THERE WASN’T A SINGLE PART of me that wasn’t tired. From my head all the way to my toes, I felt like a walking, talking zombie.
Since the accident on the ferry, I’d slept a grand total of ten hours. It had been the longest week of my life, but I knew it was nothing compared to Dean’s.
He’d awoken in the small hospital room, our eyes focused on him as he tried to remember how he’d ended up there. Suddenly, like a lightbulb had blinked on in his brain, his focus had shifted to the right side of the bed, and we’d watched in horror as that great big bear of a man cried out in terror.
The tears had fallen down his bruised and battered cheeks as the realization set in.
He’d never give one of his famous bear hugs again.
He’d never drive his old stick shift jeep down the beach.
Every single day would be a constant struggle.
We’d supported him, taking shifts at the hospital, hoping he’d come to terms with his new reality.
Several hospital officials had been to his room, counselors and specialists, all trying to help him cope. They’d spoke about what to expect during physical therapy and when he could expect a prosthetic.
But he’d wanted none of it.
His only request was to be left alone.
And then the silence had begun.
It was deafening.
I’d begged and pleaded, asking him to open up.
To just tell me what he was feeling.
Instead, he’d stared straight ahead, never wavering. I’d placed a tiny kiss on his cheek and headed back down the coast.
It had gone on like this for days, and now, as the weekend approached, I felt nothing but exhaustion in every inch of my body.
Thankfully, most of my guests had canceled for the upcoming week. With the reliability of the ferry service being up in the air the majority of the week, many travelers had decided to postpone or try again next year.
The only couple who remained was the Lovells. After Mr. Lovell had demanded to stay, I’d comped their room for the week and allowed the old man to help as much as he was able. I thought it made him feel useful even though, in turn, it made me feel useless. He’d been going above and beyond, making trips to and from the island, gathering supplies like a bona fide local. It was more than I deserved.
Now that the sun was setting and I’d collapsed in my favorite chair on the deck with a glass of merlot, I’d never felt more worthless and alone.
Worthless that I couldn’t help Dean.
Worthless that I couldn’t keep my business running without help.
My parents had never needed it.
And so alone, my body ached from the weight of it. Even amid this crisis, when everyone was pitching in to help—from guests to my parents—I sat on that deck, overlooking the water, and felt as if I were the only person on the island.
And I had no idea why.
After two glasses of wine and an hour of feeling sorry for myself, I decided I’d had enough self-pity for one day. Rising from my cozy chair, I took one last look at the sparkling water as the moon rose high in the sky. How one could ever get used to a view like that, I’d never know. I’d been raised in this house, and still, it never ceased to take my breath away.
After a quick stop by the kitchen sink to rinse out my glass, I headed to the large pantry, deciding I needed a little baking therapy to pass the time. Although the Lovells had offered to take care of their own meals since I comped the room, I decided to treat them for their help over the last week.
As much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t have done it all without them.
Grabbing flour, sugar, and a few more items, I settled on a family favorite recipe—zucchini bread. I’d added my own little flair to it over the years, but the basic recipe was still the same.
There was something almost restorative about the process of mixing ingredients. With no need for a recipe anymore, I found myself humming a song I’d heard on the radio earlier in the day, and my mood began to lift.
That was, until the doorbell rang.
Wiping my hands on a dish towel, I checked my appearance in the hallway mirror, rolling my eyes at the flour that coated my cheeks.
My mom always said I was a messy baker. I guessed some things never changed.
Putting on my best face possible, I prepared myself, morphing into the hostess with the mostest. It didn’t always happen, but every now and again, I’d have unexpected visitors. People who’d missed the last ferry and were in desperate need for a place to stay or others who had just fallen in love and didn’t want to leave.
In every case, I always found a place for them, sometimes even giving up my own rooms to accommodate them. Pulling open the door, I greeted the late-night visitor with a bright smile. But, the moment I saw his face, that familiar rugged jaw and piercing blue eyes, my smile faded into something less than pleasing.
“What are you doing here, Jake?” I nearly snarled.
“Is that any way to greet a guest?” he replied sluggishly. He was clearly drunk.
“Did you drive here in that state?” I asked, looking over his shoulder to make sure a car wasn’t wrapped around the neighbor’s tree.
“No,” he answered. “Waited until I was parked outside before I popped open the bourbon. Did you know, if you park right there”—he pointed behind him, making his sloppy posture even worse—“you can see the backyard? You still like to sit out on the deck, huh?”
My cheeks heated with anger as I realized my private moment of sulking had been witnessed by none other than hotshot Jake Jameson. I sighed, noticing the way his eyes followed mine.
“What do you want?” I finally asked, averting his gaze.
“I’m a wayward tourist in need of a place to stay.”
My arms folded across my chest as he made himself at home, breezing past me to stumble into the sitting room. His large body seemed to melt into the couch as I tried not to think about all the things we’d done in this room while my parents were out of the house.
“You have a place to stay, Jake,” I reminded him. “And, no matter how much you try to convince yourself, you’re no tourist. Not even a fancy degree could change that twang in your voice.”
He laughed, a sound that made my spine tingle. “You’re right. I can’t seem to shake it. But it does do me some favors every now and then.” He gave me a quick grin and a wink, causing me to nearly spit fire.
The idea of him using his stupid accent to get women into bed—it shouldn’t have affected me so, but it did.
It really did.
“Look,” I said, feeling my never-ending river of patience suddenly drying up, “it’s late, and I know you’ve had a rough day, but—”
“I tried, Molly. God, how I tried.”
“Tried what?” I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I tried to forget you. But I never could. I tried to forget this place and all it represented, but the memories never faded. You never faded.”
My heart galloped a little faster, but luckily my anger won the race. “You’ve got to go, Jake. You can’t stay here.”
“But I can’t go back there, Mols. I can’t go back to that house. There are too many ghosts. Too many memories. It hurts.”
The way he’d said it reminded me of the scared boy I’d once held in my arms as he wept for his mother. It tugged at the few remaining heartstrings I had for this man, and suddenly, I found myself caving.
“Fine.”
He instantly perked up, turning his head, as his bright blue eyes found mine again.
“But you will pay double, and don’t expect any special treatment.”
He nodded as he tried to stand, swaying back and forth. I ran forward, keeping him from crashing into my antique coffee table. The generosity I’d felt just moments before was already starting to bite me in the ass.
“Got it,” he said as my hands wrapped around his muscled biceps. That intense stare of his was back as his fingers found mine. “You won’t even know I’m here,” he whispered, the smell of bourbon on his breath.
“Highly unlikely,” I grumbled, pulling my hand from his. The heat of it remained, like a brand against my skin. “Now, you can take the—”
“Yellow room,” he said, finishing my sentence.
It had always been a favorite of his. Mine, too.
“Fine,” I replied, trying to seem unaffected by his demand. “I assume you still remember the way?”
He held up his palm in front of his face. “Like the back of my hand.”
“That’s the front, Doctor.”
He laughed, sounding drunker than I’d ever seen him. “Right.” Taking a few steps forward, his body brushed against mine. “I like it when you call me doctor.”
I took a deep breath, putting some much-needed space between us.
“You would. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have bread to bake.”
“Bread!” he nearly shouted before chuckling under his breath. He said in a hushed tone, “I love bread.”
“Go to bed, Jake.”
“You first.”
Those two words were like a cold bucket of water. His gaze suddenly sharpened as a tingle went down my spine. Both of us knew he wasn’t talking about sleeping, and for a moment, I let him know it.
No eye roll or quick-witted comeback. I just stood there, letting myself indulge in a single moment that signified a lifetime of memories.
And then the jerk threw up on my shoes.
The next morning, things only got worse.
After tossing my shoes in the garbage and cleaning up after my drunk ex, I’d helped him up the stairs to the yellow room. He’d fallen asleep before I could even flip on the lights.
Unfortunately, sleep had eluded me, and I’d watched the sun rise the next morning, already several cups of coffee deep into the day.
My head was pounding, which wasn’t fair because I hadn’t been the drunk one. But a week or more with little to no sleep had my body running on fumes, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
Especially when my mom breezed through the kitchen door as I was pulling out an assortment of jams.
“Good morning,” she said, placing a sweet kiss on my cheek. “I wanted to come over and see if you needed a hand with breakfast.”
I held back my sigh. Of course she’d chosen this morning to stop by.
“I’m fine, Ma,” I replied, watching as she inspected the bread I’d finished up earlier this morning.
She took a quick whiff, pride beaming on her face.
Her attention moved toward the fridge, and she opened it for inspection. “You might want to keep drinks better stocked. Guests like to—”
“Grab them before they head out to town,” I said, finishing her thought. “I know this, Mom. I did grow up here.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “I just don’t want you to forget anything with all you have going on.”
I sighed again, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “I’m fine, Mama. Really.”
“You’ve been through hell and back this week. And Dottie said he’s not talking? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I honestly didn’t want to worry you. I’m sure it’s nothing. Shock or something. He’ll be back to normal in no time.”
She gave me a sad sort of stare. Even she knew I was lying to myself.
“Have you been sleeping? You look exhausted.”
“Thanks.” I laughed. “You look pretty special yourself.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, placing a hand on her hip as she continued her relentless inventory of the kitchen.
“I do, and I’m managing. It’s just been a lot.”
Her eyes softened. “I know. But you don’t need to take the brunt of everything on yourself. You can ask for help. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.”
“I know, and I have. Mr. Lovell went out for supplies yesterday.”
“Good,” she replied. “That’s good. He and his wife have always been like family.”
Smiling, I nodded. “I know.”
She could see my attention was wavering as I began my mental list of everything that needed to be done. Linens had to be washed, the floors were due for a serious cleaning, and I couldn’t forget about the gardening.
“Okay, sweetheart, I’m going to trust you have everything under control.”
“I do.”
She didn’t look convinced as she continued, “And you’ll let me know if you need anything? Remember, we’re only—”
“A phone call away. I got it.”
Her eyes lingered on mine. The big, concerned eyes of a mother. I was about to reassure her once again. Anything to get her out of my kitchen.
Until I saw her gaze shift and her eyes widen as heavy footsteps sounded behind me.
The night before came back with a vengeance.
My drunk ex showing up at my door. The way he’d stumbled in like he lived here, begging for a place to stay.
The anger.
The heat.
The vomit.
“Good morning, Mrs. McIntyre,” Jake said casually as my mother’s mouth fell open.
“Good morning, Jake. Or is it Dr. Jameson now? Long time no see.” Her words were sweet as sugar, but the steely glare she shot me was anything but.
“Just Jake is fine. Sorry to interrupt,” he said, obviously noticing the tension between us. “Thought I could sneak in the kitchen, undetected. I just wanted to grab a quick cup of coffee before I headed into town.”
“Of course. Help yourself.”
I finally turned toward him. The slight swivel of my hips felt like a monumental task. The moment my eyes met his, I felt a lump in my throat too big to swallow.
No wonder my mom was frozen in place.
As both of us watched the hot mess of a man head toward the coffee pot, I felt my eyes lingering over every inch. Every naked inch. He was dressed in only a thin pair of boxer shorts, and I could see every hard line of his stomach, the curve of his hips, and every mesmerizing inch of his broad shoulders.
Good God, he’d aged well.
I blinked, realizing my blatant gawking and how incredibly inappropriate it was.
“Jake is staying here while he gets set up at the clinic,” I said swiftly, feeling less like the savvy engaged businesswoman I was and more like a guilty teen getting caught with a boy in her room.
“Mmhmm,” was all she said as she made her exit.
I quickly followed behind, having to jog to catch up. She was already halfway to her car by the time I reached her.
“You’re playing with fire, Molly.”
I huffed. “What was I supposed to do, Mom? He showed up here, completely wrecked over his father’s death. I couldn’t turn him away.”
“Of course you could have!” she nearly yelled. “You’ve had a soft spot for that boy since the moment you laid eyes on him, and while I understand why, do I need to remind you that your fiancé is hurt and alone—”
Anger boiled in my veins. “That’s out of line, Mama, and you know it. I know exactly where Dean is. Jake is a nonissue for me. I blew out that torch I had carried for him a long time ago.”
She nodded, deflating slightly, but I could still see the worry in her bright blue eyes.
Her hands found mine. “Take care of yourself, will you, darling? And decide where your heart lies before others get broken. Including yours.”
I took a deep breath before answering, “Yes, Mama.”
She got into her car, the one I’d helped her pick out years earlier. It’d been an especially warm afternoon in February. We’d made a day of it after her fifteen-year-old Honda kicked the bucket. I still remembered her squeal of glee when they’d handed her the keys. My mama was a thrifty person, never doing anything for herself, due to the fear of a small business owner. On anniversaries, Daddy would take her out to a nice dinner, and they’d dance on the back patio, overlooking the water. But nothing more.
I hadn’t fallen far from the tree, as they’d instilled that frugality in me. It was why I couldn’t nail anything down for our wedding, scared to take any money out of my small savings to buy something as extravagant as a dress.
It had nothing to do with the half-naked man standing in my kitchen.
Nothing.
And I’d be damned if anyone thought otherwise.
By the time I made it back inside, the fury inside me was raging. As I marched into the kitchen, it only grew when I found the large space empty of my intended target. Stomping up the stairs, knowing the Lovells were thankfully in the third-floor suite and couldn’t hear my childish behavior, I went straight for the yellow room.
Not bothering to knock, I shoved the door open and let him have it.
“How dare you walk around here like you own the damn place! Did you even think first before traipsing down here in your damn underwear, Jake? Do you ever? It’s a goddamn wonder you even made it through medical school.”
“Top of my class actually,” he said calmly, seeming completely unfazed by my unexpected appearance.
His cool demeanor caught me off guard, and the epic rant I’d prepared for him faltered. I watched as he moved around the room, pulling on a pair of pants and a loose T-shirt, as if my presence were completely normal.
As if nothing had changed between us.
Except that everything had changed.
The mere thought of it had my anger abating into something closer to exhaustion. The room began to sway.
He immediately noticed the change in me, moving swiftly to my side. “You need to sit down,” he said, his deep voice radiating through my entire body.
“No, I just need you to not strut around my house in your boxers.”
“I was not strutting. And, yes, you do need to sit down. You’re dead on your feet. Believe me, I know that look.”
“Don’t get all doctory on me. I’m not one of your patients. Or your friend. This,” I said, making a motion between us, “isn’t a thing. You are simply another guest, okay?”
A slight smirk formed on the corner of his mouth. “Got it.”
“Good. Now, excuse me. I have things to do.”
He gestured toward the door as I tried not to stare at the stubble forming around his chin.
“By all means.”
I rolled my eyes, storming out of the yellow room while silently calling him every rude name I could think of.
In alphabetical order.
I reached F halfway down the stairs and was feeling mighty proud of myself.
Until my foot slipped, and my butt hit the hard corner of the oak step. I screamed, “Fuck!” as pain radiated from my turned ankle.
Familiar footsteps sounded behind me seconds before I heard Jake say rather smugly, “Guess you’ll be needing those doctory skills of mine after all?”
My mental list reached P for prick by the time he knelt at my side.
So much for a grand exit.