Page 102 of Summer Reading

Despite Em’s confidence in me, my version of figuring it out was to avoid Ben for the next few days. In my defense, I had taken on several catering jobs for Stuart at the inn, one of which was a very high-profile wedding rehearsal dinner, so my free time was booked solid.

Thankfully, I barely had a moment to think about anything—except for the occasional internal debate about my father and his friendship with Moira. I really couldn’t imagine anything happening between them, but her words nagged me like a bug bite I shouldn’t scratch and yet I did, making it itch like fire. I thought about calling my mom, but I didn’t want to drag her into the past, especially if she didn’t know. Besides Em was right, why would I believe anything Moira had to saywhen her entire modus operandi was to mess with people? Argh.

I tried calling my dad again, but this time instead of voicemail there was no answer. The call just dropped. Curse you, spotty cellular service!

While I waited to reach my dad, I barricaded myself in my safe space, the kitchen. Stuart was impressed with my work ethic—ha!—and made some comments about the potential for me to be hired on permanently. My bank account certainly felt healthier for the work, and I felt better about myself.

I had felt like such a loser for getting passed over at the Comstock. The critical voice in my head was quieting down about that since I was working, but it ratcheted up in regard to my personal life. Only now, it was the voice of Ben’s mother in my head.You’ve had your nose pressed in a book since you were a toddler and you’re with her, a woman who can’t read?

It played on a continuous loop, fanning the flames of my insecurity. I knew the best way to handle it was to talk to Ben, but, quite frankly, I was nervous. Ridiculous, I know.

Two days passed with no contact with Ben other than voicemails. His grandparents hadn’t known who the guitar player was. He’d asked around the island but no one recognized the mystery man in the photo. I didn’t answer my phone but let every call go to my messages.I knew his schedule well enough to call him back when he couldn’t answer.

Finally, the evening of the wedding rehearsal dinner on the patio of the Tangled Vine arrived. It was an amazing event. Every dish I served met my very high expectations, and the guests were incredibly generous with their compliments and praise. It was a small gathering with just the two families and their attendants. I watched from the kitchen as the groom gazed at his bride with a look of such love and affection, I felt my heart pinch. Could this be Ben and me someday?

Not if you don’t tell him what’s going on, the voice in my head chastised me. I hate it when it’s right. I needed to reach out to Ben and soon. I decided I’d call him when I got home and tell him everything I knew. What was it Em’s favorite author wrote? The most difficult path is usually the right one to take. So be it.

At the end of the night, I finished packing my gear in my car and hit the button on the fob to close the back hatch. When I heard it latch, I came around the side to the driver’s door.

“Hey, Samwise.” And there was Ben, as if I’d conjured him with all the longing in my poor heart.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Hi, Ben.” My voice came out high and tight. He must have heard something in my stressed tone because his small smile flattened, his brow furrowed, and he looked confused.

He pushed off the car and stepped toward me. I stiffened. Not because I didn’t want him to touch me, quite the opposite. I was afraid if he did, I’d latch on to him and never let go.

He stopped, accurately reading my body language, and leaned back a little on his heels. His gaze moved over me as if taking in any changes a couple of days might have wrought.

“Have I done something?” he asked.

“No,” I said immediately. I might have been too firm in my denial, because his eyebrows went up and he didn’t look like he believed me.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.

I didn’t deny it because I didn’t want to lie. Instead, I stared at the ground, trying to gather my thoughts.He’d caught me off guard and I wasn’t prepared to see him or tell him what I’d learned.

He misinterpreted my look, because why wouldn’t he, and he said, “Listen, if you don’t want to see me anymore, you can tell me. I know you wanted to keep this short term, and I’m not that fucking fragile.”

The way he said it, fierce and defensive, made it clear that he actually was. It hit me then that as much as I was afraid of being rejected, so was he. Small wonder given that iceberg of a mother he had. That was mean, I didn’t care. I knew I had been incredibly selfish by not being direct with him.

“It’s not that,” I said. “Listen, I need to talk to you, but I want to get my thoughts together before I do.” Also, I really wanted to hear from my dad, but I didn’t want to go into that.

He stepped close, not touching me, but near enough that I could smell the scent that was particularly him, old books and leather and a hint of coffee. I wanted to wrap it around me like a blanket. Heck, I wanted to wrap him around me like that. I didn’t.

I gazed up at him, hoping that he could see in my expression what I felt, mostly longing but alsofeelings. We were just outside the area lit by the inn’s spotlight, but whatever he saw made him relax just the tiniest bit.

“When?” he asked.

“Tomorrow evening, after work, come to the housefor dinner,” I said. “I’ll make something amazing. We can talk then.”

He nodded. “All right.”

He took a step back and I felt as if my heart was shrinking in my chest, collapsing in on itself, with every inch of space he put between us.

“Samwise, maybe now isn’t the time, but I feel as if I should tell you—” he began, but I interrupted.

“Let’s save that for tomorrow,” I said. I didn’t want any declarations of feelings until we ironed out his mom and my dad and how we felt about that and about each other around that.

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