Книга - First Love Again

First Love Again
Kristina Knight


Some loves deserve a second chance… Coming back to Gulliver Island after a ten-year absence to take care of his father should have been simple. Emmett Deal would fix and sell the family home, and return to Cincinnati with his ailing father in tow. Yet something compels him to stay a little longer. The beautiful, bright eyes of Jaime Brown.Ten years ago, traumatic events changed the course of Jaime's life forever, catching her in a small-town life she can't escape. Emmett's return stirs up the memories she wanted to ignore…and dreams she had forgotten. Now she finds herself with a rare opportunity—a second chance. Only this time, it's not just for love…







Some loves deserve a second chance...

Coming back to Gulliver Island after a ten-year absence to take care of his father should have been simple. Emmett Deal would fix and sell the family home, and return to Cincinnati with his ailing father in tow. Yet something compels him to stay a little longer. The beautiful, bright eyes of Jaime Brown.

Ten years ago, traumatic events changed the course of Jaime’s life forever, catching her in a small-town life she can’t escape. Emmett’s return stirs up the memories she wanted to ignore...and dreams she had forgotten. Now she finds herself with a rare opportunity—a second chance. Only this time, it’s not just for love...


“Things could get really complicated really fast...”

Jaime handed Emmett the shovel. “Then we uncomplicate it. I think I’ve already proven I’m a much better planner than actual renovator. I’m turning in my shovel and hammer.”

He flicked the brim of her ball cap with his thumb and index finger. “That will definitely speed things up.”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “And here I thought you wanted to take things slowly.”

“Well, there is twenty-first century slow and then there is 1920s slow.” A twinkle lit his blue eyes. There was still something he wasn’t telling her—something she didn’t know—but Jaime pushed that thought out of her head. There was time to figure all of it out.

And maybe, just this once, it would be okay if she didn’t examine things so closely.

Maybe, it would be okay to just see where this took them. She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his.

“I definitely think twenty-first century slow is the way to go...”


Dear Reader (#ulink_687f5307-6941-5f45-ad97-dd338023a073),

I have a love affair with second-chance love stories. There is something about two people who are willing to take another swing at love after it’s kicked them in the teeth that just makes me root for them.

Jaime and Emmett have that kind of story. High school sweethearts, neither expected their romance to end with a class trip to Pennsylvania...and neither is quite ready for what it means when that spark of attraction ignites once more. I adore both of these characters, but Jaime holds a special place in my heart because of her willingness to look into the darkness and still see light.

Happy reading!

Kristina Knight

KristinaKnightAuthor.com (http://www.KristinaKnightAuthor.com)


First Love Again

Kristina Knight




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


KRISTINA KNIGHT decided she wanted to be a writer, like her favorite soap opera heroine, Felicia Gallant, one cold day when she was home sick from school. She took a detour into radio and television journalism but never forgot her first love of romance novels, or her favorite character from her favorite soap. In 2012 she got The Call from an editor who wanted to buy her book. Kristina lives in Ohio with her handsome husband, incredibly cute daughter and two dogs.


For Kyle, because you find a way to make me laugh, you hold me when I need a good cry and you’re always ready to go on an adventure. I love you.


Contents

Cover (#u763fe43c-090b-5a9a-8929-02136d8d60d4)

Back Cover Text (#u763fe43c-090b-5a9a-8929-02136d8d60d4)

Introduction (#u5322a929-79c9-5fe6-8821-529d6269891a)

Dear Reader (#ua4e67077-5195-5643-91d5-82906049487a)

Title Page (#u5d6f994a-82da-59cb-b250-ddef81c957e8)

About the Author (#u8a4c82ff-ab7f-55b4-9d91-dcc6c79a966a)

Dedication (#u5bffa732-8755-5685-9753-45c4403bbf86)

CHAPTER ONE (#ua9c3663f-2ffc-51c4-81c2-ace54439fded)

CHAPTER TWO (#ueb037ed2-0941-5cac-a1be-c0f38d7495b0)

CHAPTER THREE (#u4818b25e-9eae-57fb-bf87-f8bf840789ac)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ua4fe1b22-9a6b-583e-aafd-911e7ccd344a)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u69f7bf9e-18f7-52bc-8aac-bc3ab2d0a73b)

CHAPTER SIX (#u2ad9ee16-3fbf-547f-9b56-f4fdd88f2d79)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_17e68fd3-1015-5b9b-b3be-8dc9f85e89fe)

“BUT IT ISN’T FINISHED.”

Jaime Brown pushed a lock of curly blond hair behind her ear, but it was so muggy on this May afternoon that the lock sprang right back to the side of her face to tickle the sensitive skin along her jaw.

“Isn’t like your little party is tomorrow. There’s time.” The grizzled head of the renovation project scratched dirty hands over his scruffy chin.

Luther Thomas had sounded fatherly over the phone when she’d hired him. Competent. He might be good at his job, but after five days on the island he and his “crew” had put a few holes in the room walls downstairs and that was it. She’d found them drinking at the tavern, fishing on the docks and sitting under the big maple trees in the parking lot, but as far as actual work went she hadn’t seen much.

Plenty of time. No, there wasn’t. The reunion might still be six weeks off, but there were two complete stories of the old school building to renovate. Having the ground floor demo’d was a huge step in the whole process.

“We’re knocking down walls, rebuilding a staircase and replacing old windows. That isn’t just slapping up a new coat of paint.” She pushed the long sleeves of her gray T-shirt up her arms, hoping for a little relief from the heat.

Damn the month of May, anyway. When she’d left her cottage on Gulliver’s Island this morning it was a comfortable sixty-five degrees with a light breeze blowing in from the west. Perfect weather for lightweight-but-long-sleeved. But the crazy weather along this part of Ohio’s Lake Erie struck and the breeze changed to a full-on wind, bringing in muggy air that didn’t usually hit until after Memorial Day.

What she wouldn’t give to pull the shirt over her head. The ribs on her left side twinged, as if the scars covering them were still raw, brown with dried blood and ugly. No chance she’d pull the shirt off, even if her sports bra covered more than the bikinis she used to wear on hot summer days.

“Don’t worry about it,” Luther said, beginning to sound like a broken record. Every time she asked about the teardown, the shape of the staircase and the windows she got either a “don’t worry about it” or a “plenty of time” answer. Well, she wasn’t taking that answer this time. The project might not be important to Luther, but it was important to her.

To the whole island community.

She folded her arms beneath her breasts. Through the fabric, her fingers instinctively sought out the scars that were now faint pink lines crisscrossing her ribs and one ugly, jagged mark that reached over her left breast. She’d rebuilt her life over the past ten years; she could deal with a lousy construction foreman.

“When we spoke on the phone you assured me this section of the building would be finished this week.”

“The reunion isn’t tomorrow or even next week.” Luther didn’t bother to look at her when he spoke and Jaime gritted her teeth. “We’ve got six more weeks to finish.” He kept walking toward the door.

Jaime followed the tall, foul-smelling, dirty-jeans-wearing lunker of a man she would never have hired if she’d met him in person. But people could hide all manner of things over video chat, although it had never failed her before. Like breath that reeked of stale beer at nine-thirty in the morning. She wrinkled her nose and then swallowed. He picked up the hammer he’d left at the bottom of the staircase leading to the second floor of the run-down school house.

She had convinced her father and the rest of Gulliver Township’s trustees that she would have it restored by July, in time for her high school class to host the annual Gulliver School Reunion.

“Six weeks to finish the job, yes, but you’ve been here nearly a week and aside from a couple of holes in a couple of walls nothing has been done.” The man kept walking and Jaime hurried to keep up.

She waved her arms at the main floor, walls still dividing what were once the main office, cafeteria and gymnasium, broken windowpanes hung at odd angles and—she tripped over her feet—the warped hardwood floor that might indicate a foundation problem. “This room was to be completely demolished by Friday. It’s Thursday and you’ve barely made any progress since arriving on Monday. Your crew didn’t even show up yesterday.”

Luther tossed the hammer toward his toolbox where it clanged against other metal tools. “My crew handles jobs like this all the time,” he said, a patronizing lilt to his voice. At least his words were no longer slurred like they had been yesterday morning when he’d insisted his guys would be back from the mainland by lunchtime. They hadn’t returned by lunch or even been on the evening ferry. “The walls will be down next week. We’ll take a look at the floor. It’s Thursday. I need to catch the ferry so I can go home.”

“The ferry doesn’t arrive for another hour. And it’s Thursday. One more day in the workweek.”

“Not much I can do here on my own, anyway.”

“All the more reason for your crew to show up for work on time.”

They stepped into the warm sunshine and Jaime breathed a sigh of relief. Out here the air felt ten degrees cooler than inside. Most of the downstairs windows were so warped they didn’t open, and the windows upstairs had been installed as solid panes. Leaving the front and back doors open created a slight cross breeze but not enough to keep the interior of the ancient school building cool. Maybe she should consider investing part of the budget in an air-conditioning system, after all.

The goal for the school renovation was to create a tourist attraction on the island and at the same time to provide the island with a space for events like the upcoming reunion. Technically it was her class’s ten-year so they were in charge of food, drinks and party planning, but everyone who graduated from Gulliver’s Island School was invited and most of them would come.

Gulliver needed this space. She wanted a project that would keep everyone focused on the present and not the past. No way would she allow this jerk of a construction worker to ruin everything just because he’d thought working on the island would be a breeze. She might not have a degree in construction, if there was such a thing, but she knew how contracts worked.

“You assured me the walls on the main floor will be down today and that the replacement windows will have been ordered. Have either of those things been completed?”

Luther opened the door of his dusty red truck and slid in behind the wheel. “Lady, I know how to run a construction project, and I know what my obligations are. I’ve been on this damned island for four days straight and I need a break from no cable television, watered-down beer and AM-only radio, okay?”

Jaime caught the door before Luther could slam it shut. “You’re here to work, not have a vacation.”

Luther narrowed his eyes before pulling the door out of Jaime’s grasp. It slammed shut and she winced. “The school will be ready by July one, until then I’ll run the project as I see fit. And, today, I’m running it to the dock so I can catch the morning ferry and go home.” He twisted the key between his grimy fingers and the truck engine roared to life. Before Jaime could demand he stay to at least order the new windows, he tore out of the parking lot, leaving her in a cloud of dust.

Jaime coughed and sputtered, waving her hands before her face until the dust cleared. Jerk.

Her cell phone blared out a hit from Florida Georgia Line; the song a favorite of her best friend and cochair of the reunion committee, Maureen Ergstrom.

“Mo, if one more thing has gone wrong I’m going to light a match and burn this damn building down.”

“Calm down, there, Firebug. No need to commit arson before eleven. Luther strikes again?” Laughter filled Maureen’s voice.

Jaime sat on the concrete step leading into the school. As with everything else about the old building it was off, leaning crookedly against the building with one side a full two inches lower than the other. She felt like she was sitting on a warped teeter-totter.

“Luther just walked out. Says he’s tired of our boring little island and wants to go home.”

Something banged over the phone line. Probably Maureen’s kitchen chair pounding into the counter. “He can’t do that.” She sounded panicked so Jaime kept her voice calm.

“From our walk-through yesterday morning I don’t think any new work has been done since his crew left on Wednesday.” Jaime shoved her hand into her hair. What was she going to do? All the local firms were already booked for the summer. Getting the Cleveland crew had been a miracle so late in the season. “And before you ask again, I don’t know where we would find another crew. I think we’re stuck with Luther and the no-shows.”

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

“Of my complete ineptitude? Thanks.”

Maureen made a shushing sound over the phone. “A sign that this year we skip the reunion. Our class is so scattered no one will mind—”

“We’re not skipping it. The reunion is a tradition.”

“A stupid tradition. Clara dumped the planning in your lap at the last minute and after everything that happened before graduation... I think everyone would be happy with a fish fry on the beach.”

“We are not turning the annual reunion into a fish fry, Mo.” Her stomach tightened just thinking about dropping this particular ball. Yes, Clara had dumped the reunion on her with no notice. Yes, the past couple of months of their senior year had been horrific for Jaime.

She gripped the phone more tightly in her hand.

“Come on, what town needs an island-wide reunion every summer? Our class was never big on these kinds of things, anyway.”

Jaime cleared her throat, pushing the panicked butterflies out of her stomach. She would not be the victim. Not again. Not when she had worked so hard to put her life back together. “We aren’t skipping. It’s our turn to host and that’s final.”

The reunion would not be canceled; not because Jaime hired a shoddy construction firm. She would not give the islanders another reason to act as if she was...wounded.

“I’ll meet you at the diner in fifteen and we’ll go over the early RSVPs and start thinking about the actual planning,” she said and hung up before Maureen could really get going on the cancellation conversation. If Luther and his crew were going to milk this job until the last minute, she would be prepared to use each of those final seconds to make sure the reunion went off without a hitch.

Her ribs twinged again.

It was ten years ago, for Pete’s sake. She was over it. Six more weeks and she could completely put it out of her mind and in the meantime she had the school to renovate, the reunion party to plan and her job at the winery. Plenty of work to keep her mind occupied and fully in the present, where she preferred to be. There was no reason to keep living in the past. Wasn’t that what her therapist told her? She was still cured.

Two years before she’d been a borderline agoraphobic afraid to leave the island. Sometimes afraid to leave her cute little cottage on the west side of town. The first two sessions with Dr. Laurer were held via video chat. For the following four months Dr. Laurer brought the ferry to Gulliver twice a week to meet with her at the cottage or at the diner. The day she took the ferry to his office for a session he’d declared her cured. She’d celebrated with her parents at a nice restaurant on the waterfront.

The fact that she hadn’t been off the island since that day was beside the point. She was over the past. Over the attack. No need to keep bringing it up.

Maybe if she’d gone to the mainland with Maureen for a girl’s day, or even to go to the movies with her mom once or twice she would not have thought twice about driving to Cleveland to meet with Luther before hiring him. There were always reasons to skip an impromptu shopping or movie trip, though. After a while people stopped asking her to do things off the island and until the excitement about the upcoming reunion started she didn’t think twice about all the ways she had become complacent about her life.

That stopped now.

Canceling the reunion, letting the school project founder, would bring the past up in a big way. Would stress out her parents, who deserved so much more than constantly worrying their daughter would freak out and never leave her house again. The whispered conversations would start. The pitying looks. She loved the island and she loved the people on it, but they had to stop treating her like she was broken.

She wasn’t.

She was healed. Maybe if she kept telling herself that it would actually be true.

Fifteen minutes later Jaime sat in her favorite corner booth at the Gulliver Diner watching out the big plate-glass window and stealing glances at a booth in the back to a stranger with broad shoulders and a tight T. His black hair that was short enough to look tidy but long enough to look just a little bit dangerous. He looked...interesting. At least from the back.

But Jaime didn’t leave her bench seat to covertly check him out on her way to the bathroom. It was enough to watch the economical movements he used to cut into his eggs Benedict.

She shifted in her seat and the cracked purple vinyl sighed with the movement. The Formica-topped tables were chipped, and the black-and-white-tiled floor was scuffed and scarred beyond repair, but the Gulliver Diner was a mainstay on the island. Funny, though, Anna, the diner’s only waitress for as long as she could remember, usually paid a lot more attention to tourists, and she’d barely flirted with the hot guy in the corner. Maybe the view from the front negated the pulse-pounding view from behind, she thought.

Finally, Maureen pulled up in her little blue golf cart and hurried inside. She wore skinny jeans and Converse sneakers with a striped sailor top in navy and white. Her hair in a ponytail, quilted backpack slung across her torso, she looked pulled together. Jaime shrank back against the seat as her outfit would never be mistaken for fashionable.

Anna brought over a tall, frosted glass and a pitcher of iced tea. She topped off Jaime’s glass, filled Maureen’s and set the pitcher on the table for them. “You girls want a sandwich?” She waved her hand toward the kitchen. “Hank’s making triple-decker clubs for lunch today. I just served the last of the Benedicts to him,” she said, pointing to the corner booth. Jaime’s gaze came to rest on the back of the stranger with broad shoulders and dark, dark hair. She couldn’t see his face but her tummy did a little flip-flop.

Which was silly. She didn’t do the flip-flop thing any longer. Especially not in grubby work clothes. She should have taken the time to change before meeting Maureen for lunch.

They each ordered sandwiches and Anna disappeared behind the counter.

“Listen to this one.” Jaime tucked the strand of blond hair behind her ear, determined to ignore the discomfort weighing on her narrow shoulders. Before she could begin reading from the questionnaire in her hand Maureen interrupted.

“I think we need to seriously consider not having an island-wide reunion this summer.” She held up her hand and Jaime bit back the protest that immediately sprang to her lips. “The school reno is a huge project, and it’s more important than the reunion. The reno will bring tourists back here year after year. Having all our old classmates come in and seeing the old-timers who moved off-island years ago is great. What the island needs, though, is a steady stream of tourists. Newcomers. Old residents.”

“And they’ll come, but the reno doesn’t trump the reunion.”

“Maybe it should.” Maureen reached across the table to pat Jaime’s hand. As she and so many others had so many times over the past decade. She was sick to death of their patronizing. “The reno was a last-minute fix to the location problem when the winery said no to hosting the main reunion events. That is on our class. The pranks we pulled still make people see us as a bunch of bored kids—”

“All the more reason to prove to them that we’ve all moved on from the idiots we were in high school. We can do both and put all the gossiping to rest.”

“I just think we should seriously consider pulling back. Finish the reno in style and do a big opening for the reunion next summer.”

Jaime blinked. Waited another moment. “Is that all?”

Maureen nodded.

“Good. Motion denied.”

“You didn’t bring it before the committee.” Maureen beetled her brows.

“The reunion ‘committee’ consists of you, me and Clara. Clara dropped all of her responsibilities in my lap a month ago, so her vote goes to me. That makes it two to one for the reunion.”

Maureen made a face. “You always have an angle.”

“Only when it really matters. So, on with the RSVPs. Who wrote this?” Jaime rattled the paper in her hands and read, “‘Since leaving Gulliver I’ve completed my law degree and now work for one of the leading defense firms in Cleveland...’” she pitched her voice higher, trying to mimic the Minnie Mouse tone Pam Andrews had used through three speech classes and in her valedictory address on graduation day. She rolled her eyes and made up the next part. “‘But if I don’t make partner by the time I’m thirty, I’ll just move to the Magic Kingdom to reunite with Mickey.’”

Maureen laughed. “You’ve got Pam down pat, Jai.”

The tension between them dissipated as they read the latest batch of reunion mail to hit Jaime’s mailbox.

Jaime breathed a sigh of relief. Usually their close-knit community made her feel safe but lately... Lately all she felt was annoyed. Annoyed that, because the attack had happened ten years before and she was now planning her class’s ten-year reunion, everyone seemed to think she needed extra care. Her mom kept calling at odd hours... Maureen had come up with every reason possible to cancel the reunion... Anna had sent home leftovers from the diner at least twice each week... Even Tom, her boss at Gulliver Wines, had suggested she bring in a couple of interns to help with summertime events.

Her father and a few of his cronies came in for lunch, laughing with Anna as they ordered club sandwiches and thick-cut fries. The men started talking, about township business or maybe last night’s baseball game, Jaime couldn’t be certain. Anna kept the tables bused and the coffee cups filled. Jaime knew every single person inside the restaurant. This was just the way she liked it. Quiet. Normal.

Tourists were a necessary part of island life, even though the crush of them made her skin itch. A solo stranger sitting across the room? No big deal. She glanced at the stranger who had pushed his empty plate to the edge of the table. A welcome distraction, really. But a mass of humanity exiting one of the ferries? She shivered. Of course without the tourists the three main islands—Kelly’s, South Bass and Gulliver’s—wouldn’t survive.

From her vantage point, she could see the Marblehead Lighthouse across the bay and, if she craned her neck, just make out the top of Perry’s Monument. In late May, the trees were budding and colorful flowers splashed along the Lake Erie shore. In another week or so Cedar Point, a huge amusement park, would be open and the ferries would increase their trips to the islands.

“Mine is worse.” Maureen cleared her throat, dragging Jaime’s attention back to the table, and then speaking in a deep baritone. “‘I left Gulliver to play football, and I did.’” She shook her head and then spoke in her normal voice. “Jason never did learn how to string more than a few words together, did he?”

Jaime focused on her friend. “He lost a little too much oxygen to those half nelson’s in wrestling meets. He’s done well for himself, though. I hear next fall he’ll be the main anchor for one of those college football shows on cable.”

Maureen’s jaw dropped. “Jason the Jerk you defend when he was a bully all through school but Pam the Perfect you throw to the wolves?”

“Jason wasn’t so much a bully as a kid who didn’t know his own strength. He didn’t, and probably still doesn’t, have a mean-hearted bone is his whole body.”

Jaime checked off the last two names on the list for the reunion. Nearly all the invitations had been accepted. Not bad considering she and Maureen had only taken over Project Reunion and had sent out the invitations two weeks before. One name without a checkmark stood out. Emmett Deal. Who’d disappeared on prom night, never to be heard from again.

Except in her dreams. Well, usually only when she stayed up too late watching cable and saw him on one of those home renovations shows. On those nights his muscular, tanned form seemed to sink straight into her brain like a weighted hook sank to the bottom of Lake Erie. Her stomach would do that flip-flopping thing it kept doing when she looked at the broad shoulders of the stranger in the corner. So she was a sucker for a pair of broad shoulders, was that so bad?

She was definitely not obsessed with how he looked, shirtless and buff, with a tool belt around his lean hips. Nope, she hardly ever pictured that at all, and she definitely had not done a little comparison shopping between the hunk on cable TV and the hairy guys Luther had brought with him to the island.

“Anna mentioned the diner would host the meet and greet on Friday night, if we wanted.” Jaime closed the folder and slid it into her satchel.

“Love that idea, and we could stagger the times so the place isn’t overrun all at once. Everyone wants to eat here when they come back home, anyway.”

Maureen checked her watch and slid out of the booth. “I’ve got that volunteer thing at the elementary this afternoon. God, I can’t wait for summer break. Want to hash out the party details tomorrow over breakfast? The kiddo will be knee-deep in kindergarten fun by eight-thirty, so I could be here by eight-forty-five.” Maureen emptied the pitcher into a travel cup while they made plans and then hustled out the door. Jaime signaled Anna for a refill and watched out the window as the first ferry pulled into the dock.

She looked around. If the school reno went well, there would be few quiet mornings like this at the diner. Still, it would be good for the locals if more tourists hit their shore instead of the other islands.

“Now that Thomas has canceled the contract, we should cancel the reno, gut it and tear it down.” Mason Brown’s voice was quiet in the restaurant, but she had no trouble overhearing. Not that her father ever minded people overhearing him, especially when he was talking about something controversial. “The roof’s falling in. Someone is going to be seriously hurt.”

What was he talking about? She’d talked to Luther not an hour before. Cold, clammy dread shivered up Jaime’s spine as she twisted around in her seat.

Mason wore his usual uniform of navy pants and light blue, short-sleeved dress shirt with the Gulliver’s Island Police Department logo over the breast. “Department” was a bit of a stretch, she knew. Other than Mason there were two full-time employees and one was the island dispatcher. It was all the small community needed, except during the summer months.

He continued. “That old school has got to go, there’s no ifs, ands, or buts.”

Jaime’s jaw dropped. When the Gulliver family had bought the island two hundred years before, they’d planted their vineyard and built the school, which was what had grown the tiny village of Gulliver Township. The school’s brass bell hadn’t rung in decades, but the place was still important to the island.

It was important to her, and not just as a distraction over the whole ten-year nonsense.

Jaime wiped her mouth and pushed up and out of her booth to step closer to their table. Her father spoke to Tom Gulliver, her boss at the winery, and a few other township trustees.

“Excuse me,” she said. “The construction crew is making good progress. I don’t think we need to call it quits so soon.” The lie tasted bad in her mouth.

“The crew isn’t coming back. Luther made it official when he stopped by the township office a half hour ago.” Mason sighed. His patronizing tone set the hairs on the back of Jaime’s neck on edge.

“What do you mean they aren’t coming back? I was with Luther not more than an hour ago. He left, but only for the weekend.” Jaime couldn’t wrap her head around what her father was saying. This was bad. Really, really bad.

“The renovation wasn’t thought out clearly enough.”

“Answer my question. How do you know the crew is walking out of the job?”

Mason sucked in a slow breath and Jaime fisted her hands at her sides. “I mean he stopped by the township office with the unsigned contract and said he was through being monitored by a party planner and walked out.”

Party planner? Monitored? She’d been doing her job. Mason continued before Jaime could defend herself. “And, Jaime, sweetheart, I’m not sure you have all the facts about Gulliver School.”

“I know it’s a historic landmark. I know it educated several generations of Gulliver residents and mainland kids.” She straightened her shoulders. “I know during World War II the Red Cross used it as a meeting place of sorts for the women left behind.” Just because something didn’t work the way some thought it should didn’t mean that thing should be destroyed. “The building has a lot of issues, but it isn’t as bad as we initially thought—”

“Did you know little Andy Grapple broke one of the windows over the weekend, crawled inside and then fell from the second-floor landing?” Tom Gulliver’s voice was deep and passionate.

Tom and her father had been buddies as long as Jaime could remember. Other than her father Tom was the only person on the island who knew exactly what had happened ten years before. All those years ago her father helped her hide her scars, and thanks to Tom she had a good job, but this was not the same. “No, I—”

“Did you know some of the high school kids have used that place as a parking spot?” her father chimed in. Of course she knew that. Everyone knew that.

“Or that the roof is collapsing?” Rick Meter, another trustee, joined the conversation.

Yes, she knew more about the old school than anyone else on the island at this point. She hadn’t known about Andy’s fall, though, which was odd, but she knew renovation could save the old brick building. Throwing it away like a broken toy was just...wrong. “Roofs can be fixed, windows replaced.”

“We can’t station a guard outside 24/7 to keep kids out of it.”

“You could install an alarm system,” a new voice joined the conversation. The hairs on Jaime’s neck stood up again. The man in the corner. This time it wasn’t annoyance at being talked down to that caused the reaction. It was the voice itself. A voice she never thought she’d hear, at least not while she was on Gulliver.

The broad shoulders.

The not too long but not too short black hair.

Sure, his face was turned away, but she should have known or at least suspected. Ten years.

She turned slowly and felt the blood drain from her cheeks. The man from the corner booth wasn’t so much stranger as long-lost resident.

Emmett Deal stood there, listening to her argument with the trustees. Sunlight glinted off the pristine windshield of an unfamiliar work truck. Stenciled on the side were the words Deal Construction. Here was Emmett and here was his truck. She blinked and he was still standing at a table near the front door. She wasn’t imagining him.

His eyes were bluer than she remembered. More of a cerulean than the baby blues that invaded her dreams when she was overly tired. He was taller, too. Not by much, maybe an inch. His shoulders more broad and his hips— Jaime gave herself a mental shake and brought her gaze back to Emmett’s beautiful face. Chiseled jaw...hint of stubble.

Before he’d left Emmett had hated that he couldn’t grow a proper mustache. It didn’t look as though that was a problem any longer. Black, black hair flirted with the collar of his tight T.

He seemed to look straight past her, though. Jaime swallowed and tried to ignore her rapidly beating heart.

Okay, so looking at his face wasn’t the right thing to do, either. She turned back to the men at the table.

“An alarm.” She swallowed, hating that her voice slid up an octave. “An alarm system is a good start, and better than razing a building that is important to Gulliver,” she said, this time keeping her voice steady. “We can hire another reno crew.” Somewhere in the state of Ohio there had to be a construction crew available. There had to be. “With so much activity, the kids will stay away.”

“Even during overnights and weekends?” Her father shook his head and folded his beefy arms over his chest. He sat back in his chair. “We don’t have the staff to run over to the school every time a squirrel sets off the system. We should reallocate the budget into teardown and creating a city park on the land.”

Jaime cleared her throat but her mind was blank. “A memorial park isn’t better than a building that has stood watch over this town, this island, for two hundred years.”

Emmett refilled his to-go coffee cup at the counter. “A good system will know the difference between a squirrel and a person. Parks are great things but there is plenty of undeveloped land on the island that could be used for a new park. Not that it’s any of my business.” He paid Anna and faced the table while he sipped his drink.

Jaime wasn’t sure if she should hug Emmett for taking her side or demand that he let her handle this on her own.

“No, it’s not.” Her father’s words were curt. “This is a township decision.”

Demand he leave. Definitely, definitely demand he leave. Mason was about to go ballistic about outsiders versus islanders. “Thank you—”

Emmett cut her off. “I may not live on Gulliver any longer, but my father does. He came close to having the school declared a historic landmark a few years back.” He sipped his coffee, looking at the men at the table and studiously avoiding the section of the diner where Jaime now stood. That annoyed the bejesus out of her.

“As I said, this is a township decision. Before we spend more money on another crew that will leave us high and dry, I think we should seriously consider demolition. And as you said yourself, you’re not part of the township. Haven’t been for ten years.”

“Seems like it wouldn’t take much work to fill in the gaps in that old application. Renovating is never cheap but a lot of times it is cheaper than tearing down.”

“Maybe you should stick to what you know.” Mason’s voice was low in the quiet diner.

“As it happens, I know old buildings. I could take a look at it.”

“And then leave when things get tougher than you imagined?”

Color flooded Jaime’s cheeks. This wasn’t about the school building; not any longer. Her father was being his usual bullheaded self. Blaming Emmett for something that wasn’t his fault.

Before her father could say something he didn’t mean Jaime pushed back into the conversation. “Then the township should decide, not just the board of trustees. During the island’s bicentennial last summer every Gulliver business benefited from the increased tourist traffic. If the school is renovated, we would have that kind of draw all the time. A few artists stop every summer to paint the old building. Renovation will give them more of a reason to come back than a park.”

From the hand in his pocket to the hunched shoulders, Emmett looked anything but comfortable. As if this conversation was not going the way he’d thought.

Well, then, he should have butted out from the beginning.

“Are you willing to take a look? So we know exactly what to talk to demolition or renovation experts about.” Tom Gulliver practically preened as he said the words.

“I’ll be on the island for a few weeks. Whatever you decide, I can offer my opinion.”

The bell over the door tinkled as Emmett pushed through it. He got into his truck without looking back and drove away.

Jaime realized she was staring—again—and looked back at her father.

“I still say we should vote on demolition at the meeting tonight,” he said from his side of the table.

“Dad—”

“The Deal boy might have the right idea. Could be cheaper to restore the building, I’ve said that from the beginning. It’s part of island history.” Rick Meter picked his teeth with a toothpick and Jaime shivered. Of all the times for her to agree with Rick Meter. “We hired Luther’s crew after a light appraisal from Troy Turner at the real-estate office. Emmett will know better what exactly the building needs and we can go from there.”

Jaime clenched her hands. Emmett will know better, indeed. He knew all about running away, but staying? Fixing what was broken?

“Restoring the building will bring more tourists to Gulliver, and not just during the summer months. Tourists already visit the islands to see Perry’s Monument—” she mentioned the memorial at Put-in-Bay “—and the Marblehead Lighthouse. Gulliver School could become one of those draws.”

“Getting a true estimate before we start the hiring process, for demo or reno, is smart.” Rick leaned back in his seat and plucked another toothpick from the table dispenser. He stuck it between his teeth and then put his hands behind his head. “Even if we voted tonight we wouldn’t have the permits or contracts for demolition before the summer is over. We’ve already got permits for renovation.”

Tom nodded. “Mason?”

“We should just vote. That building is a menace.” Her father tapped his fingers against his biceps as if his opinion settled everything. Probably he thought it did.

Jaime held her breath.

Finally, Tom said, “Okay, we’ll get that estimate. I’ll call over to the Deal house this afternoon.”

“I’ll do it. You asked me to head the project, which includes estimates and new hires.” Jaime kept her voice steady and looked from Rick to Tom and then to her father.

Mason’s expression remained impassive but his eyes studied her as if she had two heads. Maybe she did. She hadn’t left her father’s house for weeks after the senior trip. Then Emmett had stood her up on prom night. She hadn’t mentioned his name in years. Now she was suggesting the town hire him for a job that would keep him around for an extended amount of time.

Well, she wasn’t the same girl she’d been when he’d left.

Emmett being back didn’t change that.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_5f7638f8-0db9-5835-b3da-6511ec54e20e)

EMMETT APPROACHED THE front door of the dilapidated Victorian home with dread. When he’d left Gulliver’s Island ten years before the gingerbread trim along the roof was an inviting green, the porch painted a delicate peach and the second floor a deep navy.

The painted lady he remembered was chipped and stained.

There was no trace of the peach color on the porch, although sometime in the past few years the porch steps had been painted what appeared to be a bull’s-eye red color. A few strips of navy remained along the windows on the second floor. The gingerbread trim looked like the rotting wood it was.

From a professional standpoint the place was a mess, but he knew he could bring her back to life.

From a personal standpoint, he didn’t understand how things had gotten this far.

How had his stickler father allowed this to happen to their home?

The doctor’s voice echoed in his mind, reminding Emmett of his father’s diagnosis. He clenched his hands. He’d failed his dad in not coming back for all this time. Maybe if he had...

Staying off the island had made it easier to move forward. Easier to forget the careless boy he’d been and to become someone capable, dependable.

The boy who’d been careless enough to ruin the life of his best friend was gone and in his place was a man people came to, to solve their problems.

Jaime Brown’s big brown eyes seemed to dance in front of him. He’d left to make things simpler for her, but seeing her again... She was no longer the broken girl who’d come back from Pittsburgh, but she wasn’t the girl he remembered from before the attack, either.

The front door creaked open and Gibson Deal stuck his head around the corner, a shock of white hair falling forward to hide eyes that were once a clear, bright blue and were now faded like Emmett’s Levi’s.

“I’m not buyin’ nothin’,” Gibson said in a voice that still held the iron Emmett remembered from his youth. To listen to the old man, nothing had changed. It was probably one of the reasons no one on the island had figured out Gibson was fading. He could still talk a blue streak; had opinions on everything. Hell, during his visit to Cincinnati last fall Emmett had thought his father was fine. Last week the doctor had assured him that during that visit his father had already been losing his mind.

Emmett was doing more than listening for the first time in years. He was observing and what he saw left no doubt in his mind that the doctors in Toledo were right. His father was fading.

Gibson’s hand tremored against the door and there was a confused look in his gaze.

“It’s me, Dad. Emmett.”

The door creaked open a few more inches. Gibson pushed the hair from his face, squinted faded blue eyes and pressed his lips together while he inspected Emmett as if he’d never seen him before.

“Well, what the hay are you doing on the porch? Come on in, boy. I’ve been expecting you.” As if nothing was wrong. As if Emmett landed on this doorstep every other weekend. “You said you’d bring paint. Did you bring paint? Mary Margaret loves to paint.”

Emmett motioned to his truck loaded with enough paint, wood and various other supplies to fix up every house on the island, which was good since he’d volunteered to—at least—take a look at Gulliver School, too. Maybe his father wasn’t the only one losing his mind.

Thinking about the school brought back the image of Jaime.

Wearing white pants and a silky blue top. In eighty-five-degree weather. When he’d known her she’d worn sundresses on any day the temperature breached seventy.

He could still see her standing on her front porch in a white sundress with pretty blue flowers long into October that last year he’d been on the island. It had been unseasonably warm that fall and when anyone had reminded her of the changing seasons she would smile and tell them she wasn’t ready for turtlenecks and snow boots just yet.

The calendar would change over to June in a few days and already it felt like August on the island.

She’d also cut her hair and the shoulder-length blond curls suited her face. She was thinner than he remembered, but those brown eyes were still deep enough to drown in. Not that he had any intention of drowning.

The Jaime he remembered... The Jaime he remembered had grown up, Emmett told himself. Just as he had.

“I’ve brought everything we’ll need with me.” He wasn’t sure what he would need when he’d left Cincinnati, only that the sooner he had the place fixed up the sooner it would sell. The sooner he could get Gibson into the assisted-living facility in Cincinnati where he could begin treatment. Not that treatment would change anything.

He’d done enough late-night internet surfing to know there was no coming back from dementia. There would be good days and bad, and eventually he would lose his father altogether, even though the man might still be alive.

Emmett’s heart beat rapidly at the thought. Gibson was his only family and he didn’t want to lose the old man.

He shouldn’t have made such a big deal about coming back to Gulliver. Should have made more of an effort to put the past to rest. He’d lost ten years he could have had with Gibson and for what? Because he’d made a few mistakes as a teenager? Didn’t everyone?

“You thirsty? Want a sandwich before we get started?”

Emmett couldn’t stomach what might be on the inside of the refrigerator. “I thought we’d just make an inventory list today.” The farther into the house they walked, the more Emmett’s hopes sank. When he was a kid, the hardwood floors would have gleamed, the end tables sparkled. A few magazines might have been stacked on one end of the coffee table and there would have been a basket for the TV and radio remotes beside his father’s favorite green recliner. His mom would have been baking something and, more often than not, Jaime would wander in through the back door.

Emmett refocused on his father.

What he saw now were stacks and stacks of newspapers. A few empty food containers. The TV was on but muted. Two lampshades sat askew because of the jackets hanging from them. Envelopes—some opened and some still sealed—littered the dining-room table and a thin film of dust covered everything.

Emmett swallowed. How much worse would it be if his father hadn’t taken the ferry to the mainland last month? He’d boarded a bus for Dayton at the ferry stop and become so disoriented that a restaurant manager had called the police. The police had called Emmett and now he could see for himself that things were very wrong. He dragged his finger through the dust covering his mom’s favorite side table and then wiped his caked finger on his jeans.

“Dad, I thought you hired that local company to clean once a week after Mom died.” He tripped over something and picked it up, holding the cracked leather shoes by their strings. What were his old football cleats doing in the hallway?

Gibson waved his hand as they continued through to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water and passed it to Emmett. “Those girls didn’t know a broom from a dust rag. I let them go a while back.”

His mother had passed away the summer after he’d left the island. God, how had he missed all of this in their weekly phone calls?

Once more Emmett racked his brain, trying to remember any incident that could have alerted him during Gibson’s last visit. He’d been a little more crotchety and particular than normal, but when had Gibson not been particular? From the pressed pants and natty ties he’d worn every day to school to the way Emmett’s baseball uniforms should be washed after the games, Gibson had ideas. Ways of doing things. Emmett and his mother had become so used to his opinions that they’d forgotten any other way of doing things. So it was normal to fall into that routine when his father had visited for a couple of weeks in October.

When he’d left Emmett had found a stack of newspapers under the bed but hadn’t thought anything of it.

Now he wished he had.

“I was thinking we’d start with the porch. You know how your mother likes a clean and pretty porch. Peach. That was her favorite color.” Gibson finished his water and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “The upper level should be navy and I think green would be a nice color around the eaves.”

“Dad—”

“And in here, I know your mother likes her wallpaper, but I think paint is more practical. And if we used some of that blue, it would be a nice accent for her paintings and things.”

“Dad.” Emmett tried again, but Gibson kept talking.

“Now, we turned your bedroom into a sewing room for your mother a few years ago so you’ll be staying in the guest room. If we could just update the closets and bring in a little more storage space for your mom’s bits and bobs, we’ll be in good shape, don’t you think?” He looked around the dingy kitchen with pride, obviously not seeing the dirty stove or ancient refrigerator. “We’ll bring this place back to life yet.”

Emmett tossed their water bottles into the empty trash can and then grabbed several old containers from the cabinets to throw away. He considered running scalding-hot water into the sink to wash the piles of plates and cutlery but decided against it and tossed it all into the trash. No amount of dish soap or hot water could bring those things back to life.

“Dad, we’re fixing this place up to sell it, remember? You’re coming to live in Cincinnati, near me.” He was careful not to say “with me.” The doctors had been clear. Though his father was in the early stages, he needed more care than Emmett could give on his own. And patients like Gibson would grab on to any chance to stay in their homes. Emmett had failed his father so far; he wasn’t going to fail at this. Gibson would come to Cincinnati and get the care he needed.

“Your mother loves the island, you know she won’t move.”

Emmett took a breath and closed his eyes. His mother was buried in Toledo in one of the plots she and Gibson had picked out years before. “Dad, Mom isn’t here anymore. She’s gone.”

Gibson gestured dismissively and began adding more things to the trash. “She’s just gone to get groceries. She’ll be back in a while. She was going to bake shortbread cookies for you but forgot we were out of vanilla.” He cleared one corner of the kitchen table and started on another, tossing things willy-nilly into the big trash can along with Emmett.

Emmett reached for his father’s hands; stilled them. “Dad, let me do this, okay? I’ll make sure everything that is thrown out needs to be trashed. Why don’t you rest?”

“I don’t need to rest. I’m healthy as a horse.” He pounded once on his chest as if that would sway Emmett. Maybe he really thought it would.

Maybe he didn’t remember why Emmett was here in the first place.

“Dad, we’re selling the house, remember? We talked to the doctor about it last week. You’re moving into that nice apartment that’s just down the road from my house.”

Gibson was quiet for a long moment. “You’re here to renovate the house. Our house.”

“Yeah, I am, Dad. And then we have to sell it. You can’t stay up here on your own and my work is in Cincinnati so you’re coming to live with me.” Emmett winced. “Near me, at that nice apartment.”

“I don’t think your mom will like living in an apartment. She likes to have room to move.”

“Do you remember the bird room? With all the parrots and cockatiels?” Emmett led Gibson to the table, cleared another space and they sat. “And there was that nice walking path around the pond, remember? We saw that big, Great Dane when we walked around it last time.”

“His name was Percy. And the parrot wouldn’t repeat anything we said.”

Emmett smiled. “That’s right. The nurse said he was shy, remember? And you said once you got acquainted, everything would be all right.”

“But your mom didn’t see the place. I’m not sure she’ll like it. Maybe we should just do the painting and things here.” Gibson clasped his hands, twisting them around. “We could take her down in a few weeks, when she’s ready.”

“Dad, Mom isn’t here. She died several years ago.”

Gibson’s brow furrowed. “Mary Margaret is at the store, getting vanilla for snickerdoodles. Emmett’s coming home.”

It had been shortbreads a few minutes before but Emmett didn’t correct his father. He looked away and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Oh, God, it was happening.

“Dad, do you remember visiting Cincinnati?”

Gibson pushed away from the table and stalked to the kitchen sink. “’Course I remember Cincinnati. Terrible football team, pretty good at baseball, though, depending on the year. My son, Emmett, lives there. Mary Margaret and I go down every few weeks because he’s too busy to come up here. You went to school with him, didn’t you?”

Emmett rose from the table and began stacking old magazines and junk mail into piles. When the pile looked ready to topple, he pushed it into the trash can and started another. “I’m Emmett, Dad. I’m here to help you get the house ready to sell.”

But Gibson kept talking, as though Emmett hadn’t said a word. “You know, it’s summer and Emmett doesn’t like coming back here. But I’m hoping he makes it this year. Big party planned for July. Reunion, you know.”

Emmett thought about the invitation he’d left on his office desk before coming home. He planned to be off Gulliver by the time the reunion came along. Off the island and back in Cincinnati where the only thing people knew about him was that he was good at restoring old houses.

“Dad, do you still read these tabloids?” He picked a few issues from the floor, dated last summer.

“I never read that trash. Mary Margaret, she likes those celebrity stories. Likes to stay on top of Hollywood,” he said, his voice lilting into a laugh. “Hey, do you think that’s what’s holding her up? You think she’s reading the magazine in the store because she’s tired of me ribbing her about it? We’ll have to tell Emmett that when he gets here.”

Emmett gave up. He couldn’t say those words—Mom is dead—one more time. He couldn’t. Mary Margaret Deal was very much alive in this house. Emmett shook his head. Even if he could say it, Gibson very obviously couldn’t believe his wife was gone. Maybe that was why his father was having such a hard time letting go, because he could still feel her here.

No, Gibson’s inability to let go had nothing to do with the magazines stacked around the house or the sewing room that probably still had whatever project on the sewing table Mom had been working on before she died years before. He couldn’t let go because that was part of who he was. Determined. Particular. Obstinately convinced he was right until the last leg of whatever crusade he was on crumbled.

He’d been the last man standing in the quest to save the old school all those years ago. The first to defend Emmett when the rest of the town went on the attack.

The doctor said Gibson was living in a world that was more comfortable for him; Mary Margaret always made things comfortable. Maybe it was okay for Emmett to just let this one illusion stand.

“Could be, she always liked the pictures best,” he said as he pulled one full trash bag from the can and replaced it with another. He started filling that one up, too. “Did you know they’re talking about rehabbing the old school? Well, maybe. They were actually talking about tearing it down, but I volunteered to have a look.”

He kept talking about the school, about the Reds and Indians. About anything he could think of as Gibson stared out the window. Emmett cleared the kitchen table of junk and filled another bag with trash, hating the sound of his voice but more afraid of the silence if he stopped talking. Mentally he tacked another week on to his plans to stay on the island. It would take at least that long to get the junk cleared out so the real work could begin. He’d need more supplies, which meant another ferry ride to the mainland. Might as well unpack the truck and reload it for the landfill. Once most of the junk was cleared away he would call the cleaning crew to start working on the inside of the house.

Emmett tied up a third bag of trash and started on a fourth, this time pulling crusty pots from the stovetop and putting them into the bag. He would do all of this and he wouldn’t complain, not once.

“Hey.” Gibson turned away from the window. “Emmett, I didn’t hear you come in, boy. You’re early.”

“It’s almost noon.”

Gibson grabbed another bottle of water from the fridge. “I didn’t figure you’d get here much before five, what with traffic and coming up from Cincy. I didn’t get to the store before you got here, so we’ll have to eat at Gulliver’s Diner tonight. They still do that prime rib you like.”

Why was it suddenly easier to breathe? His father was back. “Sure, Dad, that sounds great. And we’ll stop by the grocery to get a few essentials after.”

“It’s good to have you home, boy.” Gibson looked around with sadness in his eyes. Where there was confusion before, now Emmett was certain Gibson saw what he did: a cluttered, messy house in need of repair. No ghosts. No memories that seem more real than the present. “I don’t want to leave this place.”

“I know, Dad.”

“Mary Margaret and I had a lot of good memories here.”

“I remember.” Emmett swallowed. This was the man he remembered. A little thinner and more vulnerable than he had ever seen him, but this was the Gibson he remembered.

This was his dad.

“I don’t, sometimes. Sometimes, all I know are the memories.” Gibson squeezed his hands together, looking around the room as if he might find the one thing that would keep him here.

“That’s why you’re coming to Cincinnati, so the doctors can help you.”

Gibson sighed. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this, boy. It isn’t fair.”

Emmett agreed. Losing his mother had been hard. Watching his father fade away...he didn’t know how he could deal with that, too. “Who said life was fair, right?”

“Emmett.” Gibson shook his head. “Life is what you make of it.”

Up until a month before Emmett had thought he’d been making a pretty good life. Since they’d met with his father’s doctors, he wasn’t so sure the choices he’d made were anything but selfish.

He didn’t know if the trustees would call about the school, but if they did he would answer. Why he’d ever offered to do an estimate on the building he couldn’t explain. Just that there had been a look in Jaime’s eyes, a determination to the set of her shoulders and her fisted hands, that he’d had to encourage. He owed her at least that much.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_dd9b9f50-1595-5fd5-965e-e0320f5ab814)

THE NEXT MORNING Jaime paced her office and one question kept repeating over and over.

What was Emmett Deal doing back on Gulliver? While she waited for a clerk in the Historic Registrar’s Office in Columbus to pick up the phone, she pulled at the collar of her fitted navy T and this time her nail bumped along the scar that ran from her collarbone to the top of her breast. She shivered and blew out a breath before busying her hands with the pens and markers in the tree-trunk coffee mug on her desk.

It didn’t matter why he was back. It didn’t matter that he had the absolute worst timing of any human who’d walked the face of the earth. What mattered was getting through the next six weeks and getting her life back to normal. Quiet and so boring that she faded into the background and people forgot about Pittsburgh. No more reading through the accomplishments of her former classmates and realizing she didn’t like the life she’d been perfectly happy with just a month before. No more wishing she’d made different choices all those years ago. Wondering if was too late to make those changes now.

Jaime ran her index finger under the crew neck of her T, trying to scratch the itch that normally didn’t make itself known until the first tourist-filled ferry docked at the pier. Her life might not be as big as some of those on the reunion questionnaires but it was hers, built from the ashes of a time when she’d been afraid to leave her own house. She had a challenging job at Gulliver Wines. Lived in a perfect little bungalow with water views. Had friends she could count on. She wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t sure what she was but it wasn’t jealous.

Calling the registrar’s office was step one. Going to the Deal house was step two and getting the renovation back on track step three.

The registrar’s secretary came back on the line and asked Jaime to leave a message. Screw it; she’d deal with the state paperwork later. After leaving the message she hung up the phone and willed her mind to focus. She composed a quick email to the registrar to underline the importance of the school, and to reiterate her request that he call. Then she made a list of local contractors she’d dealt with for the winery; once this project got its second start it was important for it to go smoothly. No more Luthers.

Maureen arrived with steaming containers of fresh fish and chips from a dockside restaurant a few minutes later and Jaime’s stomach growled as if on cue.

“I’m so glad you’re flexible. When the school called this morning I couldn’t tell them no.” Maureen rattled the containers before setting them on a side table and tossing her purse into an empty chair. “God, I love your office.”

Jaime looked around at the mostly white space. She’d framed a few pictures of the Marblehead Lighthouse a few years before, and her computer was new, but other than that it was just an office.

“It’s quiet. No seven-year-olds asking for another chapter of Junie B. Jones or another round of Heads Up, Seven Up.”

Jaime pushed the take-out container filled with deep-fried fish away and busied herself with the reunion file. “What are we going to do about this?”

“As de facto cochair of the reunion committee with you, I think we’re going to order cake and punch and call it good?” Maureen answered hopefully.

“Fine.” Jaime sighed and twirled her pencil in her hand. “We’ll start the dinner shifts at four on Friday and be fine. Winery tours on Saturday before the big party?”

“And that brings us to the school and the big party...but first we need a new estimate, right?”

Jaime narrowed her eyes at Maureen’s innocent expression. “New estimate?” Lord, why was she always surprised at how quickly the grapevine worked on Gulliver. Of course Maureen knew not only about the possible demo but also the new estimate.

And Emmett.

Maureen blinked. Jaime tapped her foot. Maureen rolled her eyes. “Fine, Rick called Clancy and you know my husband is a dear, sweet man who can’t keep anything to himself. Emmett’s back. The school is on the chopping block. You’re in the middle. You could have told me all this yourself, you know, instead of pacing around your office and fiddling with your shirt.”

Jaime dropped her hands to her sides. “It’s just an estimate, and then we get the project back on track and save the reunion.”

“Do you think Emmett was serious?”

“About saving the building? You know as well as I do that he loves old buildings. I’d say he was serious.”

“And how are you?”

“Why would I be anything but fine?” Jaime doodled on the corner of her desk blotter. “I’m not pining for the one who got away.”

“I only ask because there haven’t been very many since The One.”

Jaime made a face. “That’s only because most of the available men on the island are my dad’s age. Not interested.”

“One semiserious relationship that ended more than three years ago.”

“As I said most of the available men—”

“Clancy works with a couple of guys on the mainland—”

“Maybe after the reunion.” But preferably never. Jaime didn’t want to be fixed up. She didn’t want to be alone, either, but maybe that was for the best.

“Jaime, you can’t want to be single for the rest of your life. You don’t date locals. You don’t go to the mainland to meet new people.”

“I’m busy.” Her gaze snagged on the folder filled with the highlights of her former friends’ lives. She didn’t want to read about the big lives of her classmates. Didn’t want to argue with her father about the old school. Didn’t want to be alone but didn’t want the whole This Is Why I’m Disfigured conversation, either.

“You make time for the things that are important.”

“Right now the school is important...the reunion.”

“Maybe you and Emmett—”

She shook her head. “Not happening and not because he disappeared on prom night. He’s back but he won’t stay. I won’t leave.”

“How do you know he isn’t back for good?”

Jaime snorted. “Emmett Deal has a successful business, a television show and zero ties to Gulliver.”

“His dad is here.”

“He didn’t come back for his mother’s memorial service, Mo.”

“He attended the funeral services on the mainland. Besides, the ‘service’ here was more of an impromptu Remember When gathering.”

“Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not defending. I’m saying he was with Gibson at the actual funeral, and you know Gib goes down to Cincinnati a couple of times each year.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours. You know that, I just... You keep telling me it’s been ten years. Maybe he’s ready to come home?”

Jaime swallowed. Thinking of Emmett as the aloof person he’d become after Pittsburgh was so much simpler than thinking of him as someone who missed home. “I don’t think Gibson being on the island is the huge draw you think it is,” she said, but her voice sounded breathy to her own ears.

Maureen plucked the phone from Jaime’s desk. “Then call him. We can’t do much more planning until we know the school will actually be available by reunion weekend.”

Jaime watched the handset as if it might reach over and bite her. Then reluctantly took it from Maureen’s hand and put it back.

“I might have better luck if I just show up.”

Ten minutes later Jaime turned her golf cart off the main island road onto the long drive to Emmett’s family home. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been here. Definitely before his mother had passed away.

The house came into view and she stopped abruptly. The pretty old Victorian looked...worse than the school. The front porch sagged, most of the paint had worn away and the lawn was not mowed. Gibson Deal had always been particular about the house; the sight of its disrepair didn’t make any sense.

But Emmett’s coming back suddenly did.

* * *

EMMETT WAS JUST getting ready to go to the dump when he spotted Jaime sitting in a red golf cart in the driveway. “Hi,” he said and tossed the keys onto the front seat of his truck. He walked to the golf cart. “The trustees didn’t call. I figured they won the argument.”

“Not yet.” She mumbled something else that sounded suspiciously like not ever and then smiled brightly at him. “I’m here to take you up on the offer of an estimate. We’ve already had one, but after Luther Thomas walked out on the job the trustees want to make sure there are no more surprises.”

“And if I have plans?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“You don’t.” She waited a long moment and finally said, “Are you coming or do I also have to look for another estimate?”

“I haven’t been asked onto the project yet.”

“I just did.” She blew out a breath that made the curls at her forehead dance. Emmett bit back a smile. She was still so easy to rile up.

“No, you said you were here to take me up on my offer. But you didn’t actually ask me to give an estimate, and as part of my offer I did say the trustees should call if they wanted my help.”

“I’m as close as you’re getting to a trustee today so either get in or get out of my way.”

Emmett clicked his tongue against his teeth. Maybe he’d misjudged Jaime yesterday. She’d looked lost and forlorn in those baggy clothes and, despite the determination in her gaze, it was obvious she’d been about to cave to the trustees’ demands. This Jaime was different. She wore khaki pants and a fitted top and her manicured nails were tap-tap-tapping against the golf cart’s steering wheel. This Jaime was in charge. It was nice to see.

“I’m not in your way,” he said, making a flourish with his hands as he moved farther into the yard and away from what was left of the circular drive that led back to the lane.

“You know what I mean. Just get in the cart. Please?” she added almost as an afterthought.

He hadn’t actually called the trash barge. He could go to the school and then deal with the load of trash. “Fine, just let me get a couple of things,” he said.

A few minutes later he was in his dad’s golf cart with a pencil, level and a few other tools in a belt on the front seat and following Jaime to the school. Most islanders chose bicycles or golf carts to get around. The wind on his face felt good. He hadn’t been in a golf cart since he’d left.

He sighed as they turned into the school’s drive. The roof bowed in the middle, which didn’t bode well. One of the side windows was broken. The front door hung slightly askew. If the inside was as bad as the outside this was more than a surface remodel job. The city would need tens of thousands of dollars to fix it up. That didn’t give the other crew reason to walk out, but some guys took on jobs before knowing the full details.

Jaime led the way inside and his hand clenched across his clipboard as he watched her hips sway side to side. It was silly, really. He’d known he would see her sooner or later when he came back, and had tried to prepare himself for that by looking her up on the internet. He’d found a few pictures in the Gulliver’s Island weekly newsletter, and saw her profile on one of those professional social networks, but there were no personal social media pages. She pushed a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. Nothing he’d found had prepared him for how much she had changed.

Or how much she had stayed the same.

Those brown eyes were still slightly too big for her face. Her bottom lip slightly too thin and her chin too determined. He hadn’t seen her smile yet, but he knew that would bring out a single dimple in her left cheek. And, if she were really amused, small flecks of gold would twinkle in her eyes.

Not that any of that mattered even a little bit. He was here for a few weeks to get his father ready for a move. That was it.

“Well,” she said as she pushed open the front door. “What do you think?”

He thought she looked good from the tips of her toes to the blond crown of her head. And that was so not what he should think. He wasn’t good for Jaime. That’s why he’d left Gulliver in the first place. It was why he hadn’t come back and why he needed to get off the island just as quickly as possible.

Why he should have kept his big mouth shut yesterday in the diner.

Why he should definitely, totally, not check out how her pants outlined the gentle curve of her hip. She moved away from him and for a split second he forgot not to look. His hand slipped off his clipboard and the clip snapped down on his finger. Emmett cursed violently.

“I think this place needs a lot of help,” he said, shaking his hand to dull the pain.

She clasped her hands in front of her. “Are you all right?”

“Old clipboard. Should have thrown it away years ago,” he lied. “Where should we start?”

Jaime led the way through the main room, pointing out where the other crew had started. As she talked about an open-floor-plan main room with display cases along one wall and high tables scattered throughout, the room seemed to take on new life. The broken-down walls disappeared and Emmett could almost see sunlight pouring through a newly hung stained-glass window onto to honey-colored wood floors. The room could serve multiple purposes from tourist attraction to rental hall.

“How did you get the trustees to sign off on a Cleveland crew?”

“They were available. And I was here to be the local lookout, to make sure they didn’t abscond with any nails or screws that were once sold at Island Hardware.”

Emmett chuckled. “No wonder the crew walked out.”

“I didn’t actually frisk them as they left.”

Emmett squatted to look at the warped floor. “Is that why you’re here now? To make sure I don’t steal a broken windowpane?”

“They wanted a local.” Her mouth twisted in apology.

“Local?”

“Someone who lives on the island. Has island interests at heart. You know the drill.”

Yeah, he knew the drill. He hated the drill of treating those who lived off Gulliver differently than those who resided on the island. People moved in and out of his neighborhood in Cincinnati all the time. His business, in fact, was based on people buying, selling and moving on to the next project. Still, it rankled that they didn’t think of him as local. His father still lived here, for God’s sake; had been the superintendent of schools until he’d retired a few years before.

And, again, none of this matters, he reminded himself as he made a notation on his paper. What the islanders thought of him was no longer his concern. He’d left; made something of himself. What a handful of strangers thought of the boy he’d been was so far off his radar it was barely a blip.

“The floors seem to be in good shape, other than the slight warp here in the old principal’s office,” Jaime began. He shot her a curious look. “I’ve been here for the past week, remember? We’re thinking of using this place for the reunion this summer.”

“Oh.”

“Our ten-year reunion,” she said, as if he was dense.

“I know how long it’s been since high school.”

“I wasn’t sure. Most of the class has RSVP’d.”

He’d tossed the unopened invitation onto his desktop as soon as it arrived, knowing from the off-white envelope with streamers embossed on the front what it was. “I’m not sure I’ll be here that long.” Didn’t want to be here that long was more to the point.

“I figured,” she said and sounded almost happy about it. That rankled even more. “With your big life in Cincinnati. Must be hard to get away at all.”

“It is. And I don’t have a ‘big life’ down south. It’s just a life.” Emmett picked at a bit of loose wood around one of the windowpanes and it flaked off easily. Rotten. Great. He made another notation on his clipboard and moved to the next window. “I’m here to renovate my dad’s house. He’s selling and moving to a place in Cincinnati.”

“Gib’s moving? Why? He loves the island.”

Emmett wasn’t sure how to answer that. His father hadn’t said he couldn’t tell anyone about his illness. But then, he’d also avoided leaving the house today when, in the past, he’d have been all over a trip to the mainland. Last night, he’d been upset that he lost himself for a while, and Emmett had to believe that was part of the reason. He didn’t want to lose himself in front of his friends. “He wants easier winters. Besides, the old place is too big for one person.”

“Oh. It looked, uh—”

“Like we’re thinking about torching it for the insurance money?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“He’s getting older. It’s harder to keep everything up.”

Jaime followed him as he tested the walls and floor. They started up the back stairs and he pointed to a loose board before Jaime tripped over it. She wobbled and he took her hand, the contact heating his skin.

“Emmett—”

“Don’t.” There was a look in her eyes that he remembered. A look that said she was going to say something he didn’t want to hear. Something he couldn’t hear. And it had to be about one of two things: prom night or Pittsburgh.

In either case, Emmett didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want her to tell him she was okay or that those events didn’t matter. They did. For better or worse leaving Jaime in Pittsburgh and then again on the island, changed his life.

They reached the summit and he released her hand. Emmett looked around. Not bad. The old wood floors were scarred but solid, and though the ceiling had a lot of water damage, neither the ceiling nor the floors below the water spots were warped. He’d need a ladder and an inspection of the outside roof to be positive.

“I just wanted to say—”

Emmett cut her off. “This isn’t as bad as I thought.” He pretended to push against the wall nearest him. Then continued down the hall, away from Jaime and the memories he wished he could forget.

She followed. “Can it be fixed?”

“Anything can be fixed with the right budget.” He knelt to pick at a corner floorboard that showed a slight upturn. He pulled it away from the wall. No surface mold—that was a good sign. Jaime stepped to the wall. Her legs were as slender as ever. Not such a good thing, he decided as his heart pounded in his chest.

“We don’t have a huge budget.”

“There are other ways. Historical markers. Grants.”

“We’re talking about six weeks.”

“Obviously the entire building won’t be restored within six weeks, but you could get the main floor ready, repair the roof. The rest could be completed over time.” He stood and checked a few more things off the list on his clipboard.

“Emmett, why are you here?” She put her hands on his shoulders and the contact seemed to burn along his nerves. That was silly. He and Jaime had paired off all those years ago but he’d never burned when she’d touched him. She turned him to face her. “Why now?”

“I told you, to fix up Dad’s house and move him to Cincinnati.” His voice sounded rough even to his ears. Emmett swallowed.

“I’m sure you could hire a crew to paint the old house.”

True, but he’d lost enough time with his father. Only, he couldn’t tell Jaime that until he knew his father was okay with news of his condition being public knowledge.

“It’s time.” That was the best answer he could come up with, and he could tell from the look on her face that it wasn’t enough for Jaime.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_e7ae9738-ed12-552c-b53a-ab403dccb985)

JAIME WANTED TO press him. There had to be more to his showing up out of the blue than a simple move to Cincinnati.

But this Emmett was different from the boy she remembered, and not just in the way he looked. There was a quietness about him that had changed from the exuberant, prankster guy she’d loved all those years ago. And, obviously since her hand still burned from his light touch on the stairway, she was even more attracted to New Emmett than she had been to Old Emmett. She’d kissed him a million times. Held his hand. Made out in the back of Gibson’s old Pontiac hundreds of times and each time it had been simple to stop. Take a moment and keep things under control.

She pulled her hands to her sides and then shoved them into the pockets of her khakis. Not once in all the time they’d dated before had she felt such a strong jolt of attraction for him.

“I saw your television show once.” Or maybe a thousand times, she’d stopped counting after having a particularly vivid dream involving Emmett wearing nothing except his construction belt, a giant bed and her without the scars on her torso.

“I heard you’re working at the vineyard. What happened to becoming a female Indiana Jones?”

“I didn’t go.”

“Because of Pittsburgh.” His voice was flat. Emmett and Gibson had been the most vocal of the people encouraging her to pursue archaeology. Well, at least he could name the city. Most people trailed off before saying the name, looking away from—or worse, looking through her.

She offered him a lopsided smile. “Actually no, although a lot of people think that. Having an interest in old things doesn’t mean I’d make a good dirt digger.”

“Most people would jump at the chance to be a famous archaeologist.”

“I’m not most people.” And she didn’t want to talk about herself. She’d decided a long time ago what she wanted, and what she wanted was to live on the island.

She started down the stairs and Emmett followed.

“No, you’re not.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

He studied her for a long moment and Jaime thought he would say “insult.” Instead he said, “Compliment. And here’s another. You’re just as pretty as you were in high school.”

Heat rose in her cheeks, but Jaime was determined to keep this meeting at a professional level. She didn’t need empty compliments from Emmett; she needed his help to save the school. “So, your final verdict is that this place can be saved?”

Emmett stopped at the landing and looked around, as if he saw more than the roof and floorboards.

Sometimes when Jaime looked into a glass of wine she thought she could taste hints of the individual grapes. What did he see when he looked at old buildings like this?

“I’d say it can be saved.”

“In time for the reunion? Because the picnic shelters are all reserved and we’re not stringing up lights along the beach and I refuse to decorate the high school gym one more time.”

“There’s always the winery,” he said, and there was a twinkle in his blue eyes, as if he already knew Tom had nixed that idea.

“You and Jason and Homecoming Week.”

“He’s still pissy about rerouting a few casks?”

“‘Pissy’ almost covers it.” Jaime smiled as she put her hand on the railing but it wobbled. She pulled back.

“This big issue I see is the roof.” Emmett twisted his mouth to the side. “Yeah, I’d say you could have the main floor cleaned up and party-ready in time for the reunion, assuming I don’t find more issues in the basement than I’ve seen up here.”

“More issues?”

“Cracked foundation. Water. That kind of thing.”

Back to the project, Jaime.

“If you’ll give me your evaluation, I’ll take it to the trustees this afternoon.” She started back down the stairs but tripped over one of the bad steps and fell against the rickety railing. It held, but just barely.

Emmett’s hands were firm as he steadied her. The ten feet between her position on the step and the ground floor seemed to yo-yo in front of her, making her stomach feel weak. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing.

“You’re okay.” His voice was soft against her hair, his strong hands reassuring against her upper arms.

“Forgot about that step,” she said, her voice a hair higher than normal. Jaime cleared her throat. “Thanks, but I’m okay.” She looked into his blue eyes, mere inches from hers, and felt lost. Pulled back to a time when it was normal to leave her hand in his. Breathing ragged, she tried to get a grip because although this was Emmett, he wasn’t the boy she’d known. Maybe the boy she remembered had never existed.

“Do you remember when we broke in here New Year’s Eve? Maureen and Clancy, Jason and Rebecca. Clancy brought leftovers from the diner. Maureen snatched a bottle of schnapps from her dad’s liquor cabinet.”

His voice tickled over her nerve endings and Jaime couldn’t stop the smile that crossed her face.

They’d laughed and told stories and danced to the tinny music from Emmett’s iPod speaker. Fallen asleep sometime after midnight, huddled together in sleeping bags until the slamming of a car door had woken them. One of her father’s patrol officers nearly had caught them, but Emmett had distracted him while the rest of them had fled out the back door.

“You were assigned twenty hours of public service picking up litter at the beach.”

“God, it was cold that winter. I nearly got frostbite keeping the beach clear.” He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “We had some good times.” Was that a hint of sadness or just nostalgia?

And if it was sadness, why? Sad because of the way he’d left? Sad because of what had happened that night? Sad that he’d left and the talk had started with the not-so covert looks?

She straightened her shoulders and pretended nothing had happened at all.

“What made you choose Cincinnati?” She would not ask why he left. She didn’t need to know. Wanted to know, yes, but that was different. So focus on the present, not the past.

Emmett’s mouth twisted to the side and he fixed his gaze somewhere over her shoulder. “I needed to get away. Cincinnati was away, but it was familiar.”

“Away from what?” From her?

“Just...away.” His expression closed off and, just like that, the glimpse of the Emmett she’d known was gone.

He stepped around her, but kept his grip strong against her hand, helping her down the stairwell. Jaime tried hard to stay focused on the renovations and not the feel of his callused hand against her smooth palm. It wasn’t so bad this time. The burn was just a mild heating. See, she was already getting used to Emmett being back on the island.

This wouldn’t be hard. Not at all.

That moment was just a moment. A split second in time that didn’t mean anything. Not really. Her life was here, on Gulliver. His wasn’t. The words he hadn’t said, “away from you,” echoed in her mind.

It didn’t hurt that she was the reason he’d left, she told herself, but still she rubbed the heel of her hand against her chest. Felt the scar through the thin fabric of her high-necked dress. She put a smile into her voice. “And now you’re back because...?”

“Sell Dad’s place. Get him moved to Cincinnati.” They reached the bottom step and he released her hand as if it burned him. He also wouldn’t look directly at her and that annoyed Jaime. She was the one who’d had to face the worried looks, to pretend she hadn’t heard the abruptly stopped conversations.

“Gibson will be happier here. If he wanted to move, he’d have done it after he retired from the school. Or after your mother died. He has friends here. You know how islanders take care of their own.”

His full lips formed a hard line for a moment before he said, “It’s for the best that he comes to Cincinnati.”

“So, you wanted off the island and you left. Now you’re dragging your father off the island, too? What good will that do?”

Emmett shook his head, but he didn’t answer. A moment later he handed her the paper with his notes and estimated costs for the main floor renovation.

“It was good to see you, Jaime.” Finally, he looked at her, but it was as if he were a stranger. His blue eyes were flat, remote. Businesslike.

“It was good to see you, too.” She lied. It hadn’t been good to see him. All sorts of questions tumbled around in her mind, demanding answers he couldn’t or wouldn’t share. Why he left...why he was back...and what those answers meant for her. She liked her life, damn it, she didn’t need to be on the arm of Emmett Deal to be complete. Emmett coming back shouldn’t impact her at all. So why let it?

“Maybe we’ll have lunch before you leave.” She didn’t want to, but it was the polite thing to say. After all, he’d taken time away from his house project to give her an estimate on the school, and it was impossible to avoid anyone on Gulliver for long. Besides, avoiding Emmett would encourage the gossips more than being seen with him.

He nodded and stuck his pencil under the clip on his board. “Maybe.”

He put his hand at the small of her back as they started for the front door and a little jolt of electricity sped along her spine.

She wished she could blame the singe on faulty wiring.

* * *

EMMETT CLOSED THE front door of his childhood home and leaned against it for a second, trying to pretend none of that had just happened. He hadn’t taken Jaime’s hand. Hadn’t nearly told her he’d left her alone all those years ago because he’d blamed himself for Pittsburgh. Hadn’t thought, at least three different times, that he’d like to know if she tasted different now than she had back then.

The feel of her smooth palm against his and the softness of her arms refused to let him pretend.

He couldn’t get involved with Jaime. Not now and not ever. His actions all those years ago had imploded her life. She could say all she wanted that she’d never wanted to be an archaeologist, and maybe she hadn’t. What she had wanted was to leave Gulliver. To travel and see the world. She’d known the ferry schedule by heart; collected hotel pamphlets on vacations. He’d given her a world atlas for Valentine’s Day, for goodness’ sake, and she’d glowed as if he’d given her diamonds. Jaime had wanted to experience world cultures and Emmett had taken that from her with one careless action.

He blew out a breath and pushed off the door. He couldn’t change what he’d done or how that had affected her. How all the looks and hastily stopped conversations had changed her. He’d seen it happening and hadn’t been able to stop it. Then he’d actually overheard one of those hushed conversations and realized everyone had been talking about him. What a bad influence he was on her...how it was his fault. He’d already blamed himself but knowing that his presence on the island had kept people talking and was beating her down had been more than he could take. He’d left, hoping that with him gone the talk would die down and Jaime could get her life back on track.

And obviously failed her all over again.

She didn’t seem to need him now, at least not today. Yesterday...? Maybe he had wanted her to be vulnerable. In need.

Wasn’t that what Kasey had insisted when she’d walked out just before Christmas? That he only wanted to fix things for her; that he didn’t want to really know her. Wasn’t knowing a person about helping them? He didn’t like the word fix. He fixed houses. He had no illusions about his ability to fix people. But helping? He could help.

He’d met Kasey on a job; a rehab in a bad neighborhood just outside downtown Cincinnati. They’d had dinner and then drinks and, before he knew it, he was rewiring her house. When she’d told him about her awful boss, Emmett had offered her a job doing some accounting for his construction company. They’d been comfortable.

He’d chalked up her complaints as excuses to quit the job and their relationship, but now...

Did he have some kind of latent hero complex about women?

Emmett shook off the question. He loved women; he didn’t feel superior to them. Helping people out was part of his DNA. Bottom line: he was hardwired to solve problems. Jaime had a problem, he offered his advice. Actually getting the old school renovated was completely in her court. Nothing he could or would do about it.

The image she’d painted when they’d toured the school shimmered back into his mind. It would be pretty, though. A draw to tourists; a place to instill pride in the locals. Maybe there was one more thing he could do.

* * *

JAIME TAPPED HER foot against the carpeted floor outside Tom’s office at the winery and watched the clock tick toward three. The registrar’s office had emailed after lunch with instructions to finish the paperwork; they seemed excited for the project. After Google-searching construction firms and calling everyone listed on the search results, though, she was no closer to finding a crew that could start work next week. Much less one that would finish the job in time for the reunion.

The clock ticked past the big three on the dial and her mind wandered. Since leaving the school, for every five minutes she’d spent working on the renovations, she’d spent twenty more thinking about Emmett.

How the sun shone against his jet-black hair. How her hand felt in his. Mostly about that moment on the stairs, the moment she thought he might kiss her. How ridiculous was that?

She hadn’t spent the past ten years pining for Emmett Deal. He’d left. She’d moved on.

Emmett being back didn’t mean anything in her life had to change. In fact, since he’d made it clear this was a short—and very final—visit, nothing in her life would change. She tapped the folder on her lap. These projects would keep her busy. She liked busy. Busy meant days with no time to wonder and nights when she was too tired to dream. Everyone knew she liked busy.

Tom opened the office door, thanking someone on the other side for stopping by. Emmett’s voice inside the office kicked her heartbeat into overdrive. That was as ridiculous as wondering about Emmett’s life in Cincinnati.

“No problem, it’s a solid project and several of my guys were interested.” Emmett stopped when he saw Jaime sitting in the hall. Her heart pounded harder and her mouth felt dry. What was happening to her? First, she drooled over the man in the diner, now she couldn’t be in the same room with him without losing control of her body.

“Tom mentioned you had trouble finding a crew the first time around.”

Jaime quickly stood, holding the folder to her chest. “H-he did?” And now she was stuttering. Perfect.

“Emmett called about the estimate and one thing led to another. Are those the papers?”

“Yes, Laura mentioned you wanted to take a look,” she said, pointing toward the empty secretary’s desk at the opposite wall. She should have known something was going on when Laura wasn’t at her desk.

In the twenty-four hours since Emmett had landed on the island Ronda at the post office had waved her inside to pick up a package that had mysteriously disappeared and, of course, to ask if Emmett was really back on the island. Since Ronda was the second person any of the island gossips would call, the innocent-sounding question was a ploy to find out why he was back, and not if. Anna had avoided eye contact this morning over coffee. Anna never avoided eye contact; the waitress was usually direct to the point of pain. Now Laura had called Jaime about the estimate, disappeared and Emmett came strolling out of her boss’s office.

“And the final decision?” Jaime had a feeling she already knew and she didn’t like it. Not even a little bit.

“I called in a couple of favors and found a crew willing to come up here for the summer.”

“You did?” She focused on Emmett. Okay, a crew was good, especially since she’d had no luck this afternoon.

Tom saluted them with the folder and shut the office door, mumbling something about meeting with the trustees over drinks.

“Wasn’t too hard. I already knew they were available.”

The sinking feeling in Jaime’s stomach grew to a gaping hole.

“Your crew?”

“One of them.”

“One of them,” Jaime repeated.

“Yeah, I have a crew that focuses on older homes in Cincinnati and another that goes where the projects are—”

“That would be the television crew.”

“Right, but they’re on summer hiatus and thought this sounded like fun.”

Jaime felt as though the project was slipping away from her, which was silly. She was never on the actual project team. Her job was to write checks and meet scheduled deadlines. Not knock down walls and install windows. “I thought you said you were here to fix up your dad’s house, not renovate the old school.”

“I am. Was.” Emmett squinted. “Am. Mostly, I’ll consult. Like you.”

“I’m not a consultant.”

“And you don’t think this is a good idea.”

Jaime led Emmett to her office and motioned him to one of the chairs. He crossed one jeans-clad leg over the other and she swore his abs rippled under the tight shirt he wore as he sat.

From her seat Jaime folded her hands together and leaned her elbows on the cherrywood desk. She wanted to move, but she settled for tapping her toes against the cool leather soles of her sandals.

“I think you’re trying a little too hard.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Anger, maybe? Whatever it was Jaime refused to apologize just as she refused to pace.

“I think you’re dreaming if you think you’ll find a quality crew by cold-calling out of the phone book. Hoping one of them will drop their deck-building, roof-replacing, pool-installing summer isn’t going to give you a renovated school for the reunion.”

“You’ll complete the main floor by July first?” Jaime took a breath, hating that her words were nearly an echo of her father’s from the day before. “We’ve already had one false start, so if you aren’t going to see this through you can leave now.”

He stood and held out his hand. “I always see my projects through.”

Jaime hesitated but then stood and took his hand. The contact zinged along her nerves, but she didn’t pull back. “Then I’ll see you Monday morning.”

Emmett closed the door softly on his way out. Jaime rubbed her palm down the leg of her trousers.

And began to pace.

Finish what he started.

When the project was finished Emmett would leave. She would stay here, on Gulliver.

Alone.

Jaime watched the closed door for a long moment. She didn’t want to be alone.

Where did that leave her?


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_02b94175-8826-5493-bb5a-339366aec329)

EMMETT REPLACED THE keys to the old golf cart on the peg near the front door. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’d gone to Tom Gulliver’s with the intention of giving him a few names and reassuring the man the project would be a good investment for the island. How he’d wound up volunteering his crew he had no idea.

He couldn’t back out, though. Not now. Not after Jaime’s veiled certainty he would walk out on the project. Thankfully his guys lived for projects like the old school, and an extra payday was always nice.

Emmett frowned and looked around carefully. The house was too quiet.

“Dad?” he called into the crowded space. No reply. No shuffling of feet. He glanced out the front windows, but there was nothing in the front yard besides his golf cart and the overgrown and untrimmed trees that hid the house from the street.

Continuing through the living room and kitchen, Emmett looked for his father. A steamer released little puffs of moisture into the dining room, but none of the wallpaper was off the walls. Emmett checked the upstairs bedrooms. Empty. The back porch. Nothing. His breathing quickened and he hurried into the backyard.

Gibson’s old Jeep sat under the carport with Emmett’s truck behind it. At least he wasn’t in a motorized vehicle.

“Dad?” he called again, louder this time, and his voice echoed back to him from the thicket of trees at the rear of the property. Their home was one of the few on the north side of the island; most of the development was on the south side because that harbor was less rocky. The first Gulliver built his general store there and the town had grown up around it. Another reason Emmett needed to get him off the island and into a care facility.

There was an old deer trail that led into the woods and eventually to the rocky north shore of the island. Gibson used to walk the trail a couple of times a day with his camera. If he’d gone alone, if his memory failed, there was no telling what might happen.

Briefly, Emmett considered calling the township police, but to say what? No one on the island knew about Gibson’s condition yet. Sunlight slanted across the green leaves of oak and maple trees and he started for the short trail. He’d find Gibson and bring him home. Protect the older man’s secret.

Emmett hadn’t been on the trail in years and it looked as if no one else had, either. There were clumps of composting leaves left from the winter months, families of chipmunks and squirrels rustling in the underbrush. In a few places it seemed the trees were closer together than he remembered. Probably he had been smaller back then. There was no sign of Gibson in the woods. No stray buttons or pieces of fabric caught on a branch. That was silly. The man wasn’t running for his life. He was out for a stroll. At least Emmett hoped that was it.

Finally the trees opened onto the rocky beach. Emmett inhaled a long breath and for a short moment closed his eyes. The water smelled fresh, no hint of washed-up or decaying fish bodies. Here the tree line seemed closer to the water, but he supposed that was natural. No one came to this side of the island. Years before the quarry companies had owned it. When they’d left, the beach had fallen into township hands. But locals and tourists had wanted sand. Removing the big slabs of rock would have eroded most of the island to nothing so they left it alone.

A blue windbreaker fluttered against the rocks on the far side of the beach and Emmett started in that direction.

He finally spotted Gibson kneeling over a tide pool, running his hands through the cold water.

“Dad?” Emmett spoke quietly, not wanting to startle the older man.

“Emmett. How’d you find me out here?” Gibson continued running his hands around the pool, a content expression on his face as if he’d never felt the sides of rocks smoothed by centuries of running water.

“Followed the trail, like I did when I was a kid and Mom would send me out to bring you in for dinner.”

“Mary Margaret was always a stickler for five-thirty dinners, wasn’t she?” Finally he wiped his damp hands on his khaki pants and stood. “Is it time for dinner?”

Emmett’s belly clenched. The rabbit hole was opening again. “No, maybe lunch. Dinner’s a while off. What made you come down here?”

Gibson shook his head. “Nothing, really. I thought maybe I’d find a piece of sheared rock to take with me to Cincinnati. And it’s been a while since I walked down here.” He patted his pocket. “Your mom convinced me to downsize to a pocket camera a few years ago, so I took some pictures, too.”

Emmett took his father’s elbow and tried to help him back to the grassy area but Gibson shook him off. Emmett blew out a relieved breath. His father hated accepting help. It wasn’t the rabbit hole opening with that question about dinner, just the simplicity of losing track of time. He could relate to that. Somehow being in the old school had made him feel as if he’d been back in high school with Jaime, not facing an uncertain future with his father.

“I’m not an invalid yet,” Gibson said and turned on his heel. “If your being here means I can’t take a walk without checking in, you can just haul yourself back down south and I’ll hire a crew to clean up the house. Toledo or Cleveland has assisted-living apartments I could move into, too, you know.”

Emmett knew that. Of course he did. But Toledo and Cleveland were too far from Cincinnati for him to get to his father if he was needed. He wasn’t budging on this. He’d missed too much of his mother’s last years. Too many of his father’s. He might only have a few months left and he damn well wasn’t going to lose them, too.

“Toledo and Cleveland don’t have Skyline Chili.” He used Gibson’s favorite Cincinnati treat as enticement.

“They do in the freezer section.”

Emmett chuckled. “You tried that before I left home, remember? One bite and you tossed it in the trash.”

“Maybe my tastes have changed.”

“We have Graeter’s,” Emmett said, mentioning an ice cream chain where his father always managed to eat on visits to Emmett’s home. “And you know the hot dogs are better at the Reds games than at the Mud Hens or Indians.”

“True.” They began walking back to the trail leading home. “But according to one celebrity Toledo is the Paris of Ohio,” his father said.

“A river running through town doesn’t make Toledo Parisian.” Not that Emmett had been to Paris.

“Well, that actress is hot.”

“I don’t—Dad—which actress?” Emmett stumbled over his words. “Nevermind. When I was a kid you said hotness was more a state of mind than body.”

“You paid attention. You know, the one. Blond hair, pretty eyes. In all those black-and-white movies.” No, Emmett didn’t know. Gibson could be describing one of about twenty starlets, but before he could ask anything more Gibson patted his shoulder as if Emmett had just won the national spelling bee. “Beauty is still only skin deep, it’s the mind that keeps us coming back.”

Emmett wasn’t sure what to make of his father. He’d never seen Gibson so much as notice a pretty girl, and now the old man was crushing on an elderly actress. The doctors didn’t tell him dementia would turn his father into a teenager again.

“Those actresses would be about a hundred and fifty years old.”

“So am I.”

“You’re seventy-two.”

“I always did like cougars.” Gibson looked at him, an innocent expression on his face. “What? You thought after seventy a man’s needs became irrelevant?”

He’d hoped not, but wondering what his own sex life would be like post-retirement and knowing what his dad thought about...those were two very different things. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

Gibson shrugged. “A man has needs. We had this talk when you were about twelve.”

They’d talked about girls and kissing and where babies came from in a very abstract way. Emmett was so not having the sex talk with his dad. Especially not when the talk was about his dad.

“Dad.”

“Do you know your mom never let me watch game shows? Those great old dames used to guest star and she knew I had little crushes on a few of them.”

“Mom was afraid you’d run off to Hollywood to have an illicit affair with a star because she was on a game show?” His mother jealous of a woman Gibson would never meet because he’d never wanted to leave the island? Didn’t sound like the Mary Margaret that Emmett remembered. His mother was feisty. Single-minded, completely head over heels about Gibson, and confident he was crazy for her.

The tree line thinned as they neared the house. “Nah, Mary Margaret knew she was the only girl for me.” He was quiet for a moment and Emmett watched him carefully. A twinkle came into his eye. “It was because of the letter.”

“Letter?”

“I wanted to be a contestant so I wrote to the show.”

They stepped up onto the back porch. Emmett opened the drink refrigerator on the porch, pulling out two cold bottles of water. They sat on the old porch swing.

“Sure. I’d have taken any of the shows, but Password was my favorite. It would have been fun. I was always good with clues.” He chuckled. “Funny, my mind used to be sharp. I could remember anything.” He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Now, some days I wonder if I’ll remember who I am.”

“We’re getting you help, Dad. They have treatments.”

“They’ll work for a while, I know.” His dad’s voice was stoic. Resigned, maybe. “I remember today, and I’m not going to ruin that. Where was I? Right, the letter. So I wrote the show and made it through the first phase, and that meant a trip to LA for a screen test.”

“You guys never left Ohio.”

“Sure we did.”

“Not once. We might have crossed the lake to Detroit a time or two, but I can’t remember ever leaving the state when I was a kid.”

“Huh. There was the trip to Gatlinburg. No, that was before you were born. St. Louis. No, that was our honeymoon. We never did get that cruise we talked about. Maybe we didn’t travel much when you were younger. I’m sorry, son.”

Emmett swallowed some of his water. “It isn’t a big deal. I always thought the two of you, or at least one of you, was kind of afraid to travel.”

“Huh.” His father was quiet for a moment. “I never did tell her.”

“Tell her what?” Emmett’s mind reeled. His father had a whole life he knew nothing about. He’d wanted to be on game shows? And his mom had been jealous of Gibson’s crush on an actress?

“The screen test. I got it, but never taped the show because she got so mad on that trip. After the audition we went to the Santa Monica Pier and Betty was there. Your mom was busy buying souvenirs and I was watching Betty. Betty flirted with me I flirted with Betty, and Mary Margaret didn’t like that at all.”

Which Betty? Grable? Davis? White? Emmett was torn between trying to figure out his dad’s celebrity crush or chalking it all up to rambling. None of this sounded like the parents he knew. The devoted, loving people he’d grown up with. He checked Gibson’s eyes but they seemed clear and his hands weren’t doing that clench-and-unclench thing they did when he was upset or having one of his spells. “The thing I never told your mom is the Betty who flirted with me was a female impersonator. Just some street performer looking for a tip.”

Emmett choked on his water. “You flirted with a drag queen on the Santa Monica Pier?” His buttoned-up, tweed-wearing dad?

“When was I going to meet the real woman? I was a schoolteacher from a tiny island on Lake Erie that no one outside the state has ever heard of. And I was in LA, auditioning to be a contestant on my favorite show. It isn’t as if the impersonator was a hooker or anything. She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night.”

“The hooker?” Emmett couldn’t keep it all straight. He checked Gibson’s eyes again but his gaze was unclouded.

“No, your mom.”

“Mom always had something to say.”

“Not that night. She wouldn’t say anything. By the next morning I knew better than to bring it up, even to explain, so I dropped the subject and we came home.”

“And you didn’t do the show.”

Gibson shook his head and then finished his water. “I think I’ll take a nap. Wake me in an hour and we’ll start on the porch.”

The screen door slapped shut behind him, leaving Emmett alone on the back porch wondering about the life his parents had had before he was born.

He wished he’d seen it.

They’d had him late in life. Gibson had been in his forties by the time Emmett was born. Although they’d never seemed old to him, they’d also never seemed young. They were his parents. Boring. Loving and attentive. But boring.

This peek into their life before him was odd. Made him wish he’d made more of an effort to get to know them as adults.

He pushed off the swing.

He was here now. It was too late to get to know his mom, but he still had time with Gibson. A very short window of time—and he wasn’t going to waste it.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to right things for Jaime, too.


CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_0366e1e3-75a1-57c4-94e2-ba794494f15a)

“YOU HUNGRY?”

Emmett pulled another wide strip of wallpaper from the dining-room wall before stuffing the steamed paper into the big, barrel trash can he’d brought in from the back porch. Gibson stood in the doorway, hair wild around his face and a baseball cap on his head. Emmett couldn’t place the mascot on the brim.

“Sure.” He wiped his hands on a damp towel and then put it back on the cleaned corner of his mother’s mahogany dining table.





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