Chapter 13
Clamshells crunch as Tuck’s truck rolls toward a three-story house. The wooden shingles covering the exterior are weathered gray from the sea air, which is blowing in from the open window. We must be really close to the water.
“You call this a cottage?” I ask.
Tucker grins as he turns off the truck and hops out of the cab. “Nice place, right? Keira’s folks hardly ever come here. You still surf?”
“It’s been a long time. Not since I lived in Jacksonville.”
“We should go. I’ll kick your ass, but that’ll be good for my ego.”
I shake my head, smiling as we grab our bags out of the truck bed. We’ll only be here for one night, so I barely brought anything.
“Don’t let me forget to take you to the clam shack,” Tuck tells me as we walk along the stone pavers. Each slab of the path lies perfectly straight, the lush grass surrounding them neatly trimmed. The landscaping at this place is immaculate.
Everywhere I look is pristine, and it’s not just the contrast from spending a lot of time at a construction site lately.
“I don’t like clams,” I inform Tuck.
“You’ll like the fritters,” he replies confidently. “They’re crispy and fried and, fuck, just so good.”
“I’ll try one.”
“There’s also this new brewery I’ve been wanting to go to.”
I grin. “That sounds more like it.”
The smile slides right off my face as we round the trimmed hedges and I’m blinded by red paint. A shiny convertible is parked next to a vintage Range Rover in the two spots to the left of the front porch.
“There are some old surfboards in the garage that we can—” Tuck stops talking when he realizes that I’m no longer walking. He glances between me and the convertible, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still come. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
I’m not sure I would have either. An unpleasant prickling sensation creeps along my skin as I stare at the unmistakable car.
I knew I’d see Elle eventually. But I was expecting some warning. And I thought the reunion would be at Tuck’s wedding. Not … here, under very different circumstances.
“You should have told me.”
I’m apprehensive about seeing Elle. I’m certain she doesn’t want to see me. Not after the way we left things. The way she told no one about, shielding me from the crimination I deserve.
“Sorry,” Tuck says, shame-faced. “I just … seemed like you might need this.”
He’s referring to how I’ve acted like a hermit since returning to Fernwood. I go to work, and that’s pretty much it. Tuck isn’t the only one who’s noticed. My mom and Cormac were thrilled when I mentioned going away for the weekend. Worried about me, or relieved to have more space in the cramped trailer, or both.
“It’s fine,” I tell Tuck, because what else can I say?
He drove us from the ferry, so I can’t take off alone. He’s my boss, so I can’t make up some work excuse. I’m literally stranded on an island.
I’ve spent seven years telling everyone—including Elle—that I’m over her. I convinced a part of myself it was true. But my palms are sweating, and my breathing is too fast, and I’m nervous, and none of that feels like indifference.
The front door is unlocked.
I follow Tuck into a soaring entryway. The floor is wide planks of honey-hued wood. The walls are painted a cream color, decorated with watercolor paintings of sailboats.
This place had to have cost several million, easily.
Voices drift from the left, the direction Tuck heads in.
My heart beats faster as we pass through a living room with a huge fireplace and a full wall of bookshelves, filled with leather-bound spines. Then a long dining room table before turning a corner and entering the kitchen.
I spot Keira’s beaming face first, though the smile is mostly meant for Tuck. She’s standing at the stove, flipping pancakes, a dazzling view of the ocean visible through the wall of windows behind her. This place is right on the beach. Make that ten million.
Two women I don’t recognize are seated at the breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen.
“Hey! You made it!” Keira abandons the pancakes to kiss Tuck, then shoots me a smile. “You guys made good time.”
“No traffic and smooth water,” Tuck tells her, ambling over to a cabinet. “Coffee, Ry?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I drop my duffel on the floor next to the spot where Tuck left his.
“Ryder, these are two of my best friends. Avery, Ophelia, this is Ryder, Tuck’s best friend.”
“Hi! I’m Avery.” The woman with curly blonde hair stands and walks over. Her smile is wide and bright. “Nice to finally meet you. Tucker talks about you all the time.”
“True,” Tuck says, setting a steaming mug down on the counter in front of me.
I mouth, Thanks, and he nods.
“And I’m Ophelia.” A woman with auburn hair pulled back in a long ponytail walks over as well, so we’re all clustered around the kitchen island.
“Nice to meet you both,” I say.
“Avery and I went to college together,” Keira tells me. “And Ophelia is my pastry chef.”
I glance at Ophelia again. If she works in Fernwood, she’s probably heard a lot about me. But there’s nothing but open friendliness visible on her face.
“Best job ever,” Ophelia states. “I mean, look at this place. It’s?—”
A high-pitched bark is the only warning before a blur of fur shoots into the kitchen. The dog—I’m assuming it’s a dog because of the bark, not because I can get a good look at it—races around the kitchen twice, yapping excitedly.
For some reason, it stops next to my feet, whining until I bend down to pet it. A wet tongue darts out, coating my cheek with saliva.
I lift my shirt to wipe it away, more amused than annoyed, then glance at Tuck. “You guys got a dog?”
“He’s mine.”
I stiffen, swallow, then stand.
Elle’s standing at the bottom of the staircase, wearing a pink silk pajama set. Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders, a little messy and a little wavy.
She looks different. More reserved and more composed than the last time I saw her. There’s no trust or warmth on her face—the way she used to look at me—just cool indifference.
She looks different, but she’s so Elle. So achingly familiar. So perfectly unique. Exactly what I’ve looked for in so many faces that have never been quite right.
Technically, I’ve been home for two weeks.
This moment—standing in the kitchen of a house I’ve never visited before—is the first time I’ve felt it.
I jam my hands into my pockets, feeling like an awkward teenager. “Hi, Elle.”
“Hello, Ryder. Nice to see you.” Her tone is polite and inscrutable. Detached, like talking to me is an obligation. Like this conversation is simply an item on her daily to-do list. Greet Ryder—check.
“Nice to see you too.”
She stares at me for a second longer, and then her gaze drops to the dog at my feet. A flash of annoyance breaks through the mask. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s not thrilled her dog seems to like me.
Elle taps her thigh. “Scout. Come.”
The dog—Scout—bounds over to her, and she clips the leash she’s holding onto its collar. They walk toward the French doors that open out onto a large deck. Stairs lead down from the deck to the sand.
“Don’t take too long. Pancakes are almost ready,” Keira says.
Elle glances at her, and they hold a silent conversation I’m pretty sure involves me. I’m positive Keira gave her some warning I was coming. Elle’s a good actress when she wants to be, but not that good.
Keira starts offloading pancakes from the griddle, and Tuck passes out plates. Avery and Ophelia load up theirs, then return to the nook in the corner.
“I thought vacation was supposed to include sleeping in.” Juliet Mason strolls into the kitchen, wearing a pajama set very similar to Elle’s. Hers is an icy shade of blue.
“No one woke you up,” Keira tells her.
“Elle’s loud dog did.” Juliet glances at Tuck, then me. Her eyebrows fly upward. Apparently, my arrival wasn’t a group conversation. “What happened to girls’ weekend?”
“I never said it was a girls’ weekend.”
“Elle did. That’s why she didn’t bring Prescott.”
I take a sip of coffee. It’s no surprise Elle is dating someone. Hearing she is wasn’t supposed to feel like a swift kick to the stomach though.
“I told you Gavin was welcome,” Keira tells Juliet.
“I know.” Juliet looks at me. “Hi, Ryder.”
“Hi, Juliet.”
“Long time.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Juliet studies me for a few more seconds, then grabs a plate.
I wander over to the doors that lead out onto the deck, staring out at the view. It’s stunning, sand and blue water stretching as far into the distance as you can see. Dancing blades of beach grass frame the bottom of the scene.
Elle’s standing close to the edge of the water, staring toward the horizon, while Scout runs circles around her. Her hair flies wildly in the wind. It’s shorter now than it was in high school, just brushing past the bottom of her shoulders.
“You forgot this on the counter.” Tuck approaches and presses the mug into my hand. He glances outside, noticing where I’m looking. “That went well.”
I nod.
But I actually feel like it couldn’t have gone worse.
“What’s the point of this again?” Tuck asks me.
“It’ll keep you from slipping off the board when you’re paddling toward waves,” I reply. “And help your feet keep traction on your board.”
Not that it’ll be necessary today. The surf is practically nonexistent. We’ll be paddling out simply to bob in the ocean, I’m betting.
But Tuck is excited about surfing, so I haven’t burst his bubble about the lack of decent waves. Maybe we’ll luck out.
I finish waxing my board and sit back on my heels, glancing around. I don’t know if this is a private beach or if it’s just early enough in the summer season, but there’s no one else around.
“Pretty sure Ophelia has a thing for you,” Tuck comments.
I huff a laugh as I tug my wetsuit over my shoulders and yank the zipper up. “Yep.”
Ophelia’s flirting wasn’t much of a distraction from Elle’s silence, unfortunately.
I’d forgotten what it was like to be in a room with Elle, to have my attention pulled to one spot like a magnet’s force. She’s a distraction like no other.
But I’m trying to follow her lead and make this weekend as not awkward as possible. Elle’s ignoring me, so I spent breakfast fighting the urge to look at her.
“You gonna go for it?”
“No,” I reply.
“Why not? Ophelia is great. Her lemon meringue pie is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. She lives in Fernwood, right by Keira’s place. And you know what they say about redheads …”
“What do they say about redheads?” I ask.
“They’re … fun?”
I shake my head.
“It’s been seven years, Ry. She’s dating some lawyer. She won’t care.”
I know it’s been seven years. I know she won’t care. And that’ll hurt.
Not that I’m admitting that to Tuck. He’s worried enough about me already.
“I didn’t come here to hook up, man.”
“You should’ve,” he tells me. “You can’t be getting laid in that trailer much.”
I snort. He wouldn’t even believe me if I told him how long it’s been since I had sex.
“I’m a mess, Tuck. You don’t want me getting involved with Keira’s friend and employee, trust me.”
He tilts his head, considering. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Maybe you’ll meet a local at the bar tonight.”
I stand. “We doing this or what?”
“Yeah.” He stands too, glancing toward the house. “Hey, we got a cheering section.”
I follow his gaze to the deck, where the five women are sitting. Only one isn’t looking this way, and I know without squinting that it’s Elle.
God, she’s stubborn.
I turn toward the water. “Great. They can watch us imitate ducks.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Tuck asks, zipping up his suit and then following me.
I flinch when the water hits my feet. Damn, it’s cold. “It means there’s no surf, man.”
“What do you mean? There are waves.”
I don’t bother replying, just duck under as soon as it’s deep enough to.
He’ll figure out what I mean soon enough.