Things We Never Said: A Hart’s Boardwalk Novel Read online

  And now all four of us were friends. Emery was coming out of her shell more and more, but the woman was still a mystery.

  All I knew about her was that she inherited a lot of money from her grandmother, including property like the bookstore. I knew she was timid, especially around men, which made no sense considering she was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met in real life. Seriously. She was tall, slender with curves in all the right places, had long white-blond hair that no grown woman should have naturally, and the delicate features of a Disney cartoon. Cooper’s sister, Cat, often joked that Emery looked like Elsa from Frozen.

  Aside from her resemblance to a Disney character, I also knew Emery was a total romantic. Anytime Bailey spoke about Vaughn, or Jess talked about Cooper, Emery got this sweet look of longing on her face.

  “Shouldn’t he want to spend all of his time with me?” Bailey pulled me out of my Emery thoughts.

  “You need to talk to him about this. Now. Before it goes any further,” I advised. There had been way too much miscommunication between Bailey and Vaughn already. “If Jess was here, she’d say the same.”

  Bailey wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know …”

  Well, I did know, and I had no problems saying how I felt and doing so bluntly. Thankfully, Bailey appreciated that part of my personality. “Do you really want a husband and a father to your kids who is never there?”

  “No.” She shook her head and then straightened her shoulders with determination. “Fine. I’ll talk to him. It’ll probably scare him off, but I’ll talk to him.”

  “After what he said to you, I don’t think anything you do will scare him off,” Emery offered, taking the words right out of my mouth. On the day of Jess’s wedding, Vaughn had gotten into a fist fight with an old flame of Bailey’s that turned out to be Vaughn’s high school friend. The guy insulted Bailey and Vaughn decked him (you couldn’t write this stuff!), and when the fighting was over, Vaughn gave her this amazing speech about all the reasons he loved her. When she’d told us what he’d said, I’d kind of fallen in love with him myself.

  “Yeah, he certainly seems to get a kick out of your obnoxious honesty,” I teased.

  “My obnoxious honesty?” Bailey gestured to me. “Pot.” And then to herself. “Meet Kettle.”

  I laughed. “Whatever. Just talk to him.”

  At the sound of the bell ringing through the bookstore, Emery got up to see if the customers needed her and I repeated to Bailey that she needed to talk to Vaughn. Seriously, my friend had to know by now that there was no chasing off Vaughn Tremaine. He looked at her like she was his whole reason for existing.

  “They’re just browsing the books, so I told them to come get me if they need me.” Emery sat down with us again. “What were we saying?”

  “We were discussing my possible relationship-ending talk with Vaughn. Oh, and the fact that my sister seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet. I swear to God, if I don’t find her soon, my parents are going to get on a flight out here.”

  “And that would be a bad thing?” I think not. It wasn’t my place to say anything, but Vanessa was a born troublemaker, and I didn’t like the idea of her causing problems for Bailey as my friend was getting her life together. Maybe it would be a good thing if Stacy and Aaron Hartwell came back to take the responsibility of looking out for Vanessa off Bailey’s shoulders.

  “Right now?” Bailey said. “Yes. I’d like to get to know Vaughn without my dad breathing down my neck. I love the man, but he also is the only one in my family who knew about Oliver Spence.”

  Oliver Spence was the ex-flame Vaughn hit in the face. His wealthy family had vacationed in Hartwell for years when he was young, and when Bailey was nineteen, he told her he loved her and she fell in love right back. But at the end of the summer, he broke her heart and told her she wasn’t good enough for his family. Bastard. If I’d been friends with Bailey back then, I would have found a way to take sweet revenge on the uppity asshole. Like filling his luxury sports car with piles and piles of cheese—so much cheese, he’d be clearing that stuff out for days, and he’d never get the smell out of the leather.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t in Hartwell back then to execute such sophisticated revenge plans for my best friend.

  “He might assume things about Vaughn, and I need to work out how I feel about Tremaine before I take into consideration anybody else’s feelings about him.”

  I called bullshit. “Oh, please, you know how you feel about Vaughn.”

  “I’m going to smack you.”

  I grinned and turned my left cheek to her, tapping my finger against the dimple there. “Go ahead. Make my day.”

  Bailey’s green eyes danced with amusement. “Ach, you’re too damn cute for your own good.”

  I pretended to preen. “I know.” The girls laughed.

  “Miss,” a guy’s voice cut through our laughter. We all turned as a man walked up the stairs. There was something familiar about the way he moved as he led a short, pretty blond up the steps with him. His gaze zeroed in on Emery. “We’d like to purchase a couple of books if that’s okay,” he said in a thick Boston accent.

  That’s when the familiarity made sense.

  The shock that slammed through me I likened to how it must feel to step out onto the street, not see the car, and suddenly find yourself flying through the air with the unexpected impact.

  No.

  Jesus Christ, no.

  What was he doing here?

  My heart raced sickeningly in my chest. A flush of heat swept over my body so fast I could feel sweat gathering under my arms. The shock rendered my limbs useless, and I could only stare.

  Michael Sullivan.

  He was here.

  In Hartwell.

  In Emery’s bookstore.

  He had a short, scruffy beard and there were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before, but it was him. I’d know him anywhere.

  Tears welled in my throat as longing so painful gripped my chest. I hadn’t seen him in years and all at once, it was like breathing for the first time in a decade, only for that breath to painfully slip away, its momentary relief over all too soon.

  He smiled at Bailey and then me.

  As our eyes locked and surprise slackened his features, a weight pressed down on my chest. “Dahlia?”

  How was he here?

  Why was he here?

  Go away, go away, go away!

  “Michael,” his name fell from my lips.

  Michael. I loved his name. I loved … I loved … I …

  I was going to lose it.

  Right there in front of him and the blond whose hand he was holding.

  I didn’t want to see that.

  I didn’t want to see any of this.

  But we couldn’t stop staring at each other, drinking each other in. Michael’s eyes were the same beautiful dark brown. The kind of eyes a girl could drown in. His blond hair was cut shorter than it had been when we were younger, so it appeared darker, and those broad shoulders of his seemed even wider. The T-shirt he wore clung to his body suggesting he worked out more than he used to. Not that he wasn’t fit back then. There was just more muscle now. I realized it gave the illusion of him being taller than he was. He was five eleven, shorter than the men in my family, but he’d always had such a masculine, commanding presence.

  He still had that presence.

  Michael, what are you doing here? Please go away.

  The blond holding his hand (I refused to really look at her) tugged on it, and he looked away, freeing me from his stare. I sagged, the breath rushing back into my body. But as quickly as he’d looked away, his attention returned to me and demanded, “What are you doing here?”

  What was I doing here?

  Seriously?

  Every part of me trembled, and I tucked my hands underneath the table so he couldn’t see them shake. “What are you doing here?” I rejoined.

  Seriously, what are you doing here? Leave
, Michael. Leave, now!

  I hoped he’d developed telepathic abilities over the last nine years.

  “We’re on vacation,” the blond spoke and pressed into his side like she belonged there. “Mike, who is this?”

  Mike? My family called him Mike too, but I hated shortening such a beautiful name to something as ordinary as Mike.

  “Uh, Kiersten, this is Dahlia. She’s Dermot’s little sister.”

  Dermot’s little sister? Really? What a joke.

  The blond replied, “I thought she died.”

  Pain lashed through my chest, and Bailey grasped for my hand under the table. The words made me look at the blond now. She was small, slender. Petite. And she would have been pretty if she wasn’t wearing such a pinched expression on her face. My eyes flew to Michael. He’d told this person about Dillon. Who was she that she was important enough to know about Dillon but not important enough to know about me? Or was it that I was no longer important enough?

  His grim expression caused the emotion in my throat to tighten. “That was Dillon.”

  The name cracked around the room like a gunshot, and I could feel my chest compress with panic. Little black dots covered my eyes, and I knew I was going to freak out in front of him.

  No way.

  I couldn’t.

  I might as well rip open my chest and ask everyone to look at all the little missing pieces of my heart.

  “I need to go.” I stood, leaving Bailey no choice but to release my hand. Eyes down, terrified to meet his, I marched by Michael Sullivan and his blond faster than I’d ever moved in my life.

  “Dahlia!” he called out as I hurried down the steps. The exit seemed so far away.

  I heard Bailey’s voice and then the deep rumble of Michael’s, but I yanked open the door without paying too much attention to them.

  I was out.

  The salty ocean air filled my lungs as I hurried down the boards. Fear of him chasing after me made my heart pound and I ran. I ran through the light summer crowd of tourists, the soles of my tennis shoes gathering small granules of wayward sand that always made its way onto the boards from the beach.

  The light, warm breeze blew through my long hair, and I ran as if the devil himself were chasing me all the way to my store.

  That panic, that terror, didn’t leave me until I’d locked the door behind me. I didn’t flip the “Open” sign from “Closed for Lunch.” I didn’t turn on the lights. Instead, I scurried into the back of the store to my workshop where the demons of the past tried to overwhelm me for the first time in years.

  The truth was they’d never left me.

  Michael’s sudden appearance had merely woken them up.

  My hands shook as silent, dry sobs wracked my body. I looked around my workshop, searching for relief, for something that would dull the pain. Shaking, I fumbled for my apron and pulled it on. Then I connected my phone to the speaker in my workshop, hit Spotify, and The Vaccines blasted into the room.

  Sitting down at my bench, I stared at the silver-and-amethyst earrings I was in the middle of making. They were elongated silver cats with amethysts for eyes. Bending over, I worked, trying to drown out my thoughts.

  I could hide from Michael until he left Hartwell. Simple.

  His reappearance had been a shock.

  Life had kicked me in the gut that day, but I knew I’d be okay as soon as he was gone.

  After all, time and distance had worked before. They would work again.

  Hartwell, Delaware

  Present Day

  A fire crackled in the fireplace in Emery’s bookstore, a delicious reprieve from the cold October day outside. By mid-October, the overcast days brought low temperatures to the boardwalk, and although we were open all year round, this was the beginning of our quiet season.

  Thankfully, my shop brought in enough profit (as all of our businesses did) during the spring and summer to keep me going through the quiet season. I also made and sold my jewelry to boutiques around the country, so that supplemented my income. The good thing about the quiet season was more opportunities for my friends and me to grab coffees at Emery’s and catch up on our lives. The bookstore/coffeehouse was empty except for me, Emery, Bailey, and Jessica.

  Jess checked her watch.

  Emery put a plate of cookies on the table in front of us, the many silver bangles on her wrist jingling with the action, and then settled in the armchair closest to the fire.

  “Got somewhere to be?” I asked Jess.

  “Ach, it’s a habit.” She sighed. “I’m constantly checking my watch during the week. I forget this is Sunday and I don’t need to be at the practice.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “I need someone else willing to mock Bailey about her engagement to the man she once referred to ‘as the devil himself.’ And Emery’s too sweet to mock.”

  Emery glanced over the rim of her teacup, her stunning pale-blue eyes wide. “Not true,” she replied in her quiet voice. “I can mock as well as anyone. Only not about this.” She smiled at Bailey. “I think this is amazing.”

  “Amazingly shocking,” I added. “It’s like Buffy hooking up with Spike. Unexpected but incredibly hot.”

  Bailey quirked an eyebrow at me. “Hilarious.”

  I shared a smirk with Jess. “I thought so.”

  “All you’re doing is showing your age.”

  “What? The age that is younger than you?”

  Bailey fought a smile. “I don’t know why I put up with your smart mouth half the time.”

  “Hey, Vaughn may be smokin’ hot, but we both know I’m your soul mate, Hartwell.”

  “Oh, it all makes sense.” Jess grinned. “Dahlia’s afraid Vaughn will take her bestie away from her.”

  “Not possible,” I said on a nonchalant exhale. “I’m prettier and wittier than Vaughn Tremaine. What I provide to Bailey’s life can’t be replicated or replaced.”

  “He gives her multiple orgasms,” Emery said, grinning. “I think he wins.”

  We were all shocked into silence by her comment before we promptly burst into laughter. It wasn’t that funny. But coming from Emery, it was hilarious. “Aw, man, Jess, you should never have introduced Bails to Emery. She’s ruining her.”

  “In the best way possible,” Bailey argued.

  “I’m only saying what I used to say to myself in my head. I feel comfortable enough to say it out loud to you guys.” Emery shrugged.

  My curiosity about Emery had been piqued seven years ago when she showed up on the boardwalk and transformed Burger Hut into a bookstore. She was so closed off and shy, however, that Bailey and I gave up on trying to befriend her. Now that Jess had paved the way for all of us to become friends, Bailey and I had frequently discussed our growing curiosity. We knew nothing about Emery, and we were afraid if we prodded, she’d slip back into her shell.

  However, I’d grown very fond of the soft-spoken, intelligent bookstore owner. There was a sadness in her eyes that called to the melancholy in my own. This woman had a story to tell, and maybe she’d been waiting for people to trust enough to confide in. I wanted to be one of those people.

  “So, tell me, Emery,” I tried my best to sound casual, “have you ever had that? Someone like Vaughn in your life?”

  Her cheeks flushed a becoming pink. “Uh… no.”

  “Who has?” Bailey snorted. “The man is one of a kind.”

  “Show-off,” I teased.

  “Just no?” Jess ignored us.

  Emery gave an abrupt shake of her head. “Just no.”

  That was it?

  Bailey wrinkled her nose. “No guy you cared about? A childhood sweetheart, maybe?”

  “I lived with my grandmother, and she didn’t allow me to date.”

  Jess, Bailey, and I shared a glance. We guessed that kind of explained things. Well, some things. “Okay.” I put my coffee mug down and focused on Emery, my curiosity getting the better of me. “You’ve got to tell us about this grandmother of yours a
nd how a smart, beautiful young woman of …”

  “Twenty-eight,” she offered.

  “Of twenty-eight lives in a small town where almost everyone knows each other but is so shy, it takes her seven years to befriend anyone.”

  Emery’s brows pinched together. “That’s not true. I’ve been friends with Iris since I moved here.”

  “What?” Bailey huffed. “She didn’t tell me that.”

  “That’s because she knows how nosy you are.” Emery winced. “I meant that nicer than it came out.”

  I laughed. “You meant it exactly how it came out.”

  Bailey stuck her tongue out at me.

  “Children,” Jess rolled her eyes, “back to Emery and her grandmother.”

  “Um … there’s not much to tell.” She nibbled on her lower lip for a second, seemingly in contemplation, and then she put her tea down. Her lashes lowered over her eyes as she focused on the coffee table in front of us. “My parents were killed in the same airplane accident as my grandfather. He had a private jet. It crashed. I was in New York that summer, at a summer camp for musicians. I played the cello. I was twelve. After … it was just my grandmother and me.” Her gaze turned very direct. “This goes no further than this room.”

  We all nodded, and I realized we were all leaning forward in our chairs, genuinely intrigued. It didn’t surprise me that Emery had lost her parents so young. There was an otherworldly air about her, a purity of heart, despite her surprisingly smart mouth. I trusted that Emery would never hurt anyone, but would, in fact, do all she could to help someone. That came from a well of empathy that was often born from adversity or grief.

  “My grandfather was Peter Paxton, founder of the Paxton Group.”

  Who?

  Seeing our cluelessness, she continued, “Paxton Group includes American AirTravel and Invictus Airlines. Invictus Vacation Group. And Invictus Aeronautical.”

  Holy shit.

  Those were some of the biggest companies in the US. The Paxton Group had to be a billion-dollar corporation. Jesus. Paxton, and thus Emery’s dad, were billionaires.

  Did that mean …?

  I gaped at Emery.

  She did not look like a billionaire.