The Sweetheart Secret Page 21

  Things were finally coming together. The renovations were on target, Emma was getting involved, and their first event was only a few weeks away.

  Then why did this empty feeling linger in Daisy’s chest? She shook it off, then refocused on Emma and Olivia, who were discussing possible shots for the wedding. “By the way, the renovations are right on target for your wedding,” Daisy said to Olivia. “We’ll have the lobby open for a small reception and restrooms, stuff like that. But if it rains, I don’t think we’ll have the space for a big crowd.”

  “That sounds perfect. And, no worries about a big crowd. Luke and I want a small gathering. If it was up to us, I think we’d just run off and elope, but Greta would never stand for that.” Olivia chuckled. “And I have to say, there is something about walking down an aisle in front of your friends and family that’s nice.”

  “I eloped, so I never got any of those big romantic, feel-good moments. I kinda wish I had a traditional wedding.” Daisy fiddled with one of the paper hearts. The wind caught it and blew it away. A sign? Or just a coincidence? “But we were in such a rush, we got married in a courthouse, in the middle of the day. Nothing fancy, nothing blue or old or whatever the saying is.”

  Emma stood beside Daisy, mute. Odd. Emma was one of those girls who’d loved talking about weddings, watching wedding shows, debating bridal gown choices. Unlike Daisy, Emma had a romantic streak running deep in her veins.

  “Well, if you ever get married again, you should have the ceremony at the Hideaway,” Olivia said. “I think it’s going to be perfect for Luke and me. Since that wonderful place is part of your family history, it would be even more perfect for you and . . . you know”—Olivia lowered her voice and leaned in—“Doctor Harper, should you ever retie the knot.”

  Daisy froze. Olivia knew, too? Of course, Luke was engaged to Olivia. He would have told her about Colt.

  She didn’t want to tell Olivia that she’d never gotten unmarried in the first place, and the chances of another marriage to Colt were slim to zero. The finalized loan papers were now in Daisy’s hands, which eliminated Daisy’s need to stay married to Colt.

  And that, she knew, was what had tainted this sunny day ever since she woke up. For days, she’d avoided thinking about it, as if burying her head in the sand would change anything. Instead of being relieved that she would finally be free of the bond to a man who had broken her heart, the thought saddened her. It wasn’t just about letting go of Colt forever, but more about a bone-deep craving in Daisy for the very thing she’d gone her whole life thinking she didn’t want.

  Family. Home. A place in the world, all her own. A place where she could set down roots, make memories, build lifetime bonds.

  The question was whether she was brave enough to dive in and embrace that kind of life on her own. Especially a life where Colt would be living just down the beach.

  Mike Stark entered the park, hand in hand with a woman who could have been Olivia’s twin. Two young girls skipped ahead of them, beelining for the shelter dogs sitting in a large pen to the right of the table set up for adoptions. The littlest girl darted to the table next door, offering up a winsome smile, which earned her a cookie from the ladies representing the Rescue Bay Bakery.

  “Those adorable girls are my nieces,” Olivia said, with clear love in her voice. “Or will be, once Mike and Diana get married. The older one is Jenny. I swear, she’s going to grow up to be a vet. She’s at the shelter and Diana’s practice more often than I am. The little one is Ellie. She’s a firecracker, but she has pretty much everyone in this town wrapped around her little finger.”

  The whole scene was so . . . domestic. So ordinary. Like something out of a TV show. Bone-deep envy filled Daisy. All her life, she’d said she was glad to be single, on her own, no one relying on her or wanting her to make dinner. But now, just watching Mike and Diana with Jenny and Ellie, Daisy wondered—

  What if she had stayed with Colt? Would they have two kids like Mike and Diana? Would they be holding hands as they walked through the park? Splitting cookies with each other and sharing laughs?

  Good Lord, what was wrong with her? She kept running hot and cold—one foot turned toward the Betty Crocker world that surrounded her, another stepping outside the door, ready to run like a rabbit back to the no-commitment world she had left in New Orleans.

  Olivia noticed a few people heading for Daisy’s table. “I’ll let you get back to selling. Good luck, Daisy.” Olivia reached over and gave Daisy a quick hug, then hurried off to the Rescue Bay Shelter table.

  Daisy drew in a sharp breath, surprised at the tears such a simple gesture could bring to her eyes. Every time she convinced herself she wasn’t cut out for this home and hearth world, something like a hug from a person she barely knew to a few kind words of advice from a cantankerous old man brought her back around again.

  As the morning wore on, Daisy and Emma shifted into work mode, tag-teaming to answer the questions about the Hideaway Inn and the status of its renovation from the people who stopped by the table. There was a general consensus of support for the B&B’s return to Rescue Bay, which Daisy took as a good sign for the road ahead. That, and the way Emma joked and smiled with the visitors to the table. For a little while there, Emma was her old affable, warm self, which told Daisy she’d made the right choice in bringing Emma here. Maybe with enough time in Rescue Bay, Emma would ease whatever heartache she held inside.

  And maybe Daisy would, too. Her attention kept straying to the park entrance, scanning the people milling about for Colt’s tall frame and wide smile. He hadn’t arrived, hadn’t texted or called. Not a word.

  A little after eleven, there was a lull in activity so Emma took a break for lunch, and Greta came over to Daisy’s table, handing her a napkin and a frosted cookie, as if she’d read Daisy’s mind and knew she was long overdue for a sugar rush. “Looks like this town is growing on you,” Greta said. “You fit this place like a nut with a bolt. I think you should plan on settling in here for a good long time. Like forever.”

  Perhaps. But staying here, when Colt was living just a few streets away, would be the epitome of painful. “I don’t know. We’ll see what the future brings.”

  Greta nodded toward the clipboard holding a list of potential customers for the Hideaway Inn. “Looks to me like the future’s bringing some bright prospects your way. Be a shame not to see where they lead you.”

  As more people began wandering toward the table, Greta moved away, heading over to chat with Esther and Pauline, who were standing beside a table for a craft store. Esther had an I HEART KNITTING bag slung over her shoulder, with a big thick brown knitted thing sticking out of the top and two giant knitting needles stuck into the mass of yarn, like a voodoo doll. Daisy saw Pauline send a wave in Earl’s direction. He gave her a nod, then went back to his conversation with Olivia at the shelter’s table. But his gaze kept straying to Pauline, even if he pretended to be looking elsewhere.

  “Wow. The Hideaway Inn.” A middle-aged woman came over to the table, picked up one of Daisy’s business cards, flipped it over, then glanced up at Daisy. “I remember that place.”

  Daisy put on a bright smile. “We’re renovating and hoping to reopen in a few months. So if you’re interested in booking a weekend getaway or a—”

  The woman glanced at the card again. Then up at Daisy. When their gazes connected a second time, a flicker of recognition ran through Daisy.

  “Wait. Daisy Barton? I remember you.” The lady pointed. “You’re that girl.”

  That girl? She tried to place the other woman, but drew a blank. “Uh, I’m not sure who you mean, but I’m—”

  “The girl who had that party in that abandoned house. Only it wasn’t abandoned. Just vacant. Temporarily.”

  Then Daisy remembered. The party that had exploded. She’d wanted just a quick, end of summer celebration with the friends she’d made in Rescue Bay
. And Colt. But the party, like parties were apt to do, became a monster of its own. She’d chosen that place because someone had told her it was empty. Sold, foreclosed, something. Daisy had thought no one would care if they had a party. Back then, Daisy hadn’t thought much about consequences or damages—she’d wanted a party and she’d had one, figuring she’d deal with the mess later.

  “A hundred teenagers in my house, spilling beer and alcohol everywhere,” the woman went on, “trashing my pool and tearing up my lawn. Took me three years to get those tire tracks totally filled in, and a few thousand hours of hard work to fix the damage to my house. Not to mention what it cost me to repair the damage to the walls, the carpets.”

  The police had been called, the owner—Jane Mellon, a snowbird living in Indiana or Iowa or something—had driven down the day after the party, showed up at the Hideaway Inn, and ranted at Daisy for a solid thirty minutes. At the time, Daisy remembered being defiant and disrespectful, more interested in protecting her friends from trouble than making amends.

  Now Daisy’s face heated. She swallowed, and wished the space would open up and help her disappear. She wasn’t that teenager anymore, but she doubted Jane would see that. Nor could Daisy blame her for still being angry. If the roles were reversed, Daisy would have been raising the roof. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Mellon. I was young and stupid and truly didn’t mean to do any of that.” Daisy wished she had better words to express her regret, to explain how idiotic and selfish she had been back then. Everything she said felt . . . inadequate. “It just got out of hand.”

  “Yeah, it always does, doesn’t it? Thank God your family at least paid for the damages.”

  “My . . . family?”

  Jane shrugged. “Your mother dropped off a check one day. Said she was taking you out of town that afternoon. She apologized up and down, which is far more than you did.”

  Willow had paid for the damage that Daisy had done? No wonder she’d yanked Daisy out of Rescue Bay so quickly, zipping her back up to Jacksonville. Daisy’s mother had never said a word, never a condemnation or a lengthy lecture. Nothing. Maybe her mother hadn’t been as uninvolved or self-absorbed as Daisy had thought.

  Maybe Daisy had been the one too busy condemning Willow’s actions to notice when her mother actually did do her best to raise a responsible daughter. “I am very, very sorry, Mrs. Mellon,” Daisy said again. “I know that doesn’t make up for everything, but I hope you accept my apology, even though it is late.”

  Jane leaned in, her eyes narrowed and her face pinched. There was no forgiveness in her features. “Weren’t you the one who ran off with Colt Harper, too? I remember the town was all abuzz, about you two dating, then about him running away on that motorcycle. And after what happened to his little brother . . .”

  “His little brother?”

  Henry?

  Dread filled Daisy’s chest. After what happened. Those words were never followed by anything good.

  Like gears shifting into place, the silences, the troubled sighs, the sentences left unfinished, all clicked together in one horrible picture.

  “What happened to him?” Daisy asked, praying, praying so hard, that the answer was anything but—

  “Oh, don’t play innocent. You know he died.”

  “Died?” Even though her heart had known the truth before Jane spoke, the word hit Daisy like a brick. Henry? That sweet little boy? Died? “But how . . . when?”

  Jane ignored her and barreled on, her voice laced with sarcasm, anger. “Such an awful tragedy, too. People talked about it for years. And it all would have been avoided, they say, if Colt had been here.”

  If Colt had been here? “I don’t understand. Henry worshipped him,” Daisy said in a soft, small voice. “He followed Colt everywhere. He used to call him his shadow. He never would have let anything happen to Henry.”

  Died.

  No wonder Colt hadn’t said anything. No wonder there was that pall of emptiness hanging over Colt’s house, over his relationship with his grandfather, over every conversation.

  “I . . . I didn’t know.”

  “Don’t bullshit me. Of course you knew. You were his girlfriend.”

  Wife, Daisy started to correct, then stopped herself. She was never really Colt’s wife, not in the true sense of the word. Never a partner in anything but irresponsibility. For years, that had never bothered her. She’d never worried about being accountable, about what people thought of her. But now, standing beneath Jane Mellon’s scathing glare, Daisy did care.

  Because if she’d truly been Colt’s wife, if he had truly loved her, he would have told her. And she, in turn, would have been there for him.

  “I’m sorry,” Daisy said.

  “I don’t care.” Jane flung the business card at the table. It pinged off the champagne glasses and fluttered to the ground. “Why are you even here in this town? Haven’t you done enough damage for one lifetime?”

  Jane stomped away. The wind caught Daisy’s card and tumbleweeded it across the grassy lawn, around the corner, and finally, out of sight.

  Twenty-one

  Earl stood to the side of the festival, the dog by his side. Funny thing about a dog. It provided friendship, without demanding much in return. A man could while away the hours with a dog, not having to say or do a thing. Major just waited, turning his head from time to time to look up at Earl, as if to say, We staying put? Or moving on? Every so often, Earl would give the dog a pat of reassurance, then Major would go back to waiting. Patient and loyal.

  Across the way, Earl saw Walt Patterson and Harold Twohig enter the park. The two men were laughing at something. Earl took a step forward, then stopped himself. If he went over and talked to the guys, they’d ask him why he wasn’t coming to their card games anymore, and he’d have to explain himself.

  Earl was in no mood to explain. The trouble was, he missed his friends. Missed their camaraderie, and their terrible card playing. But he wasn’t about to go back to that old folks’ home and listen to everyone whining about their bum hips and worn-out tickers. All it did was remind him of his own worn-out ticker, and he had enough reminders of his mortality when his joints staged a mutiny every morning.

  Earl’s gaze lingered on Pauline, who was standing under the shade of a tree, sipping lemonade. She had on sunglasses, which hid her pretty green eyes from his view. She turned toward him, flashed him a smile, and he gave her a half nod in return. Major looked up at him, as if saying, That’s it? That’s all you got, old man?

  “It’s complicated,” Earl said to the dog. “And it’s all because of that damned Walt Patterson.”

  Major wagged his tail.

  “No, I’m not going to forgive him for stealing Pauline out from under my nose.”

  Major barked, got to his feet, his tail wagging at a furious pace.

  Earl sighed. “You are a stubborn dog.”

  Major cocked his head, as if saying, Look in the mirror, mister.

  Greta Winslow passed by Walt and Harold, ignoring Harold’s how-do-you-do. Greta kept right on trucking, with Esther and Pauline flanking her on either side. Walt and Harold brought up the rear, with Walt stopping Pauline to talk to her, aside from the others. Damn that Walt Patterson. Man claimed to be his friend, when really, he was just a wolf.

  Earl made a little ch-ch sound, and Major snapped to his feet, tail wagging, ready to go wherever Earl went. He didn’t go far, just a few feet to the right, to the cookie table. He might not feel like socializing, but he sure as shooting felt like eating cookies.

  It was merely a coincidence that the ladies had also ended up at the same table. He had a chocolate chip halfway to his mouth when Pauline came up beside him.

  “Morning, Earl.”

  He gave her a little nod. “Morning, Pauline.” He tried to work up something a little more conversational, but all Earl could see in his mind was Walt Patte
rson, the damned fool, grinning and whispering in Pauline’s ear.

  She hovered over the cookie display, debating between a peanut butter cookie and a frosted sugar one. “Nice day for a festival.”

  “It’s Florida.” He harrumphed. “It’s always a nice day for a festival.”

  She slid into the space between him and the cookies, and put her hands on her hips. “Who threw mud in your eye today? You’re a grump and a half. Which I’d say is normal, except today you have that extra half a grump.”

  “Go talk to Walt Patterson.” Earl nodded in the direction of his former best friend. “He’s always got a sunny disposition.”

  Pauline snorted. “Is that what this is about? I compliment Walt and suddenly, you and I are enemies?”

  “You didn’t just compliment Walt, from what I heard.”

  Crimson filled Pauline’s cheeks. Regret filled Earl’s gut.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” he said. “I was out of line.”

  “Yes you were. And for your information, what I do or don’t do with Walt Patterson is my personal choice. Last I checked, you and I weren’t anything more than friends.”

  “Friends?” He scoffed and looked away before she read anything else in his face. One would think at his age that he wouldn’t get so discombobulated by a woman, but blast it all, every time he got around Pauline, he was a sixteen-year-old stumbling fool all over again. “You’re blocking the cookies, Pauline.”

  “Earl Harper, you are a stubborn man. Fine. Have your cookies. I hope they keep you warm at night.” Pauline walked away, with a determined, unhurried step. Earl turned away before he saw if Walt caught up to Pauline.

  The festival began to wind to a close. Vendors packed up their booths, families gathered their children and headed out of the park. Earl snagged one last cookie from the booth, then grabbed Major’s leash and walked over to Daisy’s booth.

  “Did you have a good day?” she asked.