Chapter One #2
He looked over to where she was inspecting an antique vanity.
It had been so long since he’d seen Summer Smith, almost a dozen years to be exact, that he really wasn’t sure if it was her or not.
He still hadn’t gotten a good look at her face.
But it was the way she moved, gracefully and with gentle intention, that was making his shoulders stiffen now.
He remembered how soft her body had been, how sexy her voice had sounded when she’d said his name.
And that had been how it was for an entire year.
The best year of his life, if he was honest. But he’d had all kinds of commitment issues, and he’d been selfish and arrogant and young, and he’d quit college to fish full-time because that was his dream and he hadn’t wanted any distractions.
He’d said goodbye to her one autumn day when the leaves had fallen like rust-colored rain all around them. She’d cried. He hadn’t.
He’d thought about her a lot over the years.
About things he wished he’d done differently.
Things he wished he hadn’t. But he’d never thought about tracking her down.
He hadn’t even looked her up on social media.
Mary called it “stalking the socials.” Apparently that kind of stalking was perfectly acceptable when you were in middle school.
And maybe it was when you were thirty, too.
He didn’t really know. The only social media he ever bothered with was his official fishing page, and he barely used that.
She turned and fixed him with a smile. “This is gorgeous,” she said.
“How much—” And then that smile he remembered so well wilted on her lips.
The color drained from her face, though she already had a pale complexion.
Freckles were scattered across her nose and the apples of her cheeks, freckles that he remembered she’d hated.
He’d loved them. One night he’d kissed those freckles slowly and tenderly until he’d come to the feathery softness of her lips.
He’d never been good at telling her how he’d felt.
But he’d been pretty good at showing it.
The blood rushed in his ears now. Only it wasn’t rushing. It was pounding. Like rapids in the river, the water beating violently over the slick blackness of the rocks.
“Beau?”
Her voice sounded different. Of course, it would. She’d matured, that was obvious in the way the skin had softened around her eyes, around her mouth. But she was still beautiful. Actually, she was even more beautiful now, and that was saying something. She’d been a sight to behold at nineteen.
“Summer,” he managed.
They stood there for a minute just looking at each other. Beau said a silent prayer that nobody else would come into the shop. Or maybe he wished someone would. The thickness in the air was almost unbearable.
She stepped toward him. Her eyes were just as green as before. Just as clear.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “You live in Christmas Bay?”
“Kind of. I’m running the shop with my cousins for a while.”
She looked around, her eyes widening. She’d known his family was from Christmas Bay. That his grandfather had a shop there. But that was over a decade ago. She’d obviously forgotten the details.
“I thought you’d still be in Eugene,” she said. “Or, actually, I wasn’t sure where you’d be now… Are you still fishing?”
If she felt any lingering bitterness about how things had ended between them, she didn’t show it.
Sport fishing had always been the other woman in their relationship.
One that Summer had tried standing up to, but had never been able to compete with in the end.
That other woman had been too sexy, too tempting, too romantic.
She had lured Beau away with nothing more than the whisper of a promise of a successful future doing what he loved, and that was all it had taken.
“I am,” he said. “Sponsored now.” At least for the time being, he thought uneasily. His sponsor wasn’t going to wait forever.
She nodded. “So you’re fishing in those big tournaments? The ones you were always interested in?”
He not only fished them, he usually won them. He didn’t like to brag, but it was a fact. He’d made a pretty good living turning pro. Until his shoulder had taken a dump on him, that is.
“I’ve got an injury that needs surgery,” he said, “so I’m taking a break until I can get that done. But I’m hoping to get back to it soon.”
She frowned. “Your bad shoulder?”
He actually had two bad shoulders now. The first injury he’d gotten playing football in high school.
The scar tissue was so extensive in that one that he’d taught himself to cast with his right arm.
Later, it was Summer who’d encouraged him to perfect that casting arm and make it not just functional but golden.
She’d been nothing but loving and supportive, and look how he’d repaid her. By leaving her. By breaking her heart.
He knew she’d taken it hard; they’d had mutual friends who never missed a chance to tell him how she was.
But on the one occasion he’d seen her in town, she’d looked stoic, barely glancing in his direction before walking away.
He’d had to stop himself from going after her out of sheer habit.
Their relationship had consisted mostly of him messing up and then trying to fix it but failing miserably.
Until he’d just gotten tired of trying to be what she needed, which was a stable, loving presence in her life. He really was an ass.
She stood there now, watching him with an expression that was hard to read. It wasn’t quite warm but it wasn’t quite cold, either. It was indifferent, maybe, and that cut even now. Even after all these years.
“It’s my other shoulder,” he said. “I fell on a rock. Stupid.”
“Oh… I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
She nodded. At one point, she’d known him better than anyone. She’d known when he was feeding her a line. Did she know that now? Did she care? Probably not.
“Well,” she said. “I guess I should tell you why I’m here.”
“Not just shopping?”
“No, I actually restore and sell antique furniture.”
Beau’s gaze dropped to her throat where a small diamond necklace sparkled. It looked like the necklace that he’d given her for her twentieth birthday. She’d loved her birthday, had loved all the milestone holidays, so he’d known he needed to go all-out.
Her pulse tapped delicately above the stone, a place that he imagined would be warm and soft. Smelling like her perfume. He told himself that her showing up like this was just a coincidence. He didn’t believe in fate. Not very romantic, but it was what it was.
“Oh yeah?” he said.
“Do you work with dealers?”
“I do.”
“And private parties?”
“We work with private parties, too.”
She licked her lips, which had always been one of her best features in Beau’s opinion.
“I know we have a history,” she said. “I hope this isn’t awkward.
But would you be interested in working together?
I’m trying to get my business up and running, and your shop has a great reputation.
I could show you a few pieces that I have in my truck, so you can get an idea of what my work looks like? ”
Beau grit his teeth, feeling that same old hesitation creep in.
As much as he’d loved Summer, and he had loved her, he didn’t want to feel like he owed her anything.
He didn’t want to be tied to her through guilt or friendship, or anything else.
He knew his past had a lot to do with that—his parents’ divorce in high school, and Poppy’s car accident, where her boyfriend had been killed.
Those things had changed Beau fundamentally in his teenage years—changed how he approached relationships of any kind.
You didn’t want to get close to people because they might leave.
Or worse, they might die. And you didn’t want them to get close to you because that’s where expectations crept in and those never ended well.
This was why fishing suited him so perfectly. It was a solitary job, and Beau had always been a loner at heart.
But he wasn’t fishing. He was working in an antique shop where relationships like this were their bread and butter. He was learning there was a fair amount of schmoozing in this business, something he was lousy at. So…what choice did he really have?
Summer stood there watching him. He didn’t think he was imagining the slight tilt to her chin.
The one that said, I’m not going to let you intimidate me with that surly attitude, mister.
He could almost hear her saying something like that years ago.
She’d been the only one who’d gotten through his walls.
Which, of course, was why he’d had to walk away.
Actually, he’d practically run away, but whatever.
He stuck his hands in his jeans’ pockets. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s take a look.”
She turned and headed for the door. Following her, his gaze dropped to her shapely rear end and his mouth went dry.
She was curvier than she’d been before. It looked good on her.
She was soft and voluptuous. Beau had never really had a type, but if he had, it would’ve been just…
Summer. She was one of those women who was beautiful no matter what.
Probably because she was so beautiful on the inside, a fact that had never escaped him.
Even when he’d been busy heading in the opposite direction.
Stepping ahead of her, he opened the door.
She walked past, smelling like some kind of fruity shampoo.
She gave him a quick look but he couldn’t read it.
Did she feel weird about this? Was she still mad about how things had ended between them?
He wouldn’t have blamed her if she was. Whatever she was feeling, though, it was clear she was going to ignore it because she was here for one thing and one thing only. Business.