Emma began to turn the pages of the thick album slowly, treated to photos of Seth toddling around with a stuffed pig, Seth wearing a birthday hat, Seth riding a bike. Seth with the famous Ming, an adorable little flat-faced dog who looked as though he smiled all the time. He grew older, making faces with his sister, playing soccer, then driving a beat-up old car. There was college, with pictures of him and a grinning young man he identified as Andy. And as Emma turned the pages, Seth talked, weaving the images together with brief anecdotes that together told the story of his life until now, everything he’d held close and been so reluctant to share.
“Here’s my unit on my first tour in Iraq,” Seth said as she turned another page. And now it was all uniforms and camouflage, men smiling in the desert sun, sometimes tired and dirty but obviously bonded. The stories changed—he put names with the smiling faces, and pointed out those he stayed in touch with along with those who hadn’t come home.
“That’s Pete Carlisle. The one I was upset about the first night you came over,” Seth said, tapping a finger beside a tall, thin drink of water who was laughing while another soldier pretended he was going to kiss him. “He was a great guy. I wish I’d tried harder to reach out when we started to lose touch.” Seth shook his head, and Emma knew these were wounds Seth was still tending. But he would heal. She could help him heal. The way he was helping her.
He walked her through more of his military career, moving into his law enforcement one. “You’re skinnier here,” she laughed, leaning into his side while he pointed out where the photos had been taken. “And your hair is so short!”
“Told you I’m too skinny,” he replied with a smile.
She looked up at him, smirking. “I think you’ve filled out fine.”
He gave her a lingering look, his eyes softening, before clearing his throat and flipping quickly through a couple more pages. “More police stuff, more police stuff, and . . . here.”
Emma’s eyes widened as the photos became images of places she recognized—the square, the little harbor, some of Seth’s friends hanging around in Tony’s garage drinking cheap beer and laughing. And finally, the two of them together—one was a silly picture Brynn had taken of her on the back of Seth’s motorcycle, pretending to
scream and hang on for dear life; another was a shot of them at the party he’d helped her with, arms around each other, smiling at the camera. And then, one Sam must have taken without her knowledge at the cookout—this last photo captured a brief moment when Seth had slung an arm around her and she’d rested her head against his chest, looking as though there was nowhere she’d rather be.
Because there wasn’t.
Emma looked up to find Seth watching her intently. “You wanted to know who I am. All of it. This seemed like a pretty good start. Everything that mattered to me. That matters to me.” He took her hand, threaded his fingers through hers, and looked down for a moment, almost shy. “I love you, Emma. I didn’t know where I belonged, and you came along and showed me that this was exactly where I needed to be. There were things I worried I’d lost, but they just needed waking up. They needed you. I know you’re afraid that—”
“No,” Emma said, interrupting him with a gentle shake of her head, her heart so full it felt like it might burst. “I’m not afraid. I’m just not used to being completely, totally, madly in love with someone. But it’s something I think I can get used to.” His smile was beautiful. It was everything. “I love you, Seth. You brought chaos into my quiet little universe, and now I don’t think I can live without it. So you’re just going to have to stay.”
Seth put the book aside, then tucked Emma’s hair behind her ear, brushing his fingers down her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers. “As long as you’re with me, I’m home.”
T
he Henry house hadn’t seen so much activity in at least a hundred years.
Emma dashed through the downstairs, clutching a fistful of her skirt in one hand while her heels clicked on the floor. “Sam? Sam! The DJ’s about to introduce you and Jake as husband and wife, and that’s kind of hard to do if you’re not out there! Sam?”
“I’m here! I’m here! What?” Sam emerged from the greenhouse, her cheeks bright pink, with Jake right behind her. A quick look told Emma that they hadn’t mussed each other too badly, but the event coordinator in her couldn’t let it slide.
“Outside! They’re going to introduce you to everyone as man and wife. And stop touching each other! You live together. Can’t you wait so you don’t mess up your hair?”
Sam rolled her eyes, but she was laughing. “Emma, quit trying to work. It’s my wedding! You’re my maid of honor! Go with it! Feel the fun!”
“I’m feeling the fun.”
“No, that’s anxiety.” Sam stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek. “Everything is perfect. This is the best day of my life, and you helped make it this way.
For free, even, which makes me love you more. But now, it’s time to enjoy it.”
As much as she wanted to nag, Emma felt herself melt. “It really is perfect,” she agreed. “And you look beautiful.”
Sam looked like she might have stepped out of a Jane Austen novel, and Emma couldn’t imagine a dress that would have suited her more. It was a simple Empire waist, with sheer cap sleeves, a lace bodice, and a satin skirt with a lace overlay that split up the front. A blue ribbon tied beneath the bodice, the ends draping nearly to the floor. Her satin slippers peeked from beneath the skirt, and her pale hair was caught back in a simple tail, styled to fall in curls down past her shoulders. A silver headband was the finishing touch, having replaced her floor-length veil.
“I feel beautiful,” Sam replied, “and ready to party.”
“Sounds like the party’s ready for us, too,” Jake said. He put his arm around his wife’s waist and grinned at Emma. She had to admit, the man wore a tuxedo as well as anyone she’d ever seen. And his hair had even decided to behave for the occasion. Mostly. She had a feeling her sister might have something to do with its current state of dishevelment.
At least the formal pictures were done.
“Okay,” Emma said. “As the maid of honor, I command you! Go. Go, go!”
“We should have gotten you a bullhorn to go with the dress,” Jake said. With a matching ribbon on it.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Do you really want to give her that kind of power?”
“I already have the power,” Emma said. “Like She-Ra.” She shooed them outside while they teased her about
needing a sword, then watched as the two of them boogied together onto the dance floor when they were formally announced as Dr. and Mrs. Jake Smith. They looked happy. All the guests laughing and chatting in the yard, or dancing on the portable dance floor, looked happy, too. Emma knew a successful wedding when she saw one, and this was it.
“Excuse me, but have you seen my date? Gorgeous brunette, wild look in her eyes, last seen chasing a pair of seagulls away from the hors d’oeuvres?”
“Hmm. She sounds crazy. If I see her, I’ll avoid her.” She turned to look at Seth, who didn’t look so much like a classic bad boy as he did just classic in a slim-cut black suit and tie. He grinned at her, and her heart clenched the way it always did. Now, though, it was all pleasure. Because he loved her. He was hers.
“You’re right,” he said. “Maybe I should get a new date. Are you free?”
“You’re in luck,” she said, and let him loop his arm around her waist as they walked to the dance floor. Sam and Jake were in the middle of their first dance, waltzing to an old song Andi had played often when they were growing up. She and Jake had even taken a few lessons so they wouldn’t step on each other’s feet.
“Looks like they want the wedding party to join in,” Seth said, giving her a nudge. “Hurry up so I can steal you back.”
Shane came out of nowhere to catch her hand, and Emma found herself drawn into a surprisingly good waltz with Jake’s best man.
“Nobody told me you could dance,” she said, looking up at him. His hand at her waist was light, but he steered her around the floor expertly. He looked down, a small smile on his lips.
“I’m a man of many talents. I also owe you big. Larkin is a fun date. Not to mention she doesn’t hate me.”
“She is fun,” Emma agreed. “And why should she hate you? You’ve been behaving, right?”
“Of course I’m behaving. I’m incredibly well behaved.”
“You’re definitely something.”
“Thank you,” he said, grinning as he looked around the dance floor. He looked good today, Emma thought. Everyone did, from the guests to the wedding party. She loved her own dress, an airy, Empire-waisted confection in the same blue as the ribbon on Sam’s dress. She thought she’d likely shorten the dress to wear again, though for today, she loved how it swept around her legs. It wasn’t often she got to feel like a princess, and she was thoroughly enjoying it.
Well, apart from those obnoxious seagulls. They’d taken a lot of convincing to get away from the food, but if there was one thing she could do, it was be convincing in a very loud voice.
Nearby, Zoe danced with Jake’s friend Fitz, while the other two groomsmen danced together. It was sweet to see that Jake’s old friend Ryan had finally let Aaron catch him, Emma thought. And a relief, since Aaron had been horribly moody while Ryan was playing hard to get. Not that she could blame Ryan. He seemed to still be getting comfortable with being out in the Cove. So far, though, with a couple of notable exceptions, the reaction had been very supportive.
The Cove took care of its own. It was one of the reasons she stayed. Nowhere was perfect, but this place, at least, was hers. And now it was Seth’s, too.
The song changed, and Shane slipped away, back to his date. The other two bridesmaids, artist friends of
Sam’s, twirled by her, laughing. That was when she recognized the song. She stood there, then turned to search the crowd for Seth. His expression was a dead giveaway.
“Really?” she asked.
“Really?”
“This one was a special request—a group request, I might add—for Harvest Cove’s own dancing queen and maid of honor, Emma Henry,” the DJ said. There was plenty of laughing and hooting, but though she felt herself blushing, Emma only laughed and curtsied as “What a Feeling” from
Flashdance
began to play.
“Thanks a lot, guys!”
Seth came out to join her on the dance floor, sliding his arms around her as more people joined them, lots of them singing along as they danced.
“If anyone hands me a pitcher of beer, they’re going to end up wearing it,” Emma told him. He laughed, sweeping her around and then swaying smoothly to the beat.
“So, I ran into Brynn the other day,” he said.
“Would this be the day you came in while I was out getting lunch? Because I heard about this.”
“What, she ratted me out?”
“More like she was excited that you seemed to have an interest in the ins and outs of event planning. You made her day, asking about what she’s doing for the Harding wedding. She’s been on a high since Penny called her personally to tell her how much she loved what she’d put together.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “You’re pretty sweet for a tough guy.”
“I try. I wasn’t just being nice, though. I really did want to pick her brains about the Harding wedding.”
Emma arched an eyebrow. “Really? Why?”
“I remember you telling me that you’d blown it by giving her your idea of a perfect wedding the first time
around, and that Penny had wanted something different.”
“Mmmhmm.” She began to get the strangest feeling, a tingling awareness that she was about to have a moment. The kind that changed everything. The kind that led a lot of people to her door.
“She has a great memory. Even kept your original proposal, since she thought you might be able to use it for someone else. ‘A perfect Harvest Cove wedding,’ I think she called it.”
“Mmmhmm.” Why couldn’t she talk?
“So I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “but I hired her.”
“Hired her?”
Then he was pulling the ring from his pocket, a beautiful ring with an oval diamond the color of honey, set in a diamond oak-leaf basket. It flashed in the light, like a little drop of sunshine. “What do you say?” he asked, dropping to one knee. “Marry me? I’ll make you happy, Emma. As happy as you make me.”
He slipped the ring on her finger, and it fit her as perfectly as he did. So Emma pressed a kiss to his lips and said the only thing she could, her heart full of the promise of a life she’d once thought impossible—a life they would build together.
“You already
have.”
Continue reading for a special preview of the next book in the Harvest Cove series,
ONE OF THESE NIGHTS
Available wherever books and e-books are sold in September 2015 from Signet Eclipse.
“M
om, really, it’s okay. No, no, I’m happy to have you come for a visit, but a week is more than... A month? You really don’t need to. . . . Yeah, I know I’m going to need help for a while.”
Jason sat on the couch and glared at his bum leg, immobilized in a clunky cast. His leg might have been the issue, but this whole thing was a giant pain in his ass. He adjusted the phone between his shoulder and his ear and listened to another dozen reasons why his mother was coming to take care of him, possibly forever, because he was just that bad at life. Her voice, calm and deceptively patient, continued to gently pummel him. People thought she was sweet. She was. Sometimes. But they tended to miss the steel underneath. He didn’t, and he knew when he was in for it. This was one of those times.
“Honey, I know you don’t like anyone fussing over you, but I remember what it was like when your father broke his arm falling off that ladder a few years ago. He needed a lot of help, and I’m sure you do, too. Are you eating? You never did cook; you’re probably just living on cereal. Do you have any clean clothes? I know you don’t, Jason Patrick Evans, and don’t even think about lying to me. You’re probably not even seeing anybody
but your cousin and maybe a few backyard squirrels. I knew this was going to happen with that job of yours eventually.” She sighed, a gusty, long-suffering breath. “Well, it doesn’t matter right now. I’ll be there on Sunday for as long as you need me, just like we planned.”
“Like
you
planned,” Jason muttered, which earned him a sharp snort from the woman who he had once been convinced kept the entire planet from spinning off its orbit and out into space through sheer force of will. He’d gotten his stubbornness from her. That was one reason why occupying the same enclosed space with her for an extended period of time filled him with dread. He loved his mother dearly, but he gave it a matter of hours before she was after him about everything from his holey old boxer shorts to his lack of a social life. Worse, she’d then start trying to
do something
about the multitude of items at which he was failing miserably. And right now, the state of his house wasn’t going to help his cause.
Jason scanned the high-ceilinged great room, which encompassed most of the log home’s living space, and winced. Dust swirled lazily in a sunbeam. Dishes sat haphazardly in the sink. Clothes were tossed over the furniture, left there because just getting them off was enough of a chore right now. The sight did nothing for his mood—he was a lot of things, but a slob wasn’t one of them. Unfortunately, his powering through this with sheer orneriness wasn’t working out that well so far.
“If I didn’t do the planning, nothing would happen. You’d sit there and fester until your cousin called me out of desperation, and we’d be back at the same place.” She
sighed again, and guilt mixed with his frustration. He didn’t want to upset her. He just wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere until his leg was better. Preferably in an undisclosed location where she couldn’t find him.
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Uh-huh. I’m used to it. You were never a treat when you were sick, kiddo. Always moody. Not like your brother. You know he still asks me to come make him soup when he gets a cold? He even says thank you.”
Jason bit back a groan. This was one of the many reasons why he had to find a way to give this impending visit a definite end point, and the sooner, the better. He didn’t want daily updates on the endless charms and delights of his baby brother, who had embodied perfection since birth. At least, according to the rest of the family. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Tommy. It was just that Tommy had never really seemed to need it. He got more than enough love from everybody else.
Story of his life.
“When your father gets back from this fishing trip they’ve got him going on for work—I don’t think for a second it’s not just an excuse for a bunch of them to escape onto the water and drink too much for a few days, but they’re calling it work—he said he’d like to come out to stay for a bit, too, not just to get me and run. He has plenty of vacation time saved up. Maybe we can get your brother to come visit, too, at least for a weekend. What do you think? We haven’t all been together since last Thanksgiving, and that was only for a couple of days. I miss the Cove this time of year. You know we love Florida, but it’s hotter than hell right now, and I don’t want to learn to fish, even if your Dad does keep after me about it. Oh, if we can get you up and around, maybe we can go to the
field days! Think how fun that would be! I told Tammy and Paul I was coming into town, and they said . . .”
Her words washed over him, but Jason stopped hearing them. It all sounded like a rushing, rising wave of pure panic to him. He had to do something. Anything. Otherwise, his small sanctuary in the woods was quickly going to become his idea of hell on earth. Unfortunately, in his current condition, running away until further notice wasn’t a viable option.
It took a few seconds for the soft knocking at his door to register, and even then he might not have noticed but for the way the bundle of tan-and-white fur, which had been sleeping smashed up against his thigh, suddenly burst into motion, barking furiously as she flew off the couch and scrambled toward the door.
Her injuries sure haven’t slowed her down any,
Jason thought, ruefully amused.
“Oh, is somebody there?” his mother asked.
“Yeah, probably just Jake. He said he was going to swing by after work to make sure I hadn’t impaled myself on my crutches, on purpose or otherwise.” He covered the receiver for a minute to call out, “Come in!” over the wild barking before returning his attention to the conversation at hand.
“Your cousin is sweet to take time out of his day when he’s so busy. I hope you appreciate what he’s doing for you.”
“Sure,” Jason drawled. “He comes over. I verbally abuse him until I get tired. He plays with Rosie, and we both end the day happy. It works out.”
“Jason
.
”
He was in midsmirk when he heard the light tap of a bootheel on his floor. A familiar—and very feminine—
voice reached his ears and rippled all the way through him. Just the way it always did.
“Hello?”
He took a breath, pushed aside his immediate instinct to whip his head around and start snarling at her out of complete mortification at what she must be seeing, but managed a reasonably civil “Hey” with a slight turn of his head. “I’ll just be a . . . second.”
Jason had to force the final word out, since his brain had tried to stall out the instant he caught sight of her. He was used to seeing Zoe Watson in what he thought of as her work uniform: long, loose shirt—sometimes a sweater—usually with an incomprehensibly tied scarf over leggings and a wide variety of boots. The woman seemed to have some weird riding-boot fetish. Not that there was anything wrong with that. But this was after work—the first time he’d ever actually seen her outside the gallery, he realized—and either she was deliberately messing with his head or there was a lot he didn’t know about Zoe.
Probably both.
She was wearing one of those shirts that looked like a silky handkerchief that had been cleverly tied to her in a couple of key spots, along with a pair of skinny white pants cut a few inches too short, and some kind of strappy heels that made his mouth water despite the fact that they made no sense to him. Zoe was little, maybe five two, and he knew she had a great figure, but this evening she was showcasing her hourglass curves in a way he’d only imagined. Every inch of her, from her shapely long legs to the graceful neck she almost never showed off, was a feast for his eyes. Her mocha skin had a warm glow in the hazy light filtering in through the windows.
It took longer than it should have for him to realize she was watching him closely—curiously. However he’d
been staring at her, she didn’t seem to know quite what to do with it.
“Not a problem,” Zoe said with a small smile. “I’ll wait.” Her big gray eyes regarded him with something like amusement before she shifted a potted plant she was carrying from one arm to the other and dropped into a crouch to fuss over Rosie. Jason tried to collect his thoughts, aware his mother was insistently repeating a few words. A question? Yeah, it was a question.
“Jason,
who is that
? Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a woman.”
Jesus, you’d think she just spotted a unicorn.
He readjusted the phone against his ear, listening to Zoe croon at his dog. He hadn’t pegged her as a dog person. He hadn’t really pegged her as an anything person, actually. He was usually too busy trying not to drool on himself while he was arguing with her. Her body might be heavenly, but her face, a perfect oval with a pert little nose and full lips she often painted some lickable shade of red—not to mention those
eyes
—was enough to knock any sane man on his ass. He’d been sure he was building up immunity, thanks to their regular arguments.
So much for that.
“Jason, are you still there? Who—”
A thought occurred to him then, just a wisp of an idea stamped
THIS MIGHT WORK
. He grasped at it like a drowning man confronted with the bobbing remnants of a shattered ship. It might not be enough to save him, and Zoe would probably kill him anyway, but what choice did he have?
“That’s Zoe, Mom.” He saw her look up sharply from where she was petting Rosie.
“Oh?” It was a loaded question, and he knew it. He could hear all the other questions running just beneath
the surface of that single simple word. Zoe rose and came to stand before him, one hand on her hip in a stance he was well acquainted with by now. The arched eyebrow meant she was curious, but the hand on the hip? It didn’t bode well for him.
Maybe she’d cut him some slack because he was injured. He was desperate. And so while Zoe stared at him, he told Molly Evans the biggest lie he’d conjured since she’d been on the front porch at two a.m. asking his seventeen-year-old self whether he’d been drinking. “Yeah, well, she’s been helping me out. That’s why I’m not sure about all these plans you’ve got going....I mean, I’d love to have everybody here, but my place is pretty small and she’s, you know”—he scrubbed a hand through his hair—“around a lot.”
Zoe’s mouth dropped open.
Yep, I’m dead.
To Zoe’s credit, she didn’t hurl the potted plant in her hands at his head. She looked like she wanted to, but she didn’t. Instead, with her storm gray eyes full of fire, she mouthed,
I will kill you.
There was a moment of dead silence. Then his mother spoke: “Well,
finally
!”
Her laugh held so much relief, that any hope of his relationship status ceasing to be a topic of interest in the family evaporated. They still talked about him—poor, lonely, brokenhearted Jason—because of course they did. Because of Sara. When the divorce had been finalized, he’d assumed she was gone for good. He hadn’t known that just the idea of her would continue to give him problems five years on. And as hard as things had been at the end, he didn’t think this was what Sara had intended either. She’d just wanted to go. In the end, he’d let her.
He just wished everybody else would, too.
As Zoe’s jaw tightened and the hand at her hip clenched into a fist, Jason tried to tell himself that what he’d just done was no big deal. A girlfriend, even an imaginary one, would make his mother quit worrying and save him from weeks of having a social life forced upon him when all he really wanted to do was convalesce and brood. Zoe didn’t even have to be around. Hell, he’d invent a different Zoe if he had to, and then send her on an imaginary vacation or...something. But no matter how he tried to sugarcoat it, he couldn’t escape the fact that he’d just dragged the real Zoe into his life in a big way, without asking permission, and with a whole lot of potential ramifications that she seemed fully aware of. That was why she was going to kill him. He probably deserved it.
But that was still a more appealing thought than having his family pile in on him for a month.
Damn. This is a new low.
His mother’s voice chirped happily in his ear, pulling him back into a conversation he had no idea how to participate in. Not with Zoe’s death stare fixed on him. He held up one hand toward her, tried for an expression that he hoped was somewhere in the vicinity of pathetic, and mouthed the words,
Wait. Please.
“Hey, Mom. Look, I’ve gotta go.” Jason hoped he didn’t sound as panicked as he felt. “Yep. See you Sunday.” He was ready to hang up when she said the words that shoved a sliver of ice-cold fear directly through his heart.
“I can’t wait to meet the mystery woman.”
She was being perfectly sincere. She sounded happy, even, and Jason was sure she was. For now, at least. But as it tended to do on the rare occasions he slipped into panic, the verbal tic Jason had worked so hard to rid himself of when he was a child returned to tie his tongue in knots. “I-I-I-I’m sure she’ll be h-happy to meet you too.”
Nice. In front of Zoe, even. You’re on a roll today, man.
Zoe’s expression changed, ever so slightly, and Jason looked away. He had to. The last thing he needed was a dose of pity from a woman who was already way the hell out of his league. His mother clucked her tongue at him across the miles. “Oh, don’t be nervous, honey. I’m sure I’ll love her. It’s about time you found somebody who appreciates you. After all Sara put you through, you deserve it.”
“Uh.” It was the only response he could muster, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Love you. See you Sunday!” she chirped. “I’ll call once Moira picks me up and we’re on our way!”
His aunt Moira, Jake’s mother. A woman who knew damn well he wasn’t dating anyone. His spur-of-the-moment plan was already in flames, and he hadn’t even hung up the phone. Maybe he ought to have been glad he now had an epic fail like this to hold up as the ultimate proof that he really just needed to give up on having a social life. Forever.
“Bye,” Jason said, his voice barely a growl, and hung up. He tossed the phone to the side, where it landed between a couple of couch pillows, and shoved his face into his hands. He didn’t need to look at Zoe’s face to know what must have been written all over it. There was a long moment of silence. And then, finally, in a voice that would have been as rich as cream but for the violence vibrating through it, Zoe spoke. Carefully. Deliberately.