Return to Me (Blue Harbor Book 5)

by Olivia Miles

  It did. But not with him. She’d toast with a good crisp glass of wine one night this weekend with one of her sisters or cousins. In other words, people who had supported her dreams, and stuck around long enough to see them through.

  “Suddenly eager to support me?” There was an edge to her tone that betrayed her inner hurt, but she couldn’t deny it.

  Kyle frowned at her. “I always supported you, Brooke.”

  She resisted the urge to laugh out loud, not that what he’d said was funny. “That’s not the way I remember it, but then, I guess none of that matters now. I’m happy where I’ve landed.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Right back in Blue Harbor, you mean? The very town you just had to leave to make something of yourself?”

  She pressed her lips together. There was so much she could say, but it wouldn’t help matters, or change anything. Instead, she stuck to the facts. “I wouldn’t be where I am now if I hadn’t been given the experiences I had in New York.”

  She lifted her chin a notch higher, seeing the squint of his gaze that told her he didn’t believe her, not completely at least. This was what happened when someone knew you as well as Kyle knew her.

  Or had known her. Once.

  After all, she’d changed. And not only in the way that she dressed. She had gone from a sheltered home life in a small town to a marriage to her childhood sweetheart to living alone and making something of herself in a huge, strange city. She’d learned more than the street names and the neighborhoods. She’d learned to be alone, to speak up for herself, to fight for what she wanted.

  Which was why she wasn’t going to let this man get under her skin. She wanted something from him, and she was going to do what it took to make that happen.

  Even if he was determined to make it quite difficult, to say the least.

  “And you just decided to walk away from that fabulous job?” Kyle peered at her. “I mean, it was your dream job, at least that’s how you described it when you left.”

  She sniffed. “People grow out of positions,” she explained. She picked up a stack of paperwork and straightened the pages.

  His eyes narrowed. “Unless…”

  She firmed her lips together and willed herself not to lose her temper. “I was fired. Happy? It seems that I was too determined to come up with new ideas than keep my eyes on my desk and do what I was told.”

  He actually laughed, but she didn’t take offense. “You always were ambitious.”

  “We both were,” she replied, giving him a pointed look as she set the papers into a crisp, labeled folder.

  His expression immediately sobered. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he took in his surroundings, jutting his bottom lip as he nodded. “Well, this is quite a shop. I haven’t been in here in a long time, but I can see what you’ve done to the place. It’s very…pretty.”

  She could tell by his struggle to form his opinion that he wasn’t saying what he really meant. That this was not what she’d once said she wanted. That she had spent enough time within these very four walls to need to escape them above all else.

  Above him.

  “Thank you,” she said, suppressing a sigh. What she wanted to ask was why he was here, but she had a feeling they would get to that before he left if they weren’t interrupted first.

  She glanced out the window, hoping that a passerby might save her from standing here, alone, with Kyle. Was it always this quiet in the shop? She made a mental note to turn the volume on the stereo system a notch higher. The classical music was fine for her clientele, but it did nothing to relieve the tension that was building in her as Kyle sauntered around the room, giving it his full attention.

  “You pulled this together quickly,” he noted.

  She was happy that he had paused at the end of the room. With any luck, he would stay there. The more physical distance there was between them, the better, she’d come to realize.

  She shrugged. “Patsy was accommodating given our history. She had the walls patched and repainted when she cleared out. All I had to do was get some lights installed and order a bit of furniture.”

  “You really made all of these?” He looked baffled as he reached for a particularly frothy triple-layer tulle gown. Brooke twitched. She had to all but force herself not to make everyone wash their hands as they entered the boutique.

  “I did.” She quickly walked to where he stood and gently moved the dress back into its place. “And no two are alike.” A quick inspection revealed no smudges. White was such an unforgiving color. Still, she’d probably make friends with the current owners of the dry cleaner in town.

  “Like snowflakes then?” He grinned, and despite herself, she felt her heart soften to him, to the kindness in his eyes, to the ease of his conversation. She remembered now, something she had so easily forgotten. How whenever they would walk in the snow, she would open her mitten and study the design of each tiny flake until they melted, never to be replaced.

  When had she stopped doing that? Stopping to admire nature, beauty in its simplest form?

  Around the time she’d left Blue Harbor. Around the time she’d hardened her heart.

  She looked away quickly and smoothed the skirt of the dress. “I think my customers want to feel unique. Even if they buy something off the rack instead of opting for a custom design, they’ll know it’s still special, just for them. A special dress for a special day.”

  Shoot. She regretted the words the moment they slipped out, and the heavy silence in the room only heightened her misstep. She swallowed hard, averting her gaze, but it wasn’t possible to ignore Kyle forever. Not when they lived in the same town. Not when he was standing in her shop. So close that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to.

  “Our day was pretty special,” Kyle said. “At least I’d like to think so.”

  Brooke didn’t reply. She’d tried hard not to think of that day. Of the butterflies in her stomach when she’d taken her father’s arm, of the sight of her sisters walking in front of her, in their navy dresses, clutching apricot bouquets.

  “Well, I can see that you put a lot of hard work into this,” Kyle finally said, and Brooke breathed in relief, giving him a grateful smile.

  “I did. It’s something I’ve been working toward for a long time.”

  “Wedding dresses?” Again, he didn’t look convinced.

  “I always liked high fashion,” she reminded him. “And…and I wasn’t able to be as creative as I had hoped in my day job in New York.”

  “I know that feeling,” he said dryly.

  She sensed a shift in tone, perhaps an opening to talk about his life, and she nearly took the bait. But no, Kyle had made his decision, and she’d come to accept that.

  Even if it seemed now that he might not be as happy with the outcome as she was.

  “Can I help you with something?” she asked, straightening her shoulders and tidying an already tidy rack of gowns. She glanced at the clock on the far wall. It was closing in on the end of the day, meaning the chances of someone stopping in now were very slim.

  “I’m following up on our conversation from the other day.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She kept her expression neutral and focused on the gowns, forcing a steadying breath before replying. “And?”

  She looked at him, hating the way her body betrayed her head. So the man was attractive. He was also all wrong for her. Always had been. She just hadn’t seen that soon enough.

  “And I’m here to ask if you’re free?”

  Free? She gaped at him, her heart beginning to pound. So he hadn’t come to his senses, hadn’t realized that there was no point in spending time together when their relationship had ended nearly six years ago.

  And he hadn’t just been having fun with her either. No, everything about him, from the look in his eyes to his presence in her shop meant that he was sincere. And she wasn’t so sure that she wanted to know why.

  “I don’t see a point to this,” she said wearily. �
��If you wanted to talk sooner, you could have found me.”

  He didn’t argue with her. Didn’t explain himself either. “Harborside Creamery. I seem to recall you never could resist their raspberry ice cream. What do you say?”

  It was true that she did like the raspberry ice cream at Harborside and that she had searched all of Manhattan for a shop to rival it, and had come out of that experience disappointed and probably five pounds heavier.

  Ice cream wasn’t dinner or even drinks. And if it would get Kyle to sign on the dotted line, then she supposed it was worth it.

  “One ice cream and then you’ll sign the papers?”

  “That’s pretty quick, don’t you think?”

  She stared at him. “Six years is hardly impulsive, Kyle.”

  “What about…six dates.” Perhaps catching the widening of her eyes, he said, “Meet-ups. Whatever you want to call them.”

  She shook her head, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer. “Why, Kyle? To punish me? To hold me back from moving on with my life? Are you still mad?”

  It was a foolish question. After all, she was still mad at him. Madder now that he was putting her through this…game. Test. Whatever it was.

  His expression softened long enough to make her shoulders relax. “We haven’t seen each other in nearly six years, Brooke.”

  “One date for each year, then?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Cry, she realized, noticing that her hands had started to shake. It was bad enough standing here, alone with him. How was she supposed to get through six dates with him? Because that’s what they were. She knew it. He knew it.

  “It’s like you said. We owe it to each other. Sure, we parted ways—”

  “We ended things,” she corrected him.

  His eyes seemed to frown. “We have a lot of shared memories, Brooke. A lot of history. Don’t you think we owe it to each other, just to be sure? Besides, we’ve waited this long. What are six more dates?” He looked at her plainly, and she realized that he wasn’t going to change his mind.

  And he wasn’t going to change hers either, she thought firmly. If that was what he intended to do.

  “Fine. Six meet-ups. But I can’t drag this out, Kyle. I have a business to run, and a loan to apply for if I’m going to grow the way I want to and—”

  He was smiling now, but it no longer met his eyes. “Just six. I’ll see you at Harborside Creamery. Tonight. Say…seven?”

  He wasn’t leaving her a choice. And she was all out of words for him. With a nod, she turned and went into her small office, only releasing her breath when she sank back against the closed door.

  Six dates with her husband was a small price to pay to move on with her life once and for all. She picked up a pen and drew six lines in the bottom corner of her planner and then flipped back to her business plan, trying to keep her mind on the future, even if her heart was suddenly being pulled back into the past.

  6

  An ice cream date didn’t call for much preparation, Brooke decided as she studied the offerings of her closet. And really, this wasn’t a date at all. It was a meeting. Or a meet-up.

  It was blackmail, that’s what it was.

  Still, there was no reason to show up in her sweats and a threadbare cotton tee, which was what she usually changed into at the end of a long day of work. It was a warm spring night, and so Brooke put on her favorite jeans that barely skimmed her ankles, a simple white scoop-neck tee, and grabbed a blush pink wrap sweater in case the breeze off the lake picked up.

  Not that she’d be out for long. She could finish that ice cream in two and a half minutes if need be—she and her sisters used to have various ice cream eating contests as kids. Who could eat the slowest on a cooler day, and who could eat the fastest on those hot, muggy evenings in August when their treats started to melt and trickle down their hands, leaving them sticky.

  She held the prize for fastest ice cream eater, even if she did get a brain freeze. Knowing this, she felt better. She’d be in and out and home in her sweats in about fifteen minutes, factoring in the walk to and from the parlor.

  Or maybe she’d stop by the Carriage House Inn afterward, see if anyone she knew was in the pub so she could toast to the success of her opening week with a glass of champagne.

  She started to laugh as she reached for her keys in the bowl near the back door of her apartment. Who was she kidding? This was Blue Harbor and it was a Friday night. Of course, she would bump into someone she knew tonight. Even at the creamery.

  And how would that go exactly? If one of her sisters or cousins or even one of her old friends that she was yet to catch up with saw her sharing a table with her so-called ex, there would be a lot of explaining to do.

  She tried to look on the bright side. Maybe it would be better to run into family or friends than to sit alone with Kyle, a man whom she hadn’t shared even ice cream with since she was still carefree and young and full of hope and promise. Maybe bumping into someone wouldn’t lead to explanation, but rather, distraction that would spare her more awkward conversation with Kyle. Maybe Kyle would realize after tonight there was no sense in dragging out the inevitable. That there was nothing left to talk about, even after all these years apart. They’d catch up, summarize the past six years, and then be left with nothing else to say.

  Yes, that would be her mission. Kyle might think he had gotten his way by getting her to agree to this ridiculous ice cream date, but she planned to use her time wisely, and she’d be spending it convincing him that the only thing they owed each other was to officially go their separate ways.

  *

  Kyle tapped on the half-closed door to the back office and poked his head around to see his brother crouched over an ancient computer screen. Normally he’d crack a joke in this situation, tell Ryan that this wasn’t an office job, even if it was hard to find humor in the situation. The pub was barely covering the bills, and already staffing was lean. Some months he didn’t take home a paycheck, not that he was complaining. Feeling sorry for himself was something he’d never done, not when his dad had died, not when he’d given up his dreams of having his own furniture line to take over this place.

  Not even when Brooke had left.

  “You got the bar covered tonight?”

  Pouring drinks wasn’t Ryan’s specialty, but luckily, none of the patrons of the pub asked for anything too complicated. No strange cocktails with funny names, nope. This was a beer and whiskey type of place, maybe the occasional glass of wine and usually only when a lady showed up, which was rare.

  It wasn’t how he would have wanted it to be, but he respected it all the same. This pub wasn’t just an institution, it was the last remaining part of their father he still had. His old man had taken pride in it, made it what he wanted it to be, and who was Kyle to undo those efforts?

  He knew Ryan had a point. He wasn’t oblivious to the dark blinds, the scuffed floors, the limited menu, or the general vibe of the place, which was not exactly modern and not somewhere you’d take a date, not that he was dating much. It was a place to grab some drinks, watch the game, throw some darts, and not care if you were wearing your fishing clothes, either. His father didn’t care about pretense. He cared about community. About welcoming everyone, not putting on airs. Good drinks, good food, good company. That was his motto, and it was one that Kyle had upheld.

  Competition was stiff for a small town: tourism made sure of that. There were the dockside bars and the gastropubs and the nautical-themed places along the lakefront to contend with. Harrison’s had always prided itself on being a locals’ joint, but more and more locals preferred the Carriage House Inn, something he had tried to deny over the past few years.

  “Staring at those numbers all day won’t make them change,” he said, only half-joking. He could easily be accused of doing the same thing now and again.

  They were running on fumes, and if they stood a chance at making it another fifty years—heck, five years—then they’d need a loan. And they�
�d need to qualify for one.

  He hadn’t taken over his father’s legacy only to put it out of business. Hadn’t given up the last six years of his life to end up shutting the doors.

  Hadn’t given up Brooke to end up with not just an empty home but also an empty pub.

  “I suppose it’s enough for one day.” Ryan sighed and pushed back his chair. His visible fatigue turned to a look of familiar brotherly banter when he grinned. “You got a hot date or something?”

  He made a grand gesture of looking Kyle up and down, drawing attention to the fact that instead of his faded jeans and soft cotton tee-shirt, Kyle was wearing a polo and khaki shorts.

  Kyle shook his head, brushing him off. Growing up, they’d always teased, and he hadn’t minded it so much back then. Something had changed when Ryan went away to college and Kyle stayed behind, finishing high school and then going to a local college, not aspiring to the nine-to-five corporate gig that Ryan had pursued. Kyle had worked at the pub to get by and save up, and he knew that Ryan thought he was better somehow.

  Kyle had ignored it. He was doing what he loved. He was marrying the girl he loved. And his future—it was all mapped out.

  He didn’t like thinking back on that time in his life. On the impossible choices he’d made. On the loss he’d felt over his father, and then, soon after, over Brooke.

  “Just heading out,” he said tightly.

  “Heading out with the hopes of seeing a certain ex-wife?” Ryan raised an eyebrow.

  “Nope, not planning to run into an ex-wife tonight,” Kyle said honestly. Everyone had assumed when Brooke left town and never returned that they’d officially ended things. For all appearances, their marriage was over. He never talked about Brooke. He even dated a bit, here and there, nothing serious. He told himself that she wasn’t coming back. That if she’d planned to, she would have returned by now, that she’d given up. Didn’t want contact. Didn’t even want to deal with speaking to him enough to get a divorce. When she visited, she didn’t look him up, and he only found out about it after she’d left. He tried not to keep count. Tried not to think of her at all.