Summer on Lovers' Island (3 page)

She turned her attention back to Charlie. “You're really happy here, aren't you?”

“Yes,” Charlie replied, “I am. Look, Liz. I know this isn't your speed and I know it's not where you want to be in life, and that's okay.”

Lizzie pulled into a spot and killed the engine. “Small-town life isn't for everyone same as city living isn't, either.”

Charlie frowned. “All I know is that I'm worried about you. I was worried after Russ died and I'm even more worried now. And yes, I can't think of anyone I'd want taking my place more than you. There's no on call, no night shifts. It's regular hours, which, after your insane schedule, is nearly like a vacation. The people are wonderful. There are beaches and parks. You could do worse.” She looked Lizzie right in the eye. “I want the old Lizzie back. The one who smiles easier and isn't so afraid.”

They got out of the car and Lizzie could smell the rich fragrance of coffee mingled with bacon coming from the caf
é
. The town was built on a hill, so each street climbed up a step and was dotted with postcard-perfect buildings painted an array of colors. The caf
é
was cobalt blue with white trim. An inn across the street was brick red, and Lizzie's gaze caught on a large building the next street up painted lavender, of all things. How could she be anything but cheerful when faced with such a rainbow of architecture? But cheerful was not the same as happy. Charlie's idea was an intriguing one, but Lizzie wasn't sold yet. Charlie was right. It wasn't her speed. And yet … it wasn't like it was a permanent position or anything. It would be … vacation. It had been a long time since she'd taken one. She bit down on her lip. Had she actually forgotten how to let her hair down and have fun? Be spontaneous and daring? In the past she'd jumped at the opportunity to travel, to try something new. But in the last six months …

Charlie let the topic rest as they spent the morning browsing shops. First they visited the Three Fishermen gallery featuring pieces by New England artists, including a stunning selection of painting on glass. There was a clothing boutique with hand-painted silk scarves and intricately beaded handbags that Lizzie drooled over. They laughed over lobster-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers in a touristy souvenir shop, and when Charlie wistfully touched a hand-pieced quilt she'd been eyeing for the baby's room Lizzie bought it on the spot.

“Are you crazy?” Charlie turned over the price tag to show Lizzie.

“No, I am not.” She carefully took the quilt off the display rack, smiling at the yellow and white bunnies peeking over the squares. “It's gorgeous and you're in lust with it. It's the least I can do.”

“But today is
your
birthday.”

Right.
She'd pretty much forgotten that little detail. “Then buy me a cupcake.”

At the bookstore Charlie bought Lizzie an illustrated guide to the Maine Midcoast, another tool, she said, in her ongoing blackmail ploy. But the real clincher was lunch at Breezes Caf
é
. Grilled panini sandwiches and sweet potato fries would have done it all on their own, but the warm blueberry buckle with vanilla bean ice cream toppled Lizzie over the edge.

As they left town, Charlie casually directed her past the doctor's office two streets up, a large saltbox-style house with precisely two parking spots. It looked very proper with its deep-green rhododendrons flanking the door and a sign hanging on the front lawn. Lizzie figured the detour had been a strategic move on Charlie's part.

“Dr. Collins used to be an army doctor,” Charlie said as they pulled up to the curb. “He retired from the military, and after his wife died, he came back to Jewell Cove to set up practice. He took over for Phil Nye, who was the town doc for decades.”

“What's he like?”

“Phil or Joshua?”

Lizzie chuckled. “Joshua.”

“Kind. Smart and efficient. People trust him because he's local. Jewell Cove might be small, but he keeps up with the latest. He's been fine to work for. No drama, which from what you've said would be a plus. He's very … uh, professional.”

Charlie made it sound like that was a negative, but Lizzie figured professionalism and efficiency were fine traits in a doctor. After her disastrous affair with Ian, an ex-army widower sounded positively perfect. No chance of romantic conflicts in the workplace. “I haven't even come close to saying yes,” Lizzie replied, putting on her signal light to pull away.

And yet the town had charmed her with its colorful buildings and unique shops. She looked in her rearview mirror at the house. It had a certain appeal. There was a level of friendliness in the town she wasn't quite comfortable with, but she suspected that would change when the tourists started rolling in and the strangers outnumbered the townies.

What else was waiting for her that was any better? If she was perfectly honest with herself, it was wishful thinking that she would be able to convince Ian to let her go back to work. Especially while the threat of a lawsuit still hung over her head.

“I don't know where I'd live,” Lizzie said, as if she and Charlie had already been having that conversation. “And don't say with you and Dave. No way. I refuse to impose on you two that way. And then there's my mom.…”

“Not that it would be an imposition, but I already thought of that,” Charlie replied smugly. “And as far as your mom goes, it's not that long of a drive. With your lighter schedule, it won't be difficult to visit often. No more difficult than finding time when you're working over sixty hours a week.”

“You're probably right about that last part.” Lizzie sighed. She should have known. Charlie always had a contingency plan, always had her bases covered. Lizzie suspected she'd never stood a chance. Not that she'd truly put up much of a fight. God, she was weaker than she thought. What did that say about her?

“Does this mean you want the job?”

“Are you really going to make me ask?”

Charlie's smile was so big Lizzie thought her cheeks might crack. “You're really thinking about it?”

Charlie looked so excited it was impossible to remain immune to her enthusiasm. The idea of going back to Springfield and begging for reinstatement filled Lizzie with dread. There were memories back there, too, memories she'd rather not face. Why not give herself a break?

She'd been top of her class at Harvard. Every step of the way she'd gotten what she wanted. It had really thrown her to have someone else call the shots in her career. She was more daring in her personal life; maybe it was time to employ a different strategy professionally.

So she laughed and threw caution to the wind. “I can't believe I'm going to say this. I'm not just thinking. I'm offering. Just for the mat leave, though. I don't think I could stand more than six months in a place so small there isn't even a Starbucks.” She gave a false shudder. “Where am I going to get my macchiato?”

Charlie let out a squeal. “Hot damn, Dave owes me ten bucks. I told him I could do it!”

They had been sitting at a stop sign for so long the driver of a truck behind them laid on the horn. “Keep your shirt on!” Lizzie called back, and Charlie giggled.

“You sure you want that? The driver seems awfully cute. Definitely shirt-off material.”

Lizzie gave a cursory glance in the rearview mirror. She could make out streaked blond hair and broad shoulders. Okay, so he was kind of good-looking. She sent Charlie a stern look as she proceeded through the intersection. “Look, you've already played havoc with my professional life. No matchmaking. I mean it, Charlie.” All teasing aside, the last thing Lizzie needed in her mess of a life was a romantic entanglement.

“I promise.” Charlie crossed her heart.

“When would I start?” Despite Lizzie's reservations, excitement fizzed through her veins.

“End of June, first of July? It's nearly six weeks away. Lots of time to make arrangements.”

“So where are we going?” Lizzie checked the rearview mirror again, and the truck turned off on a different street.

Charlie smiled. “Put on your turn signal and get back on the highway. I'm going to show you the cottage at Fiddler's Rock.””

*   *   *

The afternoon was getting on when the Realtor met them at the cottage, less than two miles away from Charlie and Dave. The property agent smiled as she turned the key in the lock. “The owner got married and moved somewhere bigger,” she explained, shoving open the door. “He rents it out now.”

“I can't believe it's not rented already,” Lizzie replied, stepping onto the wraparound deck.

Charlie grinned. “Dave was renting it when we met.”

“Tom, the owner, likes a long-term renter, none of those rent-by-the-week vacation types,” the agent replied, sticking her head back out the door. “You coming in?”

Lizzie looked back at Charlie. “Come on. This is your party.”

Charlie laughed, her brown eyes twinkling at Lizzie. “You were a lot easier to convince than I expected.”

“You caught me at a vulnerable moment.”

They stepped inside the cottage and Lizzie caught her breath. It was perfect. Solid wood cupboards in the small kitchen, a drop-leaf dining table in front of sliding deck doors. The kitchen led into a living room with warm oak flooring, and at the back of the cottage were two bedrooms and a beautiful bathroom complete with an old-fashioned claw-foot tub for long evening soaks. Trees around the cottage added privacy; endless windows provided views from every angle. The d
é
cor was decidedly masculine, sturdy, with dark-plaid upholstery on the sofa and chair. But it worked, somehow. It felt settled, and comfortable and welcoming. Very different from Lizzie's modern condo in Springfield but cozy like her childhood home had always been.

The agent wisely kept quiet. Lizzie opened the patio doors and stepped out onto the deck. She thought she understood now why the knob of land in the middle of the cove was called “Fiddler's Rock.” From this vantage, the shoreline curved in the shape of a violin, until widening out into the bigger bay, then on to the open ocean.

Her life had been spiraling for some time now. Maybe this was a desperate move in the current circumstances, but it was a deliberate one, and one she was making on her own. It was both heady and terrifying.

“I'll take it,” she said.

She pretended not to see Charlie's fist pump the air.

 

C
HAPTER
3

Six weeks later

Josh Collins grabbed a still-warm oatmeal muffin from the plate and ate a third of it in his first bite on the way to the coffeepot. His mug was already sitting on the countertop waiting, a sickly grayish ceramic one with “World's Best Skipper” painted on it in bright blue. Another one of his sister Sarah's craft classes gone wrong. Why Jess had gotten all the handicraft genes and Sarah had none was beyond Josh. Sarah was always signing up for Jess's classes at her store, Treasures, claiming they were fun and not all about artistic talent. Personally Josh thought Jess's evenings above her store were more about the gossip and wine than about crafts, but he'd never be stupid enough to say that to either of his sisters. Besides, what Sarah lacked in artistic talent she more than made up for in the kitchen. She was a tremendous cook.

“Fog's in again,” Sarah said, wrinkling her brow and gazing out the kitchen window at the harbor. Sarah tended to mother them all. She'd let up on Jess recently since Jess had gotten married. That only left Josh. He let Sarah hover because he understood. She was a nurturer, and she didn't know how else to help him. Poor, poor widower Josh. He was fine. Had been for some time, really. But she did make great coffee and muffins, so the morning ritual was one he enjoyed. Most of the time.

“The fog will burn off well before lunch,” he answered easily.

“You're going out today, then?”

“Not today. I'll be at the office.”

She seemed relieved to know he wouldn't be out on the water, even though it was just some fog and not a storm. “I thought it was your day off.”

Josh had thought so, too, and had looked forward to taking out the boat, doing some fishing, not to mention peace and quiet. “Not anymore. Charlie‘s replacement is starting work today and I'm going to show her around.”

Sarah's brow knit into a frown. “But Susan has a checkup today. Besides, Charlie isn't due for a few months yet.”

“Well, Dr. Howard was available and Charlie said she'd like to have some time before the baby arrived. It doesn't matter to me, really, so I agreed. Today you'll be seeing the new doc.”

Sarah didn't look appeased. One thing he'd realized about his sister—she liked things a certain way. She didn't like leaving things to chance or change. He rather suspected it had been that way since their father had died at sea. One morning their dad had been eating breakfast at the kitchen table, and hours later he was just gone, leaving Josh as the man of the house.

He was familiar enough with grief to know that it changed people in small but important ways. Sarah's need for control was one. Her urge to nurture was another.

So he poured her a cup of coffee and put it on the table before her. “Look, I trust Charlie. If she says Dr. Howard's a fine doctor, I believe her.” He smiled. “I'm pretty sure Susan doesn't want her uncle giving her a checkup. But if there's a problem, we'll set you up with my friend in Portland, okay?”

She nodded. “Yes, okay.” She let out a sigh and raised her mug, taking a test sip of coffee. “I'm sorry, Josh. I don't mean to be difficult.”

He smiled, jostled her free elbow. “You're not. I know you worry about me. I'm fine, Sarah. I've been home over a year now and I'm happy. Truly. I've got a great practice, I'm around my family, and I've got a brand-new boat and fishing rod. Life's good.”