by Toni Blake
Rather than say anything that could be construed as even remotely welcoming, however, she just stood back, clearing the path for him to come inside.
CHAPTER TWO
HER HEART HADN’T pounded in her chest this way for a very long time. She’d forgotten the feeling—and hadn’t missed it. But if anything was going to make her heart thump painfully against her ribcage, it would be Trent Fordham. Her first love. Her only love. Because she’d given up on finding it anywhere else in the ten lonely years since he’d left for the mainland one autumn never to return. Without even bothering to break off their engagement.
She didn’t exactly like shutting the door, closing them in here together, even if it was practical and necessary at the moment, because that fast, she felt cocooned with him. She loved her cozy cottage, but it certainly had a way of making you feel up close and personal with someone. She watched as he walked across the room, dripping on her hardwood and appearing equally as uncomfortable as she was.
She crossed the great room to the kitchen area, grabbed a dish towel from the counter and tossed it to him. “Again, what are you doing here?” Maybe she should be nicer after ten years, let bygones be bygones. Normally, she was nice to everyone she encountered. But she wasn’t sure Trent deserved her niceness.
He ran the small towel back through his drenched hair, then scrubbed it across his wet, slightly stubbled face. It didn’t do much to stop the dripping, though, since his T-shirt and blue jeans were sopping. At least this time he gave a better answer. “The house sold.” He pointed. It was less than a mile away, up the same winding street, on a ridge that afforded grand views of Lakes Michigan and Huron. “I’m here to handle the closing.”
She’d always wondered if the Fordhams still owned the place—aware that it sat empty year-round. “Good,” she said. “I’ll be glad to see someone get some use out of it. A shame to let it just sit there.”
He gave a short nod. “I agree. Until recently, I assumed my parents sold it long ago.”
She tipped her head back derisively, then switched her gaze out the wide kitchen window. “Hard to keep track of all the summer homes, I’m sure.” If there’d ever been any tension in their youthful relationship, it had sprung from him coming from a family with vacation homes, and boats, and trust funds—while she was just little ole Allie Hobbs, born and raised on Summer Island. Unlike most people here, she and her family didn’t go south for the winter. She’d always liked to think they came from hardier stock and didn’t need to flee a little ice and snow.
“There’s only the one,” he informed her about the vacation home, voice tense and low.
She just shrugged. It didn’t really matter. Then changed the subject—a little. “Your parents still in Charlevoix?” She’d never understood why anyone would buy a summerhouse only an hour and a half from their regular one—already situated in a picturesque lakeside town on Michigan’s lower peninsula—but she recalled it being relatively easy for Mr. Fordham to commute if his office needed him.
“No—they retired to Boca,” he said.
“Ah.” It reminded her that Mr. and Mrs. Fordham were older than her own parents, and Trent the youngest of three boys. Typical they would end up in Boca Raton, though, and that Trent was now one of those people who abbreviated the name—it was a rich people place and a rich people thing, and they were rich people.
“Then Dad passed—an aneurysm. And Mom died last fall. Kidney disease.”
Whoa—she flinched. He’d lost his parents? Both of them? They couldn’t have made it out of their sixties. And she’d just been thinking snide, judgmental thoughts about them. “Oh. God. I’m…sorry.”
Although he only shrugged, his eyes revealed a sadness he couldn’t hide. “Both deaths were unexpected—but I’m okay.” Then he changed the subject. “Your folks doing good?”
She nodded. Kept it at that. They still lived in the same house. Dad still ran the lighthouses. Mom still did the bookkeeping for Koester’s Market. Her sister, Andi, older by two years, had married and moved to the mainland, where she taught first grade at St. Simon Elementary and was hoping for a baby soon. But Allie didn’t feel like filling Trent in on the only notable new development in her family’s situation in ten years. And she didn’t want to feel bad for him about the losses in his.
She didn’t want to ask him anything about himself, either—but curiosity got the best of her before she could stop herself. “Did you…you know…do what you planned?”
“Go to law school, you mean? Yeah,” he said without waiting for her to answer. “I’m a defense attorney. I live in Chicago now.”
Why did that sting? Because he so clearly moved on from you, and this island, in every aspect. He lives farther away than before. He has an important career and a very different life. Whereas everything about you—other than this little house—is pretty much exactly the same as when he left. “That’s great,” she managed to choke out. Though she felt a little short of breath and wondered if her tension showed.
All of which made it a good time to change the subject to something much simpler, devoid of emotion. She drew in a deep breath to make sure her words came out sounding relaxed and normal. “Rent your bike from Jacob?”
He nodded. “Yep. Kind of a crappy bike, though.”
“Yeah.” She let out a small sigh. “He’s let the whole fleet fall apart. He needs to retire, but won’t. The Chamber of Commerce is concerned, what with it being the only bike rental on the island. Tourists need dependable bikes. Or something like this happens.”
If he noticed the annoyance in her voice, he didn’t let it show, moving on to, “I saw the knitting shop down in town. I’m guessing the place still belongs to you.”
She’d opened the Knitting Nook when she was twenty-one—right around the time Trent left her. “Yes, and business is good.”
“I’m glad for you, Allie.”
Why did that catch her off guard? Maybe because he was being cordial despite her being less than. Maybe because his simple but kind words sounded so much more sincere than hers probably had. And maybe it made her remember better times. Sweeter times. Her stomach churned. Because she’d spent ten years working to forget that—the good, sweet times, the reasons she’d fallen in love with him. Hating him had been easier—even if that mostly just felt like love and hurt mixed together. Why did he still have to be so horribly handsome?
“So,” he said, “you bought a house on the very same street as…”
My family’s house. He stopped without saying that part. And she felt as if she’d been caught at something. Time to correct any assumptions he might be making. “It was a steal. And I like the view out the big windows. And the peacefulness.” Peacefulness sounded a lot nicer than isolation—even if the isolation had been part of the draw. After Trent, she’d followed the urge to just retreat a little. From everything and everyone. She couldn’t retreat when at the shop, working, but at other times it felt like her own little impenetrable fortress. Or it had until a few minutes ago.
Of course, as he strolled to the wide kitchen window and peered out, she knew full well what he saw. The lighthouse. Was he remembering special times spent there with her? That day in the rain? Picnics on the pebbly shore beside it? The night he’d proposed to her up on the railing at dusk, the sky seeming to stretch forever above them in a blanket of deep dusty purple?
Or was he just thinking how pathetic it was that she’d bought a house overlooking it, believing she was still hanging on to something that had ended long ago?
Only the steady cadence of rain on her tin roof buffeted the silence lingering thick and heavy between them. When the roof had rusted and needed replacing, her father had urged her toward traditional shingles, but she’d insisted on more tin, liking the sound and how it added to that lovely sense of seclusion when it rained. Right now, though, it seemed like one more regrettable choice, adding to the sense that they
were the only two people on the island and the rest of the world was a million miles away.
When he finally turned toward her again, she waited for him to acknowledge the lighthouse, or expected to at least see some sort of accusation or judgment in his gaze. But if she witnessed anything there, it was perhaps…shared memories.
Instead of talking about it, however, he instead said, “I got married.”
The words stole her breath. You bastard. How dare you tell me that, like it’s nothing, like you weren’t supposed to marry me. As everything inside her tightened into a painful little ball, she fought to steel herself, then force out something to try to prove she didn’t care about their past any more than he did. “Congratulations.” She wished it had left her in a stronger way. But at least she got it out.
“Lasted a couple years and ended in divorce three summers ago. No kids.”
Oh, it’s over.
Part of her was elated, even if that seemed mean.
While another part of her still reeled over the whole notion that, divorced or not, he’d had a relationship that was deeper and longer and more real than the one he’d had with her. It made sense—ten years, after all—but it still pricked her heart and twisted her into a pretzel inside.
She wasn’t sure what to say, settling on another “Sorry.”
He moved right on to “You live here alone?”
The question irritated her—pointing out her singleness.
“Yes,” she answered shortly. Still trying to process that Trent was actually standing in her kitchen. And that it seemed unfair anyone should look this good drenched from a thunderstorm—his blue T-shirt molded to his clearly muscular chest. And that, this quickly, despite everything, she still suffered that same pull toward him as when they were young. Attraction, chemistry, and even a familiar affection. It made her mad at herself, mad that the response could still exist in her despite his abandonment.
“So you never married Josh?” he asked.
She blinked. “Josh?” Was he serious?
“Yeah, Josh.”
Why on earth would he ask such a preposterous question about her lifelong friend and business partner? Josh owned the coffee shop next to her knitting store and leased the Nook half of the building to her.
“I just figured you’d end up with him,” Trent said—and had the nerve to sound almost angry about it.
She could only roll her eyes, astonished. “Josh and I have always been good friends, but nothing more. You knew that.” And though some people didn’t believe platonic relationships really existed, she could assure anyone that they did. She loved Josh dearly, but had never felt one iota of romance or attraction to him—from the first grade right up until now. He was her buddy, the brother she’d never had.
At this, though, Trent only shrugged. Irritating her further.
So she told him, “Josh has been happily married for seven or eight years now and has two little girls. His wife is one of my closest friends. I was a bridesmaid in the wedding.”
At this, Trent squinted, actually looking a little surprised. Had he really thought…? Her and Josh? The very notion left her totally befuddled—as if she weren’t already befuddled enough by this whole situation.
And part of her just wanted to cut through all the small talk and forced niceties to ask: Why? Why, Trent? Why did you ask me to marry you, make me believe we’d be together forever, and then just leave without ever coming back? Why?
Yet she was too proud. Her mother had told her, back at the time, that maybe he just hadn’t taken it all as seriously as she had. “But it was a proposal, Mom!”
“Even so, Allie, some boys…they don’t know what they really want. It changes from day to day. Who can say what happened, but maybe it was just a summer fling for him, and maybe he was just too cowardly to tell you so. Or maybe whatever made him change his mind left him thinking you’d see things the same way.”
That had sounded crazy to her. And yet, it had been the only explanation anyone had ever rendered. That he’d been young and impulsive and irresponsible with her feelings. So she’d be damned if she was going to let him know now that he’d as good as destroyed her ten years ago and that she’d never found that kind of happiness with anyone else.
And if he’d really thought—for some unknown reason—that she’d end up with Josh, maybe that just spoke to her mother’s theory being right. Maybe during that summer when he’d been a twenty-one-year-old newly minted University of Michigan graduate, he’d just gotten caught up in the moments with her—the chemistry, the sex, the laughter and fun—yet in the end, she hadn’t been what he really wanted. For a few summers, maybe, but not for a lifetime. Maybe what she’d thought they’d shared wasn’t actually real.
Since she’d last spoken, he’d simply stood there, looking at her funny—she didn’t know why. She only knew it had sent all these thoughts and analyses racing through her head. Old thoughts, old analyses, that she’d never expected to come back up again. But here he was, dripping onto her hardwood and bringing them back up.
She’d refinished the hardwood herself, and maybe it was silly to worry about that right now, but she’d be damned if she let him ruin her floors the same way he’d ruined much of her young life. So she gladly broke the odd gaze currently connecting them—which came as a relief of sorts—and strode wordlessly away, into the bathroom, where she flung open a wooden linen cabinet and yanked out a plush bath towel.
Returning, she thrust it at him. “Here. Dry off better. And take off your shoes.”
He continued casting her that same odd look, though—even as he accepted the towel and wiped it over his face and arms, kicking off athletic shoes and rain-soaked socks, as well. “Are you telling me,” he began, sounding perplexed, “that you and Josh were really never a thing?”
What was it with him and that harebrained idea? “Yes, that’s what I’m telling you. I love Josh as a friend, but the idea of anything more makes me feel…icky.”
He tilted his handsome head. “It’s just that… I saw you hugging him one time, and it seemed…”
She squinted her confusion at him. “Are you sure? Because we don’t hug a lot. I mean, I’m sure I hugged him at his wedding, and probably when his father died a few years ago. But…”
“Yeah, I’m sure. You were standing outside the knitting shop.”
She blinked, sighed. What in the world was he talking about? “When? When was this?”
“The fall when we were twenty-one,” he said. “I came back to surprise you, with a ring, and I got off the ferry and started up Harbor Street—only to see you standing in front of the shop hugging him like there was no tomorrow. You were both smiling and laughing. And I even heard him say something like, ‘It’s you and me ’til the end, baby.’ And then—”
“And then?” she interrupted dryly, raising skeptical eyebrows. “As in, there’s more?” It was like being told she’d starred in a movie she didn’t remember making.
“Yeah, actually, there is.” He seemed as put out with her as she felt with him. “I saw two women watching you both, same as I was, and one of them said, ‘It’s about time this happened. Aren’t those two adorable?’ Adorable she called you.” His tone practically made it an accusation—like he was holding her accountable for what other people said and did. At an event she had no recollection of.
“And you just looked…so damn happy with him,” he went on—but then he stopped, shook his head, appearing exasperated. And a little sad. “Like you used to look with me—before. But everything had changed—I could see that. My mom and dad had been telling me the same thing, too, but I didn’t believe it until I saw for myself. It was the worst day of my life, Allie—the day you broke my heart.”
At this, Allie sucked in her breath, blew it back out. Had he really just said that? His silly, weird assumption about Josh was one thing—but this, this was another. Was he
seriously trying to put the whole breakup and desertion on her—somehow blame her for what he’d done? How dare he try to hold her responsible for him just changing his mind and walking away?
She’d been doing her best to act as if none of this really mattered anymore, but now her defenses dissolved. “The day I broke your heart? You’re the one who never came back, Trent. Ever. So let’s get one thing straight—I’m the one with the broken heart here! Me!”
CHAPTER THREE
TRENT JUST LOOKED at her, the girl he’d once loved. He could scarcely believe the only house in sight during the storm had turned out to be hers. He’d gone to the cottage expecting some sweet little old lady to answer. And hell, he hadn’t liked the idea of knocking on a stranger’s door even anticipating that much simpler outcome—but the nearby lightning strike had shaken him.
Seeing her felt like a dream—like it couldn’t be real. As much like going back in time as that ferry ride to the island had been. She looked the same, same chestnut-colored hair pulled back from her face, same cute slightly turned-up nose, same pretty heart-shaped lips—even if they were scowling at him right now.
And of course, he’d known it was possible to run into her while he was here. But he’d figured if he kept a fairly low profile that he might get through the closing tomorrow and back on the ferry without that taking place. And he sure as hell hadn’t imagined it happening like this, now.
Well, he’d wanted to revisit his past—looked like he was revisiting it, just in a much more intense way than he’d planned.
And now he stood before her—soaking wet no matter how much he kept drying off with her towels—listening to her lay all the blame on him? He knew part of it was his fault, but she’d made it…well, a little too easy to feel rejected, a little too easy to walk away.
“I walked away for a reason, Allie. A lot of them, actually.”
She appeared tense, maybe a bit disbelieving. He supposed when she answered her door, she hadn’t exactly gotten what she bargained for, either. “So we’re doing this?” she asked. “We’re talking about this? Putting it all on the table?”
