She pursed her lips at that, remembering that he was far away, that he never came to Michigan to visit, and that their phone calls had been further and fewer between. Lack of quality cell reception had been an easy excuse for that. Still, somehow it didn’t make the ache in her chest go away, try as she might. And oh, how she had tried. To tell herself that she didn’t care, when she did, deep down. So much. Too much, really.
She grabbed a plastic spoon for her ice cream. The dishwasher had stopped working last week, and she hadn’t the time nor resources to call anyone to fix it, and there were quite a few dishes piled up by now…
That was the problem with island life, she decided. It made you lazy. Time slowed down, you went through the day at your own pace, and well, it was wonderful, really. Really, really wonderful. Except when it wasn’t.
Outside, she set her brown grocery bag in her bicycle basket. She eyed the front tire and decided that it wasn’t worth the risk. She’d walk the bike home and deal with it in the morning. Hopefully it just needed some air in the tires and not a patch. She had time…She may not have much else, but she had time.
At first, the thought of all that time to paint had been a dream come true.
Now…She stopped walking. Blinked. Felt her heart speed up and her stomach do something a little funny.
Now she was staring at the face of Simon Webber. Only it couldn’t be Simon. Simon hadn’t been back to the island in a decade, and sometime, long ago but probably not as long ago as she should have, she’d accepted the fact that he’d never be back.
And here he was, coming out of the bakery, as casually as if he had never left town, and for a second, she dared to imagine how that would have been. If he’d returned. Like he’d promised. How different life might have been.
That was one fantasy she had harbored for too long. Now, her heart was hammering in her chest. Why now? Why not then? And what would she even say?
He glanced up and down Main Street; his turquoise blue eyes were practically glowing, even from this distance. And that grin, broad and slightly mischievous—oh Lord, that grin!
She brought a hand to her hair, hoping that she didn’t have paint gumming up the ends, and wondering if she should turn, hop on her bike and attempt to get up Hill Street on that front tire, compose herself and seek him out another day. Or should she stand here and wait for him to see her? Wait for him to take the lead?
Oh, God. He saw her. He did a double take (be still her heart!) and his grin widened even deeper, making his eyes go all crinkly at the corners and his dimple quirk.
“Ellie? Ellie Morgan?” He was coming over to her in long, purposeful strides, and before she could even react, she was pressed against his chest. His hard, warm, thick chest, and oh, she couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes, and, ever so discreetly, gave a little sniff.
He smelled good, just like she remembered, and oh, how she remembered. He smelled like the cedar soap he’d always used, with only a slight undertone of sweat. And he felt warm, and sturdy, and she wanted to hold him even longer, she wanted to take him back to Sunset Cottage and…Well. A lady didn’t talk about those things. Not that Ellie had ever been much of a lady. Her oldest sister Hope was the lady. Gemma was the brain. Ellie was the wild child. The artist. The black sheep. The family disappointment.
But none of that mattered. Not when Simon was standing in front of her, looking as good as he had ten years ago, the last time she’d seen him. Even if it wasn’t supposed to be the last time.
“I didn’t know you were coming back to town!” she finally said, managing to find her words.
“I didn’t know you were still spending your summers here,” he said with a grin. His eyes were sparkling, and he seemed so happy to see her that she didn’t even feel nervous. It was exactly like she had once pictured their reunion to be, well, other than the missing kiss, of course. A kiss by now would have been nice…
“Oh, I live here year-round now, actually,” she corrected. She’d gotten used to the surprised reaction people gave to that. Evening Island wasn’t exactly a winter destination, especially when the only access became a small air taxi. The months leading up to spring were dark and quiet. Very, very quiet. But they were also ethereal, with frocked trees and the frozen stretch of water leading all the way to Blue Harbor. Some of her best paintings were inspired by the winter landscape. She had to remember that!
“I thought you went to art school in Chicago?”
She tried not to be too flattered that he remembered that. But then, that was all they had talked about that last summer here together. Their future.
The future that hadn’t happened.
She pushed back the pang in her chest. They were kids back then, she told herself. It would be irrelevant to bring it up now, to ask where he’d been, why he’d never come back, why he’d gotten busy with his new life and forgotten her. Because she’d never forgotten him.
Instead, she managed a breezy smile and said, “Oh, I did. And then I moved back to take care of Gran.” Or, as Gemma had said the last time she’d seen her, Gran had taken her in.
Ellie still felt the sting of those words.
Simon gave a look of sympathy. “I heard about your grandmother. I’m sorry.”
Of course he’d heard. The Webbers, like the Morgans, were summer stock, locals of their own right, people who came every summer, year after year, from Memorial Day through Labor Day. Well, most years. Islanders kept tabs on their friends, brought them fresh-cut flowers and homemade cherry pies, and they were up to date on all the gossip, which was how Ellie knew that Simon was a thriving attorney, living a successful life in Philadelphia.
The fact that Simon was coming back to Evening Island had not been mentioned. Surely, she would have heard. She would have prepared herself. She would have made sure she didn’t have the faint markings of paint on her dress, and she might have run a brush through her hair, too.
“She lived a long life,” Ellie said bravely, but the tears prickled the backs of her eyes again, damn it. She glanced away, forced a bright smile, but Simon’s was one of sympathy and understanding, making her feel connected to him all over again, because of course he knew. He’d spent endless summers with Gran just like she had, here on Evening Island. “Makes it feel like the end of an era, sometimes.”
And it was. Now, looking at Simon, and the fine lines around his eyes, and the way his chest had filled out from the boyish frame she knew so well, she was all too aware that time had passed. That the summers they once spent together were only a memory.
But a shared one.
“So what keeps you busy here year-round?” he asked, as one would, except that Ellie couldn’t help but think he should know this; if he’d asked, surely his mother might have told him?
“I have an art studio here in town,” she said proudly. “It’s down by the docks. Turquoise paint. Hard to miss.”
“We’ll plan on stopping in sometime,” Simon said with a grin.
Ellie narrowed her eyes for a moment. We? But then she thought, no doubt his parents had decided to get an early start on the summer. Wanted to air out the house. Maybe they hadn’t taken advantage of any renters for the upcoming lilac season the way other locals liked to do, choosing instead to return mid-June, when the festivities were over. The Webbers hadn’t been back for a couple of years; maybe they wanted to make up for time lost.