by Amy Olle
“You do?” Surprise tinted her tone. “Where?”
“Get dressed. I’ll show you.”
When she asked him to wait while she did her hair and makeup, he flatly refused. “You don’t need all that. You’re gorgeous. Get in the car.”
Protests fell from her lips as he crossed to the door.
“You’ve got two minutes.” He stepped into the hall, easing the closed behind him until only a small crack remained. “And… go.”
The door shut with a soft click.
She stripped out of her pajamas, tugged on a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt, and yanked a brush through her tangled hair. Then she scampered down the hall and out the back door to his truck parked in the driveway where he sat behind the wheel with the engine idling.
She collapsed in the passenger’s seat, breathless.
“Six minutes.” With a quiet tsking sound, he engaged the clutch and the vehicle lurched backwards down the drive.
“Wait.” She reached for the door latch. “I forgot to tell Finn we’re leaving.”
“I told him.”
They descended the winding hillside road and at the bottom, turned toward downtown. Curiosity at where they were going couldn’t compete with the pull of his pleasant profile and her gaze kept sliding away from the views through her window and back to him.
The deeper they journeyed into the dark, the more her awareness of him intensified. She noticed the way his broad shoulders filled the seat and his large hands cradled the steering wheel. She used to love watching him when he didn’t know she looked on.
On Main Street, he parked in front of the pub. As she slipped from the cab, warmth from the sun’s recently dimmed light still radiated off the pavement.
She pushed the car door shut. “What are we doing here?”
On the sidewalk, Shea pointed up, toward the top of the old brick-and-mortar building. “I want you to see the loft.”
She scrunched her nose, recalling the last time she was in the space. “It’s a little dirty, and I need something climate-controlled.”
“I cleaned it out.” He tipped his head in the direction of the building. “Come have a look. If it won’t work for you, then we’ll think of something else.”
Between the pub entrance and the alley, a small nook led to a dark, narrow staircase. She followed him up it, and at the top, he fumbled with the door’s lock before pushing open the heavy barrier. His wide shoulders blocked her view when she stepped into the room behind him.
Inky blackness engulfed her a moment before soft light flooded the sweeping loft space. She blinked as her eyes adjusted.
Shock flew through her. Rendered mute, she stared openmouthed.
“This is big enough, isn’t it?”
Dazedly, she nodded. The clutter had been cleared out, the dirt and grime scrubbed from every crack and crevice. He’d refinished the wide-plank hardwood flooring and left the brick walls exposed. The wall overlooking Main Street boasted a row of oversized floor-to-ceiling windows, and in the lighting and woodwork, he’d preserved a number of details characteristic to the building’s turn-of-the-century charm.
“The windows will let in a ton of daylight.” He strode deeper into the space. “But we’ll need to add more lighting for you to work at night. I think I have some work lights around here somewhere…” He twisted at the waist, searching the spacious loft.
“I thought this was storage.” Her gaze devoured the clean, revitalized room. “When did you do all this?”
“I renovated this spring.” Crouched before a box by the far window, he stole a glance at her face. “I was planning to move in before winter hit.”
“You’re going to live here?” A punch of distress jabbed her beneath the breastbone. “Like, permanently?”
The unspoken answer to her question glowed like embers in his vivid eyes.
He hadn’t lived with her for almost two years. Why did it make her so sad to think of him in his own place?
She sucked in a shuddering breath. “I can’t take your home.”
He stood, dragging with him a noisy tangle of wire and work lights from the box. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got my sights set on another bed.”
His teasing tone loosened some of the tightness in her chest. Crossing to him, she filched the other strand of lights from the box and set to work unraveling them.
“You should put your sewing machine there.” He pointed to the front of the room near the windows. “We can hang the lights from the rafters.”
In her mind, she arranged her cutting table and her storage caddies filled with her sewing supplies underneath the rafters. Then she positioned her dress forms where they’d catch the most daylight while she worked.
Suddenly, anything seemed possible. Buoyant optimism expanded in her chest.
“It’s perfect.” Emotion softened her voice. “Thank you.”
His gaze wouldn’t release hers. “You’re welcome.”
A sudden thought pulled a frown from her. “Why are you doing so much to help me?”
One corner of his sensuous mouth tilted upward. “I like kissing you.”
His infectious grin coaxed a laugh from her. “You haven’t kissed me today.”
“You sound disappointed.”
She was, a fact which sent a shiver of alarm chasing up her spine. So she enjoyed kissing him. So what? It didn’t mean anything, other than she’d obviously gone too long without kisses. Or sex.
“I’m letting the anticipation build.” Humor shimmered in his bright eyes. “That’s sexy, right?”
The memory of him moving over her, in her, curled through her as a warm tension.
She ignored it and shrugged one shoulder. “Meh.”
His gravelly chuckle told her he wasn’t buying the lie.
Ducking her chin to hide her smile, she worked a knot in the wire. Muffled sounds filtered up to them from the pub downstairs.
“You helped me,” he said quietly.
Her eyes flew to his face.
“You helped me with my business, even though you were pissed at me and not exactly on board with my decisions.”
“The decisions you made without me.”
“That’s what I meant by you being pissed off. Rightfully so.” He used the full force of his intense gaze on her. “I was wrong to do that, and still, you supported me.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s not true.” He draped his light strand over the sides of the box and moved toward the back of the room. “When I showed you the blueprints, you suggested I flip things around. I had the kitchen on the wrong side of the building, and the bar wasn’t laid out right.”
“I was just feeling argumentative,” she admitted.
His mouth quirked when he gripped the stepladder propped against the exposed brick wall. He shot her a look as he carried it to the darkest corner of the room. “You saved us a ton of money.”
“I might’ve been mad at you, but I had no desire to go broke.”
“You fixed the interior design, too, remember?” With a scraping sound, he unfolded the stepladder and positioned it precisely beneath the rafters, then motioned for the lights in her hand. “And when you were done, it looked like an authentic Irish pub and not just a hangout for drunks. There’s no way I could’ve done that without you.”
A strange and unexpected pleasure warmed her cheeks.
“Don’t forget the menu.” He was in lawyer mode, building to his closing argument as he climbed to the ladder’s top rung. “People actually come out to the island to eat our food and enjoy the atmosphere, all because of you. Because you helped me make the pub a success. It’s only right that I help you now, in any way I can.”
“Okay, first of all, you’re giving me way too much credit.” At his feet, she held the lights up to him. “It’s not the food that draws people, it’s you. It’s the live music and the way you treat people. Your accent and good looks don’t hurt either.”
“I do know how to
pick tasty beers.”
Reaching up, he wound the lights through the rafters, and when he stretched to the furthermost point, the tail of his T-shirt lifted and exposed the skin of his muscled abdomen.
“That you do,” she muttered distractedly.
She retrieved the second strand of work lights for him and he threaded them around the beams, then he bounded down off the ladder and returned to the storage box. Crouching, he rummaged through the contents a moment before he straightened, a bright yellow extension cord in hand.
His deft fingers worked to loosen the coiled cable. “I wish your mom were here to enjoy this with you.”
Isobel stiffened. Though she thought of her mom often, she and Shea hadn’t talked about her in years. Before she knew about things like divorce, her mom’s death had been the most painful experience of her life and losing her as she did, with the suddenness of a storm kicking up off the lake, had only compounded her heartbreak. There’d been no illness or diagnosis to prepare her for the coming storm. No time to say her goodbyes. No chance to make her apologies. No quiet moments where she might’ve asked her mom all those questions she’d never thought to ask before and now wished desperately to know.
She could feel Shea’s eyes on her, soft but probing. As much as it hurt to remember, she found herself eager to talk about her mom.
“Sometimes, I wonder how different my life would be if she hadn’t died.”
His gaze sharpened on her face. “What do you mean?”
“Would we have…?” Her throat closed around the words. “I wonder, would we have married so young?”
“I was going to marry you one way or another. Then, a year or ten later, it didn’t matter. You were going to be my wife.”
The edge in his voice sent a silky shiver chasing through her.
“When we moved back to the island, Celeste was the only one who would give me a job. She and my mom were friends, and I think she thought I could sew, too.” A rueful smile worked its way to her lips. “Boy, was she wrong.”
Some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “She must’ve figured it out quick.”
“Lucky for me, there was another seamstress, but the poor woman suffered from arthritis. She’d stand over me and tell me exactly what to do—how to make each stitch and even how to hold the fabric. If she didn’t like what I’d done, she’d make me rip it out and do it again.” A light laugh bubbled up with the memory. “It was awful and intimidating, but I loved the work. It reminded me of my mom.”
“That’s why you wanted to work at the store.”
She acknowledged the truth with a nod. “Though it’s true, Celeste really was the only one who would hire me, but even if I hadn’t been a high school dropout and seven months pregnant at the time, it was the only place I wanted to work. I wanted to learn how to do alterations and make pretty dresses because, I don’t know, I guess it made me feel closer to my mom somehow.”
“I had no idea.” He seemed to recall the extension cord in his hands then.
“Because I never told you.”
Slowly, his eyes found hers once more.
Her head tipped to one side and she studied him with a frown. “I don’t know why I never told you.”
“I wish you had,” he said, his voice taut with pain.
“I think—” Heat rushed into her face. “I was jealous.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
She witnessed the moment he realized she wasn’t joking. A terrible torment distorted his features, and the words started to fall from her lips.
“You got a full-ride scholarship to college. You were the star quarterback. You breezed through law school and passed the bar on your first try. When you got bored with that, you bought a crappy, rundown bar and within a year it’s making a profit and you’re a hero to the entire island for turning the economy around. Everything you touch turns to gold.”
He stared, speechless.
“You’ve done so much, while I”—her hand moved uselessly through the air—“haven’t done much at all.”
“You’ve done plenty.”
She sliced him with a look.
“You’ve done so much for the kids, for me, for my brothers.” He blinked at her. “For everyone… else.”
A heavy silence fell between them.
“I didn’t know you wanted more.” Grief clung to him.
“I didn’t want more. I wanted to be a wife—your wife—and I loved being a mother.” Her voice and hands shook. “I just wanted different. I wanted to be creative, too.”
“Did you think I would’ve tried to stop you?”
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders lifted. “Maybe?”
He dropped his head.
“I guess I should’ve asked you,” she whispered.
When his head came up, his eyes glittered with pain even as the tension in his body melted away. “Yeah, me, too.”
He stared down at the yellow wire his hands while his fingers toyed distractedly with the rubber sheathing. Then, with a nearly imperceptible shake, he cast off his melancholy.
“You accomplished something else while you were taking care of the rest of us. You honed your talent.” With a hard tug, he unraveled the extension cord. “And now it’s your turn.”
“My turn for what?” She twisted around when he strode by her.
He scaled to the top of the stepladder and, stretching, connected the light strand with one end of the extension cord. “To find gold.”
Climbing down off the ladder, he scooped up the other end of the extension cord.
“When this magazine feature is published and you become an overnight sensation, you’ll have all the different you can handle.” He crossed to the wall outlet and bent to insert the plug into the socket.
The lights winked on and she squinted into their soft glare. “It won’t be like that.”
He straightened. “Do you know that for sure?”
“Well, no.”
“Then you should have plan.”
“I should?”
“Picture all the success you could ever want, and then tell me, what does it look like?”
She tried to imagine it, but the critical voice inside her head distorted and dissolved the vision.
“Will you keep making dresses out of the bedroom? Will you start your own company, hire your own staff? Maybe you’ll move to New York City and work for a big-time designer?” With a sheepish smile, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans. “I have no idea how the fashion industry works, so you tell me. If you get everything you could want out of this opportunity, where will you be this time next year?”
She scrunched her nose. “Not in New York City. I want to design and make dresses… at my own store.”
“If not in New York, where will this store be?”
His smile was contagious and she bit down on her bottom lip. “Here.”
“You want to stay on the island?” His voice held a hint of pleasure.
“One day, when Celeste retires, I’d love to buy the store from her. Maybe. If the circumstances are right.” Her smile broke loose then. “That’s it. That’s the dream.”
“That’s a great dream.”
Her heart expanded with happiness, and not all of it due to talk of her dreams. Somehow, even after all the hurt and anger, his approval still mattered to her.
Their gazes collided, and a thread of awareness passed between them.
His raspy voice caused her stomach to flip over when he said, “We should probably get home.”
A chorus of summer sounds greeted them when they stepped outdoors. Darkness had descended, so she didn’t at first notice the man climbing into the car parked beside Shea’s truck.
When she looked up, into the man’s face, she recoiled. Her heart dropped to her stomach while she stared at her dad. Lines now etched his face, and strands of gray intermingled with the light brown color of his hair.
Her dad’s gaze darted away from her and over to S
hea. Then his head jerked with his nod of acknowledgment.
His acknowledgment of Shea.
Shea’s gruff voice reached through the dark. “Good evening, Thomas.”
At the causal greeting, she sucked in a sharp hiss of air and her head snapped around. No, not casual. Shea’s tone was familiar. As if he and her dad were friendly. As if they talked often.
“Good to see you.” At her dad’s grumbled reply, her head whipped back around.
Her dad tossed an impersonal glance her way, a glance any stranger might’ve imparted, before he slipped inside his vehicle and hauled the car door shut. Without speaking a word to her.
Not one word.
Her chest squeezed unbearably tight a as he backed his car out onto the quiet street and drove off into the dark night.
Her dad hadn’t spoken to her in eighteen years. For eighteen years his rejection had sliced and wounded, leaving behind big blistering welts of doubt and fear, of self and love.
Not one stupid word.
The car’s red taillights grew dim while a chaotic tangle of awful emotions assaulted her. Pain and panic and rage writhed and wriggled inside her until her stomach churned with nausea.
Slowly, agonizingly, she turned to her husband. “He talked to you. You talked to him.”
The betrayal that slashed through her wrenched a sob from the back of her throat.
In a flash, he rounded the hood of the car and closed the distance between them. “Isobel—”
Her heart thundering in her ears, she stumbled back, holding out a hand to ward off his advance. “How could you?”
He watched her closely, his bright eyes glittering. “He came to me a couple of months ago. He asked for my help.”
“Your help with what?”
“He wants to see you.”
“He just saw me. He could hardly bring himself to look at me.”
“I—I don’t know what happened. Maybe he froze or something? Isobel, I don’t know but—”
“Did you agree to help him?”
“I did not.” His chest rose and fell with his rapid breathing. “I told him I was the last person who could help, and even if I could, I wasn’t sure I wanted him in your life again. Not after… the way I found you.”
She recoiled with his words. “You had no right to go behind my back.”
