Evening Stars. Сьюзен Мэллери

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      “Not yet.” She gazed at him over her glass. “You’re not married.”

      “Was that a question or a statement?”

      “A statement.” She gave him a genuine smile. “Are you forgetting where we are? This island is the definition of a small town. Of course I know everything about you.”

      His expression turned wry. “I hope not everything.”

      Probably not, she admitted to herself. But there had been a time when she had been the keeper of his secrets and, in theory, his heart.

      She’d been fifteen when she’d fallen in love with Dylan. A sophomore in high school. He’d been a senior. She’d tried to conceal her crush, but she’d been unable to look away whenever he was near. One day, at lunch, he’d walked up to her.

      When’s your birthday? he’d asked.

      In three weeks.

      His green eyes had crinkled with laughter. You’ll be sixteen?

      Uh-huh.

      I’ll wait.

      Because fifteen is too young? she’d asked. You do realize that nothing about me will change in the next three weeks. I’ll be exactly who I am.

      He shrugged. I’ll wait.

      He had, and on her sixteenth birthday he’d asked her out. And he’d kissed her, like no one else had.

      There’d been a couple of other kisses before him. Fumbling, stupid kisses at parties where games were used to hide the awkwardness of adolescence. Those kisses had been insignificant. Kissing Dylan had rocked her world.

      From that date, they’d been a couple. He’d graduated and gone to college and they’d stayed together. It was when she’d been a few months from graduating high school herself that the trouble had started.

      “When do you start work?” she asked as her mind returned to the present. Polite questions for a safer topic.

      “Monday.”

      “Are you excited?”

      His eyebrows rose. “I’m not sure I would describe myself as excited.”

      “Your dad is.”

      Because there was nothing the senior Dr. Harrington wanted more than his son to join his practice. He’d talked about it from before Dylan was born. Or so the Harrington family lore went.

      “I know. He’s been telling me over and over.” Dylan sipped his wine. “He’s already designed new business cards.”

      There was something in the way he said the words. “Didn’t you want to come back?”

      “Sure.”

      She studied him, not sure she believed what he was saying. “You had an obligation. There’s a difference.”

      Dylan glanced around the living room. “Where’s your mom?”

      “In Montana, on a buying trip.”

      His mouth curved up at the corners. “I remember those and her love for the treasures she found.”

      “She does like going through other people’s stuff.”

      “She runs an antique store.”

      An exalted name for Blackberry Preserves, but her mother would enjoy it.

      “She’s bringing back less junk these days,” she admitted. “Bertie helps with that. She has a good eye for a bargain.”

      “Who’s Bertie?”

      Nina raised her chin. “My mom’s lover.”

      Dylan’s expression didn’t change. “I thought I heard something about that from my parents. I’m impressed. When did she come out?”

      Nina had been hoping for a little more reaction. Something that could make her dislike him. His acceptance was disappointing. “Just over ten years ago. Bertie started coming over. Averil and I thought they were friends. Then Bertie stayed the night a few times. One day Bertie took me aside and said she wanted to move in. She asked if that was okay.”

      She smiled at the memory. “I like Bertie a lot. She’s very stable.”

      “Meaning you don’t have to be the only grown-up in the room?”

      She nodded. Dylan would know all about that. He’d seen what she’d gone through. Sometimes she wondered if knowing about how difficult her family had been was one of the reasons he’d broken up with her.

      “It helps.” She shifted on the sofa. “Enough about what’s going on in my family. What about you? Are you staying with your folks?”

      He shook his head. “I came to the island a couple of months ago and bought a condo by the marina. I closed on it last week. I’ll be moving in over the next few days.”

      He continued talking about the move, but she wasn’t listening. A condo at the marina? No doubt one of those new, fancy ones. With granite counters and a full-time concierge.

      Ridiculous, she thought, her gaze dropping to the brown shag carpet that had to be at least fifteen years old. This was Blackberry Island. The UPS guy just left the packages on the porch.

      She was aware that he was clean and smelled good. He looked better. Dylan had left and followed his dreams and now he was a successful, happy doctor. She was stuck in a rut, and for the life of her, she couldn’t say exactly how that had happened. How had ten years passed? How had she never made her break? Was it circumstances, or was she responsible? She had a bad feeling it was the latter.

      “It’s late,” she said abruptly, coming to her feet.

      Dylan looked startled for a second, then put down his wine and rose. “Sure. It was good to see you, Nina.”

      “You, too. Thanks for the ride home. I really appreciate it.”

      “No problem.”

      She walked him to the door, murmured the appropriate polite goodbye, then shut the door behind him. When she was alone, she returned to the sofa and sank onto the cushions. Her life was a disaster, she thought grimly. Or if not a disaster, then at least pitiful, which might be worse.

      Chapter Three

      THE ART OF The Perfect First Kiss. Averil Stanton paused to reflect on the headline, then shook her head. No way. California Girl magazine catered to girls, ages thirteen to nineteen. Talking about a first kiss was too limiting.

      She continued to stare at the screen, then tried again. Every First Kiss is Different. Better, she thought. Because there was always a new first kiss. At least for them. Once you got married, the odds of a new first kiss were slim. So was the chance of a new first anything. Though she wouldn’t share that СКАЧАТЬ