Ex on the Beach

by Kim Law

  She shook her head. There was no “or.”

  “I understand. Thank you for trying, sir.”

  After hanging up, Andie sat staring out at the waves of the Atlantic, wondering how in the world she was going to tell Aunt Ginny that they were within a hair’s breadth of losing this place.

  And how she would live with herself if she let it happen.

  Mark Kavanaugh stood in the parking lot of Gin’s, the beachfront bar and café, and stared up at the sign depicting the caricature with the bright red curls. There was no doubt it was meant to be Andie’s aunt, Genevieve Whitmore. And it was fabulous. One look at that face and customers would know they were entering a place with life.

  He’d only met Ginny the one time, but she’d made a lasting impression.

  “I’ve heard good things about this place.”

  “Yeah?” Mark glanced at the man standing to his right. Grayson McTavish had gone to law school with him and Rob, and was also in the wedding party. The two of them had caught the same flight out of Boston — though Mark still didn’t understand why they had to come down two weeks before the wedding. How many pre-wedding activities could one couple have? “You research it before coming down?”

  Gray had a spreadsheet for everything. Restaurant ratings were a favorite.

  “Bite me, Kavanaugh. At least you know you’ll be eating well when you travel with me.”

  Mark lifted a hand and shot him the bird. “There are three restaurants on the island, moron. We’ll eat what we get.”

  But Mark had read the same thing about Gin’s when he’d been scouring the Internet for information on Andie. It was top-of-the-line. Andie owned the bar, she’d named it after her aunt, and apparently she’d wooed a top Chicago chef down south. It had a stellar rating. He’d like to say he was at Gin’s for the reputation — instead of at the inn where he was supposed to be meeting up with Rob, and where he’d almost definitely run into Andie — but that would be a lie. He was there because he was stalling. It had been four years since he’d seen Andie.

  He wasn’t quite sure he was ready to see her now.

  He’d ended things poorly, and the guilt hadn’t let him forget it. This trip wasn’t just about standing up for his friend. It was about finally moving on. Closure. He wanted to settle down. He wanted what his mom and dad had. And he wanted Andie’s face to quit flashing through his mind every damn time he thought about it.

  It was the guilt, he was certain. He still believed he’d made the right choice; he wouldn’t have wanted the marriage he’d been heading into. Though the childish way in which he’d called it off had been beneath him. And his mother had let him know it.

  Genevieve Whitmore had also let him know it.

  But he’d never gotten to apologize to Andie. No matter what, she hadn’t deserved to be left standing at the altar.

  Now was his chance to make sure she was okay, and in doing so, get himself there, as well.

  He took in the cream-colored plank siding of the building, with the cheery yellow, blue, and pink trim, and couldn’t help but smile. It looked like Andie.

  The covered patio facing the ocean struck him as exactly the kind of place she’d love to sit and read a book. She’d always wanted to go off to the beach for weekends when they’d lived together in Boston. Summer or winter, if she could sit and listen to the ocean, she was a happy woman.

  From what he’d been able to find out, she’d had plenty of time to do just that since they’d broken up. Turtle Island had been the last place he’d expected to find her — what with the way she’d been going after a career as an investment banker — but it seemed she’d taken her drive for success and zeroed in on building a growing destination wedding business, instead.

  He hoped she was happy.

  “Check out the kids.” Gray nodded toward the beach where a family of five was making their way toward the boardwalk. “They remind me of me and my brother.”

  Two dark-haired boys, probably ages five or six, punched each other and rolled around in the sand in front of their mother, who was carrying an enormous bag with all manner of toys sticking out of it and wrestling a squirming baby wearing a tiny hat and some sort of pink contraption. Dad pulled up the rear, both arms full of chairs, an umbrella, and a rolling cooler that wasn’t doing much rolling. It was only midafternoon, but by the pink shine on the man’s shoulders, they’d already waited too long before calling it a day.

  “Add in a couple more boys and it could be my family,” Mark muttered. “Minus the baby. Hang on a sec.”

  He left Gray where he stood and jogged down the walkway to the family, catching mom as she hit the stairs. The boys were now lagging behind, covered from head to toe in sand.

  “Let me help you with that.” Mark reached for the bag, eyeing the baby as he did. She was a cute thing. Two teeth winked at him as she opened her mouth in a slobbery grin.

  “Oh,” mom said. A tired smile broke out across her face as she gratefully handed over the bag. “Thank you.” She motioned toward the blue minivan he’d passed on his way down. “Just drop it at the back door if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure thing.” Mark turned to go, but the boys caught his attention. They had run circles around their dad and were now racing toward the stairs, sand spraying up behind them with each step. Mom was safely out of the way, but the boys had picked up speed and were shoving at each other as they ran. The steps would be slick with sand if taken too fast.

  Before Mark could say anything, one of the boys hit the bottom plank and lunged upward for the next, and just as Mark had feared, the kid’s leg went flying out behind him, bringing him face-first down toward the step.

  “Watch out!” Mark lunged past mom, certain there would be a broken nose at the least. But the second brother merely yanked the first down and climbed over him, leaving the kid who’d face-planted laughing and throwing a handful of sand in his wake.

  “You must not be a father,” the mom said. She shook her head in a sympathetic, understanding way. “I’m sure you were just as rowdy for your mother, at one point in your life.”

  No doubt he had been. And no wonder his mother had been coloring her hair since her thirties.

  Mark watched the two kids continue to wrestle as they made their way past him, no broken nose, not even a nosebleed, only a token glance tossed his way, accompanied by an eye roll that suggested he was the biggest dork in the world for worrying. And he guessed he was.

  They were just playing. No different from what he and his own brothers had done throughout their childhood. No different from any kid, he supposed.

  He shook his head at his own naïveté, grabbed an armload of chairs from the dad, and then walked with the two adults back to their car.

  “You here with your family?” dad asked.

  “Ah.” Mark paused, glanced at the boys again, then at the baby who was watching his every move. A single band of pressure tightened around his chest. “No. No family.”

  “You want one?” Mom jostled the chubby-cheeked kid in her arms as she took the two steps from the wooden path to the parking lot. She nodded toward the boys now shooting each other with pretend guns, each kid ducking and hiding on either side of the van. “I might be willing to set you up with a couple kids to start you off.”

  She chuckled at her own teasing tone, and shot Mark a grin.

  “Maybe someday,” he said. He gave the boys one last look, unable to keep from imagining a couple of his own on a similar family outing, and gave a slight nod. “Yeah. Maybe someday. That would be nice. But I think you’d better keep these two yourself.”

  He gave mom a wink, and she let out a long, overly dramatic sigh. “I suppose if I must.”

  Mark chuckled and deposited his load at the back bumper of the van. Nice family. Two of his brothers had that in their lives already. He liked to imagine he’d eventually follow suit.

  He tossed a wave at their thanks, and made his way back to the bar where Gray was leaning against the wall beside th
e door, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Ever the Good Samaritan, I see,” Gray teased.

  “Wouldn’t hurt you to help.”

  “Never have to. You always have it under control.”

  Mark brushed his hands over the slacks of the suit he still wore from that morning’s meetings, knocking sand from his legs. Aside from rushing forward and swooping the boys up to keep them from acting like normal boys, he supposed there hadn’t been anything else to be done. He didn’t speak, merely grunted in acknowledgment.

  The door to the building opened and a couple emerged, laughing as they made their exit. Behind them, he could hear what sounded like a baseball game being broadcast inside. He punched his buddy in the gut and pushed past him. Might as well enjoy a late lunch before he went in search of the woman he most dreaded. And most looked forward to seeing.

  It was dark and cool inside, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. Once he could see, he scanned the area noting only two people at the bar itself, each sitting on a round-topped stool, leaning in, laughing quietly with the other.

  A few other people were scattered throughout the room, talking or watching one of several TVs hanging on the walls. There were small tables for two with fancy little chairs that looked as if they belonged on the patio of someone several decades older than himself, larger tables and normal seating for bigger crowds, and a couple of cushioned loveseats tucked into one corner with a glass-topped coffee table positioned in front.

  In the other corner was a piano with a microphone standing beside it. And all around the walls were shelves full of an interesting mix of metal bowls, candlesticks, shells, and what looked to be blown-glass ornaments. And that was just what he could see from a quick glance. Given the number of shelves and amount of stuff, he suspected additional items could easily be uncovered.

  Beyond sheer, billowing curtains, he made out a handful of women sitting out on the patio, all wearing floppy hats and sipping girly-looking drinks. The outside space was casual and overlooked the beach, but judging by the subtle decor and tasteful lighting dotting the perimeter, he suspected that come nighttime it would be transformed into elegance.

  The whole place screamed nice. Comfortable. Classy. It was Andie.

  “Table for two?”

  Mark looked down to find a hostess smiling up at him. Short black hair puffed out around her face, and something about the simpleness in her khaki shorts and pullover, contrasted with the stiff suit he still wore, made him feel ancient. She appeared to be in her early- to mid-twenties, and though he was only thirty-one himself, he felt a lifetime older.

  Working sixty-hour weeks at your family’s law firm did that to a person.

  Taking a vacation, only to bring the job with you, did that to a person, as well.

  Gray was eyeing the pixie of a woman, and from what Mark could tell, was enjoying the view.

  “We’ll just grab a seat at the bar, if that’s okay,” Mark said. Normally both of them would come to a place like this with a handful of buddies and take up a spot in front of the biggest TV. For this afternoon, the bar would do.

  “Sure thing,” the hostess replied. She motioned for them to go ahead and choose a seat and then shot Mark another quick look with a slight squint of her eyes. She scanned over his attire, scrutinizing his face closely enough to make him uncomfortable. The corners of her mouth turned down. “The bartender should be back any minute. She stepped away to take a call. Are you with the Jordan wedding?”

  “That’s right.” Given that Rob and Penelope were pretty much taking over the property and that his own Boston accent easily stuck out, he wasn’t surprised that she’d put it together. “Thought we’d grab some lunch before meeting up with everyone else.”

  Her demeanor suddenly changed and she thrust menus at them. “Sounds like a plan. Might want to grab a drink, too. Weddings tend to bring out the worst in people.” She angled her head toward the bar. “You go on over. I’ll let Andie know you’re here. I’m sure she’ll be right out to serve you.”

  Mark had half turned away, but froze in his tracks. He glanced back. “Andie is the bartender? Andie Shayne?”

  It had to be her. Bartending had been what put her through Harvard Business. That and scholarships.

  “Yep,” the hostess stated flatly. She turned away, making it clear she was finished speaking.

  From the corner of his eye, Mark caught Grayson raise his brows. Mark wasn’t sure if he recognized Andie’s name, or was showing his thoughts on the hostess’s snub, but one thing hit home in a nauseating wave. Mark wasn’t ready to see Andie.

  The idea of just walking up to her after all this time and starting a conversation was far more nerve-racking than standing in front of a hostile courtroom with none of the odds in his favor. But what was he going to do? Turn and leave like a coward?

  He headed to the bar without another word and parked himself on the opposite end from the couple, hoping to get a good look at Andie before she saw him. And wondering if he should be the coward he felt inside and hightail it back out the door he’d just entered.

  Gray slung a leg over the stool beside him. “The ex, huh?”

  Mark nodded. The ex. Though Gray had spent a couple years working in San Francisco after they’d graduated, he likely remembered Andie from their evenings hanging out at the bar where she’d worked. And then he’d been invited to the wedding.

  Mark tapped a thumb against the counter, noticing that underneath the veneer were buttons of all sizes, many looking like they’d been plucked off old polyester suits.

  “You knew she was here, then?” Gray asked.

  Couldn’t pull anything over on a good lawyer. “I knew she was here.”

  Gray flipped open his menu with a wide grin on his face, looking for all the world as if he was settling in to witness what was soon likely to be a very uncomfortable situation. “I think I’ll have that beer the cutie suggested. Things could get interesting up in here.”

  Yes, things could get interesting. Mark suspected they would.

  And how wonderful for him that he’d have an audience.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A soft grunt escaped as Andie lifted the rack of glasses from the dishwasher and headed toward the bar. She’d verified that the Mastersons were settling in, and the limo was en route to pick up the first round of Jordans. Now she needed to get everything stocked and ready for the evening crowd and the wedding party dinner out on the patio.

  She also had to make sure she was mentally prepared. Seeing Mark wasn’t going to be a picnic, but it had been four years. She could handle this. And she’d do it by making sure he realized he hadn’t broken her.

  “Andie, I need to talk to you.” Roni, one of her two oldest friends, and the person currently playing the role of hostess, rushed up to her before Andie made it back to the bar. Roni had once been a concert pianist. She’d up and quit, landing on Turtle Island and changing her life almost as abruptly as Andie’s had taken a turn.

  “Let me put these up first. This is heavy.” Andie tried to push past her, but Roni stood in her way. She reached out for the rack, taking part of the weight in her own hands.

  “It can’t wait,” Roni whispered. “You need to know — ”

  The sound of a handful of men entering the bar cut Roni off midsentence. Andie shot her friend a quizzical look as she moved around her to shout out a greeting to the newcomers. It was a crowd of college-aged guys. She slid the tray of glasses in the space behind the bar, caught a glimpse of a couple new faces at the far end of the counter — their heads bent over menus — then subtly motioned Roni to get back out front and seat the new customers.

  Before Andie could move to the end of the bar to take orders, the woman in front of her caught her attention. “Can I get another glass of wine, please?”

  The woman’s name was Janice. She and her friend, George, had been on the island for several days now and had been lingering in the bar since lunch. Janice had explained that today was their
last day on the island, and neither wanted to return to the real world.

  Andie could understand that. She’d sought out Aunt Ginny’s home four years ago, not wanting to return to the real world herself. She’d been prepared to, however. Only, her boss had let her know there was no need.

  Stood up at the altar and fired, all within days. It had not been one of her better weeks.

  She drained the bottle of Moscato into Janice’s glass. “That one’s on me.”

  “Awww, thanks!” Janice’s voice was an octave too high, and she followed it up with a round of giggles. “I think I’ve had a bit too much this afternoon.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Andie caught the men down the bar turning their heads in her direction. She patted Janice’s hand. “Better go easy or you and George will be spending your last evening sleeping one off.”

  Sending George a wink, Andie caught another strange look from Roni as she turned to the other customers. As she reached out to put away the empty bottle, she realized who sat at the far end of her bar.

  The bottle slipped, tagged the corner of the stainless steel cooler, and shattered on the tile floor.

  “I’ll get a broom,” Roni tossed out, before hurrying to the back.

  Andie ignored her, not taking her eyes off Mark.

  Slightly windblown hair, still as dark as she remembered, an expensive suit that looked completely out of character in a place like this, yet somehow seemed like the only thing she would expect to find him in, and those steady, penetrating eyes taking her in.

  He sat, elbows propped on the polished bar as if he’d been patiently waiting for her for days, and raised his eyebrows when her gaze met his.

  Her body grew warm with anger. Four years was apparently not long enough.

  “Let me get it.” Roni spoke softly, sliding in behind the counter.

  “I’ve got it.” Andie snatched the broom and dustpan out of Roni’s hands, needing a reason to break contact with Mark. What was he doing at the bar? He was supposed to be at the house with the others.