Chapter 29
twenty-nine
FRANCIE
I’m hunched over my laptop in the corner table at Mylene’s coffee shop, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I write the groveling scene, where my hero has to beg the heroine for forgiveness.
These are always my favorite parts. Mostly because I’ve noticed that in real life men so rarely grovel. They say ‘I’m sorry’ with a grunt. Or worse, a shrug. And what are we supposed to do, just melt?
Not in my books. Right now, the commander is bleeding and crawling in an attempt to show her how penitent he is. She won’t listen to him with her mind, so he’ll find a way to make her listen with her heart.
And I’m going to enjoy it all the way.
But just as I’m about to make him walk barefoot across a burning path, the door to the café flings open.
I look up, my eyes widening. Eileen is standing in the doorway, her expression full of fury. There’s a letter clutched in her hand. She’s holding it so tightly, her knuckles are as white as snow.
The entire coffee shop turns silent. Even the out-of-towners who are visiting for the day must sense there’s something very wrong, because their chatter dies down almost immediately.
I look around, desperate for somebody I know to be in here, because this moment is…
momentous. Seriously, the two of them have never been this close since forever.
Everybody on the island does their best to keep them apart. My heart starts to slam against my chest. Should I be recording this for Autumn? She’s going to be so pissed she’s missed it.
Eileen steps forward, her mouth pinched so tight it could slice through an iron girder. Without a word, she slams the letter down on the counter in front of Mylene.
“This,” she hisses, stabbing an accusing finger at the paper, “arrived in my mailbox this morning. Care to explain why the Better Business Bureau is investigating me for false advertising?”
Oh, this is just too delicious. I grab my phone and message Autumn, because I can’t go through this alone.
Eileen’s being investigated by the BBB. She just accused Mylene of reporting her. It’s high noon in Liberty. I can’t breathe! – Francie
“You started serving blueberry pancakes for breakfast,” Mylene says, as though it’s an everyday occurrence for her estranged twin of forty years to come into her coffee shop. “And claiming them as your secret recipe.”
Oh. My. God. I need pictures. Video. I can’t believe I’m missing this. – Autumn
“Who told you that?” Eileen asks. She looks suddenly shifty.
“I have my sources. And I know exactly what’s in those pancakes. That’s my recipe. You stole it.” Mylene calmly pours a latte, passing it to the unlucky customer at the counter.
“It was Mother’s recipe,” Eileen retorts. “And you accuse me of having rats in the kitchen.”
“It’s the truth. I’m looking at the rat.” Mylene wrinkles her nose like there’s a bad smell in the room.
Eileen’s shoulders square up.
“You’ve always been jealous of me. My success. You hate that my Tripadvisor reviews are higher than yours.” Eileen leans forward, her voice low and deadly. “You’re going to pay for this.”
“What are you going to do?” Mylene asks, looking amused. “Put a hex on me?”
“Are you calling me a witch?”
Mylene shrugs. “If the pointy black hat fits.”
Eileen lets out a low rumbling sound, suspiciously like a growl, then snatches up the letter. “This isn’t over,” she warns. “By the time I’m through with you, you’ll regret the day you were born. Second, by the way.”
Before Mylene can think up a pithy retort, Eileen turns on her heel and flounces – as much as she can on her unsteady legs – out of the coffee shop, slamming the door closed behind her so hard the glass is in danger of shattering.
For a moment, nobody says a word. Then Mylene sighs and looks at the next customer. “What can I get you, sweetheart?”
My phone buzzes. Autumn again.
What’s happening? I need details. You’re supposed to be a writer. – Autumn
I smile. I’d hate being out of the loop too.
I’ll call you later. Fill you in on everything. Once I’m out of Mylene’s earshot. – Francie
You’d better. – Autumn
Before I put my phone away so I can go back to the hero groveling, my phone buzzes again. An unknown number.
I frown, because I hate talking to strangers. But I’m supposed to be a grown up so I answer anyway, trying not to sound too pissed off.
“Francie?”
“Asher?” I blink at his voice.
“It’s me,” he continues. “This is the only number I want you to use from now on. Just in case. Save it.”
I’m confused and sure it is reflecting on my face. “Are you okay?” I ask him. It’s not like him to sound like he’s in the middle of a heist movie.
“I’m fine. Just taking precautions after the breach.”
“For a second I thought you might have lost your phone as well as your glasses.” I smile softly, so happy to hear his voice. “You just need to misplace your wallet then you’ll have the full trifecta.”
“About the glasses,” he murmurs. “I’m going to send someone over to pick them up.”
“Oh. Okay.” I try to hide my disappointment. For some reason, having them here with me felt like he would definitely be coming back soon. And now… I don’t know. I feel disappointed, I guess.
“The driver will be at the lighthouse at five. Does that work?” he asks.
I check my watch. A couple of hours. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
There’s a pause. I try to find something to say. Of course he needs his glasses. He’s blind without them. But I still feel strange.
“Does that give you enough time?” he asks.
“To get back to the lighthouse?” I let out a soft laugh, even though I’m not feeling amused. “The island isn’t that large. I’m only at the coffee shop, so yes.”
“I mean do you have enough time to pack?”
“Pack?” I frown. “Why would I pack?”
“Because the driver’s going to pick up the glasses – and you – and bring you both to the helipad. I want to take you out. Tonight. In New York.”
I let out a breath. This time my laugh is genuine. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask him.
“Never better,” he drawls. “Can you be ready when he gets there?”
“Yes,” I squeak.
“Good. Now I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll be waiting for you.” He hangs up, and I stare at my phone for a moment.
Oh. My. God. We haven’t even been apart for a day, and he’s gone all James Bond on me.
And I’m so here for it.
ASHER
I’m waiting at the helipad for Francie to arrive when my phone vibrates. I sigh as I read the screen.
You have ten unread messages from the Fitzgerald Family Chat. Ten? Jesus. I quickly skim through the messages to make sure nobody is dying, because tonight all my attention is going to be on her.
ZACH:
Has anybody heard from Asher? I tried calling him and he hasn’t answered?
I roll my eyes, because really? I don’t need them gossiping about me right now. Especially when my business is falling apart and I intend to seek solace with the one woman who knows how to soothe me.
HUDSON:
He’s in New York. Dealing with the break-in.
There’s a string of messages where Hudson fills them in on what’s happened. Which is kind of a good thing I guess, because it saves me a job. Still, there’s a weird lump in my throat as I read it, because this whole thing is such a mess.
AUTUMN:
I guess that explains why he’s been so weird lately.
ZACH:
Weird, how?
AUTUMN:
I don’t know. Just different. He has this tone… I guess the only way I can explain it is he sounds like Hudson did when Skyler first came to the island.
ZACH:
You think a woman’s involved?
AUTUMN:
On Liberty? No. But maybe in New York. The break in could be a convenient excuse
WYATT:
ZACH:
Wyatt agrees. That means it’s irrefutable.
I let out a sigh and finally type a reply, because they’re driving me crazy. And the last thing I need is them figuring out who is heading to New York right now.
ASHER:
I’m fine. And you all need to find some hobbies. Speaking of which, anybody heard from Eden?
HUDSON:
Not me. No. Anybody else?
Bingo. Job done. I make a mental reminder to send my youngest sister a big box of chocolates some time. Yes, it needed to be done to give myself some damn peace from them all, but Eden being the sacrificial lamb deserves some kind of payment.
AUTUMN:
She texted me a selfie yesterday. Said she was “heading up the mountain” and hasn’t responded since.
ZACH:
Didn’t she say that the time she got stuck in a monastery with no cell signal?
HUDSON:
I swear if she’s sleeping in a hammock above a ravine again—
EDEN:
Chill. I’m alive. Just busy saving the planet and occasionally stealing Wi-Fi. Miss you weirdos.
A smile curves at my lips and I shove my phone into my pocket just as the helicopter comes into land, climbing out of the backseat to greet the woman who’s always the best part of my day.
FRANCIE
Asher and his car are waiting for me on the ground when the helicopter lands on Pier 6 in New York. It’s not my first time on a helicopter, but it’s also not my preferred method of travel. So by the time I climb out my legs are feeling a little wobbly.
He strides forward, looking almost impatient, as I pull out his glasses.
“There you go,” I say chirpily, putting them in his hand. “I’ll see you later.” I turn around like I’m about to throw myself back into the death trap, but before I can move his warm hands curl around my hips, pulling me toward him.
I’m wearing a short red dress. Because Mr. Control Freak sent me instructions every hour or so throughout the afternoon.
It’s getting chilly in New York. Remember to pack a jacket.
We’re going to head straight to dinner when I pick you up. The dress code is business casual.
But don’t wear heels in the helicopter. If there’s an emergency tennis shoes would be better.
And, my very favorite of all, because it perfectly highlights his demanding ways.
Make sure you listen to the safety instructions. Helicopters can be dangerous.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs in my ear.
“Well, unless you want me to walk around naked, I’ll need my suitcase,” I point out.