by Toni Blake
Until she’d thrown him out. Which was when that bruised heart had shown so clearly through all her rambling talk about his broken bicycle chain.
“Of course, the bike rental place has changed some,” he told Meg now. She’d padded across the patio to adjust a few flower pots, pulling one out of the shade and into the sun.
The innkeeper gave her head a short shake and said, “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” He’d relayed the broken-chain incident upon his soggy return that first evening.
“Not the end of the world,” he told her. “But…”
“Yeah,” she agreed to what he hadn’t quite said. “We all love Jacob, but it’s time for him to hang up his handlebars.”
He smiled at her colorful way of saying the old man needed to retire.
In truth, Trent’s every moment at the bicycle livery since arriving here had bugged him. Just because the business wasn’t what it could be, or should be. If he was running the place, he’d reorganize everything about it. The office needed to be cleaned up and streamlined and modernized—no matter how old-fashioned Summer Island was. The whole structure could use a good coat of paint, and in the pastels that lined Harbor Street rather than the dull, dirty white currently chipping off it. And of course, new bikes should be added, and the ones worth keeping needed to be overhauled.
As Meg excused herself to go back inside, he remembered good times with his dad working on bikes as a teenager. They’d occasionally continued to dabble in that hobby when he’d visited his folks, right up until his father’s death. But at the moment, those memories felt tainted by a fresh resentment toward both his parents.
He’d known they weren’t crazy about his engagement to Allie, but only now was he beginning to realize the role they’d played in the breakup, and how much it seemed they might have manipulated this situation.
He’d been a boy then, a kid really. Trusting, and maybe a little naive. But as he’d gotten older, he’d realized they’d manipulated a lot in his life. They’d expected certain things of him—law school among them. They’d liked saying their son was a high-powered attorney—and that the older two were a financial analyst and an orthopedic surgeon, respectively, because Trent wasn’t the only Fordham son who’d been pushed into an impressive-sounding career. They’d liked saying they lived in Boca, in the same way they’d once liked saying they had a summer home—”on the island,” his mom used to announce in front of people. It had made her feel important to be vague and force them to ask, “Oh, what island is that?” And that made him sad.
His mom and dad had been thrilled when he got married—mortified when he got divorced. It was no fun to tell your rich, uppity friends that your high-powered attorney son was less than perfect. It had put a real distance between him and his parents—bigger than the distance between Chicago and Boca Raton—and one he’d kept from that point forward, right up until they’d died.
He didn’t give himself a hard time for that—he’d accepted them for who they were, and he’d loved them, but he’d also come to understand the differences between their way of looking at life and his.
Now, though…damn. He’d just learned they’d done things, kept things from him, that he’d never be able to confront them for. He wanted to talk to them about all this—the undelivered phone messages, the likely exaggerated claims his mother had made. Maybe he wished she had the chance to explain it all away somehow, turn it all into one more misunderstanding. But she’d never get the opportunity to try to make him understand. And now he’d have to find a way to make peace with that, figure out how to forgive her for what seemed to be some pretty underhanded meddling in his life. He’d never get to have this last conversation with her. The same way he hadn’t gotten to have a last conversation with Allie all those years ago. Some things you just couldn’t fix.
Checking his watch, he got up, followed a stone pathway around to the front of the inn, and proceeded down to Harbor Street. The home closing had been rescheduled and he was due at Linda’s office on the other side of the marina in fifteen minutes.
As he passed the bicycle shop, he couldn’t help envisioning it in a nice pale blue, lighter than the shade of Dahlia’s Café, or maybe a cottage green. Not his personal favorite colors, but they suited the island. When he’d imagined running such a place as a teenager, even then he’d thought he could do it better than Jacob.
Still an unrealistic idea, of course. He liked practicing law—just not the stressful environment he’d ended up in. Maybe he needed to make some changes. Not buy-a-bike-shop changes, but he needed to figure out how to use his law degree in ways that felt good to him.
Passing by the Knitting Nook and coffee shop, he kept to the opposite side of the street, same as he had on his bicycle yesterday, and kept his eyes straight ahead. One rejection from Allie—after great sex, no less—was about all he could handle. No matter how much the boy inside him yearned to see her again. Okay, the man, too. But the man just knew the score a little better now. We broke up, we both got hurt, we don’t know who’s to blame anymore, and she doesn’t want me around.
Passing between Lakeview Park and the marina, he looked up to see Linda rushing toward him up the street in an outdated navy blue suit and matching pumps that seemed bizarrely out of place here, no matter what your profession. And she looked harried. This couldn’t be good.
He felt a scowl overtake his face as he said, “What’s up, Linda?”
She clenched her teeth as if to say please don’t kill me. “You won’t believe this.”
“Oh boy. I’m sure I won’t.” His voice came out dry.
“The loan paperwork came through, but the buyer is sick—too sick to come to the closing.”
He blew out a tired breath. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“I wish I were. Food poisoning, he thinks. Or some other gastro type issue—but either way, it sounded ugly. He’s in Detroit and couldn’t make the trip.” Then she tried for a hopeful smile. “He’s going to let us know, though, the second he feels well enough to travel. A day or two at most.”
Trent raised his eyebrows in doubt. “That’s what you told me a day or two ago.”
“I know.” Again with the clenched teeth. “It’s awful. And I’m sorry. But it’s really out of our control.” She held out her hands in a can’t-help-it gesture. “Can you stay a little longer?”
He blew out another sigh. Of course he could stay longer. He just didn’t want to.
“The weather’s been lovely since that little storm the other day,” she merrily pointed out. “If you have to be stuck somewhere, it could be worse, right?”
She actually made good sense. Being stuck on Summer Island at the height of the season was far from unpleasant. Unless your ex had thrown you out of her house after impromptu sex the other day. That made it just a little bit less desirable. Still… “Sure, I can stay. But I have to get back to the city soon, so this needs to work out quickly.”
“If worse comes to worst, we can arrange a remote signing—but that’s not ideal, and I’m sure you’d like the sale settled before you leave.”
“I definitely would, given it’s the reason I’m here.” If he’d wanted to close on the sale from afar, by computer signature, he could have done that from Chicago. He wasn’t a real estate attorney as Allie had suggested, but he still knew it was preferable to have everyone in the same place, signing the same papers at the same time.
“I’m sure it will all come together,” Linda assured him. “And again, I’m so sorry for these delays.”
And actually, this all just seemed par for the course. Since he’d stepped foot on this island, it had been one mishap after another. Maybe fate’s way of telling him to get the hell back to the mainland where he belonged. Which he would do the second he got these papers signed and the house sold, once and for all.
Parting ways with Linda, he turned to head back to the inn. Frustra
ted and a little fed up by this whole situation, though, he forgot to stick to the far side of the street as he dodged tourists—and just when it hit him he was again approaching the Knitting Nook and Cozy Coffee place, he glanced up to see Josh. The guy appeared older, sporting longer hair than he used to, and clothes that fit him a little too big—but was easily recognizable. Maybe Josh wouldn’t instantly recognize him, though—or at least that was the hope.
“Trent.”
So much for hope. He looked more directly at the man he’d been resenting for ten years—needlessly, according to Allie. And he couldn’t deny that Josh’s Spider-Man T-shirt didn’t exactly make him come across as some threatening Don Juan type.
“Heard you were here,” Josh said with a friendly seeming nod. “Nice to see you back.”
Had she not told him about the accusations or was he just really that nice of a guy? Again, what was the real deal here? “Um, thanks.”
“Wish I could catch up,” Josh said, “but…” He motioned vaguely toward the duffel bag he toted. “My mom’s in the hospital down in Saginaw—she moved downstate a few years ago. I need to catch the next ferry.”
Trent recalled Allie mentioning that the guy had lost his dad, and also remembered him being an only child. Given his own losses the last few years, it reminded him things could be worse than a delayed closing. “Sorry to hear that.”
Just then, Dahlia exited the coffee shop.
“Sorry again, Dahlia,” Josh said over his shoulder.
The older woman just shook her head. “Not another word about sorry. Family emergencies trump everything. Now go—and give your mama a hug for me.”
As Josh started toward the ferry, Trent said impulsively, “Hey, man, good luck—I hope she gets better.”
Josh gave another quick nod. “Thanks.” Then disappeared up the street, into the throngs of new arrivals spilling onto the thoroughfare—the ferry from St. Simon had just docked.
“Thought you’d be gone by now,” Dahlia said to Trent with a slightly puzzled tilt of her head. He’d had a couple of meals at her café since arriving, so they’d chatted in passing about his plans.
“So did I.” He went on to explain that the closing had turned into something of a debacle.
“Well, as luck would have it,” she said cheerfully, “you’re exactly what I need right now—a man with time on his hands.”
Why did that make him nervous? He did have time on his hands, after all. “Does this have anything to do with whatever Josh was apologizing for?”
She pointed at her head as she peered up at him with a small grin. “You’re a quick one—always were. He volunteered to lend a hand with a community project today. Helping kids make kites at the library—for the Fourth of July Kite Fly. Come on.” And with that, she latched thin fingers onto his wrist and began pulling him down the street, in the direction from which he’d just come.
“Um, I’m not very skilled at that sort of thing,” he said. Even if he was letting himself be dragged, this didn’t sound like his idea of a fun afternoon.
“Neither are they,” Dahlia said. “So it’s a low bar.”
Swell. He blew out a sigh, trying to think of another excuse.
Still tugging him along past flower boxes beneath windows and tourists on colorful bicycles, she said, “And I actually recall you being a pretty good kite maker back in the day.”
She remembered that, huh? That last summer, he and Allie had made a kite together for the same event. She’d picked the design—a hot pink heart sprinkled with much-smaller black hearts, the words Trent x Allie stenciled on—and he’d handled the construction. That’s how crazy about her he’d been. He’d allowed his name to go on a pink kite, flying high for the entire island population below to see.
He didn’t reply, though, because he didn’t necessarily want to talk about that. But he supposed he was out of arguments—and hell, he actually had been a pretty good kite maker—so he went willingly if reluctantly with her back past Lakeview Park and the marina to the quaint waterfront library not far from the real estate office.
Rather than go up the steps and in the front door, though, she led him down a sidewalk that stretched around the building. “The day’s so nice we’re working on picnic tables in the back.”
They rounded the library’s corner to find half a dozen rectangular green tables bustling with little kids, art materials, and… Allie.
He swung his head with the intention of casting Dahlia a scathing glare—but she was a quick one, too, and had already disengaged from him and started talking to kids at the nearest table about their projects. As if she hadn’t known about his and Allie’s history, as if this was all purely coincidental.
That was when Allie spotted him, too.
He couldn’t read her expression.
But maybe…maybe that was a sultry heat simmering in her gaze? Maybe the same kind of heat they’d generated on sight at her cottage the other day. Maybe she’d reconsidered her position.
And they couldn’t act on it here, of course—but as she walked toward him across the library’s back lawn, Lake Michigan stretching like an endless plate of glass behind her, his heart warmed. She was as beautiful as he remembered from the other day. And a little time had surely allowed her to relax into the idea…of him, of them.
As she came to stand directly in front of him, she gazed up into his eyes to say, “Why the hell are you still here?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALLIE COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. She’d thought it was over—this weird intrusion into her usually quiet, predictable life. But no—the man who angered her, excited her, and everything in between stood before her once more.
His lips pressed together into a straight line. “Look, I know you never wanted to see me again, but it’s not my fault. The closing’s been delayed.”
“Oh. God.” Whoops, she’d really said that. Out loud. Way to act unaffected and casual. Then again, her first line had probably already blown that.
“Don’t worry, though. I should be out of your hair any day now,” he assured her. “Tomorrow, the next. Depends on a sick guy in Detroit.”
She drew in a deep breath, trying to get her bearings here. Because one minute life had been back to normal—or, well, at least getting that way—and then, boom. More Trent. Back in front of her. Looking totally handsome and hot and like everything she’d ever wanted—but hadn’t gotten. “Until then, though,” she said a little more softly, “you’re here?” She motioned around them.
“Not my idea,” he explained. “Dahlia literally dragged me.”
She blew out a sigh, putting pieces together. “Josh was supposed to help, but his mother’s ill.” He’d texted to tell her as he was packing a bag and saying goodbye to his wife and daughters.
“I heard,” Trent said. Then glanced at the kids, some busy with artwork and others running around the yard, playing. “I can leave you to do this by yourself if you want. You were always good with kids—you probably don’t need my help.”
It was nice that he remembered that about her. During their summers together, he’d sometimes tagged along when she had babysitting gigs. And not even with the hope of making out after the kids went to bed—she recalled them all playing board games and hide-and-go-seek, and that he was, perhaps unknowingly, pretty good with kids himself.
It would probably make sense to take him up on the offer to leave, though. She’d worked quite hard to get him out of her sight after they had sex the other day, after all. And—ugh, now she was remembering, vividly, that they’d had sex, just a few short days ago, and that it had been amazingly easy but horribly strange for her afterward. Was he remembering all that right now, too?
She bit her lip, sighed, scanned the area. There were a lot of kids—at least fifteen. And Dahlia wasn’t hanging around—she had to get back to the café. So, good with kids or not, Allie did need help.
And she’d already been calling around, only to find out no one could do it—most of her friends were working at their own businesses, and her employees were minding the shop while she was away.
“No—stay,” she heard herself say. Even if it came out sounding a little pained.
“I feel so welcome,” Trent answered dryly.
She shrugged, made a can’t-help-it face. “Sorry, this is as good as it’s gonna get.” Then let out a little bit of honesty. “Because I just feel weird. About everything, past and present.” She didn’t like admitting it, but it was probably completely obvious, and simply confessing it seemed better than trying to pretend it was all just anger about the broken engagement.
“Don’t,” he said.
And she let her eyebrows fly up. Easier said than done.
“I mean—once upon a time, we were totally comfortable with each other, about everything. And then bad stuff happened. And no matter whose fault it was…well, I’m still me and you’re still you, and I just think we can put that aside long enough to help some kids make some kites. How about it?”
The suggestion sounded so utterly mature and reasonable—leaving her no choice but to say, “You’re right.” Even if simply being face-to-face with him was turning her inside out, making her heart ache in ways both old and new.
“Good,” he said quietly, nodding. Then grinned a sexy Trent grin as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Now, where do you want me?”
Oh boy. What a question. She swallowed. Drew her eyes down. Prayed he hadn’t seen in them what that innocent inquiry had made her feel. Forced out the appropriate answer. “Let me show you the materials.” Then she walked toward the picnic table where she’d laid out the supplies, letting him follow behind.
“These are the templates—I’m going to hold up all three and each child can pick which one to use.” After indicating the traditional diamond kite shape, a delta triangle, and a variation on the triangle shaped like an upside-down heart, she next pointed out a stack of small bamboo sticks and some balls of twine. “Mostly, we’ll be tying these parts together to make the kite frames, but letting the kids help. After that, they each get to pick a color”—an array of inexpensive plastic tablecloths sat in another pile—”then use the template to trace the kite shape and cut it out. We’ll let them decorate with markers and stickers before taping the kite to the frame, and then making a tail. That’s another part the kids get to individualize.” She pointed to a mound of colored fabric already cut into strips.
