5. June #2
“He owned a lobster restaurant over in Siasconset. My sisters and I worked there every summer since we were old enough to hold a shucker without stabbing each other with it.”
“You have sisters?”
My eyes narrow at his tone of surprise. “Why, do I seem like an only child to you?”
“I’m an only child.” He shrugs.
“Figures,” I shoot back, earning me a toothy grin.
“I’m in the middle. Meredith is the oldest by a couple of years, and Sophie is the baby.
I haven’t seen either of them much since the accident.
Dad was fishing and, well…” I take a long drink, one that Ashton copies in an odd moment of camaraderie.
“Anyway, my stepdad wants to sell the Shack, and my sisters are back in town, so it’s become pretty complicated.
” I focus for a moment on the food, hoping he’ll let the topic drop.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t. “I’m guessing you don’t get along with your mom’s husband.”
I snort, unable to help myself. “Not when he swooped in and married her six months after we scattered my dad’s ashes.”
“You’re joking,” he says with such earnestness that I find my mouth moving again.
“It’s why I haven’t spoken to Meredith since.”
I want to curse myself. I’m venturing into dangerous territory now, the kind that makes me feel all kinds of vulnerable.
But Ashton waits patiently, neither pushing for more nor expecting me to continue.
His features are less sharp in the moonlight, strong lines softened by the flickering candlelight that surrounds us.
It makes his attractiveness seem a little more human, like I could imagine how he might look, disheveled in the morning or after a shower or a long drive with the sunroof down.
Feeling myself flush, I distract myself by looking out at the sea, away from the coastline. To where the darkness of the sky seems indistinguishable from the waves. That darkness has always felt quite comforting.
“I was at college when it happened. Dad died at the end of the summer, and I had to go back to New York for the fall. It nearly killed me to do it, to leave Mom and Mer behind. Sophie was still in school, but I couldn’t study, couldn’t paint anymore.”
Ashton’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re an artist?”
“Not much these days.” I smile tentatively, trying to remember the last time I even picked up a paintbrush. “I was set on dropping out by winter break. But when I got back for the holidays, Richard was already there. Mer had just let him sink his claws in.”
He seems confused. “Your mom didn’t have anything to say for herself?”
“Mom has always been a little na?ve, too quick to believe in things, and Richard came into her life when she was her most vulnerable; anyone could see that.” I wave a hand dismissively.
“He was worse with Sophie. She had all these dreams of making it big in Hollywood, did all the pageants, modeled for pretty much every store around she could bat her pretty little lashes at. Richard was having none of it, of course. He already had her picking out colleges that first Christmas. Not that it stopped her in the end.”
“And Meredith didn’t intervene.”
“She didn’t want to,” I say with a sigh. “She was going to Harvard Law. She’d been saving up for years because our parents wanted me to take advantage of my scholarship. It wasn’t like they could afford to send both of us at the same time. Someone had to run the Shack, and Mom was in no state.”
“So, Richard showing up was her ticket out.” It wasn’t a question.
I nod, trying to ignore the age-old bitterness welling up in my throat. “Richard announced the engagement on Christmas morning, and Mer congratulated them. Things got pretty heated after that.”
His eyes widen. “Really? You don’t strike me as the kind of person who enjoys a fight.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
Ashton’s smile is momentarily quite distracting. “I’m learning from the best.”
“Yeah. We fought. It was ugly. But we’d fought before, and it’s not like I hadn’t known her plans to move to Boston,” I concede with another sip of wine, willing the flush in my cheeks to fade.
“I think it would have been fine after we’d both cooled off, but Richard went and opened his mouth.
I couldn’t forgive her for leaving after that. ”
Ashton stares at me from across the table, and for a moment, I’m amazed by how strange the whole situation is.
He’s someone I barely know, yet I feel like I’m almost spilling my life story just because he asked the right questions.
It’s not like any of it is a big secret, but it’s heavy enough that I hesitate to share it with someone else. Maybe the wine is going to my head.
I drop my head back and blink up at the dark sky, muttering, “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this.”
Easy silence wraps us in an embrace for a moment before he finally asks, “What did Richard say, June?”
I stare at him, contemplating. “He said my father’s death wasn’t an accident.”
His response is an immediate grimace. “Yikes.”
I snort out a laugh. “Yeah.”
“So, let me get this straight. Your older sister left to be a hotshot lawyer, and your younger sister left to see her name in lights. You’re the only one who stayed, and instead of working at the Shack, you opened Aiden June’s Art Gallery.”
I tilt my head and blink slowly at him through the flickering candlelight. “Is this the part where you tell me it’s hypocritical of me to care what happens to the Shack now?”
He shakes his head, though he never takes his eyes off mine.
“No. This is the part where I tell you I’m glad you did something for yourself.
Your sisters got to; your mother is allowed to make her own decisions, albeit terrible ones.
You looked after yourself, and I think your father would be proud of that, even if you didn’t end up back at the Shack. ”
Oh, isn’t that just the perfect thing to say?
I can feel the warmth of it seeping into my chest, right where the anxiety and chaos of the past few days have been running wild. The insecurity of my choices and the guilt of leaving behind the last memory of my father in favor of holding on to what was left of my lifelong creative dreams.
It’s almost as if?—
Dang it. I almost fell for it.
I quickly snap out of it and shake my head. “I’m not hosting your artists.”
Ashton’s soft smile fades into a frown. “Did I ask?”
“No, but you were about to.”
I go to stand, but Ashton rises with me. “June, come on.”
“Thank you for dinner,” I reply flatly, feeling the crushing weight of foolishness. “I hope you have a pleasant vacation.”