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“Why the subterfuge?” she asked. “I’m sure you have plenty enough money to buy your own place and not feel a pinch in the pocket. Why rent mine?”
Honestly, I’d wondered the same thing.
“Nostalgia, I guess.” It was the closest thing to the truth I could offer her. “I have a lot of good memories here.” I’d been happy in the cottage with its pink curtains and cute kitchen.
Grace’s hand dropped from the door. “You can stay,” she finally said, though she didn’t invite me in. “I always thought there was more to the story than what you told Liam.” She reached out to touch my shoulder, and I felt like crying just from that small gesture of acceptance. “You were smitten with him, and you never seemed homesick while you were here. I figured you must have your reasons for ending things with him and staying away, but others aren’t so open-minded. They’ll take a while to come around. Assuming you’re not just here for a visit?” She arched a brow.
“I’m here to stay.” No amount of frostiness would deter me.
“Good.” She withdrew her hand. “Don’t make me regret my decision.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Grace passed me a key from the pocket of her jeans. “Here. Let me know if you need anything.”
A fraction of the tension that had gripped me eased. “Thanks. Is there anywhere new I can buy dinner?”
“No.” She looked sympathetic. “The cafe will be closing at any moment. Other than that, it’s just the pub, unless you want to drive to the resort. Tabitha extended their coffee shop into a full restaurant a few years ago.”
Damn. No avoiding confrontation then.
“Okay.” I could do this. I needed to woman up and bite the bullet. There would be no driving to the resort, where I knew I’d get a warmer reception, just to avoid an uncomfortable situation that would have to happen sooner or later. It wouldn’t be easy, but if it was a choice between temporary ease and long-term disappointment, there was no contest. “Thanks, Grace.”
Next stop: Drunken Destiny.
ChapterTwo
LIAM
Isit possible to love and hate someone at the same time? - Unsent text message from Liam to Kennedy
The pub was relatively quiet.But then, it was a Monday night, and most of the locals were at home, so that was no surprise. I sat at a table near the bar, cradling a pint of beer and listening to Toby brag about the hot tourist from the resort he’d been hooking up with. Apparently she was Swiss, blonde, and adventurous as hell, although I tuned out most of his colorful description. The state of my own sex life was nonexistent, and I didn’t need a reminder of how great his was. It would only make me feel pathetic.
I drank more beer. Thirty should be too young to feel this old. Toby was only five years my junior, and he was out there, playing the field. Why couldn’t I bring myself to do the same anymore?
I reached for a chip and popped it into my mouth, scanning the other occupants of the pub while Toby rhapsodized about his hookup’s killer body. Dad was behind the bar because it was Bailey’s night off. Mum and a couple of her friends sat on stools, chatting to each other and bringing him into their conversation every now and then. A group of weather-beaten men clustered in the back, alternating between drinking and playing darts. They were doing surprisingly well considering how much beer they’d drunk. But then, these craggy old guys could put booze away like no one’s business.
“…you, Liam?”
“Huh?” I snapped around. Toby and Asher, my best friend, were looking at me, both wearing wry smiles.
“I asked if you’ve been seeing anyone lately,” Toby said, apparently unconcerned that I’d zoned out.
I huffed. “No.”
“That makes….”—Toby pretended to do math in his head—“a fucking long time without any action, am I right?”
Asher gave him a light shove. “Don’t be an asshole. We can’t all be as girl crazy as you. Some of us actually have to work around here.”
Toby launched into a protest about how being a ski instructor counted as a real job, even if he was technically only employed for half the year. I sent Asher a smile, grateful for the distraction. He knew I hated anyone prying into my affairs. Especially when there wasn’t anything to talk about.
I tuned back in to the conversation, and that was when the pub fell eerily silent. I looked around, expecting to see that someone had broken a plate or a chair, but nobody cursed or shouted an apology. Instead, all attention was focused on the door, where a woman stood silhouetted against the rapidly descending darkness.
Fuck. It couldn’t be.
I stared, taking in the long blonde hair that was darker at the roots, the cute upturned nose, and the unique eyes I thought I’d never gaze into again for as long as I lived.
Kennedy.
