“I can’t say anything yet,” he said, but his eyes gave her the answer. He sniffed the air for a moment, looking perplexed, and then seemed to shrug it off. “These things don’t always work out.”
“Of course,” she said. She’d been inside the Lakeside Inn a few times, to use the bathroom, to have lunch on the large front porch, to play hide and seek in the lobby when she was too young to know better. It had been family owned for as long as she knew, owned by the Altmans, who had a place at the northern tip of West End Road. “I hadn’t realized that they were selling. You know that their family house is near my cottage.”
“I might have put that together when you mentioned where you lived,” he said, laughing.
“Are they selling that too?” she asked. She hadn’t seen a sign, but if plans moved forward to sell Sunset Cottage, that couldn’t be good for her or her sisters.
Although, selling the house meant leaving. No job. No getaway. No more summers with her sisters or even the hopes of one. No more memories that seemed to come alive at every turn.
No John.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, even to herself, she suddenly said, “We’re hosting a dinner at our house, actually. This Sunday. If you’re around.”
She didn’t know where that had come from, but as she said it, the idea took hold, and it sounded wonderful. A dinner on the patio. She’d light tea candles and put out colorful centerpieces and a blue table runner to match the lake across the street. She’d make grilled fish and a strawberry pie for dessert. Her sisters would have to pull together for that. It would be fun—just the fun they needed to bring them closer again. And it might just make Gemma look at Sunset Cottage in a different light. Because while selling the house may be the practical thing to do, Hope was finding that following her heart was leading to a lot more happiness these days.
His gaze locked with hers. “Sunday night. I’ll be there.”
She pulled in a breath. He’d be there. Just like that. Just like she knew that he would.
“Sunset Cottage. There’s a sign near the maple in the front. Seven o’clock.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said, giving her an unreadable look, but she could see the smile in his eyes as she pushed the girls on by.
A party. And this one didn’t even feel like work!
She didn’t even stop to think that her sisters would probably have something to say about a man who was not her husband coming to their house for dinner. She’d just have to conjure up a few more invites.
.
Chapter Eighteen
Gemma
Gemma finished replying to her editor’s email and sat back with a smile. Leo had been right—getting out had helped her, and so had their conversation. She was finally making real progress in the book. Why not use some of her personal experience? It flowed from her fingertips and filled page after page. It was heartfelt, and real, and the more that she gave of herself, the less her chest ached. Life wasn’t a fairytale, but if her heroine could come through a bad patch and find everlasting love, then maybe she could too. Someday.
She’d gotten out a few more days this week, too, taking her laptop to the Cottage Coffeehouse or working on the front porch when Hope took the girls out or settled them for their naps. And she’d taken walks, long ones, bringing a notebook to the beach and immersing herself in the setting of the story she was creating.
Why hadn’t she done this in Chicago? She lived across from the park, not far from the lakefront either. Her neighborhood was full of cafés where other people seemed to have no problems being productive despite the chatter and the hiss of the espresso machine.
But she knew the answer. Because Sean was in Chicago.
And so was his new fiancée.
They’d gotten engaged three months after he’d ended things with her, meaning that they had now been engaged for two months. For two months he had called another woman his fiancée, when she’d never even made it to the altar.
That was the worst part of it, really. It wasn’t that he’d gotten cold feet, wasn’t ready to get married. It was that he didn’t want to marry her.
She looked down at her ring finger. She’d been walking so much that she had lost some of the weight she’d put on, and the fresh air had given her skin a slight tan, even though there was still a slight chill in the air. The mark from Sean’s ring was fading.
And slowly, the pain in her heart was too.
Gemma had just finished a chapter when there was a tentative knock at the door. She glanced at her outline, taking satisfaction in checking off another milestone. She was now more than two-thirds finished with the book. She could finish it—make that would finish it. It would happen. If she didn’t get sidetracked, she thought, as her mind went to Leo.
She stood, stretched, and called out, “Come in!”
It was Hope, carrying a wooden tray by the handles complete with a glass of lemonade with extra ice, just the way she liked it, and a plate bearing a chicken salad sandwich with lettuce, and a side of sliced apples and plums.
“Brain food,” Hope said, setting the tray down on the edge of Gemma’s bed. “I take it you haven’t had lunch yet?”
“I got busy,” she explained. “I’m really making progress.”
“Good!” Hope smiled. “So coming here was good for you then?”
“I never said it wasn’t,” Gemma replied, tilting her head. “You’re not changing your mind about selling the cottage, are you?”
Hope glanced away. “I wasn’t sure if you had.”
The thought had crossed her mind, of course, especially when she was on the horse trails with Leo. And when she learned he was staying here.
She dodged the topic, refusing to even entertain the thoughts, and picked up the sandwich. “You didn’t need to do this, but thanks. How was today?” Last night over a bowl of chowder and a glass of wine, Hope had told her about the offer from Sheila, keeping it vague and casual, and now Gemma was curious to know more. Both of her sisters were being evasive in their own ways—Ellie in the physical sense, and Hope, well, she supposed that Hope had never been one to share her emotions. She’d toed the line; she thought clearly, and behaved rationally. She would never have allowed herself to barely meet a deadline over a breakup as Gemma had. Hope didn’t fall apart. Hope did what needed to be done.
Only now she wondered if that was true at all.
“Good,” Hope said brightly. “I can see where I can really help Darcy.”
“When you said you might want to go back to work, I assumed you meant back in Chicago.”
“It’s just a project,” Hope said, her tone a little defensive. She walked to the window and glanced out it. “This window is filthy. It will be much clearer to see through it once it’s been wiped down.”
“It’s fine,” Gemma said. “You know who you sound like?”
Hope’s eyes flashed. “Don’t even say it.”
Gemma had to grin. “You know it’s true. You sound just like Mom.”
“I’m nothing like Mom,” Hope said in a huff. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, practically glaring at Gemma.