Can't Get Over You (Fortune's Island, Book 2) (3 page)

“What happened?” her mother asked, bringing Jillian into the warm kitchen space.

“I got caught in the rain. My car died, and I had to walk to work.”

“You should have called me.” Then her mother smiled. “But let me guess, your cell phone died and you still don’t have one of those chargers in your car?”

Jillian chuckled. “Darcy said the same thing. You know me well, Mom.”

“That’s because I’m half your DNA.” Grace smiled and pressed a hand to Jillian’s cheek. Her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her face softened with concern. “Let’s get you dry and filled with something warm. I’ll make you some hot tea while you go change.”

A few minutes later, Jillian had changed into a fresh T-shirt and shorts, dried her hair with the hand dryer in the restroom—or at least, dried it enough to put it up in a ponytail, and done an emergency repair job on her makeup with a little mascara and lip gloss. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t like there was anyone here she wanted to impress. She slipped back into the sweatshirt, because her skin still felt cold to the touch.

Her mother pressed a hot cup of tea into her hands when Jillian exited the ladies’ room. “Do you want something to eat, too, honey?”

“I’m good. Thanks.” She raised the tea cup. “I’m just going to take this out back.”

Her mother smiled. “And watch the storm from the deck?”

“Of course.”

Grace brushed a tendril of hair off Jillian’s face. The touch was gentle, as tender as it had been when Jillian was three and scraped her knee, or fourteen and sobbed over a bad day at school. “You always did love to do that. Just be careful if there’s lightning or—”

“Mom, I’m not a little girl anymore. I know to watch out for lightning.”

“Just because you’ve gotten older doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being a mother.” Grace pressed a kiss to Jillian’s cheek. The light scent of her mother’s perfume filled the space between them, familiar and comforting. “Go on out back. We’ve got twenty minutes till we open, and Darcy told me to tell you she has the setup all done, so you’re not to do anything but get warm again.”

“Thanks, Mom.” She kissed Grace’s cheek, then took her mug and headed out to the back deck. The rain danced on the tiki thatch roof, pattered on the wooden steps that led down to the beach. Jillian settled herself against a corner post and watched the rain fall into the ocean, the waves that curled in and out, the dark clouds that made their slow journey across the sky. It was quiet here, peaceful. Perfect.

The putter-putter of a small fishing boat’s motor grew in volume, disrupting Jillian’s perfect moment. The boat edged around the cove, and finally came into view. It was one of those gray flat-bottomed boats, nothing fancy. A man in a raincoat and floppy hat piloted it, steering the dinghy up to the dock leading off the back of The Love Shack.

The dock didn’t belong to the restaurant, but pretty much no one cared about that. Almost every night, someone would motor over to the dock and tie off, then come inside for a bite to eat. In the summer, the pier was so busy, it might as well have been a drive-thru.

But this guy didn’t look like a regular. Didn’t, in fact, look like anyone Jillian knew. He leaned toward the bow, grabbed the line attached to the front, then tied off to a cleat. As he climbed out of the boat and onto the slick wooden surface, he stood there a second, debating, then decided to tie a second line from the stern to another cleat.

Head down, steps purposeful, he strode up the path that led to The Love Shack, then climbed the steps to the back deck. He was at least six feet tall, and filled out the rain coat in ways most men didn’t even fill out a suit. Nice. Definitely nice.

“We’re not open until four,” Jillian said, when he reached the deck, “but you can grab a table if you want.”

The man straightened, pulled off the floppy hat and turned to shake the water off over the railing. He had wavy dark hair, so dark, it was almost black. “I’m not here to eat, but thanks.”

“Just getting out of the storm?” She didn’t know why she was making conversation with him. She’d come out to enjoy the storm and her tea, not make a new friend or exchange small talk with someone who wasn’t even a customer. Especially after this afternoon. Seeing Zach had left her more rattled than she wanted to admit. Every time she thought she was over him, something happened to remind her of the opposite.

“Something like that.” The man turned toward her now, unbuttoning his rain slicker with one hand as he did. The panels of his coat parted, revealing one hell of a body in a short-sleeved button-down shirt and khaki shorts. Jillian had to remind herself to breathe.
Holy hotness, Batman.

Yeah, he was definitely not someone she recognized. Jillian would have remembered a guy with eyes that blue, hair that dark, and a lean, defined body that gave a whole new meaning to the terms
fit
and
trim
. He was the kind of guy who made a woman’s pulse race. Including hers.

Jillian clutched her mug tighter. “Okay…uh, well, if you need anything, just let me know.”

“In what,” he flipped out his wrist and looked at his watch, “ten minutes?”

She laughed. “I’ll make a special exception for you.”

He took a couple steps closer, amusement lighting his features. “You don’t even know if I’m worth a special exception.”

Oh, he was. A double special exception, if there was such a thing. “You’re out in a boat in this downpour. I think that ups your special exception quotient.”

“Being here at all probably does that. It’s a little far from the world where I normally spend my days.”

“Are you here on vacation?”

“Sort of. More like a working vacation.” He ran a hand through his hair, displacing the waves and brushing off some of the rain. “Do you know a man named Gandy Reynolds?”

“Sure. Everyone knows Gandy. He owns the house next door. Technically, that’s his dock, but most everyone uses it for The Love Shack.”

“I’m his nephew. I’m staying at his house for a few weeks. I haven’t been here in forever, but apparently, I forgot how it is here. I thought I’d go native, and take a trip on the boat and I…locked myself out. In the rain. Apparently, it pays to check the weather report before getting in a boat. So I thought I’d kill some time here while I waited on my uncle to get home.”

So he had been to Fortune’s Island before. How did she not remember a man that looked like that? “You sound like me. My car died, along with my cell. I had to run all the way to work, in the rain.” She pressed a hand to her damp hair and wished she’d done more than throw on some mascara and lipstick.

“Two drowned rats. Probably not the best way to meet.” He flashed another grin at her.

Was he flirting with her? It had been so long since she’d dated someone, she wasn’t sure. “Uh…there’s always hot coffee and tea in the kitchen. Do you want a mug?”

“Coffee would be great, thanks.”

“Okay. Be right back.” She headed inside and detoured for the small mirror on the wall before hitting the kitchen. Not that she cared what she looked like. Okay, so maybe she did. Jillian tugged out the ponytail, fluffed at her hair, reapplied a little of her lip gloss, slipped off the sweatshirt and stowed it under the counter, then figured that was the best she could do on a drowned rat day. She got the stranger a mug of coffee, refilled her tea, then put some creamer and a container of sugars on a tray and brought it back out to the deck.

“You carry that like a professional,” he said.

“That’s because I am one. At least, I am now. Since it’s after four.” She balanced the tray on one hand, then put out her other. “I’m Jillian, your waitress.”

He laughed. “Nice to meet you, Jillian. I’m Ethan Reynolds.”

Ethan. It was a nice name. Seemed to fit him, somehow. With his striking looks and bright smile, he almost had a movie star quality about him.

She lowered the tray and handed him the mug. “I didn’t know if you wanted cream or sugar, so I brought them both.”

“Just black is fine, thanks.” He took the coffee and sat down in one of the chairs. “Join me?”

She probably should get to work. But there hadn’t been anyone in the dining room except for Harry and Edith when she’d gone inside earlier, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to sit for a few minutes. Building goodwill and all that. Uh-huh. That was what had her grabbing her tea from the tray, then sitting on the bench beside him, stealing glances at his chiseled profile.

For a second she felt guilty, but then she remembered she’d broken up with Zach at the beginning of the summer. Three months ago. Three months when Zach hadn’t made more than a half-hearted effort to get her back. Maybe it was about time she started dating again. Or at least considered a handsome man like Ethan.

Maybe she should test the waters, and flirt a little back with him. See if he was interested, after all.

“So, you know what I do for a job,” she said, then realized the lame line was a clear sign she had almost zero flirting skills. That was what happened when you dated the same guy for eight years. “What do you do?”

“I work for a record company. My boss sent me out here for a few weeks. To scope out some talent along the East Coast. Ever since they found out Meghan Trainor came from Nantucket, the record industry is convinced all the next hot commodities are on the East Coast.”

She started to say her fiancé was in a band, and to recommend he listen to The Outsiders while he was here, but then she remembered Zach was no longer her fiancé, and her concern about his future should be done. Besides, the band had been one of their biggest arguments—the amount of time he spent with the guys, the late hours of practice, the way the music took precedence over everything, including her. She’d supported Zach’s dream, and wanted to see him succeed, but not at the expense of their relationship. “That sounds like a cool job,” she said to Ethan. “Sort of like a sports scout.”

She wanted to ask him a hundred questions, but she held back. Even with a perfect stranger, she was still shy about her own music, about even saying she dreamed of someday singing before a crowd.

“You’re right. My job is sort of like scouting talent for the major leagues,” he said. “Except I end up in a lot of dive bars listening to crappy musicians instead of behind the dugout at Fenway.” He shook his head and muttered a curse. “Not that I meant this was a dive bar. Not at all. Sorry.”

She waved off the apology. “No worries. The Love Shack has never tried to be anything fancy. It’s the kind of place where we hope people feel comfortable.”

“You sound like you have some ownership in it.”

“I do. By extension. My parents own it. Grace and Whit.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw a few more people now in the dining room. Mostly seniors, here for the Early Bird
special. The rain had stopped, and the skies were clearing, which meant it would be busy inside very soon. “I should get to work. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”

“The coffee was perfect.” He started to reach for his wallet. “What do I owe you?”

She got to her feet, and waved off the money. “On the house. Call it…a goodwill gesture for dive bars all across the country.”

He chuckled. “I will. Thanks, Jillian.”

She liked the way he said her name. Liked it a lot. “You’re welcome. Come back sometime. We have amazing fish tacos and a lobster roll so good, it will make you cry.”

“I’ll remember that.” He tugged on his coat and hat again and started toward the stairs. He turned back. “If I wanted to eat something other than fish tacos and lobster rolls, where would you recommend?”

She thought a second. Jillian rarely ventured to the northern part of the island, where the upscale restaurants and quirky boutiques lined the streets. She much preferred the comfortable, homey world here, with The Love Shack. “Monty’s on the northern tip of the island is really nice, and it sits right on the beach. A little fancy, but has great food. And then there’s the Seafood Grille, about two miles away from here. Not quite as upscale as Monty’s, but they always do something delicious with the catch of the day, I hear.”

Ethan’s blue eyes met hers. “What do you say to dinner at Monty’s, tomorrow night?”

Had he just asked her out? On a date? For a second, Jillian wasn’t sure how to respond. Nerves tickled her belly, flushed her cheeks. Should she say yes? No?

“Thanks for the offer, but I have to work,” she said. She was about to leave it at that, like she had hundreds of times before when she’d been engaged to Zach.

No. She was done waiting on Zach to wake up and get a clue. She had a gorgeous guy standing here, asking her on a date. She’d be a fool to say no. “But…I’m off Thursday night, if that works better.”

He grinned. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up at six. What’s your number?”

Jillian strode down to him, removed a pen from her pocket and clicked it open. Then she splayed his palm in hers and scrawled her phone number across his hand. A bold move the old Jillian never would have made. “There. Now you’ll never forget it.”

His blue eyes met hers, and there was a moment of electricity there. “No, I don’t think I will.”

As he turned away and headed back to his boat, Jillian thought she wasn’t going to forget him anytime soon. And that, she decided, was a very good thing.

THREE

“What the hell is wrong with you today?” Duff waved at Zach. The band was at their regular fall and winter Thursday night practice. In the summer, The Outsiders played almost every night at The Love Shack, and took on the occasional party on the mainland. But in the off season, their playing scheduled reversed, with a handful of engagements at The Love Shack and a lot of mainland weddings and sweet sixteens. It wasn’t exactly being on
America’s Got Talent
, but it was work, and it was what paid the bills. “You’ve been off, like, half the song. It’s like you’re playing something else altogether.”

Zach shrugged. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

Like Jillian. Like the phone call he’d had from his mom earlier. Like pretty much everything about his entire life. Zach wanted—no, needed—to make a change. The problem was what it would cost him. The guitar in his hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.