Every Little Thing

by Samantha Young

  “Laughing out of solidarity, homewrecker?”

  Dana narrowed her exotically tipped eyes on me.

  Stu smirked at her side. All of the Devlin men were good-looking bastards, none more so than Jack. Stu wasn’t as handsome as his little brother but he was tall with thick blond hair and a chiseled jaw. However, his dark eyes were empty and his well-formed lips had a cruel twist to them. “You’re looking a little stressed there, Bailey. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Sterilization,” I quipped.

  “Huh?”

  “My point exactly. Good-bye.” I wiggled my fingers at them, gesturing them to move along.

  “Maybe you should think about moving your argument inside if you want privacy,” Dana sneered.

  “And maybe you should consider a vow of silence if you want people to find you attractive again.”

  Upon my last retort Devlin decided to lead Dana away, probably fearing we’d catfight and I’d do damage to her pretty face. And it wasn’t like I wasn’t tempted. I’d been tempted to scratch her eyes out since she destroyed Cooper’s friendship with Jack.

  Tom stared at me in affection mingled with sadness.

  “Sterilization?” he said.

  I grinned. “Yeah, I’m kind of proud of that one.”

  “God,” he breathed out, like he was in pain, “I miss you, Bails.”

  “I miss you, too,” I said. “But I only miss my friend. Maybe if you got yourself together . . . maybe one day I won’t have to miss my friend.”

  Hurt flared in his eyes. “Your friend?”

  I glanced down at my feet, unable to see that hurt gaze without feeling guilt. “Look, Tom, we both know what this town is like and you don’t need their condemnation right now.” I brought my focus back to his face, hoping I could help him somehow. “Go to Philly, see your grandfather and the rest of your family. Spend that two-week suspension getting your life together. If things are so bad at work, then maybe you should search for another job. Start over somewhere else.”

  “A new job would probably mean moving out of Hartwell.”

  “You don’t know that yet, but if it does, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

  “Bailey,” he said, hurt again.

  I felt awful hurting his feelings but I was trying to be realistic. To me being real with him was helping him, even if it didn’t seem like it. I took his hands in mine and squeezed them. He gripped on tight. “The kindest thing I can say to you right now is please don’t have hope that I’ll change my mind about us. We’ll never be together again. Friends one day I hope, but never more than that.”

  Tom huffed, and pulled his hands from mine, seeming winded by my words. “Cruel to be kind, huh?”

  “My dad once told me that hope dies last of all and that it’s so powerful it can save people. But he also said that hope is the mistress of limbo, and many a life has been wasted because of it. Sometimes hope hurts more than it helps. You and me, we’re a case of sometimes.”

  For a moment all he could do was stare at me, pained.

  Finally, he gave me a small nod of understanding and walked away.

  My chest ached for him, realizing that despite Tom cheating on me, I’d actually come out of the situation for the better while he struggled. I didn’t want him to struggle, despite his betrayal.

  I just wanted us both to move on.

  Needing to rid myself of the ache weighing me down, I slipped off my heels and strode down off the boardwalk and onto the beach. My feet sank into the sand, the dry grains slipping over my toes until I hit the shoreline and it turned cold and squishy. I threw my purse and shoes behind me, away from the tide, and began to strip off, my clothes finding a spot with the purse and shoes.

  In nothing but my underwear, I walked into the water, sucking in a harsh breath as the waves splashed around me like liquid ice. I kept going, used to the temperature from years of night swimming, and began to swim so that my muscles would warm me up.

  I grew quickly accustomed to the cold water as I swam along the coastline, staying close to shore. I turned back after a while, nearing my clothes again, and I stopped to float. Moonbeams danced on the top of the water around me. As I stared at the moon, I realized that like the hope holding Tom back, fear was holding me back.

  I had to stop focusing on my age and what I didn’t have, and focus on what I did have. I had boundless energy and great friends. And despite what I thought, I did have time.

  The ache in my chest began to ease off.

  Yes, I was determined now.

  My only course was to move on and see where starting over would take me.

  SEVEN

  Bailey

  “Why am I getting a call to see if we’ve changed our minds about selling the inn?” my dad said without preamble.

  It was the day after my tranquil midnight swim and decision to make a go at this whole starting-over business. In an attempt to do just that I’d decided to hell with my control freakery. If I wanted to start dating, I needed a personal life. And in order to have a personal life I needed to learn to trust someone to be my inn manager.

  I was in my office, in the middle of posting the manager position ad online, when my dad called.

  “What are you talking about? Did Ian Devlin call you? I own the inn.”

  “Along with your sister and brother. Something I reminded Ian.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Sure. They’re here every day to help out.”

  “You know what I mean. Technically they are also part owners with you. But that’s beside the point. Devlin is concerned the inn is too much stress for you considering your recent breakup with Tom, and thought perhaps we, as good parents, were considering selling the place to ease your burden.”

  I heard sarcasm in my father’s voice so I knew he hadn’t bought that crock of crap. “Does that man have no shame? For your information, Dad, I am more than fine. In fact, I’ve decided to get a new manager. And not because I’m stressing over my breakup, but because if I want to move on, I need a personal life.”

  “I couldn’t agree more!” I heard my mother shout in the background.

  “Oh, by the way, you’re on speakerphone.”

  “You know I hate it when you do that. I can’t bitch about Mom when you do that.”

  “Funny,” Mom said. “Does that mean you’re considering dating?”

  There was more than a hint of curiosity in the question so I gave a rather guarded, “Perhaps.”

  “Wonderful! Our neighbor, Kelly Hewitt, has a grandson in Dover. Can you believe that? How small is this world?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s small alright.” I was not even surprised my mother had already lined up a date for me.

  I thought I heard my father chuckle under his breath.

  “His name is Hugh Hewitt. Isn’t that adorable?” my mother continued.

  “And he’s still speaking to his parents?”

  My father gave a bark of laughter.

  “Oh, Bailey, hush. It’s a perfectly musical name.”

  “That’s a very diplomatic way to put it, Mom.”

  “Anyway, Hugh is forty years old, has a full head of hair, is an accountant, and recently divorced. I thought you’d have lots in common and I showed Kelly your picture and she thinks you’re just so gorgeous. So we thought it might be nice if you two met. I can send you his Facebook profile link if you’d like so it’s not a blind date. But I think he’s very handsome. You needn’t be concerned.”

  Ah, what the hell. “Sure, Mom. Send me the link.”

  “Now that you’re done pushing Cherry into a date with an accountant who must spend most of his days fending off name-based mockery, can I talk to my daughter again?” Dad said.

  I had to press my lips together to silence my laughter.

  “And you wonder where she gets her smart mouth fro
m,” Mom said.

  “Cherry, you there?” Dad ignored that comment.

  “Right here, Dad.”

  “I thought your mother scared you off.”

  “Not yet. Give her time.”

  He laughed and then after a moment of silence . . . “Everything is okay back there? You don’t need me to fly up to see you?”

  I fiddled with the silver necklace Dahlia had made me. She designed jewelry and sold it in her gift shop. She’d made me a necklace with a silver cherry blossom tree pendant, because my dad’s nickname for me was Cherry. I was kind of a daddy’s girl, and I missed not seeing him every day. My parents visited every year for several weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and they usually stayed a few weeks in May before the tourist season hit. They missed me and they missed Hartwell, but I knew they loved their life in Florida and hated flying. Visiting so soon after their last trip was kind but I didn’t need them to do that for me. I hoped my dad heard my grateful smile in my words. “I’m really okay.”

  “And Ian Devlin? Has he been bothering you?”

  No, but as I remembered the smug, calculating look in Stu Devlin’s eyes last night I had to wonder if they’d decided to try to exploit me while I was vulnerable.

  Except they’d underestimated me because I was far from vulnerable.

  “Nope. And if they try, I can handle it.”

  My dad was stern. “You’ll tell me if they try.”

  “Of course.” Although I probably wouldn’t because I really could handle myself.

  “Okay. We’ll let you get on. Talk soon.”

  “Bye, Dad. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Cherry.”

  “Love you, sweetie!” my mom called, her voice sounding distant like she was in another room. “I’ll send that link!”

  I laughed. “Love you, Mom.”

  As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again. I sighed, wondering if I’d ever get that ad posted. “Good afternoon, Hart’s Inn, Bailey speaking.”

  “Why is that bastard Devlin calling me about the inn?” My brother, Charlie, sounded aggravated.

  I groaned and buried my head in my free hand.

  The next day the clouds rolled over Hartwell and the rain descended in a deluge. Like Dahlia and Jessica, I’d risked my neck on the slippery boards to get to Emery’s for lunch. She made the yummiest little sandwiches and canapés and we’d arranged the lunch last week. There was no way a little—okay, a lot of—rain was getting in our way of those canapés!

  I moaned around a mouthful of one with crabmeat and shivered as the delicious heat from the roaring fire in her store warmed us. Emery had a reading nook next to the open fireplace where we were currently huddled.

  She had decided to close the store for lunch, giving us guaranteed privacy to enjoy a girlie lunch break.

  “I can’t believe Devlin called your parents and brother.” Jessica’s hazel eyes darkened with concern. “It sounds like he’s planning something. This is how it started when he was coming after Cooper.”

  As worried as she sounded, I wasn’t. There was nothing Devlin could do to me but pester me with offers on the inn, and I could handle that. “It’ll be fine. Emery, what are in these?”

  “It’s a secret.” She grinned, knowing that would drive me crazy.

  “You’re lucky you’re cute.” I reached for another.

  “Hey.” Dahlia playfully smacked my hand away. “You’ve had more than your share of those.”

  “But I’m too skinny,” I pouted. “I want a bigger ass and boobs.”

  Dahlia rolled her eyes, knowing I was joking. When I was younger my slender figure had bothered me a little, but the older I got the more I appreciated it. I had the kind of body most clothes looked good on, and I’d stopped worrying about my small boobs and ass a long time ago when I’d stopped worrying about my body in respect to what men found sexy.

  Another reason to hate Vaughn Tremaine since he was the exception to my rule.

  I hated that I cared about his opinion on anything, let alone my level of attractiveness.

  Bastard.

  “What’s with the sudden scowl?” Dahlia pointed to my furrowed brow.

  “Just thinking about Devlin and his never-ending need to be a pain in the ass,” I lied.

  “You should tell Vaughn,” Jessica said.

  “What?” I startled, wondering how she knew I’d been thinking about him. “Tell him what?”

  “That Devlin is gearing up to bother you. Vaughn told Cooper that he wouldn’t let Devlin cause trouble for us and I believe him. I know you have your issues with him, but this is bigger than that.”

  “I’m not telling Vaughn.” I looked to Dahlia and Emery for backup but they were wearing I agree with Jessica expressions. “You’re all crazy. Vaughn would rather see my place go under than do anything to help me.” I knew that wasn’t true but I wasn’t asking that man for help.

  “That’s not true at all.” Jessica sounded exasperated. “I wish you and he would just admit you’re attracted to one another and stop acting like children at recess.”

  Shocked by her outburst I sat back in my seat and swallowed a bite of sandwich. “That was almost mean. And he’s not attracted to me.”

  “Aha! But you’re attracted to him?” Dahlia grinned with excitement at the prospect.

  “What? No. What?”

  “You just said ‘he’s not attracted to me’ when Jessica said you were attracted to one another. You made no mention of you not being attracted to him, just him not being attracted to you,” Dahlia explained.

  My heart started thudding hard against my chest. “But I meant that. That thing you just said. About us both. I am not attracted to Vaughn Tremaine.”

  “Methinks thou dost protest too much.” Dahlia laughed.

  “Methinks thou no longer deserves the last canapé.” I swiped it from the plate, and grinned at her silent objection before I popped it into my mouth.

  “I still think you should tell Vaughn,” Jessica insisted.

  “To have him laugh in my face? No thanks. Subject change!” I clapped my hands together. “Where will we start? Jessica and Cooper and wondering when he’s going to get off his ass and get down on one knee, or Emery and man lessons?”

  Emery shrank from me.

  I almost felt bad.

  Almost.

  Dahlia wrinkled her nose. “Man lessons?”

  “Yes—teaching Emery how to speak to men without wanting the ground to open up and swallow her whole.”

  “That would be nice, I suppose,” Emery muttered.

  “So lessons it is.”

  She blushed. “Maybe some other time.”

  “Bailey,” Jess warned.

  “Oh, come on.” For once I ignored Jess. “You’re among friends, Em. No one here wants to humiliate you. We just want to help. I don’t want you to be alone forever. But if you do, then that’s great, that’s fine. I’ll leave you alone to that decision because I just want you to be happy.”

  For a moment she looked from me to Dahlia to Jess and then back to me. Studying me, sensing my sincerity, Emery straightened her spine and threw back her shoulders. “Okay.” She still seemed unsure despite her bold body language. “I don’t want to be alone. Man lessons. But . . . not today. Later, okay?”

  I grinned, happy and determined to help her. Jess and Dahlia shared a smile at my infectious excitement. “Later.”

  “Well,” Jess mused. “If we’re not doing any lessons . . . we could talk about the fact that Cooper proposed and we’re planning to get married at the end of the summer.”

  This of course was met with a chorus of delighted shrieks.

  Vaughn

  “These figures aren’t looking any better, Grant.” Vaughn’s voice was cold with disappointment as he spoke with Grant Foster, the manager
at The Montgomery, Vaughn’s boutique hotel in Greenwich Village. He’d named it after his mother, Lillian Montgomery. Unlike his father, Lillian was a blue blood; a descendant of Nicholas Montgomery, an Englishman who’d settled in New York and established himself as a huge player in the industrial revolution. The Montgomerys had their fingers in all sorts of pies, mostly in aeronautics and other transportation-shaped pies. As far as his dad told it Lillian was the darling of New York society and it had caused quite the scandal when she’d ignored her parents’ wishes and married a nobody upstart from Augusta, Maine.

  They disowned and disinherited her, and consequently Vaughn had nothing to do with that side of his family.

  But his mother was a Montgomery and he was proud of who she was, no matter her family’s attitude. He wasn’t hiding from that side of his heritage, and naming his Manhattan hotel after them was a “fuck you” to his grandparents and a “love you” to his mother.

  To see the monthly accounts in front of him showing further decreasing profits at that particular hotel burned more than it would with any of the others.

  “Vaughn, I’m telling you it’s the restaurant. The new chef just doesn’t compare to Renata.”

  “This is the third chef we’ve hired since Renata moved on. Surely to Christ there is a cook out there just as good as or better than goddamn Renata.”

  “We just haven’t found him or her yet.”

  “Then try harder. And Grant . . . Don’t just blame it on the restaurant. The room occupancy rates are down, and the online reviews are not improving. There are complaints of inefficiency with the concierge service, rude customer service, dirty pillowcases, and unclean showers. What the hell is going on at my hotel? You have twenty-four hours to give me a detailed, concise report on the root of the problems or I’m flying out there. And if I have to fly out there to fix this, you can kiss your job good-bye, Grant.” He slammed down his phone just as his secretary, Ailsa, popped her head around his door.

  She winced at the sound of his phone crashing against his desk. “I’m sorry if this is a bad time, Mr. Tremaine, but Dr. Huntington is here to see you and insists that she has to see you now before her lunch break ends.”