Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Fifty to eighty grand in gold?
Emma grinned, her whole body trembling. How was that even possible?
She slid behind the wheel of Abbie’s borrowed Subaru and turned the key in the ignition. Beside her on the front seat, she’d wedged the laundry basket filled with plastic eggs, half a dozen bags of miniature candy, stickers, and temporary tattoos.
“Thank you, Lord,” she whispered. “Please give me wisdom. I don’t know what to do.”
Then she drove away from the resort, one hand on the wheel and the other rummaging in the plastic bag inside the laundry basket for a peanut butter cup or three.
The Easter egg hunt was only two days away and they still had more eggs to fill, so she couldn’t eat more than a few pieces of candy.
Otherwise there wouldn’t be enough to finish filling the eggs.
But sometimes sugar and chocolate hit the spot.
She unwrapped the pastel pink foil and popped the sweet treat into her mouth. Her thoughts kept circling back to Gavin’s words and the gold and what that box meant, stashed back in the safe at the resort. So much potential. So much pressure.
This isn’t just about the gold, he’d said. Maybe this is really about the gift you’ve been given.
That was the problem—she didn’t know what to do with the gold. And she didn’t know how to figure it out.
Yeah, okay, so she’d come to Redemption looking for answers and a way to pay off her mother’s property-tax debt. She’d thought that would mean selling the house. But now, part of her questioned whether she even wanted the life she’d spent the last several years building.
Her phone buzzed against the console.
Nathan.
Her stomach flipped. Heat rushed to her face as she stared at the screen. She hadn’t heard from him since she’d texted—no, confronted—him about the photo with Courtney. Not one word. She checked her mirror, eased to the side of the road, then turned on her hazard lights and swiped to answer.
“Emma,” he said, calm and polished, like nothing had happened.
She bristled. “Oh, now you decide to call me back?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Convenient,” she snapped. “Too busy to text or call, but not too busy to put your arm around Courtney LaSalle in front of a room full of donors.”
He sighed the way he did when she was being—quote—emotional. “I gave you plenty of opportunity to show up at that gala. Everyone needs a date. It’s optics, that’s all.”
“Oh, and your hand on her waist, pulling her close? That’s for optics too, Nathan?”
“You’re overreacting.”
“I’m not stupid. I know what that photo looked like. And come to think of it, I’ve heard your mom say she’d prefer that you marry Courtney.”
“Are you kidding me? Do you hear yourself right now?” His voice sharpened. “You’re thousands of miles away. You ran off to chase sea lions off your old dock. And now you’re mad that I took someone else to an event we’d planned to attend for months?”
“I didn’t leave you,” she said, her voice wobbling. “I asked for ten days.”
“Which has now turned into two weeks.”
“But you said you understood!”
“Well, that was before you went full-on frontier woman and dropped out of my life.”
“Oh, please. I’ve been trying to talk to you. You’ve been busy.” She emphasized the word, knowing as soon as she said it that he’d get angry.
There was a long pause.
“You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe space is a good thing. It’s showing us how different we are. I’m building something real, Emma. A life for us. The very future you said you wanted and needed.”
Oh, he made her want to say bad words. “And I’m supposed to be grateful? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying I’m making connections. Building my practice. Making sure I have a stellar reputation as a surgeon so you can live the lifestyle you’re accustomed to—”
“—and stepping out on me in the process.”
“I did not cheat,” he said coldly. “But maybe I should have if this is how you’re going to act.”
She sucked in a breath. A hot tear slipped down her cheek. She swiped it away with the back of her hand, willing herself to keep calm.
“You know what? You have no right to say that to me. Don’t bother calling. We’re done.”
“You’re ending our engagement over the phone?” His voice still held that maddening calm, but she could hear the current of fury beneath it.
“Sure am,” she said. “And I’m ending this because I deserve better than someone who makes me feel small when I’m going through a crisis. I will not let you treat me this way.”
He scoffed. “I do not make you feel small. That’s ludicrous.”
She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “Goodbye, Nathan.”
She hung up before he could respond. The silence in the car swallowed her whole. Her breath came in shallow bursts. Her face still burned, her eyes stung. She grabbed another peanut butter cup and shoved it in her mouth. Then she shifted into Drive and headed for the bed and breakfast.
By the time she had driven up the hill and parked, her jaw ached from clenching it.
The candy had done little to soothe the hurt in her chest. She slammed the door harder than necessary, marched around the car, gravel crunching beneath her feet, and grabbed the laundry basket full of Easter egg hunt supplies, wedging it against her hip.
Her vision blurred as she stormed toward the front door. Inside, she blinked back the tears that refused to stop. Angry crying. The worst kind. Her throat felt tight, like it might collapse in on itself. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.
She rounded the corner toward the kitchen—and bumped straight into Mrs. O’Brien, who was carting a bag of flour from the pantry to the island.
The older woman glanced up. Her usual flat, stone-cold expression softened. “Uh-oh,” she said. “You look like someone just kicked your puppy.”
“I’m fine,” Emma muttered.
Mrs. O’Brien raised one eyebrow. “You don’t look fine.”
Emma dropped the basket onto the table with a thud. “Thanks so much.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’d rather scream into a pillow.”
She crossed to the fridge, yanked open the door, and plucked out a can of sparkling water.
“I just dumped my fiancé. Over the phone. In Abbie’s car. While shoving Easter candy into my face. Totally winning at life.”
Mrs. O’Brien hummed—a low, oddly empathetic sound. “Men,” she said, shaking her head. “They ruin everything.”
Emma barked a laugh, but it caught and turned into a sob. She popped the tab on the can but didn’t drink.
“I really thought he was the right choice,” she said, leaning against the kitchen cabinet doors.
“I thought if I just had it all together—neat and tidy—my job, my relationship, the wedding plans…then everything would gel and I’d have this perfect little life with my brilliant surgeon of a husband. But I think I’ve been lying to myself.”
Mrs. O’Brien set her measuring cup aside. “Well, let me give you the advice no one gave me when I was your age.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Marriage is a long time to deal with a bad choice.”
Emma stared at her. “Um…that is not exactly comforting.”
“It’s not supposed to be,” Mrs. O’Brien said.
“It’s true.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a spoon.
“It doesn’t matter how good he looks in a tux, or how much your ring sparkles, or how many people tell you you’re a lovely couple.
If you marry someone who makes you feel like less than you are, you’ll spend the next however-many years fighting—not just with each other, but with yourself. Trying to justify your decision.”
Emma trudged over to the bar, pulled out a stool, and sat down. “I think I knew this,” she whispered. “I think I’ve known for a while.”
“Well,” Mrs. O’Brien said, “be glad you figured it out before you walked down the aisle.”
“I thought you didn’t like me,” Emma said, then took a sip of her drink.
“Poor assumption on your part,” Mrs. O’Brien replied. “I didn’t care much for how your parents behaved when they lived here, but I’ve been watching you. You’ve got grit. You showed up here and you’re trying to make things right. That counts for something.”
Emma set her can back down on the bar. “I appreciate that.”
Mrs. O’Brien nodded toward the laundry basket. “Want some help finishing those?”
“Sure.”
Mrs. O’Brien rolled up the sleeves of her sweater and moved to the table. “You stuff, I’ll close the eggs. And when we’re done, we’ll split the bag of leftover candy.”
Emma smiled. “That’s the best offer I’ve had all week.”
He would hide a thousand plastic eggs in eighteen-degree weather if it meant spending more time with Emma.
The sun had just climbed over the mountains across the bay, but its golden light added little warmth.
Luke shivered, his breath leaving small white puffs in the crisp morning air.
Not exactly ideal weather for the community Easter egg hunt, but he wasn’t rooting for spring just yet.
He still held out hope for an epic blizzard—the kind that dumped several feet of snow in less than twenty-four hours and kept their guests at the resort happy.
He plucked another plastic egg from his bucket and tucked it behind the wooden sign at Redemption Community Church, then looked around, searching for Emma.
She stood a few yards away, auburn curls catching the sunlight.
Crouched near the propane tank, she stashed a few eggs underneath, moving quickly.
Knowing her, she had some kind of strategy in mind.
That was just like her. Always a little competitive.
She probably wanted to empty her basket before he did, even with something as simple as hiding eggs for the kids.
The sight of her stirred something deep inside him.
That same ache he’d thought he had buried alongside his teenage memories of her.
Yeah, okay, so it had been years since they’d been a couple, but she still had that way of making his world brighter.
Sharper. And now she’d extended her visit in a way that felt almost… permanent.