“I want to be with her.”
“Maybe—” Could she be so cruel? She pressed her spine to the bench. Desperate needs called for desperate measures. “Maybe she doesn’t want to be with you. Maybe she’s—I don’t know—married or something.”
“She’s not married.”
“How can you know?”
“She’s not. I
know
.”
Sabrina wet her lips. Brushed at a mustard spot on her uniform. “There has to be some reason she won’t meet you.”
He lowered his voice. “I’m sure there is. I think she’s afraid of taking the next step or something, but I don’t think she’ll tell me until I find her.”
She gulped.
What do I say? How do I get out of this?
If she said no, he’d find someone else to help him, and then what?
That would be ten times worse. If someone else helped him—if someone else sifted through the letters and figured out the truth—then he’d discover that the person he’s trying to find is . . .
her
.
Harbormaster: No matter where you are or how long it takes until we can be together, I’ll keep searching for you.
Tucker pulled his eyes from Sabrina’s, and it wasn’t easy. He’d never seen her hair all flowy around her shoulders. He made himself watch a tour van pass slowly, stop for a bicyclist, then continue toward the First Congregational Church.
He pulled his arm from the splintered bench back and clasped his hands between his knees.
“If she doesn’t want to be found,” Sabrina’s voice quivered, “maybe she has a good reason. Maybe you’ll only be hurt or disappointed if you find her.”
He wanted to look at her; he wanted to grasp her shoulders between his hands and tell her that could never be true.
Tone it down, buddy. You’re going to scare her away.
He sucked in a deep breath, letting the salty air permeate his lungs before he released it on a steady exhale. He wished he could jump inside her head and know what she was thinking. Was she thinking about telling him the truth right now? Was she wishing she’d never started the email relationship to begin with? She clutched her bag to her body like a shield, and he could almost feel the waves of fear rolling off her.
He had to back her into a corner, but the thought of it was killing him. Maybe he should forget it. Maybe he should drop the whole thing. The whole relationship felt so precarious. As if one little breeze would send it crashing to the ground.
Then he remembered his daily trip to the café, sitting at his table pretending to read the paper, pretending they were strangers. How long could he continue with the charade? And the hours sitting at the computer, reading her letters, wishing for more . . .
No. He’d made his decision, and he was going through with it.
He leaned back against the bench. “I’m going to find her, regardless of any disappointment or hurt it might bring. I can’t go on like this. I think you’re the best person for the job, but if you’re not interested—I’ll find someone else.”
There. He’d done it. He could feel the realization sinking into Sabrina. The realization that if she didn’t help him, someone else would. It was a cheap trick, but for his plan to work, she had to say yes.
Maybe she’d just admit who she was right now.
Come on, Sabrina, say it.
“You seem determined.” Her words wobbled pitifully.
I am such a jerk.
But it was for her own good. She was so beautiful, inside and out. He’d never known anyone so unaware of it. It was as if she still saw herself as the girl with acne and a gapped smile. Time and braces had fixed the external, but the inside was permanently damaged. She wore invisible armor that let no one through. Only in her letters was she transparent. Only when she was hiding behind a computer. If only he could get that to translate over to real life. And he would. If only he could accomplish Step One.
“I’m going to find her. It’s not a matter of if, only when.”
“Have you looked through the emails yourself? Surely if she’d left clues, you would’ve seen them.”
“I’m not much of a between-the-lines person. I’m not even a computer person, except for this one email relationship. I use the thing for my business, but that’s it.”
“What’s her name?”
As if you don’t know
. “She goes by Sweetpea.”
“You don’t know her name?”
He nearly said he had her photo, but it wasn’t hers, was it? Instead, he met her almond-shaped eyes and spent a couple seconds just floating there in the sea of chocolate. “I know I care about her. I know she’s special. And I know I’m going to find her.”
You want to be found, don’t you, Sabrina? Deep down? What are you afraid of?
She looked so rigid, her chin set, her mouth drawn into a flat line. But behind that tough mask, there was tender flesh, a warm heart, a vulnerable soul. If only she would agree, he could set his plan in motion. Maybe if she spent time with him, he could gain her trust.
But she trusts Harbormaster, and she still doesn’t want to meet him, doesn’t want the relationship to progress.
He’d been through this a million times.
He set his cap back on his head, feeling suddenly weary. Had he thought it was going to be easy? “You can mull it over if you like. I want to find someone by the end of the week, though, so if you could let me know if I need to look elsewhere—”
“No, I’ll do it.” Her chin tilted up stubbornly. She knew she’d been trapped.
His stomach did a funny flop at the thought of having her in his home, where he’d spent hours writing her, reading her letters, thinking about her. It was just a matter of time now. Surely, once they had time alone together, he could penetrate that wall she kept around her heart. Surely he could get her to admit who she was when he had all the right tools in place.
“I can start in two weeks, when I finish Renny’s manuscript.”
There was one more matter to discuss, but he felt a smile breaking out on his face and couldn’t stop it. “That’ll be fine. Your hours would be flexible, but evenings are best for me, if that works for you.”
She rubbed her neck, and her charm bracelet slid down her wrist, making a soft jingling sound. “Evenings . . .” Confusion etched lines across her forehead. “Aren’t you going to print off the emails for me?”
He was glad he’d thought this through. “I wouldn’t feel right about that. I feel bad enough letting someone else read her personal thoughts, much less have printed copies floating around.”
“I’d be exceedingly vigilant—”
“I know you would. I just don’t feel right about it. I hope you understand.”
She didn’t understand at all, but that didn’t matter so long as she agreed. He could see her wavering. He drove the last nail home. “If you’d rather I find someone else . . .”
“No. That won’t be a problem.” She scooted to the edge of the bench and stood, hanging her bag on her shoulder.
He stood with her. “Great, then. Two weeks.” He extended a hand, and she returned his firm handshake before walking away. “But I’ll see you at the café before that,” he called to her stiffened back.
He watched her go, her long legs swallowing the distance. Operation Sweetpea was under way, and the future suddenly looked brighter than the sunlight glinting off Nantucket Harbor at noon.
Sweetpea: If I thought planning a wedding was time consuming, it was only because I’d never had to cancel one in six days.
Sabrina stopped pedaling and coasted, taking a breather. She wished she’d stayed in bed for the day. How had she let herself be persuaded to spend hours alone with Tucker? Didn’t she know how difficult the task would be? How could she maintain her composure, keep her focus with him nearby? She must be plumb crazy.
It wasn’t as if I had a choice.
He was prepared to hire someone else if she said no. She couldn’t allow that, could she?
At least now she could control the outcome. She could read the emails, pretend to give her best effort, then tell him it was an impossible task. She could even manufacture red herrings to sidetrack him, just like in Renny’s books.
But you’ll be alone with him for hours . . .
Despite the warm air, the thought sent a shiver down her arms. The relationship had seemed so simple in the beginning, just a friend she traded quips with. She liked the way he valued her opinions and the way he was only a mouse click away. He listened without judging, a rarity in her experience. Her feelings had evolved slowly, and by the time she knew they’d gone too far, she was helpless to stop them.
She signaled left and made the turn onto Renny’s lane. And now she would somehow have to hide them. It was difficult enough facing him at the café, pretending he was a stranger. How would she conceal her feelings when they were alone in close quarters? And she must conceal them. Tucker might think he wanted Sweetpea, but that was only because he didn’t know who she was.
Sabrina followed the gravel lane toward Renny’s two-story oceanfront home. The shaker shingles, previously a pale blue, had faded to gray under the relentless erosion of wind and sand. Lining the front walk, Renny’s flower garden was a riot of pink, yellow, and white. A prolific vine of some kind clung to the front entryway, climbing the white columns and creeping onto the small roof that shaded the patio. Many of the islanders hired men like Oliver for landscaping, but Renny managed her own garden and had affectionately named it
Gan Eden
, Hebrew for Garden of Eden. The Hebrew language was another of Renny’s interests.
Sabrina parked her bike in front of the garage that housed her loft apartment. She sifted through the mailbox for her mail, then climbed the wooden stairs along the west side of the house that led to her private entry.
A tall oak rose above the roofline, and her eyes searched the length of the closest limb until they came to a nest a robin had built that spring. Cradled in the nook of two intersecting branches, the nest was tilted to the side precariously. Each day Sabrina expected to find the nest gone, blown to the ground by a harbor breeze, but it still hung there.
Cool air and the remnants of Pine-Sol greeted her as she entered and set the mail on the desk, moving quickly, eager to see if Tucker had written before he left that morning.
Would he admit he was trying to locate her, or would he keep it a secret? She sat at the desk and opened her email. They had a predictable pattern. He wrote in the morning after she left for work, and in the afternoon she’d reply. Then when he returned in the evening, messages flew back and forth, mostly short quips about nothing in particular.
Her inbox appeared, and Sabrina scanned the few emails, her heart bailing when she saw nothing from Harbormaster. She browsed the four emails. Two were junk mail, one was a shipping notice from Amazon, and the other was from her cousin Jaylee. The sight of Jaylee’s name jolted her from complacency. Of their own volition, her eyes scanned the subject:
IMPORTANT PLEASE READ.
Sabrina highlighted the email and gave the Delete button a hard tap. The message vanished in a split second. Instead of satisfaction, the action left her with a vague sense of unease. What could Jaylee want? Hadn’t her cousin taken more than enough? For a moment she was tempted to retrieve the message, then decided it wasn’t worth the feelings it would arouse.
But the emotions appeared at the door of her heart anyway, like unwelcome guests. Jealousy, Bitterness, and their close friend, Aching Pain.
No. She would not entertain the feelings today.
I choose not to
. Willfully, she pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind for another day and closed the email program.
Normally, she looked forward to this time of day. Returning to her little loft with its efficient layout and familiar furnishings, anticipating a message from Tucker. Here she could be alone to read and think and escape. Today, though, offered her none of the above. Her mind whirled like a window fan. She needed to finish Renny’s research, but instead she started a kettle of tea and wandered past the kitchen table to the window overlooking the ocean.
Clouds had gathered, obscuring the sun, muting the daylight. On the water, a blue, triangular sail dotted the horizon. She wondered about the people inhabiting the boat. Were they a vacationing family? A wealthy retired couple killing time? A married man seeking peace and solitude from a nagging wife and a gaggle of boisterous kids?
Other than the ferry that had brought her to Nantucket, Sabrina had never stepped foot on a boat. It seemed peculiar when she was surrounded by water.
She let the curtain fall into place, then went to change into shorts and a crew neck T-shirt. The weather was mild today. Maybe later she’d go for a jog.
When the kettle whistled, she made a cup of tea before settling into her computer chair. Renny needed a poison for her story—something that would leave no trace in a blood test—and she needed it by tomorrow.
Sabrina made it as far as opening her internet program before her restless mind took her hostage.
Spying the stack of mail, she sorted through it, tossing the junk into the can by the desk and slipping the bills into the cubby above her. When she saw the last envelope, she stopped.
Her name and address were slanted across the front of the delicate pink parchment envelope. She would recognize the neat script anywhere, even if not for the return address in the upper left-hand corner. Dread coated her tongue, sticking it to the roof of her mouth.
She wished she could delete the envelope as easily as she’d deleted the email, because the temptation to open it was overwhelming. Three-dimensional letters were apparently more difficult to resist.
Succumbing to curiosity, she turned the envelope and slid her index finger under the flap. The pink scalloped card slid out easily.
Sabrina read the printed script:
Mr. and Mrs. Everett Daniels and Mr.and Mrs. Lloyd Tanner invite you to share in the joy of the marriage uniting their children, Jaylee Daniels and Jared Tanner, on Saturday, the twenty-second of August, at five thirty in the evening.