Not Over You

She sighed.



Three little girls left to defend for themselves. Three little girls who wore clothes decades out of date. Clothes stored in steamer trunks that smelled of dried flowers.



Tiny feet tickled her skin as the bug crawled. A small smile pushed up the corners of her mouth. She held up her hand, puckered her lips, and blew gently until the ladybug flew away.



Her sister, Rose, hadn’t minded, mostly because Azalea would give them some story about each item belonging to a particular Poppy Holland. Summer hadn’t believed her for one minute.



Okay, so she had believed her mother, maybe even smiled and giggled as Azalea sighed dreamily about the former lovers of their great-something or another grandmother.



When Azalea was home, the entire house came alive. They’d spend hours giggling, making love potions, and chasing Blackbeard. Hours and hours playing in an old house full of ghosts, make-believe, and laughter.



All that changed when Azalea had finally agreed to quit homeschooling them—not that anyone could call learning math, science, and reading from the family’s potions book a state-approved curriculum. The baby had wanted to go, and no one said no to Skye, so off they went.



The window of a children’s dress shop caught her eye. She stopped and turned. Child-sized mannequins, all sweetly dressed in ruffles and bows, with matching shoes, were on display.



Summer held her hands out at her sides, the reflection of her fingers touching the smaller, plastic ones. She and her sisters had walked, hand in hand, to the end of their road to wait for the bus. Just the three of them, with dust on their scuffed-up shoes and anticipation making their little hearts beat fast.



Anticipation had quickly turned to dread when they couldn’t find a seat and kids began to whisper, until, that is, a familiar face with a friendly smile had flashed from the back of the bus.



Gabriel Edwards—their guardian angel. He’d waved them over, giving up his seat to sit across the aisle.



My angel.



Bittersweet emotions gathered in her chest. In the darkest and happiest hours of her life, Gabriel had been there for her. Except once. But it had been enough to sever the ties that had bound them together.



A sharp whistle pierced her memories.



Not this. Couldn’t she walk down the street without someone harassing her? With a frown, she glanced over her shoulder, but only found the town’s trash collectors pointing at their next stop.



She tucked her hair behind her ear, and then resumed her walk.



The Bradford Pear trees lining each side of the street had gone from showy white blossoms to full-on lime green leaves. Shop doors were propped open with daily sale signs, or large pots of in-season flowers.



Her thoughts turned back to Gabriel (as if he’d ever left them). She had to see him today. That glimpse of him, standing in the window of his office, had taken her breath away. She wanted her breath back, and the only way to do it was in person.



Candles set out on a half-off sale table sparked to life as she passed by them.



Mr. Crane, a middle-aged man wearing a paisley shirt and striped shorts, looked from the lighter in his hand, then back at the table. He scratched his head. “Lisa sent me trick candles. No wonder they didn’t sell,” he muttered, heading back inside his shop.



Summer bit back a smile, running a finger along one candle, making the flame dance and her skin grow hot. Water dripped on her cheeks from the green and gold striped awning. She turned and walked away, swiping at the moisture.



“Stop right there, missy.”



Missy? Summer pivoted on her heel, arching a brow at Mr. Crane. “Can I help you?”



“You can help me by putting back the candle you just stole from me.” Mr. Crane’s eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. The supersized black magic marker stuck out on one side. If she pulled it, would he go flying in the air like a balloon shooting out helium?



The marker flew out of his hand, hitting the store’s brick façade.



“I didn’t take your candle.” She yanked open her purse. Humiliation coursed through her veins, heating her skin as she waited for him to search it. “See for yourself.” A part of her wanted to tell Mr. Crane where he could stick his candle. And maybe if she wasn’t so tired of playing the immature shrew, she would have.



Mr. Crane poked a finger in, moving around her wallet, brush, lip gloss, and roll of lifesavers. He glanced back at her. “Pockets?”



“Seriously?” She gestured at her shorts, the pockets ripped and showing through the bottom, as they lay perfectly flat against her body. Stepping to one side, she squatted on the ground and looked under his table. “I see a candle by the left side, in the back.”



Mr. Crane’s skinny face flushed. “There’s still the matter of the three stained glass suncatchers—each one had a different symbol.”



“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she did. Three small squares. One with flowers, the second with a sun setting, and the third with angel wings. All gifts for the people she’d loved. A twinge of guilt, like a wasp’s sting, pricked at her.



“Fourteen years and counting, Miss Holland.” Mr. Crane tapped his head. “Like a steel trap.”



Of that, she had no doubt. “Why don’t you have me arrested?" Way to go, Summer. The urge to slap herself rode her hard. But could she really change years of habit, years of being on the defensive, every time she stepped foot in this town in only a matter of days?



Mr. Crane’s face softened. “Little girls trying to think of others don’t rank high on my list of reasons for calling the sheriff, even if they go about it the wrong way.” He retrieved the candle out from under the table, and then glanced at her. “But you’re not a little girl anymore, Summer.”



Unsure what to make of his conflicting statements, she searched through her purse, pulled out two twenties from her wallet, and smacked the bills on the table. A hard look into his sympathetic eyes almost made her apologize.



“I was never a little girl,” she said. Not like he meant it. Little girls worried about being invited to their friends’ birthday parties, not if they had enough food in the pantry. She sure as hell never worried about being invited to any parties—mostly because she’d never been invited by other girls her age.



Dark clouds swept in. The wind picked up, swirling the loose pieces of hair around her face. Maybe she was crazy for coming here, for wanting to be a part of a family again, but she longed to be a part of Ivy’s life.



Only she wasn’t quite sure what her role would be. The loving aunt who just happened to be the biological mother? The loving aunt whose butt would be hauled off to jail if anyone ever pressed charges against her?



Awesome role model for Ivy.



In the park across the street, she saw Jemma Leigh, Janie Leigh, and Jeremy playing on the swings. They all sat in one, pumping their legs and laughing. The little girl smiled and then jumped, falling to her knees. Both of her parents rushed to her, and Summer’s heart caught in her throat.



Little chubby arms reached for them. Gentle words and comforting kisses chased away the tears, but not the storm rolling in. The three of them gathered their things and headed to the parking lot nearby.



The wind blew harder. Leaves shook on trees.



Now Summer knew exactly why she’d come back to Holland Springs. She knew exactly what she had to do. All she needed was some guidance on how to go about it.



A quick stop by Pellum & Foster confirmed what she knew, or an appointment wouldn’t have been available otherwise. It was a sign that she was on the right track, and no matter what, she would stay on it.



Exiting the building, dandelion puffs floated in front of her, carrying with them the scent of freshly cut grass. Of sunshine. And…strawberries. Her lover smelled of all these things.



Gabriel.



He wasn’t her lover, had never been her lover—not in the way a man and woman came together. In the past, she thought he hadn’t wanted to be her lover, and would never be her lover with the way fate interfered in their lives.



Breathing deeply to clear her head, she opened the glass doors to the bank and went inside, blowing past all the customers, the tellers, and even the bank president’s secretary.



“You can’t just go in there without an appointment,” his secretary all but screeched at her.



“Watch me.” Summer twisted the doorknob and let herself inside.



Harrison Collins, the bank’s president, sat at a desk large enough to command Wall Street. He didn’t look surprised to see her as he removed his glasses and rubbed them against a cloth to clean them.



“I need to get money from the bank,” she said.



Replacing his glasses, he said, “This is a first—a criminal informing the victim of her intent before it happens.”



Wasn’t this just her day to be reminded of her past deeds? She crossed the room to his desk, plunking her bright green purse down on the mahogany surface. “Stick to your day job, Harrison.” She sat down in one of the high-backed chairs in his office. “Rose said you would be able to help me. I’m running Carolina Dreams while she’s gone, and I’d like to be able to shop.” And eat. Basic things she would never admit to him.



“Rose asked me to set up a separate account for you.”



Her stomach plummeted to her feet. Rose didn’t trust her.



“She wanted you to have something of your own.” He slid a small card her way. “This is the account information for the store.”



“Thank you.”



“What password would you like for the log-in portion?”



“Isn’t that supposed to be private?”



“Isn’t arson supposed to be illegal?”



Regret poked at her, but only for the hurt she caused Rose. Burning down Strawberry Grove had made Summer’s heart dance and sing. Setting fire to a legacy that had done nothing more than confine the women in her family to a role the newest generation of Hollands no longer wanted to play had given her pure joy.



As she watched the flames grow, the pain that had been living inside of her seemed to extinguish, but only for a short time though. She had been shortsighted, unable to touch an enormous sum of money that would’ve made it possible for her to never come back to Holland Springs, possible for her to take care of her daughter, without worrying about food, shelter, and clothing.



Eventually, she’d given it all to charity. Specifically she had anonymously donated every penny to the organization Gabriel had started with his church. It served at-risk kids in the surrounding counties.



“Summer?”



“Angel,” she managed to say without blushing, even as Harrison cast her a sharp look. Of course, she’d pick the nickname of the man who’d wanted to save her. Gabriel was always on her mind.



Glancing around the room to avoid his knowing eyes, her own widened. There were pictures everywhere… of her. Of Rose. Of Skye. And not creepy pictures either. School pictures of the three of them, graduation pictures (though not of Rose), baby pictures—



She swallowed, her fingers digging into the arms of the chair. Pain radiated from the tips. He had pictures of Ivy. A knot grew in her throat, breathing a soon to be impossibility.



“My granddaughter’s pretty, isn’t she?” he asked, handing over another card and a piece of paper to sign. “Last week I showed off the picture she drew for me to all the bank board members. Said I had a Georgia O’Keefe in the making.”



How grandfatherly he relayed this information. How totally hypocritical. “Lorelei loosen your leash?” She flung the card into her purse, uncaring where it landed.



“My wife has accepted my choice.”



“Ivy’s not yours, not by blood,” she pointed out, wanting to wipe that proud look off his face.



“It doesn’t matter to me.” He took off his glasses, polishing the lenses with a soft cloth. “I’m trying to be a better man.”



Summer made a noise of disbelief. The world was short of good men, much less better ones.



“You haven’t been treated right, and neither has Rose…and in some instances Skye, but things are different. The old guard is passing and with the influx of new people, things are changing. For the better.” Harrison had always had a way with words. He could also read people, like Rose. Maybe she’d inherited that from him, and not some supposedly witchy ancestress.



“Good, because I plan on staying here for a very long time, whether the old guard likes it or not.” She stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.”



“With whom?”



“It’s really none of your business.” Besides, if he knew, then he’d find a way to tell Rose, then she would come back, and Summer would lose her nerve.



Her sisters’ happiness had always been her biggest weakness.



Chapter Five



Summer stood at the edge of the party, near the white tent in the middle of the expansive gardens at The Chesson House Bed and Breakfast. Out of habit, she tipped up her chin, and fisted her hands on her hips, daring anyone to take a jab at her, but no one did.



She shivered in the shade of a great oak tree.



No one noticed her at all, just like Jemma Leigh said when Summer had shown her the invitation Rose had received to the Montoya-Wilson rehearsal party.



Except one man.



He stood apart. Tall and broad shouldered, with hair black as a midnight sky. Despite being too far away to actually see the color of his eyes, she knew they were deepest blue and framed with heavy, long lashes.



Gabriel Edwards had a beautiful face to match those eyes, but unlike some men, he didn’t use it against women. No, he saw through a woman, made her feel guilty about her past deeds (true or fabricated)—and crimes she hadn’t yet committed.