by Blake, Toni
She swallowed, taken aback that they were suddenly in such a serious place again. Taken aback that he was telling her he’d choose her over his grandfather. “You’re saying...you feel that much for me? That you’d stay here with me instead of going to your grandpa’s?”
His nod was short but sure. “That’s exactly what I’m sayin’.” But then he pushed to his feet. “I’m not trying to rush you, though. You take your time and think things through. End of summer is still a while away—it’s just getting started.”
She found herself smiling gently up at him. For making this so easy on her. For making his intentions known, something she hadn’t had from a man in a long time. She liked the returned sense of calm and confidence the reunion with his grandpa had brought. It suited him.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
He pointed vaguely in a westerly direction. “I’m gonna head back to the cabin now, but I’ll be back in the morning. Gonna spend the day with Granddad if you don’t have any work for me to do.”
“Nothing that can’t wait,” she assured him. And when he started toward the bedroom door, she said, “Seth?”
He looked back.
“Would you like to stay here—in one of the rooms—while he’s here? Just to be closer, more convenient?”
But he shook his handsome head. “No need, darlin’—I’m good where I’m at.” Then he gave her a classic Seth wink. “Sharing your bed’s better, but if I’m not doing that, I kinda grew to like the walk.”
Even now, the mention of their sex filled her cheeks with fresh heat. Part old-fashioned embarrassment, part wanting more of it right now but knowing it was best not to indulge that whim.
“Um, by the way, I was thinking of taking Granddad to that watering hole up the street tomorrow night—the Pink something?”
“Pelican,” she said.
“Any chance you might wanna come along? Make it sort of a party? Suzanne, too, if you think she’d want to. If that’s not too weird. I, uh, don’t exactly have a wide circle of friends here—but guess I’m just thinking I’d like to celebrate a little.”
How could she turn that down? Even if it might look more like a date than it actually would be. But given she’d be there with one of her longtime inn guests as well would make it seem less so. And maybe she was finally tired of worrying what her island community thought of her and her relationships. So she said, “Sure. And I’ll invite Suzanne tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Meg,” he said, something in the warmth of his voice nearly curling her toes even now.
“Goodnight.”
She decided not to read, after all, setting the diary aside on the bedside table. And it was only after she’d brushed her teeth, turned out the lights, and climbed back beneath the covers that she realized... Seth had never answered her question. About secrets. And if he still had any from her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MEG SAT ACROSS a table at the Pink Pelican from Seth and his grandpa, Suzanne beside her. The old wooden floor was uneven—had been since she’d been old enough to come in—and the food was only so-so, but the vibe was laid-back and easy, the music pleasant, and the decor fun. It was hard for pink pelicans—painted on the walls and the bathroom doors and behind the bar, which sported pink stools—not to be fun. The stage, never meant for more than one person, was a small platform behind the semi-circular bar, and currently held Trevor Bateman and his well-worn guitar, a microphone standing in front of his chair.
The Eastmans had arrived today, and the inn felt truly alive now, the throes of summer here in a way that always made Meg happy, because it had always made her grandma happy before her. And the doors to the Pink Pelican were wide-open tonight, admitting a warm breeze, along with back windows that overlooked the water—another sign that summer had really come to the island.
She wore a turquoise sundress that twirled when she spun, and had danced numerous times with both Seth and Mr. McNaughton to the likes of “Brown-Eyed Girl” and “Bad Moon on the Rise.” The Pelican didn’t have a proper dance floor, but that had never stopped it from happening in the wide area between the bar and the tables. Suzanne danced, too—Mr. McNaughton attempted to show the ladies some swing dancing moves while a few other patrons filled in the space around them.
“Since when do you swing dance?” Seth asked his grandfather.
“Since your grandma and me took some lessons for a while.”
Seth looked surprised. “No offense, but never thought of you as the dancing type.”
“Me neither,” he confessed. “But your grandma saw a sign for it somewhere, and turns out sometimes you can teach an old dog new tricks.”
Meg had never thought of herself as much of a dancer, either, but she’d had a few cocktails—tonight imbibing the bar’s signature drink, aptly called a Pink Pelican, a mix of vodka, cranberry juice, and a few other ingredients she never remembered after she’d had a couple.
The crowd was mostly tourists dotted with a few locals like herself, and as far as she could tell, no one was particularly gawking at her being out with another man besides Zack. And the Pink Pelicans she’d consumed made it so she didn’t care much anyway.
At one point, Mr. McNaughton made a toast. “To my handsome grandson, and to reunions!”
“Hear, hear!” Suzanne agreed. She’d been as bowled over as anyone when Meg had told her the story of Seth’s grandfather being her longtime guest at the inn and that a childhood memory had brought Seth to Summer Island. “It’s so amazing you two found each other again.”
“And to Meg,” Mr. McNaughton added, surprising her.
“Me? What did I do?” she asked with a smile.
“Well,” the gray-haired man said, “one summer after your sweet grandmother passed, you told me you’d never intended to run the inn, and that you’d concocted a whole different life for yourself somewhere else.” Meg and Seth exchanged looks—but when Mr. McNaughton placed his hand gently over hers on the table, she returned her gaze to his. “If the inn hadn’t stayed open, well...neither I nor Seth would have had it to come back to. Oh, sure, maybe I’d have found another inn and kept coming to the island—and maybe Seth would have still been here this summer. But maybe not. Who knows? Who can say? All I know is that I’m tremendously grateful for the Summerbrook Inn. More than I can say.”
“Me, too,” Seth added. “Me, too.”
“I’m very grateful for it, as well,” Meg said softly, “in many ways. And I couldn’t be happier that you and Seth have reconnected.” As they all sipped their drinks, she recalled that past conversation with Mr. McNaughton, in which she was pretty sure she hadn’t given him any details—about leukemia or desertion. But it served as a reminder that the world—God, fate—worked in mysterious ways. And made her glad she’d stayed, glad she’d kept the inn open. Maybe the inn had more meaning and purpose for more people than she even knew.
At moments through the evening, her eyes met with Seth’s across the table in a way that felt like they were touching just from looking at each other. Because of what Mr. McNaughton had said? Because it made her feel unwittingly close to Seth, like it or not? Or was it just more of the intoxicating chemistry between them, amplified by music and drink and the ease of a fun summer night? No matter the reasons though, there it was, pulling at her, almost clawing at her from the inside—that magnetic connection that still seemed as dangerous as it was euphoric. In one way, finding out Mr. McNaughton was Seth’s grandpa had been a soothing balm to her—he and his late wife were wonderful people. And yet, Seth had lived a life far apart from theirs, and putting real trust in him continued to feel risky.
At moments, her knees mingled with Seth’s to send a skittering sensation up her thighs. She’d thought sitting across from him—which she’d deftly orchestrated—would provide a sort of distance between them, but she’d miscalculated.
Trevor was gifted at engagin
g the crowd, and he’d indulged in a few adult beverages himself—to the point of flubbing some song lyrics, in a way that was more funny and endearing than off-putting. When he began playing the unmistakable chords that began “Peaceful Easy Feeling,” but then totally blanked on the first line, Meg spontaneously shouted it from her seat. The crowd laughed, Seth laughed, and Trevor thanked her with a lighthearted, “After a few thousand times, you’d think I’d remember, right?”
Meg felt obnoxious for a second—it wasn’t like her to be the loudest person in a room, let alone a crowded bar—but also carefree. The night was beginning to wane—enough that most in the crowd, including her, were content to sit and listen quietly or sing along, letting the tune lull them.
When the song ended and Trevor took a break, Suzanne said across the table to her, “I’m seeing a new side of you here and I like it.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Meg said. “I don’t know what got into me. Except these.” She pointed to the nearly empty glass in front of her.
“Think they’ve got into me, too,” Mr. McNaughton said. “And this has been an eminently convivial gathering, but I think it’s time for this fella to get his old bones back to the inn.”
“You and those big words of yours,” Seth said on a laugh—just as Suzanne added, “It’s time for this younger gal to get home, too.”
“Yes, I’m ready to turn in myself,” Meg chimed in.
But Mr. McNaughton cut her off. “Now I didn’t intend to break up the party. Don’t go leaving on my account—stay out, have fun.”
Meg was pleased when Seth agreed with the rest of them. “Naw, it’s late. It’s been a real nice evening, but probably best we call it a night while we can all still walk home and not have to be carried there.”
They all laughed along, and soon were heading out the door, saying goodnight to Suzanne. Both men had chivalrously offered to escort her home, but she pointed up Port Street and said, “My cottage is right up that hill so I’m good.” And no one insisted further because among the simple joys of living on Summer Island was being safe to walk here at night—the way it should be everywhere.
A sweet breeze that carried the scents of lilac and magnolias wafted over the trio as they made their way up Harbor Street, Meg strolling between the two men. She leaned on Seth lightly at moments, not intentionally but the drinks had her slightly unsteady. Though leaning on him was nice—almost too nice—and something about the night felt too much like the one when she’d met Zack. The problem with a one-bar town: Not enough places to make new, different memories.
And yet despite that one drawback—this felt easy, pleasant, right.
Mr. McNaughton made conversation as they walked—about “that nice Trent fella” at the bicycle shop, about fried egg sandwiches at the Skipper’s Wheel, about maybe doing a little fishing tomorrow if Seth was interested. And he was.
Then Mr. McNaughton said, “Forgive me if I’m off base here, but I can’t help thinking it seems like...there’s something between the two of you—like romance.”
Same as earlier, she and Seth exchanged looks. A week ago this would have been less complex. A little, anyway. Finally, as they turned onto the front walk of the inn, she replied, “There is. Or there was. It’s just...”
“Complicated?” Mr. McNaughton asked. “Isn’t that what they say nowadays?”
She laughed softly. “Yes.”
“Well, I won’t pry then. But I’ll just interject that I don’t think my grandson could find a nicer woman than you.” And as they made their way up the stone walk, he added, “I’ll say goodnight now and thank you both for a splendiferous evening.” And with that, he pulled the door shut behind him, leaving them out on the front porch on a perfect summer night.
Seth smiled at her. “He loves five-dollar words like that. Splendiferous.”
“I’ve noticed that from time to time.” She smiled back. But was pretty sure neither of them were thinking much about big words. And she knew it for sure when Seth kissed her.
Kissing him back wasn’t a choice or a decision—just the only viable response he evoked from her at this point. It was like that piece of cake you intended to say no to but couldn’t when it was right in front of you and someone put a fork in your hand. Kissing was easier than not kissing—and infinitely more fulfilling. Especially with sweet night air swirling around them, filled with every lovely scent of June on Summer Island.
They kissed and his hands were on her face, and then her hips, and then rising higher, nearing her breasts—until he stopped the kissing, leaned his forehead against hers, and whispered, “Should I come in or go home?”
Ah. Cake. Fork. Charmers gonna charm, whether or not they were even trying.
She held her breath. Let a million thoughts race through her head.
A night like this with Seth could erase the disappointment that came with the memories of that first night with Zack.
Or it could create even more.
And that shouldn’t even matter. One is not a replacement for the other. They’re two very different men, two entirely different relationships.
The scattered emotions made the answer clear, though, even if it came with a wistful sigh. “You should go home.”
Forehead still against hers, he pulled in his breath. Then stepped back, away from her. Though he held her hands in his now. “Another reason it’s better for me to stay at the cabin than here if I’m not in your bed—makes it easier. Otherwise, fear I might just slip into your room in the night. Catch you unawares. Start kissing you and hope you let me keep on.”
Now it was she who sucked in her breath. At that vision. The temptation. Charmers gonna charm and seducers gonna seduce, and Seth was a natural at both. So he was right—if she really thought that was a bad idea, the cabin was the best place for him. Though she said, “Thank you. I mean, for not doing that.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Can I tell you the truth about something?”
“Please.” Because she needed more of that—infinitely more of that—from him. To help her know who he really was, and if she could really believe in him.
He swallowed, looked a little ashamed. “My whole life, I just went after what I wanted—with women, with anything. But with you, darlin’, I don’t want anything you’re not ready to give me. ’Cause that’s the only way it’s worth having.”
And with that, he leaned in to kiss her forehead, then descended the porch steps and front walk, soon disappearing into the darkness.
* * *
SETH HADN’T GONE fishing since the last time he’d been on this island as a kid. Before that, it had been a common activity he’d learned from and shared with his grandpa, but as he climbed into a rented wooden fishing boat, handing off two reels and a tackle box to the older man, it felt as foreign as if he’d never done it before. But then, a lot of stuff was feeling pretty new and foreign to him these days.
The sky was bright and the sun warm. Meg had insisted they take sunscreen, which she’d thrust in his hand and he’d almost left behind anyway thinking it was unnecessary this far north. But as the little green boat puttered away from the Summer Island harbor into the slightly deeper waters where more fish could be found, he realized she knew what she was talking about.
He started out trying to fake his way through the general skills of fishing—hoping it would all just suddenly come back to him—but it wasn’t long before his granddad said, “You haven’t been fishing in a while, have you?”
Seth raised his gaze and confessed, “Not since the last time I was here with you. Possible I’m not quite remembering how.”
“Nothing that can’t be relearned,” his grandpa said, and it again brought back a long-forgotten feeling of safety. His grandfather had always been patient, forgiving, and kind. It was almost jarring because he’d forgotten that—how easy it was to be with the man—until just
now. Oh, he supposed he’d been feeling it these last couple days already, but this was more concrete—his grandpa didn’t care that Seth had forgotten how, he didn’t even care that he hadn’t been up front about it—he was just patiently ready to move on from that.
* * *
ONCE THEIR LINES were in the water, they talked and caught up some more. Though Seth didn’t add much, except maybe about places he’d been that his grandpa hadn’t—towns in the South that he’d particularly liked or had some interesting memory about. Mostly it was his grandpa telling him things about life after he’d gone, about his grandparents missing him, about how they’d grown even closer amid their shared losses, about his grandma’s death after a stroke.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that alone,” Seth said. That was the main thing he could feel in that moment—how hard it must have been without anyone to lean on.
“Wasn’t easy,” his granddad confessed. “But this...” He stopped, looked over at Seth, the sun shining down on them from a clear blue sky. “This helps. Finding you. This helps a lot, son.”
A lump rose in Seth’s throat. He wasn’t the world’s most sentimental guy—his life had made that sort of thing a liability early on—so he kept his reply short and sweet. “It helps me, too.”
“So about you and Meg,” his grandpa said a few minutes later. Seth had just caught a trout that Granddad said he might cook up for dinner on the grill if Meg didn’t mind. But now they were back to sitting, their lines in the water, surrounded by nothing but quiet. “I said last night I wouldn’t pry, but now that it’s just me and you, gotta admit I’m curious.”
“It’s like she said—complicated. She’s got another guy in her life—but he’s not around all the time. He’s not around right now, for instance. And...she’s not sure she can trust me.”
His grandpa looked over at him. “Because of your past.”
