Chapter 2
TWO
PRESENT DAY
Josie
Ian drops Ellery off and then climbs back into the truck with me.
Without the girl’s presence as a buffer, an awkward silence stretches between us.
Despite what I called him earlier, Ian’s not quite a stranger, though it would be better if he was.
Maybe then we could make idle chitchat about our jobs and the wedding until he drops me off at the motel.
Still, I give it a try because it’s better than sitting in silence trying not to notice the taut muscles of his arms as he steers the car onto the road or the steady rhythm of his bare chest rising and falling.
“So, you’re working out of your truck,” I say. “You couldn’t afford an office?” I know Ian inherited a wildly successful real estate development company from his dad and could probably afford a skyscraper full of offices.
He stops at a red light and turns to eye the flower and bird tattoos etched up and down my arm. “I see you’re still an artist. You couldn’t afford any paper?”
I let out a sharp laugh.
Ian grins in return. “It’s really good to see you, Josie.” His gaze drifts over me. “And I don’t just mean your drawings. Though you know I was always a fan.”
And just like that, my heart tilts and I wish I’d settled for silence, because the decade-old memory of Ian’s love for my art is inked on me more permanently than any tattoo.
It meant so much to me when I was eighteen, scribbling on a sketchpad at the end of the dock, and I wonder if he heard that I’ve made a career out of art.
Has he ever asked my sister and Garrett for more information about me, or does he change the subject when my name comes up?
With a sharp breath, I train my gaze out the front windshield of the vehicle and hope the motel isn’t far from here. Luckily, it’s just a couple of blocks, and soon, Ian is pulling the car into the small parking lot.
I’m staying at the Sunset Bay Beach Motel, a three-story coral-colored structure with balconies draped with colorful beach towels and a swimming pool next to a tiki bar.
Madeline and Garrett live in a small cottage with one guest bedroom that my mom will be staying in when she arrives in a few days, so I booked a room here for the wedding.
I’m touched by a sense of nostalgia watching the horde of screaming kids jumping into the unnaturally blue water.
When Madeline and I were young, my mom used to bring us to the motel pool for a special treat.
It’s a memory that I shoved aside when I left this island and never looked back, like I did with all of my memories from this place.
For so long, everything related to Sandy Harbor wedged a sharp pain in my chest, and it was easier to pretend it didn’t exist.
When someone asks me where I grew up, I say, “a small town in Jersey,” and hope they don’t want me to elaborate further.
But Sandy Harbor is one of the most beloved vacation destinations on the East Coast, so even in California, I encounter people whose families have been coming here for generations.
In a different timeline, I would have loved to reminisce about the island and talk about all my old haunts.
Instead, I usually just nod along until I can find an opening to change the subject.
“You good?” Ian asks, and I realize I’m still staring at the kids in the pool.
I blink myself out of my reverie. “Yes, sorry. I must be tired from the flight.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Ian asks. “Errands? Do you need to pick up any food? I know Madeline and Garrett won’t be around until tomorrow.”
I shake my head. Madeline and Garrett drove to the mainland to stay with friends tonight.
Tomorrow, they’ll pick up some supplies for wedding favors and stop by the local registrar’s office to get their marriage license.
I’ll see them tomorrow evening for dinner, so tonight, I’d planned to grab some takeout and relax after my flight.
Now, of course, finding takeout will be harder without a car, but I’m sure someplace on the island delivers.
Or maybe there’s a good restaurant near the motel.
I can ask at the desk. What I’m not going to do is spend any more time with Ian than I have to.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I say. “I’ll just grab my bags from the back and let you get on with your day.”
I pull open my door, but before I can even climb out, Ian is outside in the parking lot, hauling my bags out of the truck bed.
I meet him on the sidewalk by the glass door of the motel office, reaching for my rolling suitcase. “Thanks so much. I can take it from here.”
Ian holds on to the handle and slides it out of my reach. “I got it.” He hitches his chin at the building in front of us. “You might need some help on the stairs. I don’t think they have an elevator.”
The building was probably built in the fifties, before ADA accessibility existed, and all I see is a painted metal staircase on one side of the building to reach the upper levels.
I don’t relish the idea of dragging my suitcase up two flights, but it will be better than staring at the taut muscles of Ian’s bare back while he does the work.
Well, not better. But safer, anyway. But he’s already rolling the suitcase into the office and holding the door open for me. I sigh and follow him inside.
As the door swings shut behind me, the shrieks and splashes of the kids at the pool fade into the background, replaced by the neutral din of the motel’s air conditioning.
A young woman working behind the counter greets me with a polite, practiced smile—but when her eyes dart to Ian’s naked torso, still slightly damp from sweat and sunscreen, they sharpen with interest.
I can hardly blame her. This is a beach town, so in summer, you get used to seeing shirtless men and women in bikinis and sarongs strolling to the water or stopping in at an ice cream shop. But those are typical bodies of all shapes and sizes and Ian’s is…
Anything but typical.
I force myself not to look again and concentrate on sliding my credit card and ID across the desk.
The woman manages to drag her eyes from Ian long enough to check me into my room on the third story and hand me a keycard.
Just as I’m turning for the door, the floor beneath me begins to vibrate and the thunder of bass shakes the walls.
The tune of a dance anthem I vaguely recognize mingles with the ear-splitting roar of what sounds like a stadium full of male voices cheering like their team won the championship game.
I whip my head toward the glass door. Outside, the kids have scattered, and the pool has been taken over by a crowd of middle-aged men in various states of undress.
I turn to the woman behind the desk, silently seeking an explanation.
She gives me an exaggerated cringe. “The Society of Men in Podiatry conference is here this weekend,” she shouts to be heard over the noise.
Ian snorts. “That’s a thing?”
The woman shrugs. “So far, it seems like an excuse for them to party like they’re back in college. No wonder the women don’t want to join them, right?”
“Are they always this loud?” I yell.
“Aside from a few people who booked early, they’ve pretty much taken over the place.
I’ve asked them to turn it down, and they will, but then it slowly starts to crank up again.
So, I’ve given up.” She shrugs in a not in my job description kind of way.
“Don’t worry, they usually wind down around midnight. ”
Exhaustion from my early morning at the airport and cross-country flight sets in. “Midnight. Great.” I’m watching two guys hike a third up into a keg stand when I feel Ian slide up next to me.
“You can always come and stay with me.” He leans in so I can hear him over the noise, and a lock of his dark hair brushes my cheek. I shiver. Absolutely not.
“I always travel with earplugs,” I say, shifting away from the heat of his body with more than a little regret. “I’ll be fine.” But my words are drowned out by another cheer out by the pool.
“You sure?” he says. “I have an extra bedroom.”
I nod and reach for my suitcase, but Ian swipes the handle before I can grab it.
We head outside where the air vibrates louder from the pool area.
He trails after me up the steps and then down the hall to my room.
When I push the door and step inside, I’m hit by a wave of heat like I’ve opened an oven and climbed inside.
“Wow.” Ian coughs after he’s followed me into the room. “It’s a little hot in here.”
I feel a trickle of sweat drip down my back.
“They didn’t turn on the AC. I’m sure it will cool down in a minute.
” I hurry to the device on the wall and push the power button.
A light flashes on the display and then immediately goes out.
I press power again, and the same thing happens.
I try jabbing at the button multiple times, as if that will fix the problem.
When it doesn’t work, I give the whole damn device a good slam on the side with my palm.
Nothing.
A bead of sweat forms on my forehead and drips down my nose. I feel my dress clinging to me. Just great. I’m wearing white.
Ian peeks over my shoulder at the unresponsive air conditioning unit. “Looks broken.”
I whirl around. “Well, you’re the construction guy. Can’t you fix it?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, which was slick before but is now positively glistening.
“I mean, I have three very knowledgeable HVAC guys. I usually help them by staying out of the way. But I’ll try.
” He pushes the power button as if I haven’t tried that a dozen times already.
The machine flickers on and then off again.
“I’ll just call the front desk.” I cross the room to get my phone, and the air is so humid I feel like I’m swimming through a cauldron of hot soup.
The woman at the desk is incredibly apologetic, especially when she tells me that the maintenance person is on vacation until next week.
“I’m so sorry. His daughter is getting married in Montana. ”
“I understand.” I’m disappointed but don’t want to make a big deal out of it. Supporting a local business means someone might not be there to serve you at a moment’s notice. When I lived on the island, these workers were my family’s friends and neighbors.
“I’d happily move you to a new room,” she continues. “But they’re all booked up with the podiatrists. To be honest, I think all the local hotels will be booked this time of year. But I can email you a list of places on the mainland that might have an opening.”
Staying on the mainland would work… if I had a car.
Which I don’t. The problems seem to pile up.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll work it out.
” I hang up the phone and gaze around the room.
It’s the middle of the day, and we’re on the third floor, where heat rises.
I’m sure the place will cool down in the evening.
“I can live without AC.” I force my voice into an overly cheerful tone, as if somehow that will help me convince myself.
“People do it all the time. I’ll keep the balcony door cracked.
” But when I cross the room to slide it open, I’m hit with a wall of bass that barely drowns out the sound of four dozen podiatrists chanting “chug” at a guy shot-gunning a can of beer.
I slam the door shut again. “Never mind. I like it hot. It’s like a sauna.
You sweat out the impurities.” I tug my sopping dress away from my chest.
“Josie,” Ian says gently. “You can’t live like this. You’ve got to be well-rested and not perpetually drenched in sweat for your sister’s wedding. You need a place to stay, and I have a room.”
I bite my lip. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. I can’t believe I’m even considering this.
Ian cocks his head as if understanding is dawning. “Look, I know it’s been years, and you don’t really know me anymore. If staying with a strange guy makes you nervous, you can have my place, and I can crash at a friend’s house…”
My eyes widen. Ian was never the one who made me feel unsafe.
“I’m not afraid to stay with you,” I blurt out.
But though I know he’d never hurt me, that doesn’t mean that there wouldn’t be any danger in getting close to him again.
I watch him warily from across the room.
The humidity has curled the hair at the nape of his neck and a trickle of sweat drips down his temple.
The air is thick with heat and memories that seep into my skin and have my nerve endings igniting.
I’ve already spent more time with this man today than I had planned to for this entire week.
I’m supposed to be acting detached. Friendly but distant.
Not swooning at his naked torso and imagining running my hands through his damp hair.
I’m definitely not supposed to be giving in to this same pull of attraction that was the catalyst for the absolute worst moment of my life.
The day Ian can never, ever know anything about.
The day his dad died and my life changed forever.