“And he’s a sweetheart,” she said, giving her horse a pat.
“And here you weren’t so sure about that,” Leo said with a laugh. “Glad you decided to give him a chance?”
She caught his eye. Swallowed hard. “I think I am.”
“Not all guys are bad,” he said, giving her a cheeky grin.
She met his eye, felt a heat creep up her cheeks. “Never said they were,” she managed, glancing away.
“You must spend a lot of time describing perfect men in your books,” he remarked.
She shook her head. “That’s fiction.” And it was becoming increasingly difficult to write about a character that she had never met and may never hope to meet.
Still, Leo was right. Good guys were out there. And she was starting to think that he might be one of them. She watched as he dismounted with ease and closed the gate before helping her down, his hand warm and steady in hers. They lingered there like that, even once she was on steady ground, her legs a little shaky beneath her.
She licked her lower lip and pulled her hair away, wishing she could have held it for just a second longer.
It was cooler here, in the woods. She’d always loved this part of the island, away from the water, sure, but the way there were so many paths through the forest, so many houses tucked away, some were big and others small.
Leo’s house was not at all what she expected. But then, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected. She just knew that nothing about him, from his existence to this…friendship that they were forming was something she could have planned for.
“So…if you have a horse, I assume that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon?”
“Don’t plan on it,” Leo said. He pulled a bushel of hay from the stack and tossed it to the horses. “Nothing to go back to.”
Gemma peered at him. There had to be more to this story. What about his mother? His parents? And the ex.
No one just ran away to Evening Island without a purpose. It was too remote. Too cold in the winter. But it was beautiful. And not just beautiful. It was special.
“Shame you’ll be selling the cottage,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
Her chest tightened as it did every time she thought about not returning to the island, because she wouldn’t, she knew, once the house was gone.
“So caretaking…” she began, hoping to get off the subject of her own house’s fate.
“That just pays the bills,” he said, leaning against the fence. “My real plan is to turn this property into a proper stable. Get more horses. Give guided tours through the woods, all around the island. There’s enough demand to support another business.”
“You’d be good at that,” she said, smiling at him.
“Like I said, I needed a change.” He shrugged.
A change from what exactly? She nodded, imagining what it would be like to give up her routine and move to Evening Island where life was simpler, quieter, and slower paced. She’d thought that Ellie was selling herself short by residing here all these years, but putting it this way, a change sounded good.
Maybe, she thought, eyeing Leo, even tempting.
“Well,” she said, clearing her throat as she took a step back, “I should probably get back to the house. Work and all. The books don’t write themselves, and I’ve got a long way to go on this one.”
“What has you so blocked?” he asked.
She pulled in a breath, not sure if she wanted to explain the reason behind her struggle, both personally and professionally. But keeping it inside, trying to deny the part of her that was at war with her own self, wasn’t working out. She had spent too many hours staring at a cursor on a screen, trying to push aside her own feelings, and failing.
“I guess you could say that it’s hard to write about love when you don’t have it in your own life.”
He was watching her steadily, his expression giving nothing away. “This has something to do with that ex you mentioned, I assume.”
She nodded. “It’s been difficult to be someone different on the page than I am in real life.”
He shrugged. “So why not put more of yourself into the story?”
She stared at him. “Because I write romance.” They do not expect the hero to call off the happy ending six months before the last page.
“And what you know best right now is heartache,” Leo said matter-of-factly.
“Is it that obvious?” She winced.
“It’s a universal theme, as common as love itself, even if it seems like the loneliest feeling in the world.” He gave her a little grin, one that went straight to her heart and warmed it. “But I think if you put a little more of yourself into it, instead of trying to make it completely unrelated to what you’re going through now, you might find that people connect.”
She nodded slowly. He had a point. And a good one.
“Anyway, I’m not a writer, but I know a thing or two about moving on. I hope today helped,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. His gaze was steady on her, and for a moment, she fell under its spell, pulled into this world away from everything and everyone else.
“It did help,” she said when she’d found her voice, and not just because she had finally really gotten out of the house or that Leo had given her the best advice she could have received about her book.
It helped make her think that maybe, just maybe, Hope was right, and that she could find love with someone else after all.
Chapter Seventeen
Hope
It had been nearly two weeks since Hope had decided to come to the island, and with each passing day, she felt more detached from her life back in Chicago. Truth be told, she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about that.
Today, though, she didn’t need to think about it. It was Friday, and she had a meeting—an actual meeting!—at Darcy’s house out in Forest Bluff. It was one of the prettiest parts of the island, on the West Shore, far from town, with a row of houses tucked behind a towering, thick hedge.
The house she was visiting had been in the Ritter family for generations. It had been built at the turn of the twentieth century, back when it became fashionable for people to build summer “cottages” on the island. Eventually, these turned into year-round residences when the owners retired, as Sunset Cottage had for her own grandparents. Now, the Ritter house was owned by Darcy, who was in her seventies by now and hadn’t changed anything since she’d first taken over the estate.
Hope knew Darcy, of course, though she’d never been inside the house before. Darcy’s children were older than her by at least ten years, and they hadn’t played together on the Morgans’ annual summer visits.
Still, Hope knew the neighborhood well. It was at the north end of the forest, off a path that she and her sisters used to like to ride their bikes. They loved spying through hedge openings onto well-manicured lawns, large homes, and a sweeping view of Lake Huron.
“I never thought I’d reach the point of selling this place,” Darcy said sadly after she’d welcomed Hope inside.
Hope pushed back the thought that her own Gran would have said the same thing if she knew that Gemma was wanting to list it, too.