by Amy Olle
Isobel, seventeen and pregnant, the daughter of a Puerto Rican father and Mexican mother, and Sophie, an obese fifteen-year-old being raised by her grandparents, had been best friends ever since. Kindred spirits who knew how it felt to be considered different.
Unfortunately, Amber had been right, and Liam Wright asking Sophie Evans to the homecoming dance hadn’t been a sincere invitation at all, but rather, was part of a cruel high school prank. Since that day, Isobel’s sweet friend hadn’t fallen for or even dated another guy, no matter that she’d lost a hundred pounds and more closely resembled a curvier Marilyn Monroe than that shy, overweight teenager.
Now Sophie pondered Isobel with a thoughtful frown. “You know, maybe you just need to try something different.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe all this time you’ve been eating chicken when really you’re a steak girl.”
A snort escaped Celeste.
“You’re right,” Sophie said. “Shea’s probably the steak. Maybe you’re a vegetarian.”
Isobel frowned at her friend, more than a little confused. “You think I’m a lesbian?”
“Okay, forget the metaphor.” Sophie’s hand sliced through the air. “What I’m trying to say is maybe you should go out with some other guys. Play the field a little bit. See what’s out there and what’s not. Then you’ll know if it’s really the end for you and Shea, or if he’s truly the only man for you.”
“Who would I date?”
One of Sophie’s eyebrows climbed skyward. “I heard you went to dinner with Cooper Spence.”
“It wasn’t a date,” Isobel said reflexively. “Besides, there’s no chemistry there. None. Zero. Zip.”
The women fell silent while they considered the handful of single men living on the small island.
Sophie brightened. “What about an online dating service?”
Isobel wrinkled her nose. “Aren’t those places full of lonely, bitter divorcées?”
Sophie blinked at her, and with the slow thickness of poured molasses, Isobel realized she’d just described herself.
The bell above the door chimed and Isobel jolted when her sister, Ava, burst into the store.
“OMG. Everyone is talking about last night. You gotta tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Isobel lied. “Nothing happened.”
A sly smile pulled at the corners of Ava’s wide mouth. “That’s not what I heard.”
“What did you hear?” Sophie held out the last coffee cup to Ava.
Isobel gasped.
“What?” Sophie lifted her small shoulders. “We should know what they’re saying, even if it’s a complete fabrication and, more likely than not, mean-spirited in nature.”
“Who cares what they’re saying?” Isobel stepped over to the bridal veils and started straightening the display.
“Trust me, as someone who’s been the subject of more gossip than anyone else in the history of gossip, it’s better to know than to be blindsided.”
Ava danced with impatience. “Come on, Iz, spill it.”
“There is nothing to spill.”
Sophie leaned close to Ava. “Whaddya hear?”
Ava’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial tone. “Shea beat up Cooper Spence when he caught Isobel making out with him.”
“That is not true!”
“No?” Ava sipped her coffee. “Then why don’t you tell us what really happened?”
“Cooper and I were having a business meeting, discussing business, when we bumped into Shea. That’s it.”
“A business meeting, huh?” Sophie tried to hide her smirk behind her coffee cup. “I wonder what Shea thought of that.”
“Nothing. He didn’t think anything.” Isobel fussed with a tangled mass of tulle and gossamer fabrics.
“Is that why he threw you over his shoulder and carried you out of Carter’s?”
Isobel’s arms dropped heavily. “Oh, for the love…”
“Tell me that’s what really happened.” Sophie clasped her hands in front of her. “I need this story to be true.”
“It’s not true,” Isobel bit out.
“Which part is untrue?” Sophie asked. “Be specific.”
“He did not throw me over his shoulder. I doubt he could.”
“I don’t,” Sophie muttered. “Have you seen his butt?”
A sound like a gasp but with entirely too much laughter erupted from Ava. “You’re bad.”
“I can’t control it. I’m sexually repressed.” She turned wide green eyes on Isobel. “Then what happened?”
“Nothing. Can we please talk about something else?”
“They kissed,” Ava whispered.
Sophie propped her elbow on the counter and rested her chin in her palm. “They did? Was it a nice kiss, or like an angry, possessive kind of thing?”
“I’m guessing the latter.”
“Me, too.” Sophie’s dreamy sigh pulled a reluctant laugh from Isobel.
“Would you two please stop?”
“I bet there was tongue.”
Ava nodded. “For sure.”
“Fine.” The word shot from Isobel and both women turned huge round eyes on her. “You win. Yes, Shea ruined my business meeting with Cooper. Yes, he was angry, and yes, he kissed me.” Her skin prickled with the memory of his hot mouth on her lips, her neck, her breasts. She made a small gesture toward Sophie. “The way you described it.”
Sophie smacked the counter with her palm. “I knew it.”
“But we are not getting back together.” The words snagged in Isobel’s throat. “We’re just not.”
In the silence that followed her statement, a tangle of ugly, unbearable emotion swamped her. Because she didn’t know how to fix what was wrong with her marriage, she’d let them all down—her friends and family, Shea’s brothers and her new sisters-in-law. Most of all, her children and Shea.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Iz,” Ava said quietly. “We know you guys have been trying. We’re just rooting for you, that’s all.”
“Of course we are. I mean, the man’s hair turned gray for you.”
Isobel frowned at her friend. “What are you talking about?”
“His hair was dark until you guys split up,” Sophie said. “The color changed when his heart broke.”
Isobel pretended immense interest in the veils. “That’d be a romantic story if it were true.”
How could she have broken his heart? She didn’t leave him—he left her.
Sophie heaved a weary sigh into the air. “But if you don’t love him anymore, you can’t stay married to him.”
“It’s not that.” Isobel’s quick denial drew three pairs of knowing eyes to her face. “It doesn’t matter what I feel. Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
And because she loved Shea, she couldn’t let their sham of a marriage drag on another two, ten, eighteen years. Their kids deserved better. They deserved better. He would never end it—his pride wouldn’t let him. Which meant she had to be the one to do it. For once, she had to be the strong one in their relationship.
“That’s why I’ve contacted Miles Sinclair.”
At mention of the island’s lone divorce attorney, a sneer curled Celeste’s thin lips and Sophie made a hasty sign of the cross.
Ever the peacekeeper, Ava jumped in. “Let’s talk about something fun.”
“Good idea,” Sophie said. “Whatcha got?”
“I want to throw Finn a birthday party.”
Isobel suppressed a groan. Though she was only thirty-five years old herself, her baby was turning eighteen next month. Combine that with the end of her marriage, and a party was just about the last thing Isobel wanted.
But the absolute last thing she wanted was to disappoint either Ava or Finn. “He might like that.”
“It’ll be fun,” Ava stated. Then she lifted her coffee to her lips and her next words were muffled behind the cardboard cup. “I’m thinking I mi
ght invite Dad.”
Pain slashed at Isobel’s heart, sharp and stinging.
“When’s the last time you talked to him?” Ava asked gently.
“Not since he kicked me out.” Isobel despised the bitterness in her voice.
“That was, what, sixteen years ago?”
“Eighteen.”
“You haven’t talked to him in eighteen years?” Disapproval darkened Ava’s expression. “Isobel, he’s our dad.”
So what? Isobel wanted to shout. I’m his daughter and he kicked me out. The angry words built in her throat, but she swallowed them down with a ruthless gulp.
“You should call him.” Ava elbowed Sophie in the ribs. “Tell her she should call him.”
Sophie reared back. “Oh no, sorry. I’m not her tough-love friend. I’m the friend who enables her in everything she wants to do. Good choices, bad choices. Whatever she wants is fine by me.”
Isobel offered her friend a warm smile. “That’s one more reason why I love you.”
“It’s not about tough love,” Ava argued. “He’s our dad.”
“And he disowned me,” Isobel snapped.
Her sister was poking at an old wound, one that might have healed over with scar tissue but would forever nag and ache. Isobel tried not to take Ava’s words personally. She meant well, but she’d been only eight or nine years old when their mom died and their dad threw Isobel out of their home. She simply didn’t understand all that had happened back then.
“You know how he is.” Ava waved her hand with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “He was upset.”
“You think I wasn’t upset?” Isobel gaped at her sister. “I was seventeen and pregnant with no money and nowhere to go.”
“I’m sorry.” Ava’s blue-gray eyes filled with misery. “I’m not trying to make you mad. I just… I just think it’s sad, that’s all.”
Isobel’s heart gave a violent lurch. “On that we can agree.”
Just then, movement through the storefront window captured Isobel’s attention. A man strode down the sidewalk, the morning sun picking out the golden threads in his brown hair.
Her heart spasmed in her chest to see Miles Sinclair arriving at his law office across the street, but she steeled herself against the painful wrenches.
“Celeste, I’m going to take a quick break,” Isobel said as she moved toward the door.
This was it. This was the last heartbreak she must suffer before things would start to look up for her.
Wouldn’t they?
She gave herself a mental shake and pushed away the doubt.
Of course they would. How could they not?
Chapter Four
Shea woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding and his cock throbbing. Aching for his wife.
An image of her lush breasts locked in his mind from four nights ago, when the ring he’d scraped every last penny together to be able to buy her, and the symbol of his undying love, played peek-a-boo with her tantalizing cleavage.
“It’s too late for us.”
With the memory of her words, a fresh agony sliced him. He was going to lose her.
Terror had him stumbling from the bed. His feet tangled in the sheets, but he kicked free of them and would’ve landed cleanly had the floor not dipped beneath him. On a groan, he rolled to his back, recalling too late that he’d slept on his boat, which was docked in the island’s small marina.
He dropped his head on the floor with a soft thud and stared up at the cabin’s low ceiling. Most days began this way, with him erupting from sleep in a panic, disoriented and disturbed to find that he wasn’t at home with his family, in his own bed. With his wife.
Without her, he was lost.
Before Isobel, life had been hard. Hard and ugly. Everything about her was soft and pretty. Soft eyes, soft heart, soft breasts and hips and thighs.
Twenty some years ago, he’d crossed an ocean to come to this strange, foreign land after a hellish year filled with unbearable loss and upheaval. He’d been sleepwalking through his days, as if his soul lived outside his body, observing each new disaster that came into their lives with an anguished sort of detachment.
Then there she was. Kind and pretty, with exotic coloring and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. The first time he saw her, she was standing at the end of the pier watching as a storm gathered and built offshore. Back then, she didn’t fear the wild seas.
They were only kids then, but he knew he’d never be able to let her go. She was his, a gift from the universe that’d taken everything from him. She was his consolation. His reward for being dealt a shitty hand.
His.
He climbed to his feet and staggered to the boat’s cramped bathroom. Angling his shoulders, he ducked his head and squeezed through the narrow doorway. In the shower, the weak water pressure and tepid spray pulled a string of curses from him.
When he’d moved out of the house two years ago, his dad had recently passed, and because Shea had nowhere else to go, he’d crashed at the old place on Bridge Street. It was supposed to be a temporary landing spot, but he’d stayed a year while he cleaned up the legal and physical mess his dad left behind and made repairs to the ramshackle old structure.
When the house sold last summer, he was homeless again, so he started another renovation, this time of the loft above the pub. The abandoned storage space had needed a ton of work, and Shea alternated between sleeping in his office and on his boat while he completed the overhaul. Neither place made a great home for Connor and Maisie, but to them, it was an adventure they went on every two to three days for a few nights.
Mercifully, they didn’t ask why he wasn’t sleeping at home, and they seemed to accept that every dad lived at Grandpa’s house while he fixed it up and slept on his boat when the weather turned nice.
Last month he’d completed the loft renovation. The roomy space was cleaned out, and heat and electricity had been installed. All he had left to do was pack his truck with his belongings and haul it over there.
Yet he hadn’t. Even though winter approached and his days of being able to sleep on the boat were numbered, he procrastinated. Something he’d never done before in his life. It was an odd sensation, filled with doubt and indecision. Two more things he hadn’t bothered with up to that point.
Flipping open the cap on the new bottle of shampoo he’d picked up at the store, he inhaled deeply.
Damn. Still not the right one.
He wanted the shampoo that smelled like her, like them, because apparently everything in his life circled back to her. Even his fucking shampoo.
Which was the real reason he hadn’t moved. The fact was he couldn’t bring himself to give up his temporary sleeping quarters for something permanent. Something final. He couldn’t accept living someplace without her. She was his home, and he’d not have another.
After he’d showered and shaved, he pulled on a pair of well-worn blue jeans and a black henley with the green Lucky’s logo on the left breast. Then he made the ten-minute drive from the marina to the pub downtown.
The summer tourist season had begun to die down, and in the annual migration back to the mainland, Shea lost two bartenders inside a week when they returned to campus for fall semester. But despite the day on the calendar, the weather remained warm and patrons packed into the bar at lunchtime to refuel with food and drink before wandering back to the public beach or out on their boats.
When the crowd finally thinned out, Heather, his newly promoted manager, stuck her head into the kitchen where Shea had jumped in to help with the rush.
“You mind watching the bar while I do this interview?”
He wiped his hands on a towel. “For the bartender position?”
“Yep. He’s out front if you want to meet him. I set his résumé down somewhere…” Her voice trailed off as she disappeared behind the door.
Shea pulled the white apron over his head and dropped it on the hook by the door as he passed.
In the dining room, Heather g
reeted a trio of woman that had entered the pub and seated them at a table near the front window. Then she ducked behind the bar to fill their drink orders.
“You want me to get those?” Shea asked. “Or I can do the interview.”
“Will you do the interview, please?” She shot him a rueful smile. “I hate doing them.”
“No problem. Where is he?”
She waved in the direction of the booths along the far wall. “I’ll bring his résumé over when I find it.”
“Thanks.” Shea took aim at the booth. “You remember his name?”
“Adam… something or other.”
When Shea approached the booth, the dark-haired man looked up from his cell phone. Surprise crowded his expression.
“Adam? Thanks for coming in.” Shea stuck out his hand.
Adam stared at it for a moment, then reached out slowly and accepted the handshake. “Uh, thanks?”
“I’m Shea. The owner here.”
The color drained from Adam’s face. “You’re Shea? Shea Nolan?”
“That’s right. And you’re Adam…?”
“It’s, uh, Aiden.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” Shea slid into the booth across from Aiden. “We’ve misplaced your résumé.”
“My résumé?”
“You’re here for the bartender position?” Straightening, Shea glanced at the nearby booths. “Or maybe I got the wrong table?”
“No.” The word shot from Aiden. “I mean, yes. I’m here for the job. Of course I am. Why else would I be here?”
At the odd response, Shea’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m new here. To the island. Just moved,” Aiden said. “I’d heard your name mentioned around, but I pictured someone a little more…”
One of Shea’s eyebrows crept skyward.
A rusty laugh knocked loose in Aiden’s chest. “I don’t know what I pictured. Someone different, I guess. Your accent, is it English?”
“English?” Shea’s tone dripped with disgust. “Now you don’t come into my bar insulting me like that. I’m Irish, and don’t ye go forgettin’ it.”
