And while she hadn’t thought much of the argument between Gemma and Ellie last night, today she had to agree. It was time to sell Sunset Cottage. It was nothing like it used to be.
Chapter Ten
Gemma
Gemma only stopped writing when she glanced up through the window and saw a figure crossing the front lawn. A shirtless figure. A handsome figure. A distracting figure, not that she entirely minded.
She looked down at her word count in the bottom corner of screen, closing her eyes in relief with what she saw. Yes, she’d spent another day avoiding the main point of the story and focusing instead on the filler scenes, but it was something, and she could call it a productive day, mostly because Hope had decided to vacate the house with the twins for an extended period of time, both before and after their naps, and Ellie had yet again left the house before even the twins were awake—and when they woke up, the entire house knew it.
She felt bad about her argument with Ellie last night. And the words she had exchanged with Hope earlier. But she also couldn’t take back what she’d said, either. And she certainly wasn’t complaining about how much she’d accomplished when the house was so empty.
Deciding that she was at a stopping point, she saved her document and closed her laptop. Then, for inexplicable reasons, silly really, she walked into her en suite bathroom, brushed her hair into a neater ponytail, and changed from her pajama pants and tank top to cut-off jean shorts and a cotton pleasant blouse.
Confidence, she told herself. It was something she hadn’t felt in a while, not since Sean decided that she wasn’t the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with after all.
Five months later, it still hurt, and with each day closer to her wedding day, the more it brought up all those bad feelings she’d experienced when the breakup was raw and the pain was fresh. The date was now four weeks from tomorrow. Did he still have it on his calendar? Had he forgotten?
Would he even think of her at all? Would he stop and think, even for one second, that he had made a mistake? He’d already picked out his tie. And together they’d selected matching wedding bands—platinum, to match the engagement ring she’d returned to him two weeks after he ended their relationship.
And the honeymoon, the trip to Paris, the one that she had dared to think might be the setting for her third novel, would he cancel it? Or would he go? One thing was for certain: she wouldn’t be going. Not even for research. The ticket could be exchanged for a voucher, but even the thought of a getaway to clear her head felt tainted, knowing what the trip could have been.
Should have been.
She sighed heavily and forced herself to open her bedroom door. She’d been tucked away since breakfast, and she hadn’t even stopped for lunch. Now her stomach rumbled and she walked down the stairs to the kitchen, happy to find the fridge still stocked, and the pantry, too. The bowl of fresh fruit was now front and center on the farmhouse table—again, Hope’s touch.
Guilt reared strong, but she pushed it back. If Hope hadn’t interrupted her at such a crucial point in the chapter she’d been writing, she wouldn’t have been so short-tempered. She’d offer to watch the girls one day when she had her book more under control. If she could finally break through this panicked feeling she experienced every time she reached the part of her book where the main characters met and eventually fell in love, then she could afford to be generous. And she wanted to be generous. It didn’t feel good to take advantage of Hope’s hospitality or Ellie’s willingness to share the cottage, even if it was just as much hers.
She ate a banana and one of the muffins left over from breakfast, purchased at Island Bakery yesterday by Hope, one of the best spots in town for homemade scones and sandwiches. Growing up, the girls used to pack thick turkey sandwiches from there and spend the day at the beach, before cycling over to Main Street Sweets for penny candy before they came home, full, tired, and smiling.
Home. That’s what they had always called this house when they visited, and Gran hadn’t minded. Now, it technically was her home, a third of it at least, and Gemma considered that for a moment. Then, feeling that it was time to contribute something to the household, she walked out onto the front porch and admired Leo as he pushed the mower back and forth, in straight lines.
Really, that’s all she was doing. Watching from afar. Because getting any closer…well, that was definitely not an option. And really, she was only seeking him out for professional reasons. He was handy, and this house needed work. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was easy on the eye. Very easy, she thought, as she watched his muscles strain as he turned the mower around.
He stopped when saw her, flashed a grin and wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief that he pulled from his back pocket. He certainly wasn’t making this easy, she thought ruefully. Or maybe, it was the other way around. Maybe he was making this too easy. Too easy to think about someone other than Sean. Too easy to believe that she could actually be attracted to another man again.
But attraction was one thing. A relationship was another. And love…she couldn’t even think about that.
“I noticed that vegetable garden in the back,” he said, sparking a snort from her.
“It used to be a vegetable garden,” she corrected. Gran had taken such pride in her plants, and when the girls visited in the summer, they’d found endless satisfaction in selecting the tomatoes, beans, and peppers for dinner. One of her favorite memories was of sitting on the porch with her sisters and Gran, shelling peas and looking out over the water, her feet bare, her shorts sticky over her wet bathing suit, her smile tired but sincere.
Those days, she thought heavily, were over. The vegetable garden was proof of that.
“My sister killed it.”
He barked out a laugh. It was a nice laugh, rich and heavy, but warm, like his eyes. “I’ve met Ellie a few times over the last couple of months. She’s an artist, right?”
Gemma nodded. “This house is a lot of work for one person.”
He lifted an eyebrow. The intensity of his gaze not wavering. “Good thing you’re here then.”
She looked away, down at her feet. She was vulnerable, out of sorts, and she’d probably latch onto anyone who showed her a little kindness about now. But just as much as she wanted to stay out here, in the warmth of the late afternoon sun, talking with a nice, friendly, good-looking guy, another part of her wanted to go inside, close the door, and stop her heart from beating like this. Inside she was safe. Inside she was protected. Comfortable.
“I could try to revive it,” he offered.
Here, she had to raise an eyebrow. “That’s very optimistic of you.” Last she’d checked, the leaves on the tomato plants had turned crisp and brown, and the peppers looked like they hadn’t had a drop of water except for what Mother Nature decided to offer to them.
“I consider myself a bit of a green thumb. I’ll have a go.” He shrugged, and she knew that she should leave it at that, boundaries and all, but she couldn’t help herself. A good-looking man, here on Evening Island, who didn’t seem to own a shirt and who knew how to bring the dead back to life?
She followed him around the back, past the old hammock where she used to lie for hours, scribbling in her journal, or late at night, staring up at the stars which seemed so much brighter here on the island than they did back at home. Gran knew all the constellations, and they were happy to stand out on the porch and study them all, well past their usual bedtimes.