Page 38 of Acadia Falls

I laughed. “She would love it, but you don’t know Carol Riley. She’s stubborn!”

“I bet she is.” Jack ate another bite of steak before I could ask him if that sounded like me, too.

We were quiet for a minute. I vowed to call my mom the next day. Jack was right, she would love Acadia. I had enough money from my stipend to pay for her trip. I should insist that she come up—it was so beautiful. The truth was, I was very grateful to be on the island. I loved it. The beach, the mountains, the clean smell of the air… I’d never experienced anything like it.

The sun had just set, and the sky was streaked with pink. The sea breeze carried the sound of waves crashing against the shore, and we sipped the sauvignon blanc, chilled to Jack’s liking. I felt peaceful, serene… happy. When was the last time I’d felt those things? My days in New York were fueled by multiple lattes and school deadlines. I lived in a tiny, ridiculously expensive apartment that resembled a closet. I had to wait in long lines for everything. There was dog poop (and the occasional dead cat) on the sidewalk, not to mention rotting trash.

And the rats. Did I mention the rats?

Still, I had never minded living in New Jersey or New York.

Until now, when I had something to compare it to!

I looked out at the mountains, so peaceful and majestic in the fading light. Why was it cheaper to live in glorious Acadia than hell-hole Manhattan?

Because there are no big-five law firms here.

“What about you?” I asked. I knew that Jack had grown up on the island—his family had lived there for generations. “I know your mom and your brothers still live here. What about your dad?”

“He died last year.” Jack didn’t look up. He suddenly seemed very occupied with cutting his steak into tiny pieces. “He had a heart attack while he was out fishing.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I put down my plate and went to him, drawing him in for a hug. “How old was he?”

“Sixty-five.”

“Ugh.” I released him and sat back down. “That’s too young.”

Jack nodded, and neither of us said anything else.

“You want some more wine?” I glanced at my watch. “Or is it already past your bedtime?”

“No more wine for me. And yeah, I have to go soon.”

I hesitated for a minute before I said, “Or you could stay.”

Jack looked up at me. “If I stay, I have to get up at four.”

I put on a brave face. I could handle it if he didn’t want to spend the night. I would be okay—eventually. “I have an alarm clock.”

He cracked a smile. “We better get to bed soon, then. I need eight hours’ sleep.”

I hopped up and cleared the dishes. He hadn’t finished his asparagus, but he’d have to make do.

Jack Brennan was finally spending the night. We didn’t have a minute to waste!

Chapter Fourteen

JACK

Maran hustled inside, and I scrubbed a hand across my face.

I was breaking my own rules.

I didn’t do sleepovers, and I sure as hell didn’t do them when I had to get up and work in the morning.

Which was every morning.

What was I getting myself into?