“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked. It was a forward question, but with him she felt like a different person—someone she’d been all along, but had never allowed herself to experience. Her adult life had been about chasing Will’s dreams. She’d tagged along, following him to Nashville, eating dinner alone and saving him a plate because he had some meeting with another person he was sure would open doors for him. But Patrick hadn’t asked her for anything.
“I’ve got a few calls to make for work and then I’m assisting with the town cleanup.”
“Want a pair of extra hands?” she asked.
“I don’t want to take you away from your friends.”
“Maybe we could all go. What time?”
“Around ten,” he said, a glimmer in his eye.
“Emily!” Blair’s voice cut through the moment like a hot knife through butter. “I need you to come here!”
Patrick stood up. “I should pack all this and get going. It’s late.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Definitely.” He began folding the chairs.
“Do you need any help?” she asked.
They stood opposite one another, every nerve in her body zinging.
“I’m fine. You should go see what Blair wants.”
But she didn’t have to. Coming toward her on the beach, through the soft light emanating from the grounds surrounding the house, were Blair and Sienna. But beside them were Tyson, Rocko, and…
Will?
TWENTY
Tonight, talking to Patrick, Emily had only just begun to loosen her grip on the life she’d thought she and Will were building. Her evening on the beach had given her a moment to catch her breath, a place to begin truly forgetting—but now, there was Will, cutting through the darkness with the others, like some ghost she wasn’t ready to face.
Had he come to explain, to reclaim whatever was left of them, or to break her all over again? The ache stirred in her chest, sharp and familiar, but beneath it, a newer thread of resistance tugged gently.
“Hey.” Will reached out for her arm, running his finger down it.
Anger boiled up that she’d allowed the gesture.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
She looked over at Patrick. His gaze moved from her to Will.
“I’ll finish loading all this,” he said. “You can go on inside with the others. I’ve got it.”
“I’ll help,” she offered, taking a step away from Will.
“No.” Patrick shooed her away. “You have visitors. I’m just the chef, and my work is done.” His jaw clenched.
Emily felt vulnerable, as if the tide had gone out too far and left the disarray of her heart exposed. She wanted to make a good impression on Patrick, to let him know she wasn’t a disaster. More than that, she wanted him to know howgoodhe was. And Will’s presence had just made him secondary. He couldn’t compete with her and Will’s past. She wanted to run after Patrick and tell him that none of that mattered.
Will stood just feet away—once the center of her world, now more like a stranger with shared history. She didn’t know what he might say or do. Nothing about his responses was recognizable.
But Patrick was someone who had, in mere days, looked at her as if she mattered, with genuine interest, as if he actually saw her. It was confusing, almost absurd, to feel steadier beside a near stranger than the man she had promised to be with forever. Guilt flashed through her, followed quickly by defiance. She wasn’t Will’s to hurt anymore—he’d made that clear.
“Let’s go inside,” Sienna suggested.
Blair linked arms with her and offered an empathetic smile.
