“Oh, I don’t know, Lou,” he said. “We made a pretty good team once upon a time.”
Now he had her attention. But he wasn’t sure he wanted it. What was he doing? He was flirting, that’s what. And he should stop. He was walking a tightrope, and he knew one wrong move and he’d fall—hard.
“That was a long time ago,” she said.
He watched her tuck a long strand of hair behind her ear, eyes lingering on her pink cheeks, her full lips.
The tightrope underneath him wobbled.
He hadn’t returned to Nantucket thinking he’d reconnect with Louisa. He didn’t even know she lived on the island. While there were a lot of old feelings that had been stirred like soup in a pot, the thing that struck him most was that what drew him to her most were things he didn’t know about her back then.
She was smart and fearless, yes, but she had such a kindness about her—it was rare to find someone who was so genuine in their concern for other people. Most people really only cared about themselves.
She was different. She would never intentionally hurt him, right?
Yet she had hurt him. And that mistake had unraveled so much of his life. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile the Louisa who’d broken his heart with the woman standing in front of him.
She scoffed quietly. “You can’t do this.”
Whoa. What had he done?
“I can’t do this.” She stormed past him as if she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
“Do what?” He followed her. “Louisa?”
She spun around and looked at him, and for a split second he thought maybe there were tears in her eyes.
“You can’t tell me I’m only being nice to try and ease my guilty conscience and push me away like you did just to pull me straight back in by flirting with me.” She looked up at the ceiling, blinking quickly. Same thing she’d always done to keep from crying.
He thought she looked equal parts beautiful and adorable when she did.
What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. She was at most a friend, nothing more. She could never be anything more.
“I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it. She was right—it was unfair of him.
Never mind that he liked being around her, liked the way he felt when he was with her. He wanted to know all of her three million quirks, and he wanted to hear her say his name over and over.
Get a hold of yourself, Boggs. You could leave here with McKenzie. Wouldn’t that be easier? Less messy?
“I tried to clear the air with you and you pushed me away,” she said, a little angrier now. “You were right.”
“I was?”
“Yes. Distance is good. Because this—” she waved her hands back and forth in the space between them—“is no good for anyone.”
A man dressed in a suit, with pants that almost reached his ankles, strode over. If it weren’t for the fact that he stopped next to Louisa (and the fact that he wasn’t wearing socks with his loafers), Cody might not have noticed him.
“Buyer’s remorse?” He smiled at Louisa, who glanced at Cody and stiffened.
“Not now, Eric.”
“Do you need a loan?” He’d leaned toward her, but he hadn’t lowered his voice.
“I’m fine,” she said.
But she wasn’t fine. Obviously she had history with this guy. Cody took a step toward her.
Eric extended a hand toward Cody. “Eric Anderson. Louisa and I used to date.”
“He doesn’t care about that,” Louisa said. “Would you just go?”
Eric withdrew his hand and glanced at Louisa. He didn’t say a word, but the way he watched her made Cody want to deck the guy.
Finally Eric walked off.
Louisa was right. This was no good.
He looked away. “Maybe you and McKenzie can trade or something.”
“You want me to train with Charlie Pope?” She glared at him.
“Yep.”
McKenzie had bid on—and won—Charlie, the last guardsman of the evening. He wanted Louisa spending time with Charlie almost as much as he wanted someone to yank out his toenails, but no way he was telling her that.
She nodded blankly. “That would probably be better for everyone.”
He forced her gaze. “Yep.”
But he didn’t mean it. He wanted to explain himself. If only he knew how to put into words what he was thinking.
This was easier. This was smarter. Distance between them was necessary and good. Teaching her to sail and spending any additional time with her was not.
“I’ll go find McKenzie,” she said.
He watched her walk away and found himself praying McKenzie had already left. Because while his head knew distance was smarter, his heart wanted nothing more than to curl right up next to Louisa and stay awhile.
Cody hadn’t intended to spend the day after the auction sitting on Maggie Fisher’s sofa, surrounded by boxes of old newspapers, but here he was.
Maggie was in the kitchen making him tea, though he’d told her twice he didn’t much care for tea. Her response? “Nonsense. Everyone likes tea.”
So in a few minutes, he would drink tea because that’s what you did when you were with Maggie Fisher.
After what seemed like a lot longer than it should’ve taken to make tea, Maggie returned to the living room carrying a tray. He quickly stood and took it from her.
“I’m not an invalid,” she said with a snap.
He ignored her and set the tray down on the coffee table, then poured her a cup.
“You’re my guest,” she said. “Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean I can’t pour a cup of tea.”
“Oh, I know,” he said. “But now you don’t have to.”
She sat across from him with a defeated shrug. “You’re just like your dad.”
The words played at the corners of an old wound, threatening to uncover pain he’d put in its place a long time ago.
Maggie laughed. “Your dad was a charmer. You got his good looks.”
He really didn’t want to talk about his dad. Yet wasn’t that why he was here?
“Thanks,” he said lamely.
She eyed him over her teacup. “What brings you by? I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than hang out with the likes of me.”
He leaned forward on his knees. “You’re really sick, huh?”
“A little bit, kiddo.”
He didn’t want her to die, he realized in that moment. He didn’t like that the people he loved had gotten older, himself included. Time was cruel, the way it marched on without permission.
But then he supposed it didn’t march on for everyone, did it?
“I wanted to ask you about the note I found on that cross.”
“I already told you it wasn’t me.” Her cup clinked on the saucer, and a bit of tea sloshed over the side. “I wish it was.”
“No, I know.” How did he put this? More importantly, did he really want to poke around in the past? He’d tried to drop it, but the questions about the memorial and the note nagged at him.
That’s why he found himself here. Maybe Maggie could help.
“I was thinking about how the person who wrote that note called my dad Danny,” he said.