“Not sure I have room in the truck.” A part of me represses my smile because I’m glad she’s back, even if we can’t make this work.
“Oh, well, I could, uh, sit in the back.”
“Bella sits in the back. I’m just mad at you, Hollywood.” I coil the dock rope in my hands, waiting and hoping for her to spare me and leave.
“I know, and I’m sorry.” I brush past her, our shoulders colliding gently for the briefest contact and her orange vanilla scent has me pausing to catch a whiff of it—light, sweet, and unexpected.
“I gotta get to the post office.” Dragging the empty mail bags, I keep walking past her when she speaks again.
“So, uh, how long are you going to be mad at me?” I stop and she continues. “Is there a time limit?” She follows and grabs my arm, stalling me. It’s either keep walking and push her off the dock or stop, and I’m not the same kind of asshole her ex-boyfriend is. I take her hand to remove it from my arm, but catch a glimpse of something dark on her wrist. “What’s the fuck is this?” I pull her closer to get a better look at it.
“It’s a tattoo.” Dumfounded at the shape, she surprises me again.
“I can see that, but why?” I’m a mix of anger and other feelings, which threaten to take me down a dark hole.
“Leah’s idea, but I got to pick the design.” Shyly, she pulls her arm, but I hold her still, looking at it again. My finger trace the outline as a shudder racks her body.
“An anchor?” I feel incredulous, of all the things she chose to pick, this, my symbol was it?
“Yeah…strength and hope, you know, because those anchor the soul.” She pulls away, cradling the fresh ink against her chest.
“No, Abby, that anchor—” I point to her wrist “—just holds you back in LA.”
“You’re wrong, Roman. It doesn’t anchor me anywhere, but some bonds need to be heavy and deep to be appreciated, just like your love for your parents.”
Gritting my teeth, I refrain from saying the harsh things that come to mind. I don’t want her to speak of them. I want her to leave.
“Go home, Abby. The two of us, we’re too different. You don’t belong here.” I get in the truck, slamming my door shut with a sigh, and watch her stand there looking out over the dock toward the river’s edge, unmoving. I thought I could instantly forgive her, take her back or make her work for it a little bit, but Abby doesn’t belong here and damn if I could make her go.
* * * * *
I get to the house to find Maddie sitting on the porch, hot tea in her hands. “Maddie.” I nod, going next door to my house when I stop and see Abby’s shiny car mocking me in the driveway.
“Roman.” Maddie’s voice brokers no argument as she stands to meet me in the driveway. I hold a hand up, warding her off. A hug from Maddie or any kind gesture is likely to have me falling apart like an angry teenager all over again.
“Please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t meddle this time.” Exhaustion creeps over me and my sly friend shrugs her reply.
“I wouldn’t dream of doing so.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn toward my house, needing to escape.
“Women,” I mumble to myself, remarking how they would likely be the death of me.
“Roman, she came back for you.”
Directing my comment toward Maddie, I punctuate my words. “Sure, that’s what you said the last time.”
Ignoring me, Maddie continues, “Roman Winters, did it ever occur to you that all I want for you is to be happy and settled.”
I point toward the car and the cottage down the path, jabbing my next words in the salty air. “Did it ever occur to you that girl is not the settling, happy type?”
“Suit yourself.”
Fury consumes me as Maddie sits back down on her stoop, a sentinel against the setting sun.
ABIGAIL
Coming back to Gold Beach is like coming home, but I’m so afraid it’s too late for Roman and me to figure this all out. I’ve already lost so many good things in my life, and the one good thing I still have was slowly slipping through my fingers, one heart beat at a time. Knocking at my door the next morning heralds my neighbor Maddie, her arms laden with cooking ingredients. She’s bustling through the doorway, helping herself, and I guess it’s allowed considering she does own the cottage I’m staying in. “Hi, Maddie, what’s the stuff for?”