Ex on the Beach

by Kim Law

  Instead he stood, too, and slipped on his shorts. He could already feel her putting a wall between them, and he’d be damned if he was going to sit there naked and vulnerable while she did it. Taking in his movements, she grabbed her panties off the floor and jerked them on, then pulled a T-shirt from a drawer and slipped it over her head.

  “It’s my problem, Mark.” Her tone was steady and strong. She lifted her chin. “I can’t take money from you.”

  “You could as a loan.” As far as he was concerned, she could have the money outright, but if her pride made her need to call it a loan, he would do it that way.

  She paused in thought for a moment but shook her head no, her shoulders slumping a fraction. “I need to do this,” she said softly. “I need to make it work. Not have someone swoop in and save the day.”

  He wanted to save the day. He’d always liked taking care of her. And he wanted to be her hero now. Especially since he’d just realized that having sex with her wasn’t going to give him the closure he’d been seeking.

  Which royally sucked. He was ready to move on with his life. Not spend it pining over Andie.

  He studied her — her flushed cheeks, her hair slightly wild as if it had been tossed around for a really good reason, and the ever-present vulnerability deep in her blue-gray eyes — and he knew that she did need to do this on her own. He didn’t get why but understood that proving herself was important. He just wondered if she was trying to prove her competence to Ginny or to herself. Or more likely, to her mother.

  “Okay.” He nodded and held out a hand for her, beckoning her back to him. He wanted her in his arms. He wanted her to come to him. “If that’s what you want. But the offer stands. All you have to do is say the word and the money is yours.”

  “Thank you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, the action plumping the unencumbered curves of her breasts, and eyed his outstretched hand. When she lifted her gaze to his, he wanted to put his fist through a wall.

  “We’re just going to be friends now, I take it?” he asked. His tone wasn’t polite.

  She nodded, nibbling on her lower lip. “I’m pretty sure that would be best.”

  “Why’s that?” Irritation flooded him. He should let it go, but he couldn’t help himself. “I’m only good for burning off some steam?”

  She cringed. He knew his comment was ugly, but she’d pissed him off. It wasn’t like he was asking for a commitment.

  “Mark, please,” she started. “We were friends once. I don’t see why we can’t be again.”

  Because she’d been the kind of friend he’d wanted to keep forever. He shook his head. “It won’t work, sweetheart. I can’t be that guy for you.”

  Wide eyes blinked slowly at him. “Okay,” she said. She nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I guess we shouldn’t have—”

  “Just stop it.” He cut her off with the slice of his hand. “We both wanted it. We did it. End of story. And you wanted it as much as me, so don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

  “I never said I didn’t.” Anger flared on her face. It was better than the withdrawn look she’d been wearing. “In fact, I’m the one who started it. I’m not pretending anything else. I just don’t think we should—” Her words came to an abrupt stop and she shrugged one shoulder. “You’ll be leaving as soon as you tell Rob, anyway.”

  She was right. If the wedding was canceled, he would have no reason to stay. Except …

  “I could stay. I am on vacation.”

  She sighed, a long, sad sound that lodged a rock deep in his gut. “What would be the point, Mark?”

  “The point would be us having a good time,” he urged. And maybe more. He didn’t voice his second thought, but had the feeling she’d felt it hanging in the air between them.

  With a slight shake of her head, he heard her answer loud and clear.

  They couldn’t be more. Wondering “what if” would only lead to more heartache, which neither of them needed. She was right to say no.

  They’d tried “more” already and it hadn’t worked. Heck, they’d been engaged for over a year and he’d never even known that she thought her mother didn’t like her. Or that she’d been on the verge of losing her job but was too afraid to tell him for fear of how it would make her look to him. To his family. How could he have missed all that?

  Had he really been that self-involved?

  But he knew the answer. He’d been working on getting his own career off the ground. A career that — if he were to be completely honest with himself — he’d probably seen as more important than hers. It was the family business, after all. What he’d spent his whole life working toward. It had been priority number one.

  So, yeah, he could admit as he looked back now, he’d seen her career as not nearly as important as his. He was the man, after all. The provider. The protector. He was the one who would take care of her.

  He’d loved her, yes, but he hadn’t seen her as his equal.

  The thought disgusted him. Maybe he had been as big a jerk as Rob.

  Their issues hadn’t begun or ended with his warped perspective, though. They’d jumped into everything way too fast, which he could also take credit for. He’d pushed for more early on, for fear that she’d leave Boston, and thus him, before they had time to figure it all out and do it right. He’d been terrified she’d graduate and head off to find a job. So he’d pushed. He’d asked her to marry him, moved her in, and — it seemed — they’d both promptly forgotten to keep learning even the most basic things about each other.

  Not the way a relationship was supposed to go.

  Mark’s brow furrowed as another thought smacked him in the face. She’d said her job in Boston was supposed to earn her the love of her mother. That was why she’d worked such long hours?

  That put a whole different spin on many of their arguments.

  He’d always assumed the job more important than him. But maybe what had been more important was her winning her mother over. And though he had no similar experience to relate to, he couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t be the person he was if he hadn’t had the loving support of his mother.

  “You need to talk to your mom,” Mark said. His voice came out gruffer than he’d intended, but it didn’t seem to faze her.

  She nodded and the vulnerability he often saw in her increased tenfold. “I know. She’ll be disappointed that I’ve kept her waiting so long, as it is.”

  He couldn’t help it. He took the two steps to close the distance between them and wrapped her in his arms, breathing in her light fragrance as he did so. His lungs expanded with the sweet smell of her.

  As her arms closed around him, his life flashed before his eyes: he’d let one girl down a long time ago and was about to do the same to another now. Ruining Andie’s business wasn’t the same as what he’d done to Tiffany — thank goodness — but it did make him wonder what kind of future lay before him. Was he doomed to never have the family he longed for because he couldn’t protect the women he loved?

  Was he doomed to always do nothing but harm?

  EPISODE SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Andie handed her car keys to the valet and paused, looking past the wide steps in front of her to the entrance of the historic Turtle Island Hotel. With its three sets of double doors spanning the entryway — all arched in a curve along the tops and with muted lights glowing through the glass panels — she was immediately transported back in time. The lighting, coming from inside and from under the awning, reminded her of the warm tones from old-timey kerosene lanterns. The building held the air of money, class, and 1900s turn-of-the-century style. It was glorious.

  And her mother was inside. Waiting for her.

  Andie started slowly up the stairs, dread pulling at her every step.

  Earlier that day, when she’d come downstairs at the house, she’d been embarrassed because she suspected Aunt Ginny would be fully aware of what she’d been doing upstairs with Mark. She’d been equally mortified at the thought t
hat her mother might guess, too. Not that there had been anything wrong with what she and Mark had been doing. They were both grown adults. They could do whatever they wanted.

  But still, in the same house as her mother and aunt? And in the middle of the afternoon?

  She blushed merely thinking about it.

  But she’d been worried for nothing. When she’d returned to the living room, neither her mother nor her aunt had been anywhere to be found. The gift bags and assorted paraphernalia to assemble them had disappeared from the room, and the house had been totally silent. The only indication that anything was amiss had been the note Andie had found pinned under a bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter:

  Andie, I’m at the hotel. I have reservations for a late dinner at 8:00. Please join me.

  It hadn’t been signed, but then, it didn’t need to be. The message was in her mother’s precise handwriting, with her typical short-and-to-the-point style. After twenty-nine years of her mother’s abrupt mannerisms, Andie would recognize it anywhere.

  Having several hours between finding the note and the time she was summoned to arrive for dinner, she’d decided to spend the time working at the bar. Instead of going back upstairs to Mark’s bed.

  Because OHMYGOD, she couldn’t believe she’d just done that!

  And that she wanted to do it again. And again.

  And again.

  But as she’d made clear, what was the point? He would be leaving after he talked to Rob the next day, and she would go into cleanup mode — while also trying to figure out how to save Aunt Ginny’s house. There were two weeks left in the month, and she would not go down without a fight. Even if that meant doing something as drastic as selling the bar to make the loan payment.

  “Ma’am.” The doorman tipped his head as Andie approached, opening the overlarge door for her. She glanced up immediately upon entering and took in the ceiling covered in original artwork. The island historic foundation had helped fund a project a couple years earlier to restore the rice-paper artwork on the ceiling. It had taken most of the year, but what had been cracked and showing its age now looked as good as new. There was little chance of further damage happening anytime soon.

  Andie lowered her gaze to admire the gleaming wood paneling that reached up along the walls and columns throughout the space, as well as the plush gold-and-burgundy rugs covering the floor. Everything shone to a bright polish and signaled quiet dignity. If she hadn’t gone into business with Aunt Ginny, she might have considered applying for a job here. She liked being in this space.

  With a smile for the familiar faces she passed, she headed through the room. The concierge and staff knew her well, as Seaglass held regular events on the grounds.

  She turned right down the hall to the main dining room, her heels clicking as she moved into an area with no rugs. She glanced down at the sleeveless pearl-colored dress that just brushed the tops of her knees and the modest pumps she’d changed into before coming over, making sure everything was as it should be. The restaurant wasn’t formal, but it was as close to sophisticated as they got on the island.

  “Good evening, Ms. Shayne.” The willowy host gave her a slight nod as Andie stepped up to the lectern. “Table for one tonight?”

  “No, I’m …” Andie did a quick scan of the area, hoping to find her mother without having to go into detail. Cassie looked enough like Ginny that those who knew her aunt might put two and two together, and Andie wasn’t in the mood to answer questions. “There,” she said, forcing a smile. She made a quick motion with her hand. “I see my dining companion has already arrived, Lydia. Thanks. I can seat myself.”

  “Of course.” Lydia nodded in acknowledgment, then greeted the guests who’d come up behind Andie.

  Attempting not to draw attention to herself, Andie slid quietly into the room, face forward, and didn’t stop until she got to her mother’s table. She caught herself picking at the seams on the sides of her dress and silently admonished herself to stop. Nerves had her throat sticky, as if she’d spent the last week in the desert with barely enough water to survive.

  “Andie.” Her mother looked up, greeting her with a slight uplift of her lips, and Andie was momentarily taken aback. Her mother had aged. A lot. There were lines around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there before — and that not only made her look older than her sixty-six years but also made her seem sad.

  There appeared to be a loss of elasticity to her skin — and the texture of her neck had a scratchy look about it. The green of her eyes was downright dull.

  Andie hadn’t noticed any of that at the house. Probably because she’d barely glanced her mother’s way as she’d run from the room.

  The signs of aging made Andie feel uneasy. She’d always thought of her mother as a strong, nothing-can-bring-me-down kind of woman.

  Murmuring a soft hello, Andie settled into the empty seat across from her mother. She swept her gaze over her mother’s dress, noting that she’d changed as well. Gone was the businesswoman Andie had always known. Tonight her mother wore a dark green sheath, accessorized with a strand of pearls that wrapped around her neck and then dipped low over her chest.

  The material of the dress shimmered in a way that made Andie think of a 1920s flapper style. There was no fringe, but the pattern hinted at it in a way that left her feeling as if the designer had very much wanted there to be fringe. The dress was gorgeous. And fun.

  And not like her mother at all.

  “You look lovely, Mom,” Andie said. She reached over and gave her mother’s hand a squeeze, and the tension from her mother’s face eased. Andie suddenly felt bad for having deserted her all afternoon. “Sorry about running out at the house earlier. I … uh …”

  “You were clearly upset, dear,” her mom tacked on. “It seemed I’d come in on a big conversation.”

  Andie nodded and picked up the wine list, focusing on it instead of her mother. “You could say that,” she muttered.

  She bit the corner of her bottom lip to keep from asking her mother just what she’d overheard, and pointed out a German wine to their server. It was a favorite of hers. She turned back to her mother, who sat with a half-filled martini already in front of her. She’d obviously come down to the dining room a bit early.

  Andie should have asked Mark how long the two of them had stood outside the living room, listening to her and Ginny’s conversation, so she’d have some idea what her mother might have overheard. Instead she’d …

  She blushed again. She’d done other things with Mark.

  “So,” her mother began. She cleared her throat. “You’re about to lose the house? Did I understand that correctly?”

  Perfect. Why not start with her biggest failure and work backward. Because even with the whole stood-up-at-the-altar thing, losing her aunt’s house would definitely be her grand “accomplishment.”

  “There’s a potential issue, yes,” Andie said. She fiddled with the stemware on the table. “But nothing for you to worry about, Mom. Why don’t you tell me instead why you’re here? I’m sure Aunt Ginny was excited for you to visit.”

  If her mother could get right to the point, so could she. Cassie had never visited Ginny on the island — at least as far as Andie knew — so this was a momentous occasion. And the look on Ginny’s face as Andie had headed upstairs … had not been one of excitement.

  Which led Andie to wonder what the deal was between her aunt and mother. She’d always just assumed that Cassie didn’t have time for Ginny, just as she didn’t have time for her, but the look on her aunt’s face had indicated there was more to the story.

  A shadow passed briefly through her mother’s eyes, and she once again looked older than her years. The look disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived, and her mother put another smile on her face. This one was fake.

  “Your aunt wouldn’t tell me what’s going on, either. Not that I’m surprised. But if the house is at risk” — her mother paused, took a sip of her martini, shrugged one slim shoul
der — “I’ll be glad to help.”

  The waiter arrived just as Andie was gaping like a schoolgirl. I’ll be glad to help were the last words she’d ever expected to come from her mother’s mouth. I’m not surprised. … What else is new? … Or: It was only a matter of time. Any of those sentences wouldn’t have surprised her.

  Her mother had loved her throughout the years, Andie had no doubt. In her own, tough-love kind of way. But she’d never been one to bend over backward to help, or to be more involved than the bare minimum required to make the reluctant, expected appearance.

  The waiter mutely set the glass of wine Andie had ordered on the table and retreated without taking their dinner orders, obviously understanding that they were in the midst of an intense conversation and he needed to get lost.

  “You’ll be ‘glad to help’?” Andie asked when they were once again alone. She twisted her hands together in her lap. “What does that mean exactly?”

  Another quick shoulder shrug from her mother. “I assume the problem is about money. Most things are. Therefore, I mean exactly what I said. I’ll be glad to help. If you need money, let me know how much.”

  She was the second person who’d offered Andie money that day. And for the second time, Andie wanted to jump at the chance. But where did that leave her? She wouldn’t have solved anything. She wouldn’t have fixed anything.

  She would still be the screwup. Only this time, she’d be screwing up and relying on someone else to dig her out of the mess she’d made.

  She’d rather just fail.

  But then, they were talking about Aunt Ginny’s house. She couldn’t let her own pride stand in the way until she lost it. Once more, the idea of selling the bar floated through her mind.

  She loved the place. Loved the relaxed atmosphere, the people — both the ones who hung out there and the ones who worked there. And she loved the ability to disappear from her other responsibilities for an afternoon and have no more worries than what drink to fix or what order to place. But if selling the bar meant saving Ginny’s house, then she would do it.