide from it, though. She gave her head a tilt, tried to embrace that bit of newness and courage she’d just acknowledged. “Is that bad?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You seemed to think so last night. You reconsider that?”

  “I can appreciate a compliment,” she assured him. “But it doesn’t mean anything’s changed.” Remember, charmers gonna charm—yet maybe it doesn’t hurt to just relax into it a little, enjoy it.

  It surprised her that he wore an almost cocky expression. “Early days yet. Not even June.”

  His confidence made her laugh. And also made her like the idea of...being pursued. Even if she had no intention of letting anything happen between them, perhaps she did enjoy the notion of the flirtation lasting. For a while anyway.

  “Ready to get started on these shutters?” he asked, lowering his toolbox to the thick spring lawn.

  “Yep. I’m ready to paint.” She’d put the painting supplies on the porch last night and now held up the last can they’d been working from in one hand and a brush in the other.

  “And I’m ready to start putting some shutters back up so your house won’t feel so naked.” He winked. Lord, those winks. She didn’t even deny to herself that she felt that one right in the crux of her thighs. But she hoped like hell it didn’t show on her face.

  They worked in companionable silence after that, due to the fact that she was in one place—painting on the drop cloth—and he was busy moving from window to window, sometimes with the ladder in tow, other times just toting a freshly painted shutter. But they still made light conversation from time to time.

  “How’s it look?” This after he’d rehung the ones around the first floor windows that faced the front yard and street.

  She’d smiled. “Great! The house feels better already—I can tell.”

  By lunch he’d replaced all the shutters they’d finished painting yesterday and he rejoined her at the drop cloth to help with the rest. Today the crisp blue sky was dotted with more fluffy cotton clouds that kept the temps a few degrees lower than yesterday and the sweating to a minimum. And despite herself, she liked that he was nearer to her now. She felt the nearness. She was still getting used to that—but she liked it.

  “Which windows are yours?”

  “All of them,” she said on a laugh.

  He slanted her a look. “I meant which ones go to your bedroom?”

  She stopped painting and glanced over, let her face express a mild suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Curious where you sleep.” The words held more than sleep, though. The words held sex.

  So much that she considered not telling him. He was somehow taking a very simple thing—the location of her bedroom—and making it...intimate, personal. She bit her lip—but then thought, what the hell? If this meant he was going to peek into her room when he rehung the shutters there and envision her in the bed...was that horrible? Or just...another compliment in a way? “The corner room with the turret.”

  “I thought that,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Just thought you seemed like a woman who’d be drawn to that sort of thing, the tower.”

  “It’s the best room in the house. I should use it as a guestroom—people always ask for it and are disappointed it’s not available. But it was my grandmother’s room, and when I took over the inn, I figured I should give myself the one I wanted.”

  “Always a good decision, giving yourself what you want,” he said. More sex in the words. He’s saying I should indulge. In him.

  She tilted her head. “Always?”

  “As long as it’s not hurting anybody—always.” He sounded so sure. She liked that about him—he always seemed certain of things. No wavering.

  A little while later, she lay down her brush to go inside and make sandwiches for lunch. “Need help?” he asked.

  She gave him another smile. “Thanks, but I’m good. Frankly, I
can handle making lunch easier than I can handle painting sixty window shutters.”

  He scrunched his brow a little to ask, “So do I get a grand tour of the place when we’re done? Feel pretty acquainted with the exterior now—kinda curious to see it from the other side.” And when she didn’t answer right away, he added with a playful look, “That way I can recommend your place to all my friends here.”

  She laughed lightly and said, “Sure, I guess.” He’d used the bathroom several times, but it was near the front door so it was true he hadn’t really seen the house. And she was flattered he wanted to.

  She carried their lunch out in a picnic basket because it was the easiest way to transport sandwiches, chips, and drinks, thinking they’d just eat quickly on the front lawn. But Seth pointed to a wooden bench that faced the water across the street and said, “No offense to your drop cloth, Meg darlin’, but seems like a nicer lunch spot over there.”

  She glanced up Harbor Street, still and quiet as usual in May, but she knew there were eyes everywhere. “I don’t need the whole town thinking I’m on a date with my handyman.”

  He arched one brow, a lock of sandy hair dipping over his forehead. “Why not?”

  Hmm, good question. Given that she’d told him too much about her relationship with Zack last night. “Fine, but we’re eating fast,” she said. “I want my house fully clothed by nightfall.”

  He took the basket from her and they crossed the street to sit on the bench peering out on the lighthouse. White-capped waves frothed around the sandy edges of the tiny island it sat upon. “Is that still in use?” he asked.

  She nodded, biting into a ham sandwich. “It’s not manned, but has a working light. There are others, too, off different points of the island. And one on a ridge above the western shore that’s open to visitors.”

  He grinned. “Think I’ve seen it from the road. You should give me a tour sometime.”

  When she tossed him a sideways glance, a beam of sun peeked from behind the edge of a cloud and shone down behind his head, making him look like some sort of fallen angel. But no. Fallen angels were...bad; the devil had been a fallen angel. “That sounds suspiciously like a date,” she said. “And again, I don’t need people thinking I’m on a date with my handyman.”