Chapter 30

GETTY

Repair List

Replace Front Step—third one

Replace Missing Roof Shingles—Wet is only good in one place

Back Deck = Death Trap

Fix Lock on Patio Door—Sorry, Mr. Ax Murderer

Fix Bathroom Mirror

Clean Out & Fix Rain Gutter Spouts

Repair Shutters

Add Handrail to Front Steps & Paint

Connect Internet for God’s Sake

Boat Shit I Don’t Understand

Bulldoze House and Rebuild

Electrician—Call one

Plumber—Creaky pipes

Have sex with Kiss the Repair Guy

The sun is shining and the ferry’s horn sounds off a warning that a new wave of tourists is heading ashore, but as we walk through town, my mind’s focused on the man beside me, holding my hand.

And on the dwindling repair list on the counter I’ve set to memory. Each item that gets crossed off means one fewer day with him.

I have to try not to be sad; this was how our story was scripted to play out. I’ve come to terms with it more in the last few days after seeing a more lighthearted Zander. I knew him only with the weight of the unknown resting on his shoulders. And now that it’s been lifted, he’s still the same guy he was before, but there’s a significant change. He’s more carefree. His smile is broader. He’s not so moody.

That alone, watching the man I love live a happier life, will make saying good-bye to him a bit easier. Knowing I helped him get what he came here for and he in turn helped me overcome my past when it caught up with me.

Who the hell am I kidding? I’m going to bawl like a freaking baby, eat tons of ice cream, and paint dark stormy seas and skies again when he’s gone . . . but at least it was by my own choice. I chose to walk into this relationship with Zander when I knew the end before it began. Such a weird, liberating thing to have for myself after being controlled for so many years.

Carpe diem, Getty.

The thought really strikes me for some reason. Like if I really mean the saying, then I’d better do something about it. And so without preamble I tug on Zander’s hand. He stops to look at me, but I only catch a millisecond of the confusion on his face before I slant my lips over his.

I love the sudden movement of his body, the hitch in his breath. Even better, I love how, within a second, his hand slides against my lower back and pulls me into him so he can deepen the kiss.

He tastes like desire and the chocolate ice cream we shared moments ago. I think I’ll always equate him with that newly awakened sensation he’s brought out in me.

Our tongues meet, hands press our bodies closer, and our lips express our need. The tourists littering the sidewalk have to walk around us, and for once, I really don’t care who is watching. Because it feels like it’s just him. And me. And he’s not going to leave and I’m not going to cry and all will be well.

The warmth of his kiss allows me to believe the fantasy for a few seconds before Mable’s loud, identifiable laugh sounds off to the right of us. “Well, thank God. It’s about time you kissed her senseless, Zander.”

Zander breaks the kiss but not before I can feel his lips curve into a smile. “You keep denying me, Mable, so I had no choice but to move on. A man has needs after all.”

She throws her head back and laughs, bosom jiggling and cheeks turning red from the attention. “Young man,” she says with a shake of her head and a point of her finger, “I think that lass right there is taking care of your needs just fine by the looks of that kiss.”

“No complaints here, ma’am,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows and a smile well into dimple territory.

“Such a gentleman.” Mable pats her chest in mock swoon. “Oh, Getty! We got a great bid on that sequined cocktail number today. It’s going to bring in some good—”

“Excuse me a second,” Zander says unexpectedly as he sees someone over my shoulder. I watch him jog over to where Liam stands out in front of the bar. Zander calls his name to get his attention as I turn back to Mable. She continues on about some of my dresses up for sale, but my attention remains focused on Zander and Liam, whose eyes keep glancing back at me.

We meet up a few minutes later. “What was that all about?” I ask, hating that I suddenly sound nosy.

“Nothing really. Just wanted to ask Liam a few things.” He falls silent, which means my curiosity is piqued.

“What were—?”

“He wanted to give me this,” he says with a laugh as he holds out a white Lazy Dog Bar T-shirt like the staff has to wear, with the logo prominently displayed across the chest of it.

“Always the opportunist. He’s probably hoping you’ll be photographed with it when you head to the race or something and give the bar some notoriety.”

“I’ll wear it.” He shrugs. “Although I like how you wear yours much better,” he says with a wink, referring to how all the servers tie the back of their shirts to make them a bit tighter for the male patrons’ benefit.

“I’m sure you do.” I laugh and smile at him.

“It’s even better when you’re not wearing it, though.” I go to playfully hit him in the arm, but he catches my arm before I connect and presses an unexpected kiss to the top of my hand. While I’m startled, he acts casual when he links his fingers with mine and starts walking.

“You going to be okay while I’m gone?”

“Yes.” No.

The question stops my heart, but I try not to show it. I know he’s referring to his flight the day after next. And of course I feel ridiculously stupid that I’m panicking over how this will be the first time we’re going to be apart in almost three months.

But I know my feelings are haywire over more than that. Once he goes back to his real life, the anchor holding him here on the island will slowly lose its hold.

He’s addressed the reason he ran in the first place. Going home means he’s going to try to right the wrongs with his family. If he’s successful, he’ll have no reason to stay here anymore.

“I feel like after everything that happened the other night, I should be the one asking you that question. How are you doing?”

He blows out a breath as we take the turn off the main street to start back home. The weight of his thoughts fills the silence. “I’m good,” he finally says. “A part of me wants to be angry at her for not getting out when she clearly knew what was going to happen, but I’m just so tired of being angry, Getty. It’s all I’ve known for what feels like so long. And being pissed isn’t going to change anything.”

He sounds very different from the man I met a few months ago. His state of mind, his openness to introspection, and what he’s going to take away from the heart-wrenching letter his mother left for him.

“I agree,” I murmur, knowing these are the conclusions he needs to come to on his own, and so the less I say, the better.

“I think what I feel is closure more than anything. A small sense of peace that I’ve never been able to have. I mean, I may not like her answers about why she stayed with him, but at least I have them and at least they were in her voice, not something I conjured up to make her the martyr and him the monster. And stupidly enough, hearing her tell me she loved me in her own words . . . that made all the difference.”

“It’s not stupid at all.” I lean my head against his shoulder, a smile on my lips, my heart swelling with pride for him. “It’s validation for your feelings. Hearing the person you love tell you they love you back is something every person wants to hear.”