Lobster Cove Lane (Isabel Island #4)

Chapter 1

As usual, she opened her shop to no customers.

Whereas, down the street at Johnny’s Bicycle Shop, a line formed along the outside of the building, all the way from the front porch, wrapped around to the back driveway.

Half the crowd stood in line for a bike rental or a golf cart, and the other half for Johnny’s famous coffee.

She tried not to look over his way, but out of habit she snuck a peek out at the ferry port, which made her glance his way. He waved when they registered eyes, but she didn’t wave back. Instead, she pretended she hadn’t seen him.

It wasn’t like he had come over to fix things; he barely looked over at her.

Why would she wave back and pretend that everything was okay when all he did was just tend to the line that continued to accumulate outside his store?

If he was sorry for anything, he’d be here trying to work things out. A wave wasn’t going to cut it.

“We’ll have the golf cart line starting over here!” he shouted from the front of his barn, which was attached to his shop.

Johnny had renovated his parents’ house into a bicycle shop ten years ago.

It was the same time when Thea had opened her own store, which she rented from Mrs. Kilkenny.

It had been his idea to help promote each other.

She put out fliers in her shop for a free coffee with a golf cart rental, and he put a 10% coupon for her shop on the island map he gave to all his customers.

Because they’d both started their respective businesses at the same time, when she had questions about certain things, she’d run them by Johnny, who may be an idiot about some things but knew about running a successful business.

She’d ask about certain advertising opportunities, local tax questions, or how the island council worked together with local business.

He always had really thoughtful answers, unlike her parents and sister.

Johnny seemed as savvy about business as anyone Thea had met.

Johnny’s business thrived because he catered to his customers.

He knew what they wanted before they wanted it.

He passed out free coffee to any golf rentals, which most tourists wanted once getting off the ferry ride across Casco Bay.

Then he offered a bottle of water when they returned the rental.

He knew when good business opportunities came and went, how to hook and pull in customers, and get them to leave a raving review.

In her early years owning her shop, she’d walk over the invisible property boundary and find herself hanging out with him, asking him questions.

Even when she knew the answer sometimes.

He had so much patience with her. Unlike her father, who never stopped working or lecturing to listen to her questions.

He had been the one who had encouraged her to use her art on the tourist memorabilia she sold in the shop.

If it hadn’t been for his encouragement, she’d have never sold anything other than postcards or stickers with her designs.

Now most of the items in her shop were all designed by her.

If someone wore an Isabel Island sweatshirt or held an Isabel Island mug, it had been designed by her.

But none of that mattered now. Not after last night, anyway. He didn’t even bother trying to wave back after she ignored him. It was just business as usual for him, like always.

Before she could stop herself, she looked back at the shop again.

Johnny jumped on his own golf cart and took off.

He drove it everywhere on the island. In fact, Thea couldn’t remember a time he had driven anything other than a golf cart around the island.

Well, everywhere except for Thea’s apartment.

He never drove over to her apartment.

She walked back into her small surf-slash-gift shop.

It should really be named Random Items that Kids Like on the Beach.

She didn’t get the rentals like Johnny, or the queue like Johnny, and she certainly didn’t get the coffee lines like Johnny.

But she didn’t mind. She enjoyed her customers who bought her little trinkets and clothing.

She picked up her feather duster and lightly dusted the top of each shelf. She may not have the line out the door at opening—Ding!—but they were coming, and she’d be swamped in no time.

“Good morning!” she said to her first customer. She didn’t bother looking up from her dusting. She didn’t want to deal with anyone at that moment as her thoughts kept playing the events of last night over and over in her head.

“Good morning,” a low voice said from the other end.

When she finally looked up, she couldn’t see his face, but she could tell by his voice what kind of a customer he would be.

He sounded middle-aged. He would be here looking for something for his kids.

A boogie board or a paddleboard. Maybe a gift like a sweatshirt or the stickers people collected for their water bottles and coffee mugs.

Or her bestseller: her local, homemade beeswax candles, which had her label with Isabel Island written on it. A perfect gift for anyone.

“Let me know if I can help you find anything,” she said, heading to her spot behind the register as she put the duster away.

“Do you rent out those longboards?” he asked, spinning the display case with the different magnets she sold, each with the name Isabel Island in a different decorative font.

Surfing, she thought. Not too many people rented surfboards these days. Not without lessons.

“Yes, I have a few that you could choose from.” She stretched her neck to get a better angle on the guy. She still hadn’t gotten a good look. “Do you have experience surfing?”

“I’ve gone out here and there,” he said, stepping out from behind the rack with a tie-dyed sweatshirt in hand. Her favorite logo was printed on the front.

She caught her breath when she recognized his face.

The former professional football player wasn’t hard to miss.

Ryan Mathers stood well over six feet tall and appeared monstrous in her tiny shop.

Like a bull in a china shop, he practically ducked his way through the eighteenth-century-sized store.

She couldn’t help but smile as he made his way up to the counter.

She wished Mandy, her one employee, was here to see this. Why did all the crazy things happen when she was alone?

Did he remember her? Probably not, she guessed.

The last time she saw little Ryan Mathers was when she had started working at the inn at sixteen.

Thea was hardly out of a training bra, but thicker and taller than most girls, she stayed in the kitchen most of the time washing dishes.

He had been a couple years younger, which didn’t feel like much now, but seemed worlds apart then.

He also had been part of the day camp and ran with the rich kids. He barely noticed the workers like her.

She watched as he pulled out a few stickers from one of the displays, grabbed a pair of earrings, and then looked up at the wall behind her.

“I’ll take that painting too. How much is it?” he asked.

She turned around and looked at her oil painting. She shrugged. “Umm…”

It had been hanging in her shop for over six years. She had set the price at sixty dollars, mostly to cover her costs. The frame alone was nearly that much. After five years with no offers, she’d lowered the price to fifty and still hadn’t received a single offer. “What do you think it’s worth?”

“Is the artist local?” His eyebrows twisted as he studied the painting.

She almost laughed. “Yes, she’s from the island.”

“It’s nice.” He put all the items he’d collected throughout the store onto the counter and stared at her painting.

It’s nice? She wondered how much the football player knew of art and painting and oils.

She had painted it when Johnny had broken up with her and left her for Florida.

The first time. Now, his leaving was a given.

Every winter, for half of their relationship, he’d get the itch.

He’d take off on his sailboat and head down south to the Florida Keys.

At first, she wouldn’t hear from him for months, and then all of a sudden, he’d reappear back on the island, acting as if he’d never left.

“No address” had been his motto, as he lived on a boat and owned a seasonal bicycle shop.

No address also meant no commitment. Throughout their ten years of dating on and off, Johnny would routinely get scared and pull away for a bit.

He’d go off on his adventures by himself, leaving her on the cold island only to return back like nothing happened, just like now.

She sighed as Johnny called out the names of people who’d called ahead to reserve a cart. The number of tourists who traveled to their little island always amazed her. Families from all over the world rode the creaky ferry across Casco Bay to rent an overpriced golf cart to explore the island.

Her whole life she had catered to the tourists—first working at her parents’ restaurant, then at the inn with Mrs. Kilkenny, and now with her own shop.

She thought someone like Johnny, who owned his own business, would understand her.

She also thought that when he’d returned this time from his winter hiatus, things would be different.

They had kept in touch for most of this trip.

He’d called or texted while he was in port.

He’d made a habit of saying goodnight to her every night, and this time he told her he missed her and wanted to come back.

But ever since he’d returned, he hadn’t gone out of his way to see her. He almost seemed as though he’d forgotten about her, which she didn’t understand. He had been the one making all the effort this past time around. Usually, it had fallen on her to communicate.

But this time had felt different. That’s why last night had been so disappointing.