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“It was nice.”
“Good to be back, I bet.”
“So good. I love the city, but there’s something comforting about being back in Dupont Beach.”
“And what do you think of our little slice of heaven, Josh?”
“It’s nice,” he said, “but it’s not somewhere I can ever see myself settling down.”
Mom’s brows furrowed as she cast me a questioning glance, and my spine went rigid. “Not a fan of small-town life?” she asked with a tightness in her voice that hadn’t been there before.
“It’s okay for vacations and fly-by visits, sure. But I can’t see us putting down roots somewhere like Dupont Beach. Right, babe?” Josh patted my hand, and I forced a smile.
“I see. Well, it’s always been enough for us.”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Benson, I meant no offense.” He dazzled her with a smile, but it did little to ease the knot in my stomach. “Dupont Beach is very charming. But I’m a city boy at heart.”
“And how is that going to work—”
A knock at the back door drew Mom’s attention, and Carson stuck his head inside. “Hey, hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Not at all, sweetie. Come on in. I made chili-cheese coneys.”
“Mmm, my favorite.”
“Take a seat, and I’ll get one plated up for you.”
“You’re the best, Judy. So what have you two lovebirds been up to?”
“Dayna wanted to show me around,” Josh said. “Dupont Beach is quite something.”
Huh. Not what he said two minutes ago.
“Nowhere else like it on Earth. A place like Dupont Beach steals your heart and refuses to give it back. Why do you think Dayna is moving ho—”
“Here you go, sweetheart.” Mom’s impeccable timing saved us from moving the conversation into awkward territory.
Because Carson was right—I had moved back to Dupont Beach, and Josh didn’t see himself ever settling down here. And I think some part of me knew that.
Maybe even banked on it.
God, what was wrong with me? Josh was perfect; he was. Smart and sexy and a real boy-next-door type. But something was missing. Or maybe, the parts of me that were meant to swoon and melt at a guy like Josh loving a girl like me were broken.
“This is really good, Judy,” Carson tore into his chili-cheese coney, grinning at me like a fool.
“Pig,” I said.
“Brat.”
Josh cleared his throat. “I was thinking we could—”
The blare of Carson’s cell phone cut through the room. “Shit, sorry. It’s Coach. He tried to call me earlier. I’ll just take this outside.” He got up and answered. “Coach Tucker, yeah, what do you need…”
The door closed behind him, drowning out his voice, and silence rippled through the kitchen.
“So he’s like some hockey guru or something?”
“He’s an assistant coach at Lakeshore U, the college a couple of towns over,” I said.
