Must Be Home (A Jetty Beach Romance Book 4) Page 2

  “Okay, well, maybe you can be curious about something else,” Ryan says. “So, Cody—I hear you and Clover are thinking about eloping and not having a wedding at all.”

  I pretend to cough to cover my laughter. We are in rare form tonight.

  “What?” Mom turns to Cody, and gives him her interrogation face. “You don’t want a wedding?”

  Cody glares at Ryan. “We haven’t decided anything yet. We’re just talking about our options.”

  It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Cody and Clover run off to Vegas, although that’s almost too normal. Clover is sweet, but she’s kind of nuts. I’m half-expecting her to announce they’ll be getting married in the center of a stone circle in Europe or something.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake,” Mom says. “No wedding? It doesn’t have to be big. But you have to have a wedding. Don’t you want to celebrate with your family?”

  “Let’s just not worry about it right now. We haven’t even set a date.” Cody’s eyes shift to me. “Speaking of dates, Hunter, are you still seeing that girl you were talking about?”

  Of course he went there.

  Mom turns her bright-eyed gaze on me. “Hunter, you’re seeing someone?”

  Ryan is stifling laughter now.

  “No, I’m not seeing anyone,” I say. “I went out with someone a couple of times, but we didn’t really hit it off.”

  “Oh, well that’s good,” Mom says.

  Everyone turns toward her.

  “What?” I ask. “Why is that good? You never met her.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she was just fine,” Mom says. “But it would be a shame, what with Emma’s divorce and everything.”

  The room goes silent, as if no one is even breathing.

  I’m incapable of hiding my reaction. I drop my fork and stare at her. “What did you say?”

  Mom’s forehead creases with concern. “I’m sorry, Hunter, I thought you knew. Emma Parker got divorced recently. I realize you two were an item a long time ago, but I thought…”

  “You thought what?” I ask, my voice quiet. “That I’d give her a call and see if she wants to go out?”

  “Well…”

  “I appreciate the thought,” I say. “But that was a long time ago.”

  Mom puts a hand over mine, but to my surprise, she doesn’t say anything else about it.

  We go back to our dinner, and it doesn’t take long before the conversation picks up again—fortunately with topics that don’t make us all squirm in our chairs. I try to focus on my dinner, but I barely taste it.

  Emma Parker.

  I loved Emma Parker from the first time I saw her. We were ten years old, and her family had just moved to Jetty Beach. The teacher put her at the desk right next to me. She had a thick blond ponytail tied with a pink ribbon.

  I staunchly ignored her for the next six years, despite her attempts to be friendly. I had no idea what to do with my crush, so I harbored it secretly, never telling a soul. I didn’t do the boy thing where I teased her as a sign of affection. I just avoided her. I think, even back then, I was afraid I’d screw things up. I was an angry kid, and I got in trouble a lot. Emma was quiet and sweet, and I couldn’t imagine she’d want to be my friend, let alone my girlfriend.

  By junior year, sports had given me a decent outlet for my pent-up rage, and I finally gathered enough courage to ask her out. I brought her to a movie, and spent half of it trying to work up the nerve to hold her hand. When I finally touched her, it was electric. We both gasped, staring straight ahead at the screen. Her fingers twined with mine and it was magic.

  After that, we were inseparable. Emma was my first everything. First real date. First kiss. We lost our virginity together on a blow-up air mattress in the back of my old pickup truck. She was my first love.

  My only love.

  And yes, I’m the one who screwed it up.

  I left to join the Marines, knowing it would hurt her. At the time, I thought it was my only choice. I wanted her to move on with her life—to find someone else and be happy.

  When I came home a little more than a year ago, I found out she had indeed moved on. Hearing it was harder than I thought it would be. I didn’t expect to find her still single and waiting for me—after all, I’d been gone nine years. But finding out she was married was devastating.

  I had no right to be upset. I made the choice to leave. But it still hurt, hitting me in a place deep in my soul that I’d thought I had pretty well walled off.

  So I put it behind me. As much as I wanted to make amends with Emma, coming back into her life would be cruel. I’d be doing it for me, not for her. She’d found happiness, and I wanted that for her more than anything else. I stayed away.

  But now she’s divorced?

  I get through the meal without asking questions, but I’m insane with curiosity. What happened? I don’t know anything about the guy she married, and she doesn’t live in town. I wonder how my mom knows. Is she hurt? Was it a mutual thing? Did she come back to Jetty Beach, or does she still live out in Cedar Hills?

  After dessert, I make an excuse about needing to work early tomorrow, and head home. Maybe I should have just asked my mom what she knew, but it isn’t my business. The fact that Emma’s not married anymore doesn’t change a thing. I still need to stay out of her life.

  Don’t I?

  Loud music keeps me company on the drive out to Gabriel’s, but it isn’t enough. Even the highway is full of memories. You’d think that after a decade, it wouldn’t bother me anymore. I pass the spot where my car broke down senior year, and my stomach turns. Hunter drove out in that old, broken-down truck of his, and picked me up. I drive by the turn to Forest Hill Road, the prime makeout spot for Jetty Beach teenagers, and I feel a little nauseated. I don’t even want to think about what happened up there (spoiler: it was incredible).

  The gateway sign proclaims Welcome to Jetty Beach, and I want to vomit. I hate that this place bothers me so much. I dated Hunter for two years—when I was a dumb teenager—and it’s literally taken me longer to get over him than the jackass I actually married. I don’t think there’s a single place that would remind me of Wyatt enough to make me sad. Annoyed, maybe, that I wasted the better part of my twenties on him. But not sad.

  I switch to another station playing this week’s top twenty hits. Yes, modern music, from today. Nothing old. I’m starting new, and even though I’ve declared this year Project Get Emma Back, it’s really a fresh start. I’m all about the new. About the now. Moving on.

  Gabriel isn’t home when I get there, so I let myself in. His house is such a bachelor pad, but I can’t blame him. He got divorced too, a couple of years ago. I think he’s still reeling over his wife leaving the way she did. If there’s anyone in this world that pisses me off more than Wyatt, it’s Amanda. That bitch broke my brother’s heart into a thousand pieces, and she’s lucky she ran off to Brazil or wherever she went. I’d really love to slap her. I’m all talk, I’d never be brave enough to actually do it. But I want to. Boy, do I want to.

  Still, his place is comfortable, and of course it has a great kitchen. I think about taking him up on his offer to come up to the restaurant, but it’s late, and he has a bunch of leftovers in his fridge. I fill up a plate and make myself at home on his couch, watching mindless reality shows while I wait for him to come home.

  A couple hours later, the sound of the door opening jolts me awake. I must have fallen asleep. I smooth down my hair and try to act like I didn’t just wake up.

  “Hey, Emma,” Gabe says.

  I stand up to give him a hug. “Hey. How was work?”

  “Busy,” he says. “Did you get dinner?”

  I smile. Of course his first concern is whether I’ve eaten. “Yeah, I raided your fridge.”

  “Good,” he says. “So I’m stuck with you for how long?”

  “About a week, I think. Maybe two.”

  He disappears into his bedroom for a minute, then comes out in a white t-shirt and
sweats. “You need to move out of that place for good. Do you have a lease?”

  “I’m month-to-month,” I say. “And I know. But I can’t afford anything better.”

  “You should just move here for now.”

  “Here?” I ask. “Like, Jetty Beach?”

  “No, I mean here,” he says, pointing downward. “My place. I have an extra room. You should have moved here to begin with. Just for a while, until you get back on your feet. That apartment is a piece of shit.”

  My shoulders tighten. “I know it’s a piece of shit, but I’m on my feet. I have a job. I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course you can, Emma. That’s not what I meant. All I’m saying is, I have three bedrooms, and I’m practically never here. There’s no reason for you to live in some dump.”

  He’s right; it does make sense for me to room with him for a while. He was baffled when I didn’t last year, when I left Wyatt. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him why. He’d think I was a pathetic idiot. Who cares what happened ten years ago? Why should that still bother me? His wife left him—and I know that was awful—and he still lives in the house they shared.

  What does it say about me, that I feel the need to swear off an entire town because my high school boyfriend left me?

  “You know what, you’re right,” I say. “I will. I’ll get my stuff out of there when they finish poisoning the place to kill the bugs.”

  He laughs, and I take a seat on a barstool.

  “Does Mom know you’re in town?” he asks.

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you going to go see her?” he asks.

  “At some point, yeah. Will you come with me?”

  He gives me a sidelong glance. “Do I have to?”

  “Come on, let’s go tomorrow and get it over with,” I say.

  He groans. “Do you know what happened last time I visited Mom? She tried to set me up with someone.”

  It’s my turn to groan. “Who?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t let her get that far,” he says. “Just you wait. She’ll be on to you next.”

  “Oh, hell no,” I say. “That is the absolute last thing I need. Don’t you think she’ll give me a grace period or something? My divorce was just finalized.”

  “Do you know our mother?” he asks. “She probably has a list already.”

  I shake my head. “No way. Not gonna happen. I am not dating anyone. Maybe ever.”

  Gabe pulls out a bottle of Jameson and two glasses. “I think we need to drink to that.”

  “To what?” I ask.

  “To not dating,” he says.

  “I can absolutely drink to that.”

  “To staying single,” he says.

  “Fuck relationships,” I say.

  He smiles and we both drink.

  “Fuck relationships indeed,” he says. “Want another?”

  Warmth spreads through my belly. “You know what? I’ll have one more.”

  “Sounds good,” Gabe says.

  He pours another and I toss it back. It’s pleasant. I feel lighter than I have in a while.

  “So I assume you have to work tomorrow,” I say.

  “It’s Saturday,” he says. “Of course I do.” He drinks his second shot. “Not until about noon, though. I’m going down to the farmers’ market in the morning. There’s a grower I want to talk to. Want to come along?”

  I suppose I can’t sit around Gabe’s place all day, and the farmers’ market is pretty innocuous as far as memories go. “Sure.”

  “Great,” he says. “Get up early, though. I want to be there when they open at nine.”

  We hang out for a while, catching up on life. I feel guilty for not spending more time with my brother, especially because he’s alone now. I’ve let this place get to me way more than it should. It’s just a town.

  And it isn’t like Hunter is even here. He’s been gone for ten years. The worst I’ll run into are reminders of him, and I can certainly handle that. Maybe what I need is some exposure therapy. I’ll spend some time in town, and maybe Jetty Beach won’t seem like such a hotbed of bad memories. Maybe I can finally be free of its spell.

  And of him.

  ***

  The farmers’ market is charming. It’s held in a wide open field just outside downtown, with rows of white canopies displaying food, crafts, art—all sorts of things. It’s grown a lot since I was a kid, when it was just a handful of vendors selling produce. Gabe finds the grower he wants to talk to, and I wait nearby. The sun is warm already, although a light breeze is blowing in off the water. It’s going to be a gorgeous day. The market fills quickly as people wander in from the parking area, and the hum of conversation fills the air.

  Gabe hands me a few strawberries to sample. They’re shiny red, and I pop one in my mouth as I wander down the path. The flavor explodes in my mouth. I almost forgot how amazing fresh, organic strawberries are. I eat another one and glance at a booth selling beaded jewelry. Gabe is still chatting with the grower, so I move on down the line.

  I stop outside another booth, this one full of huge bouquets wrapped in thick white paper. The fragrance of fresh cut flowers spills across the walkway. I pick up a bouquet and take a big whiff. It smells heavenly.

  “How much?” I ask.

  The woman running the booth answers. “Ten dollars for the large ones, five for the small. You can choose one that’s already put together, or we can custom make something for you.”

  I pull out a five-dollar bill and hand it to her, and pick one of the smaller bouquets. I’m thinking that Gabe needs a little feminine touch in his house—and then my back prickles, and I have the distinct feeling that someone is watching me. I glance behind me, half afraid I’m going to see Wyatt. He can’t be here. He knows where my family lives, but would he come out here looking for me? Is he actually following me, or am I just being paranoid? I see Gabe still chatting with the grower, but no sign of Wyatt. I smile at the vendor and grab my flowers, breathing out a long breath. I’m definitely being paranoid.

  I notice someone out of the corner of my eye, and I swear he’s looking right at me. I look up, but he’s already turned around, walking away through the crowd.

  My stomach does a flip. It can’t be.

  I put a hand to my forehead, angry with myself for being so stupid. I’m trying to get over my feelings about this place, and here I am, seeing things. Believing I see Hunter in the crowd is worse than imagining Wyatt following me around. Hunter is gone. He left ten years ago. I don’t like to think about it, but I have to be honest with myself—I don’t even know if he’s still alive. He was in the Marines, after all. He’s probably a million miles away, all thoughts of me long forgotten.

  I wish I could forget him, too.

  I pull my truck into the parking spot at the farmers’ market. It just opened, but already the walkways are full of people. The sun is out, there isn’t a cloud in the sky, and it looks like every person in Jetty Beach is here. Crowds are not my favorite thing, but I’m only here to help Ryan pick up a bench for our mom. I’ll be in and out in no time.

  I spot Ryan near the entrance, talking to Nicole. He kisses her, and I decide to wait rather than approach. I put my hands in my pockets and glance away.

  Get on with it, Ryan, for the love—

  Nicole pulls away and smiles, then walks into the market.

  “You guys need to get a fucking room,” I say as I walk toward Ryan.

  “Whatever, dick,” he says, but he smiles.

  “So what are we doing here, again?” I ask, dropping the subject. I might give Ryan a lot of shit, but I actually love seeing him happy.

  “Mom bought a bench, I guess?” He says it like he’s not quite sure either. “She said it should be near the entrance, so maybe it’s that one over there.”

  He points to a booth with handmade furniture and wooden decor. It looks like the right sort of place, so we find the craftsman. The bench, a simple design with dark wood slats, is just inside the bo
oth. It’s beautiful and a little bit rustic, which is perfect for Mom.

  I go around to one side and Ryan takes the other. I look up into the crowd and feel a mild tug of surprise. Gabriel Parker, Emma’s brother, is standing not far down the row of canopies, talking with someone in front of a large booth of fruits and vegetables.

  I’m used to seeing Gabriel around. He lives and works in Jetty Beach. In fact, Cody’s fiancé Clover works for him at his restaurant. I see him around town occasionally, but he doesn’t take notice of me. Truth be told, he probably doesn’t know who I am. He’s older than Emma by several years, and he lived in Europe the whole time I dated his sister—not to mention when I left her.

  He probably doesn’t know I exist, which is fine. It’s bad enough I have to worry about running into her mom, who I would imagine remembers me all too well. So far, that hasn’t happened though.

  “Here, you get this end,” Ryan says.

  I pick up the other side of the bench—fuck, why did she have to pick the heaviest one here?—and almost drop it.

  Gabriel isn’t alone.

  I see her from the back, and instantly I know it’s her. I don’t even have to see her face. Her hair is up in a ponytail, long strands of blond hair hanging down to her shoulders. She’s wearing a purple tank top and a pair of shorts, and her body is everything I remember: narrow waist, toned arms, strong legs.

  She turns, and my heart nearly beats out of my chest. Ten years, and she’s hardly changed. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “Dude, Hunter,” Ryan says.

  I adjust my grip on the bench. “Sorry.”

  I look for her again, but she’s not there. Shit. I can’t keep standing in one place, staring, holding this stupid bench. So I walk out toward my truck, holding up my end. Ryan and I move it across the grass to the parking lot and get it in the back, where I secure it with a strap so it won’t slide around, then close the tailgate.

  “You got this?” Ryan asks. “Your leg okay?”

  I’m so distracted, looking toward the market, I almost don’t hear him. “Yeah, I got it. I’m fine. Dad can help me unload it when I get to their place.”