First Time in Forever (18 page)

“Yeah, I knew. Zach is the best pilot you’ll ever meet. He owns his own plane now and flies the mega-rich to their yachts and beach cottages. The rest of the time he does his own thing, and it so happens he’s chosen to base himself on Puffin Island.”

“He was flying for Maine Island Air.”

“He helps them out sometimes. I didn’t think it was something that needed mentioning as Brittany isn’t here anyway, and their marriage was over before it started.”

“You are the master at withholding information.”

“Whereas you clearly support the principle of full disclosure, so by all means go ahead and tell her he’s here if you think that’s going to make her day and lift her mood.”

She knew it wouldn’t. “If you were best man, then you must know him well. Are you two still friends?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate. “Friendship isn’t something you throw away just because someone makes a bad decision.”

“Bad decision? You don’t think he should have left Brittany?” She saw tension ripple across those wide shoulders and he turned to look at her.

“What I think,” he said slowly, “is that he should never have married her in the first place. That was the bad decision.”

“So why does Brittany blame you?”

He gave a humorless smile. “Because I knew it was a match made in hell. He got cold feet and wanted to ditch her on her wedding day, and I drove him to the wedding instead of the airport because I knew she’d be devastated. I didn’t want him to hurt her. Turned out he did that anyway, and I made it worse. Ditching her at the altar would have been a hell of a lot less complicated than ditching her at the end of the honeymoon.”

It was a lot to take in.

“What about the rest of it?” She forced herself to ask one more question. “Did Brittany tell you to kiss me? Was that part of the deal?”

His eyes darkened. “You know it wasn’t.”

“I don’t know anything, Ryan. And I don’t know you.” With those quiet words she turned and left the room.

*

H
E
WAITED
UNTIL
he knew Lizzy would be in bed and then knocked on the door of Castaway Cottage, unsure whether she’d even open it.

The island was folded in mist and darkness, and behind him he could hear the rush of the sea against the shore. He was thinking how much courage it must have taken to choose this place as a refuge, when the door opened.

Emily’s feet were bare, and her hair fell soft and loose around her face.

She didn’t look pleased to see him, but he’d braced himself for that.

“I need to talk to you.”

“We’ve said all there is to say.”

“I want to show you something. Give me five minutes. If you still want me to leave after that, I’ll leave.” The thought of what he was about to do made him feel as shaky as an alcoholic who hadn’t had a drink in a month.

She stared at the box in his arms and opened the door a little wider. “Lizzy is asleep.”

“Good, because this is between us.” He carried the box through to the kitchen. Given the choice, he would have destroyed it long ago, but he knew keeping it meant a lot to his grandmother.

He put it down on the table next to one of Lizzy’s paintings, a classic child’s drawing of a house with smoke coming from the chimney. There was a garden, drawn with careful strokes of green, and a curve of custard yellow sand next to an ocean bluer than anything he’d seen in Maine. It was obvious to him that this was his grandmother’s house. The innocent charm of the picture jarred uncomfortably with the dark reality he’d placed next to it.

He stood for a moment with his hands on the box.

He’d chosen to live life looking forward, not back, and he didn’t relish what he was about to do.

“That’s Agnes’s box.” She stood next to him, waiting. “I already know what’s in it.”

No,
he thought.
You don’t.
“I want you to take a look. Read.”

“I don’t need to read.”

“You wanted to know about my past.” He felt distant and detached, as if someone else had climbed into his body. “This is my past.”

“Which you try and forget. Why? Do you regret the stories you wrote?”

“No. But they stay with you.” He flipped open the top and gripped the back of the chair until his knuckles were white. “Especially that one.”

She stared at his face and then down at the file. In slow motion, she picked up the clipping on top. Award-Winning Photojournalist Killed in Kabul?

“We worked with a translator and a driver. Together we made two trips into Iraq and four into Afghanistan. Me as foreign correspondent, Finn as a photojournalist.”

There was a long silence. “You were a war reporter?”

“I met Finn on my first day in Baghdad, and we hit it off right away. We had an ongoing argument about which was the better medium for telling a story—words or images. He said that I wrote about the truth whereas he showed it. Neither of us wanted to be embedded with the troops. We wanted to be free to tell the stories we wanted to tell. The ones other people weren’t telling.”

She sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Ryan—”

“After a British journalist was killed, Finn decided he’d had enough. He said we’d ceased to see beauty in the world, only the bad and the ugly. Everything we saw was distorted and discolored by conflict. He wanted to take photographs that didn’t involve human suffering. I talked about this place all the time, and we were always making plans. I was going to run a sailing school, and he was going to use his photographic skills to raise awareness of the importance of marine conservation. On really bad days we decided we’d open a bar together and drink our way through the profits.” He stopped and heard the scrape of the chair on the floor as she rose to her feet.

A moment later a glass of water appeared by his hand.

He took a sip, embarrassed by how much his hand was shaking.

“We were about to fly home, but I wanted to do one more story, so we went with our translator and fixer to a local village. Finn was joking that he was going to sail my yacht while I did the work when our vehicle was hit.” Just for a moment he felt it again, the blinding flash and then the white and the lack of sound. “We were close to a military base. A helicopter pilot risked his life to get us out of there, but it was too late for Finn. He was killed instantly.”

Her hand reached across and covered his, slim warm fingers sliding between his.

“I’m sorry.”

“I was the one who was sorry. If it hadn’t been for me, we would have been on our way home. I was the one who pushed for one more story.” Even now, four years later, the knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth and the gnawing agony of guilt. He reached into the file and pulled out a photograph. “This was one of his last photographs.”

She removed her hand from his and took the photograph. “It’s very powerful.” She stared at it for a long moment and then placed it carefully back in the box and closed the lid. “You were badly injured?”

“Bad enough. I had serious internal injuries and my shoulder was messed up. I was in and out of hospital for four months. I had eight rounds of surgery. And I was a difficult patient. Ask Agnes and Rachel. They took the brunt of it.” He stared at the file. “Rachel was home from college for the summer and she virtually moved into my hospital room and stayed there with me until I was discharged. The first day back on the island, she forced me to get dressed, and I managed to walk as far as the harbor before having to sit down. My legs wouldn’t hold me and my shoulder was agony. Every day she made me get up and walk a little farther until eventually I was walking as far as the lighthouse. I had no idea my little sister could be such a bully. When I was strong enough to walk as far as Shell Cove, she decided I should start swimming. I remember the day she and Alec forced me to go sailing. It was a perfect day, and I felt the wind fill the sails and knew this was where I wanted to stay.”

“So the sea healed you.”

“In a way, but I think it was more about the people. Before I left the island I couldn’t wait to get away. I felt trapped, I was going crazy. I thought anywhere in the world had to be better than this place, living among people who know everything from how much you weighed when you were born to what you liked to eat for dinner. Then I discovered differently.” He licked his lips, not sure whether by being economical with his words he was sparing her the detail or himself. “I guess you could say my priorities changed. An honest person would probably say it was a shame I had to be blown up to discover something I should have known all along.”

“I think we don’t always see things clearly when we’re living in the middle of something.” There was a long silence. “I owe you an apology.”

“No. I’m the one who owes you an apology for not being honest, but I was afraid you wouldn’t trust me. And I wanted you to trust me.”

“Because you feel you owe Brittany.”

He could have told her the truth. He could have told her that the reason he couldn’t stay away from her had nothing to do with Brittany, but that would have led the relationship in a direction he suspected she wasn’t ready for it to go. And he wasn’t sure he wanted it to go there, either.

Whatever she thought about her suitability for the role of parent, she’d shown herself to be fiercely protective of Lizzy. That fact alone meant he should stay the hell away from her.

“That’s right.” He kept his face blank. “I owed a friend a favor.”

“The other night—”

“You had a bad experience. Neither of us was thinking straight.” Finding willpower he didn’t known he possessed, he stepped back and reached for the file. “I should go. I have a pile of paperwork waiting for me before I turn in. If you need anything, you know where I am.”

He saw something flicker in her eyes. Hurt? Confusion? Either way, he saw her register the dismissal and draw the conclusion that his attentions had all been driven by nothing more than a Good Samaritan inclination and a debt owed to a friend.

It was a measure of her inexperience that she believed his words over her own instincts.

If she’d looked into his eyes, she might have questioned it because he was pretty sure that the words coming out of his mouth were not backed up by the expression on his face.

He wanted to drive her back against the wall and kiss her until she could no longer articulate her own name. He wanted to strip off those clothes and fill his hands with those voluptuous curves.

Instead, he ground his teeth and walked to the door.

CHAPTER TEN

A
SPELL
OF
hot weather brought tourists flocking to Puffin Island. They spilled off the ferry, a riot of color and smiles, overloaded with bags, children, strollers and equipment for all weather. Some came by car, some as foot passengers, and most of them headed for the beaches close to the harbor. The waterfront was crowded, the restaurants full and the locals talked about how this was the best start to a summer season they could remember in a long time.

The bay was busy, the water dotted with boats of all shapes and sizes, from the majestic schooners that Lizzy called pirate ships to sleek racing boats and small pleasure crafts.

“Can we see the puffins?” Lizzy paused on the harbor, watching as a crowd of people queued to board one of the many trips around the island to Puffin Rock. “Ryan said he’d take us.”

“He’s very busy.” It had been over a week since she’d seen him, and she’d been trying desperately to put him out of her mind. It was hard, just as it was hard to think up excuses to stay away from the water.

Emily looked at the boat bobbing in the waves and felt sick. She was getting a little more confident each day, but was still a long way from taking Lizzy on a boat trip. “Is there anything else you’d like to do?”

“Waffles and chocolate milk?”

Everything Lizzy suggested involved Ryan.

After he’d left that night, Emily had switched on her laptop and done what she should have done right from the start. Typed his name into the search engine.

She’d clicked on article after article, and when she’d finally shut down, hours later, her cheeks had been wet from all the tears she’d shed.

He’d told her he wasn’t afraid of emotion, and that was backed up by everything she’d read. His writing was full of emotion. He didn’t just report the facts, he reported the effect on those who were suffering until the reader ceased to be an outside observer and slid into the story. She’d felt the heat, tasted the dust, cried with the mother who had lost a child to a roadside bomb. And she’d read the reports written by others on the accident that had wounded him and killed his friend. And they were glowing reports. As a journalist he’d been respected both by his own profession and the military.

The explosion had been global news.

Exhausted, she’d taken herself to bed and lain awake for hours, thinking about how hard his recovery must have been. Clues to just how hard had been in everything he hadn’t said.

But he’d built a new life. The life he and his friend had planned together.

And that life didn’t include children. It was a responsibility he’d made it clear he didn’t want.

He’d helped her because he owed Brittany. There was nothing more to it than that, and she wasn’t going to do that horribly needy thing of looking for more. A few steamy kisses didn’t mean anything to a man like him. Even without knowing his background, there was a raw physicality to him that told her that a simple sexual relationship was familiar territory to him. And no doubt none of those relationships had included sex with the lights out.

She needed to move on.

Pushing it out of her mind, she dragged herself back to the present.

“How about ice cream?” Trying to do something that would reduce the likelihood of bumping into Ryan, she made an alternative suggestion. “Let’s go to Summer Scoop.”

Visiting the shop had become a routine, and not just because Lizzy loved the ice cream. Emily was keen to support the struggling business. She liked Lisa and sympathized with her situation.

“Chocolate is still my favorite.” Five minutes later Lizzy was licking her cone, the ice cream sliding down her chin. “Can we live in a place that sells ice cream?”

Lisa handed her a napkin. “It’s not the dream it seems, sugar.”

Because it was Saturday, both the twins were hovering. They alternated between “helping” in the store and reading, playing or watching a DVD in the little cottage attached to the business premises while Lisa supervised through an open door.

Knowing how hard it was to keep Lizzy entertained, Emily wondered how she managed it. “It must be hard work.”

Lisa pushed blueberry ice cream into a crisp waffle cone. “The irony is that I came here because I wanted a better life for the kids. I wanted them to live close to nature. I saw us spending time together as a family. But I spend less time with them now than I did when I was living with my mother in Boston.” She handed the cone to Emily. “I’m working, and they’re doing their own thing through that door in the living room. At weekends they ‘help’ in here, but they get bored with that pretty quickly. They entertain each other, but I can’t afford to close, so that I can have a day out with them.”

“Could you employ someone one day a week?”

“We don’t make enough money to pay anyone. One of the freezers broke last week, and that used the last chunk of my savings. You don’t want to hear about this. It’s boring.” Lisa opened a drawer and put a fresh pile of napkins on the counter.

“It’s not boring to me. I’m just sorry your dream isn’t working out the way you wanted it to.”

“I have no one to blame but myself. I had my head in the clouds. No one before me has been able to make this place work, but I thought I’d be different. I like to call it optimism, but my mother says it’s blind stupidity.” That confession came with a smile, but Emily heard the thickening in her voice.

It was that, together with the hint of weary resignation, that made up her mind.

She dropped into a crouch next to her niece. “How would you like to watch a DVD with Summer and Harry?”

Lizzy stared at her. “Now?”

“Yes. They’re just through that door.” She felt a flutter of anxiety and suppressed it. She reminded herself of what Ryan had said about the importance of Lizzy becoming independent. “I’ll be right here, talking to Lisa. We’ll leave the door open.” She could see the halo of Summer’s blond hair through a crack in the door, hear laughter as the twins watched a cartoon.

Lisa looked surprised, but she pushed open the door to the cottage, and moments later Lizzy was happily settled with the twins and a bowl of popcorn.

“Have you noticed how similar Lizzy is to the twins? They could almost be triplets!”

“It’s the hair.” Satisfied that Lizzy was safe, Emily turned back to Lisa. “Tell me the truth. How bad is it?”

Lisa gave a tired shrug. “Bad enough to make me want to eat a vat of chocolate ice cream by myself. I stayed up most of the night looking at the numbers, but they were still the same this morning. Looking at them doesn’t change the fact this dream is over for me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I keep hoping and putting off the decision, but I’m not going to make it through another winter. It will take me a while to sell this place, and I can’t afford two places. I don’t know which is worse—giving up on my dream or moving back home with my mother and hearing her say ‘I told you so.’ She makes me feel about the same age as the kids.”

“Is there no alternative?”

“Not that I can see.” Lisa’s eyes filled, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Sorry. I can’t believe I’m telling you this. You came in for an ice cream, and instead of a blob of blueberry I give you a dollop of self-pity topped off with liquid misery. I don’t charge for that, by the way. It’s on the house.”

“I asked the question.” Emily grabbed a handful of napkins and handed them over. “Here. Blow.”

“I don’t want the kids to see me like this. You know what it’s like.” Lisa blew her nose hard. “You try and keep a bright smile on your face, no matter how bad things are. And when I tuck them in at night I realize that none of it matters really as long as I have them. They’re the best thing in my life.” She gave a faint smile. “Thanks for listening.”

“I can do more than listen. I might be able to help, if you’d like me to.” Emily glanced around the store, looking at all the unused space. “You say that no one has been able to make this business pay. Did anyone ever try doing anything different with it?”

“Different? You mean apart from sell ice cream?”

“There’s more than one way of selling ice cream.” Emily walked to the door and stared through the glass to the busy harbor. “There are plenty of people out there. The island is busy.”

“But the tourists don’t always come in here, so that doesn’t help me.”

Emily watched the flow of people. “Because they walk straight off the ferry and turn left to the beach.”

“On a hot day, yes. And to walk past Summer Scoop, they need to turn right. They sometimes call in at Swim and Sail or visit the Lobster Hatchery, but they don’t come down this far.” Lisa’s shoulders sagged. “I’m doomed.”

“You’re not doomed. Every tourist that arrives on that ferry is a potential customer. We just need to think about how to tempt people in.”

“I was thinking of taking my clothes off.” Lisa gave another weak smile. “Just kidding. That would scare them away. I did think of putting a sign up by the ferry if they’d let me, but then I decided it wouldn’t help. Folks just want to head to the beach. And you know what the weather is like in this place—it’s sunny now, but we get our share of fog and rain, and then people are thinking about shelter, not ice cream. They want something to do with fractious children.”

Still thinking, Emily turned. “Fractious children?”

“Yes. You’re stuck in a rental property or a hotel watching the rain sheet down or trying to see through mist thicker than the steam from a kettle. You put on the same DVD and then the kids start fighting, and it’s all ‘
Mom, I’m bored.’
Puffin Island is an outdoor place. There’s stuff you can do in the rain, but drying clothes every day can be exhausting.”

Emily strolled across the room, her mind exploring various options. Usually she worked as part of a team of people, and the businesses were large corporations. Her contribution merged with those of others, like a single drop of rain blending with the ocean, unidentifiable and yet still part of the whole. “You have plenty of space.”

“It needs redecorating, but I don’t have the funds for it and I can’t afford to close while it’s done.”

“Maybe we could do something imaginative with the space. Something that encourages people to come in when it’s raining. Offer something they can’t get anywhere else on the island.”

“I don’t have the cash to invest in a new venture.”

“It won’t be a new venture. Just a few additions to the old one. Tell me about the business itself. Who do you rent the building from?”

“Someone who knows how to bleed a person dry.”

“And how many different types of ice cream do you stock?”

“Thirty, but not all of them sell well.”

“Thirty?” It sounded like a lot to Emily. Her head was crowded with ideas and questions. “We need to start at the beginning. Those figures that kept you up all night. Would you share them with me?” Back in her comfort zone, she knew what was needed. Here, finally, was something she knew how to do. “If you’re willing to share it, I’d like everything you can give me on your business. Turnover, profit, loss—any information you have.”

Lisa blinked. “If you give me your email address I’ll send some spreadsheets to you. There isn’t much profit.”

“Yet.” Emily scribbled down her email. “We’re going to change that.”

“Do you really think you might be able to help?”

“I hope so. Helping businesses used to be my job.” She didn’t add that most of the businesses she’d worked for had been faceless, multinational corporations.

If anything, the small, personal nature of the business made success all the more imperative.

If this business failed, it directly affected a family.

Lisa looked uncomfortable. “I can’t afford to pay you, unless you call free ice cream payment.”

“If it’s blueberry, then the answer is yes. And no payment is necessary, but if it makes you feel more comfortable you can pay me in advice.”

“Advice?”

“I have no idea how to raise a six-year-old,” Emily said frankly. “You have two of them, and they seem healthy and happy, so you must be doing a lot right. And you seem to do it without turning into a ball of anxiety, so any tips would be welcome.”

Lisa gave a disbelieving laugh. “Seriously? That’s what you want in exchange for saving my business? You’ve been a mother as long as I have.”

Emily hesitated. “No,” she said finally, “I haven’t. Lizzy is my niece.” She looked around for somewhere to sit. “Do you know what you need in here? Some stools and a little bar where people can sit indoors if they want to.” But in the absence of seating, she leaned against the wall, and ten minutes later she’d told Lisa an abbreviated version of the story. All she left out was Lizzy’s true identity. That, she hadn’t trusted to anyone except Ryan and Agnes.

“So you’d never even
met
Lizzy until a couple of weeks ago?”

“That’s right. And I am messing it up.”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

Emily thought about the incident on the beach. Of the number of times Lizzy had asked if they could go and see the puffins and she’d refused. “Trust me, I am.”

Lisa was about to say something when the door opened, and Ryan strolled in.

Emily felt her legs melt beneath her. The sensation of control left her. One glance and she was like a teenager with a serious infatuation, except that she’d never felt anything as intense as this as a teenager.

It was the first time they’d seen each other since that evening at her house.

She knew she owed him an apology but had been too much of a coward to seek him out and say what needed to be said.

He paused on the threshold, his gaze locked on hers. She felt a rush of hunger, an awareness so sharp it made her stomach knot, that same white heat that came when he touched her. It felt as if they were the only two people in the room.

Except that they weren’t.

“Ryan!” Lisa walked across to him, apparently oblivious to the electric atmosphere. “Emily is going to help me think of ways to boost the business.”

“That’s good to know.” He pushed the door shut. “And it relates to why I’m here.”

Emily wondered if he had the same effect on all women and then noticed Lisa’s pink cheeks and decided that, yes, of course he did. Ryan Cooper was a sexy guy. No woman was likely to miss that.