9 #3
Celia returns, holding a bottle of red wine, and fills two glasses without asking if I want any. Not that I’d refuse—wine would definitely help with how I’m feeling. Ella follows behind her mother, giving me a quick high-five before running off to play in the backyard.
“So, tell me about his offer,” Celia says.
I ramble on, explaining how against it I am, how our past will only cause a bigger rift between Mitch and me. How catastrophic working together will be.
“Okay, so here we are again, me not understanding,” she says, looking confused. “If you two were best friends, why do you hate him so much?”
Celia and I have become close since she started working at the inn. She listens to my whining any time, any day. She’s a truly good person. Why else would she be so perfect for my brother, the natural-born saint?
“Whatever I tell you cannot reach Hunter’s ears, got it?” I ask, looking her in the eye.
“I would never. Promise.”
I shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, then snuggle down into the couch cushions like an animal burrowing for shelter.
“The summer the boys went to college, I was into Mitch. Like really into him.” I bring my knees up, hugging myself.
“But then I found something out. Something big that affected both of us, only I didn’t tell him.
At the time, it seemed like the best move.
If he found out, it would kill him and I couldn’t do that to him. ”
“Jesus, what did you find out?” Celia asks, alarmed.
I tuck my chin into the neck of my sweater. “My mother, Joanne, was having an affair with his dad.”
Celia’s face drops in angry shock. “With Bill?”
I answer with a tight grin.
“Holy shit.” She makes a sound of disgust. “But what about how you felt?” she asks. “I mean, your mother was cheating, too.”
“I confronted her. She begged me to understand. Said she’d made a mistake and made me promise not to tell anyone. She swore it was over. And stupid me, I believed her.”
“As anyone would.”
“They kept sneaking around until…” The pain in my heart is still raw as I let out a heavy sigh and drop my head.
“Until Mitch found out,” Celia says, piecing it together.
I nod. “He found them in bed together. I was sick of the guilt hanging over me and I felt horrible about lying. I figured I finally didn’t have to lie to him anymore. So, I came clean and admitted that I’d known. Thinking it wouldn’t be a big deal.”
“And let me guess,” Celia replies. “Instead of dealing with his emotions maturely, he took it out on you?”
“Pretty much. He said some awful things. Shut down. But that wasn’t the worst part. I deserved that.” I rush to take a sip—or five—of wine. “A few days later, I went to see him. Only he wasn’t alone. He was with this girl named Jessa De Luca.”
“And we don’t like her, do we?” Celia asks, narrowing her gaze.
“No, we don’t. She was this ditsy hoe-bag that Mitch had a crush on.”
“Ugh,” Celia says, rolling her eyes.
“I freaked out and ran away. Avoided him at all costs, but he made it easy.” I force a smile, holding back the stinging tears filling my eyes. “We never spoke after that.”
“Oh, Max…” Celia rubs my back with her hand, then pulls me into a side-hug that I surrender to and I release my tears.
“My grandma used to say, ‘Don’t let little boys get you down—they’re tiny pricks that grow up to be big dicks’.”
I chuckle, despite the heartache.
“You’re older and wiser now. Don’t you think you should talk to him about this?”
“There’s a lot more to it. It’s complicated.
” Wiping my face with my sleeve, I pull away.
“I’m not sure I can. I mean, look at me.
I can’t break down like this in front of him.
It’s humiliating. He’ll see that I shouldn’t be running the inn.
It’ll give him ammo to fight Bill and Robyn’s decision.
He’ll think I’m the last person he should be around. ”
“Would you stop it?” she says, sharply enough that I recoil. “This is how you feel, and he deserves to know it. He needs to see how much he hurt you. He doesn’t get to break your heart and then get off scot-free. And I sincerely doubt he’d use your fully permitted emotions against you.”
There’s fire in her eyes, in her words. She’s getting over a messy divorce with her piece of shit ex-husband, so I’m sure that explains her reaction.
“But I hurt him, too. I’m the one who lied to him. He won’t forgive that. I can’t even forgive myself.”
“Well, there’s the real issue. How can you expect him to forgive you when you don’t think you’re worthy of forgiveness?
Trust me, I’m older and wiser. I know things.
” She smiles. “You were a kid. You both were. You made mistakes, and now’s your chance to make up for them.
” She reaches for the wine bottle and refills my glass. “Now drink up.”
Mitch
I’m not big into hugs, but when Hunter Nolan gives me one, it’s like being welcomed home. No matter when. No matter where. His presence is comfort personified.
We hung out last night at the opening, but we didn’t get a chance to talk about what happened in the cemetery. But his wide grin and the happiness oozing from him tells me that things with Celia went well. Better than well if the two hickeys on his neck are any indication.
I cover them with my hand and grin. “Busy night?”
He swats my hand away. “You could say that. Just got home a few hours ago,” he says, shutting the door behind me and Spencer.
Stepping further into his house—the house our late friend Seth grew up in—I’m instantly taken back to our teenage years, to summers filled with stolen beers, junk food, and a little bit of weed.
The walls seem to echo the sound of our laughter, and I swear I smell the freshly baked cookies Seth’s mom used to make while we huddled in the living room to play video games.
The sweet memory turns bitter when I remember what happened a few years later and what we all lost.
Beyond the love that still lingers, and the cozy vibe Hunter has created with his decorative touches and his good-natured energy, there’s an undertone of heartbreak, as if Seth’s death found its way here. As if, somehow, Seth is hanging around.
I notice the light in Spencer’s eyes dim as we walk through the house. He still doesn’t like being here. I guess it carries a lot of weight for him, too.
“I thought we were going out for lunch,” I say.
Spencer digs into the appetizers Hunter’s prepared that are spread out over the counter.
“Can’t let this go to waste,” Hunter answers, dipping a tortilla chip into some salsa. “Have some,” he suggests, pulling another hot plate from the stove. “It’s more chill here, anyway. And cheaper than going out.”
“Also, this way, Hunter can keep an eye on his girlfriend across the street.” Spencer smirks while chewing.
Hunter throws a chip at his head, but he ducks out of the way. “I’m not keeping an eye on her.”
“Sure you’re not. And this isn’t you stress-cooking, either,” Spencer teases, pointing to the abundance of snacks.
“I’ll have you know my emotions are perfectly in check,” Hunter bites back, but lowers his gaze. “I’m not stressed. Like at all.”
We notice his blush, and Spencer shoots me a knowing glance, finally catching on. “You had sex!” Spencer exclaims.
“What are you talking about?” Though Hunter uses his calmest voice, his eyes refuse to meet ours.
“You so did,” Spencer insists.
Hunter shrugs, then looks up, his face transformed with a massive grin, looking the happiest I’ve ever seen. “Okay. I did,” he admits shyly.
“Holy shit. You should have said so!” I say, gripping Hunter’s shoulder. “We’d have gone out without you so you could do your thing with your new lady.”
“Actually, we needed a break,” Hunter replies. “We unpacked a lot last night. We need the rest.”
“I bet you do, you horny bastard. How long were you celibate for again?” I taunt, gently shoving him. I still can’t understand how someone can withhold from sex on purpose for months, but leave it to Hunter to set that sort of goal and reach it.
Spencer laughs, then bites into another chip. “Way to end your oath, man.”
Hunter rolls his eyes and shakes his head, grabbing a plate. “Okay, if you’re both done. Let’s go eat this outside.”
We step out onto the porch and settle at the table. I peer out toward the small pond, railroaded by the same memory that’s been haunting me for days, the one I’d shoved down so far deep in my subconscious I was sure it would never resurface.
While I’m entertained by Max’s repeated failed attempts at skipping a rock across the still ocean water, I rub my thumb over the smooth surface of the one I’m holding.
“It’s no use,” she complains, lowering herself to sit on the sand. “I’ll never get the hang of this.”
I laugh, sitting beside her. “Of course you will.”
She has her hair in adorable pigtails today. I’ve tugged them a few times, earning an elbow or two in the gut. “What makes you so sure?”
“’Cause if you don’t, there’s no way we can be friends,” I say, nudging her shoulder with mine.
She glares at me through narrowed eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would. I refuse to be seen with someone who can’t even skip a rock.” I tip my chin up, acting all smug. “That would suck for my rep.”
She rolls her round blue eyes at me, shaking her head, a faint blush coloring her freckled cheeks. “I hate you,” she says, then sighs. “I’m going to miss this.”
A sharp pain stabs me squarely in the chest. “Me too. But I’ll be around.”
“No, you won’t.” She keeps her head down, flipping the rock over in her hands. “Once you hook up with all those college girls, we’ll never see you again. I’ll never see you again.”
“Come on, you know that’s not true.”
“Why? You don’t think you’ll hook up?” She’s kidding, but for a second, I see hope in her eyes. I wonder if she’ll ever look at me the same way I look at her.
Probably not.