Half Moon Hill (32 page)

“You can’t help how you felt in the moment,” Anna told her. “And you can’t take back how you reacted. But just give it a little time . . . and maybe it’ll work itself out.”

Jenny was hard to convince, though. “I was really horrible, Anna. I mean, I might be entitled to my feelings, but . . . ugh, jealousy is such a horrible thing. I can’t believe I was so ugly about it.”

“Well, maybe Rachel would love to just let it go, too,” she suggested.

But Jenny still shook her head. “I saw her tonight, a little while ago. I tried to smile at her and she looked away.
Just plain looked away.
It was awful.”

The truth was—hearing about Jenny’s problems at least helped distract Anna from her own. Though she wished she’d felt she’d helped Jenny more, in the end just advising her to be patient and not beat herself up over it. “We’re all human,” Anna reminded her. “We all make mistakes.” God knew she’d made a few. And she’d probably make a few more. But she was doing her best and she’d come to the conclusion that most people
were
.

It was later, when Jeremy suggested the ferris wheel again and Anna agreed this time, that he kissed her some more. Longer this time. And it was . . . romantic. Warm summer night. Charming, handsome man. It was the kind of moment young girls dreamed of and old women remembered with wistful sighs.

Only it’s with the wrong guy.

When the pesky thought entered her head, she ignored it and kept kissing him. She shut it out. She didn’t want to ruin it. She wanted to one day be the old woman looking back on this with a wistful sigh.

I can have it all. I can have the perfect Destiny romance with the perfect Destiny guy. I can make Mike happy—I can make the whole town happy.
Oh God, her parents in Florida—wait until they heard, because she already felt pretty darn confident that they’d love her being with Jeremy Sheridan, too.

When finally the kisses ended, Jeremy gave her a sexy, dreamy sort of look, his eyes falling half shut, to say, “I knew coming home was gonna be good, but I didn’t know it was gonna be
this
good. I’m so glad you’re here, Anna.”

She tried to relax, told herself to feel happy.

She heard herself force out some words. “Me too.”

But as she stepped off the ferris wheel hand in hand with her brand new war hero a few minutes later, she realized it was the first time she’d ever missed being called Daisy.

W
hen she got home that night, the house lay still and dark. She’d almost gotten used to that again—to the emptiness, to knowing Duke would rather sleep in the woods than with her.

They’d worked hard to keep their distance from each other ever since that last heartbreaking conversation—and it had helped that she’d been scheduled to work at Under the Covers every day since and that Lucky had come over bright and early each day to help turn her house a buttery shade of yellow.

She couldn’t see it in the dark, though, unfortunately.
Oh well, I’ll see it in the morning.

As she lay down to sleep, she found herself remembering times she’d spent with Duke—particular moments that had seemed special.

But if they weren’t special to
him
, why should they be special to
me
?

The next morning, she got up determined to feel better—for good, not just for a few distracting minutes here and there. Her life was great, after all. She was financially comfortable, a piece of security not everyone possessed. She had a loving family of her own now. She was forming strong friendships and making a home here. She would soon open her own business. And she could even make a cobbler now!

And she had a handsome hometown boy ready and willing to take a big place in her life—she could feel that. And she’d noticed more than one pair of envious female eyes on her last night.

I have it all. And I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I’m fabulous!

And now I’m going to go outside and see my new clapboard siding.

Rising from the kitchen table, she placed her cereal bowl in the sink and headed for the front door. Descending the steps, she walked out into the yard where she could take in the whole house. And wow—the yellow was all she’d hoped. Sunshiny and happy and cheerful! With freshly painted white shutters already back in place, too, it was the first time she could almost envision what the house was going to look like when it was finally done. Soon she would at last be ready to open her bed-and-breakfast!

It was then that her eyes were drawn to the left—Duke had just come from the woods, ready for another day of work. And he looked so . . . simply sexy in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, a light, unshaven stubble on his chin, the haircut she’d given him beginning to grow out just a bit. He was starting to look kind of rugged again. In a good way. And she melted a little, all over, at the mere sight of him.

But more than just her physical reaction, seeing him now affected her another way, as well. It hit her that . . . in a sense, he’d always be here. Always. Because he was making her house over, from top to bottom. He was working hard every single day just to turn it from a drab old house into a bright, comfortable, friendly home. And yes, she’d agreed to pay him, but . . . she knew that wasn’t why he was doing it; she knew he didn’t need the money. And that made him far more than just some hired contractor. His work here, she knew, was a labor of love. Of
some
kind. And no matter how badly he’d hurt her, she’d always have that.

She didn’t know if he saw her, but he crossed the driveway in front of the garage and headed toward the back of the house, not acknowledging her.

And without taking the time to weigh it, she called to him, “It looks great!”

He stopped, peered across the yard.

Then after a moment, he changed direction and walked toward her.

As he grew closer, she felt the need to tell him again. “It looks great, Duke. I really love it.”

He met her gaze only briefly, then they both glanced back to the house. “Couldn’t have done it without Lucky’s help,” he said quietly.

“I think yellow was the right choice—don’t you?”

He gave a short nod. “Yeah, it’s nice.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him shift his weight from one work boot to the other before adding, “Lot still left to do, though. Lot more trim to replace and paint. And then the roof. I’ll have to get Lucky back over here for that.”

“But . . . so far, it’s really wonderful,” she told him, and for this next part, she looked at him again. Even if seeing his face so close up—the mouth she’d kissed, the eyes she’d looked into, the scar she’d shaved so carefully around—caused fresh emotions to well inside her. “So I wanted to thank you. For all you’re doing. I’m really not sure what I would have done without you.”

He met her gaze now, too, though she could tell it took some effort and he still didn’t smile. “You’d have done okay. You’d have found a way.”

She shook her head, entirely unsure if that were true. “I don’t know what it would have been.”

He gave his head a slight tilt, squinting in the sun. “Come on, Daisy—you’re way too feisty to let anything stand in your way for long. You’d have figured it out.”

She realized he was giving her a sincere compliment. “Maybe. But I’m glad I didn’t have to. You made it . . . easy.”

He lowered his eyes, looked . . . almost shockingly bashful. And neither of them said anything else until Duke pointed his thumb vaguely toward the house. “Well, I’m gonna get to work.”

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll be off to the bookstore soon.”

“You have a nice day, Daisy,” he said softly, still no hint of a smile.

“Thanks. You too.”

She stood in the same spot for a moment more, pretending she still studied the house, but she was really watching Duke walk away. And thinking it was nice to be his Daisy again, even if only for a moment, and even if it didn’t change anything.

“They played at hearts as other children might play at ball; only, as it was really their two hearts that they flung to and fro, they had to be very, very handy to catch them each time, without hurting them.”

Gaston Leroux,
The Phantom of the Opera

Nineteen

A
nna rang up two romance novels for old Mrs. Lampley—who tottered along, hunched down over a cane, and had to be at least eighty. She liked the idea that even a woman Mrs. Lampley’s age still wanted to escape into a place where passion led to a happily ever after. She wondered vaguely if Mrs. Lampley had had those things in her life—passion, or happily-ever-after.

Rachel, Tessa, and Amy sat in the overstuffed easy chairs near the bookstore’s door with big, colorful mugs of coffee in their hands. And though they kept their voices low whenever customers were in the store, she could guess easily enough what they were talking about: Rachel’s pregnancy.

As Mrs. Lampley slowly ambled out, Amy hopped up to get the door for her—and Anna walked around from behind the counter to join the other girls. Not long ago, she wouldn’t have—but now she realized the move came naturally and she felt accepted, welcome in their close circle.

“And I’m still so upset about Jenny,” Rachel was saying as Anna lowered herself onto the arm of Tessa’s chair.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean the things she said,” Amy quickly chimed in.

“But that’s the thing,” Rachel said. “I think she did.”

“Well, you’ll just have to forgive her, that’s all,” Tessa told her.

Yet Rachel only scrunched up her nose. “I’m not the best at forgiving. Especially when I’m not sure someone even
wants
my forgiveness. She seems to think I’m some kind of ogre or something.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Amy insisted. “It just . . . seemed that way.”

“She’s really hurting right now, Rach,” Tessa reminded her.

And though Anna wasn’t sure she should say anything, she decided it was in everyone’s best interest, so she tentatively spoke up. “For what it’s worth, Jenny’s really upset about it, too. She told me at the carnival. She feels awful about what she said and it really hurt her when she smiled and you looked away.”

Both Tessa and Amy gasped. “You looked away?” Tessa asked in clear shock.

And Amy scolded her. “Rachel . . .”

Rachel made a pouty face, but also appeared a little ashamed. “Well, I’m mad. And hurt myself. And who are you to talk, Ames—you were downright mean to Anna last summer, in front of everybody.”

Anna cringed inwardly at having an unpleasant memory brought up.

But Amy seemed unaffected, saying boldly, “And look at us now—we’re friends and we work together and we’ve totally let bygones be bygones. Haven’t we, Anna?” She flashed a quick look Anna’s way.

“Yes,” Anna replied quickly. She knew the incident—when Amy had been rude to her at a swim party—had been a result of Amy’s frustration, and ultimately Anna had felt they both bore some of the responsibility.

“Just like
you
should, with Jenny,” Amy said to Rachel.

Yet Rachel’s expression remained resistant. “Well, maybe if I ever feel better,” she said, pressing a hand to her belly. “And if I ever decide . . .”

“Decide what?” Tessa asked when Rachel trailed off, looking uncertain—and maybe even a little lost.

She blew out a breath before answering. “You know what the worst part is?” she asked them. “It’s that . . . what if she’s right? Maybe she is. Because Mike and I are evil, awful people not to be thrilled by this.”

And just like with Jenny, Anna was fast to say, “You’re entitled to how you feel. Everyone is.”

“But maybe I would have been a lot smarter to just keep it to myself. I only thought . . . that I could be honest with my friends. I thought everyone would understand, and be supportive. Like you guys are.”

“When all is said and done,” Tessa said, “you and Mike will do fine. You know that, right?”

But Rachel, looking unconvinced, let out a sigh. “Let me tell you a story. The other day, we were at Edna’s.” Anna had grown used to Rachel calling her grandmother by her first name—it was just the nature of their relationship. “And she said she’d seen an antique changing table she wanted to buy for us.

“And so I said, ‘What’s it change into?’ And Edna laughed and said she hoped I was joking. Which is when Mike said, ‘But really, what does it change into?’ And then she told us what it was, and we looked at each other and he just said, ‘This is going to be a disaster.’ And I was like, ‘You’re right. We’re doomed.’ And Edna told us we were being a couple of babies about having a baby. And maybe we are.” She stopped, sighed. “We’re . . . just a little scared.”

The girls continued to say comforting things to Rachel—and after a few minutes, talk turned to the newlyweds, Amy and Logan. “How’s married life, Mrs. Whitaker?” Rachel asked, seeming glad for the change of subject.

And Amy smiled a dreamy smile. “Couldn’t be better.”

“Any regrets about eloping?” Tessa asked.

To which Amy replied with a quick shake of her head. “Not a one. I know I always dreamed about a big, traditional wedding, but . . . I like that we did something
un
traditional. It makes me feel all . . . devil-may-care.”

And Anna had to stifle a laugh.
Devil-may-care is having a wild affair with an outlaw biker living in a shack in the woods.

“And speaking of exciting romantic adventures,” Rachel said, switching her look to Anna, “you and Jeremy, huh?”

Oh crap. She kind of didn’t want to think about that right now. Oddly, thoughts of her hot, risky, painful affair with Duke felt easier. Even if that didn’t make much sense. “Um, yeah—maybe, I mean. We just met. But . . . so far so good.” She’d added the last part mainly for Tessa’s sake, feeling the need to sound interested so no one would be disappointed. And she
wanted
to be interested. No, she
was
interested. She was determined to be as into Jeremy as he was into her.