Summer on Lovers' Island (Jewell Cove 3)

“Hey, buster,” Josh crooned, giving the dog a good rub over his back. “Aren’t you a friendly one?”

“Roofus! Come on, boy!” A teenage boy came charging down to the sand. “Sorry. He was supposed to be in the backyard.”

“It’s fine. He’s real friendly.”

“Too friendly.” The teen pulled a face. “The next-door neighbor said if he came near her labradoodle again she’d call Animal Control.”

Josh laughed. Clearly this dog was a mutt and not a purebred. He winked at the kid. “Trust me, dog, you want to stay away from the classy broads.”

The kid laughed. “Tell me about it. C’mon, Roofus.” He grabbed the dog’s collar. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Nice dog.”

They took off up the beach to the cottage above and Josh took off his sandals, letting his toes soak into the sand still warm from the afternoon’s heat. Next to being out on the ocean in his boat, this was his favorite thing. He wasn’t sure he could take not living by the ocean again. There was something about the air, the sound of it, that soothed him like nothing else. It took away the stresses of his day, leached away the memories of his tours overseas and what he’d seen there.

He swallowed tightly. He didn’t regret coming home. But some things couldn’t be fixed or forgotten with a home-cooked meal and familiar settings.

The beach tapered to a thin line of sand, edged by tall grass and then trees. The first star appeared, and then another, and the sliver of a moon began to rise into the indigo sky. The ocean darkened to a secretive black, the rhythmic waves lulling him to a calmer place. Before he realized it, he was almost all the way up to Fiddler’s Rock, where the shoreline curved like half of a figure eight and the little knob of land sat squarely in the center of the tiny cove.

And then he realized he wasn’t alone.

A runner made their way through the sand, coming in his direction, but he didn’t think they’d seen him yet, as their pace was strong and sure. Looking closer, he could tell by the build that it was a woman, in loose shorts and a T

-shirt, strong legs and arms churning through the sand. She picked up her pace for about fifty yards, and Josh stopped, simply admiring the strength and form. It didn’t occur to him to identify the runner until she suddenly stopped, put her hands on her hips, turned her face to the sky. He saw the dark ponytail silhouetted in the moonlight and he knew.

Lizzie. And just like that, his stomach did that weird weightless drop thing. A feeling that had been distinctly missing when he’d asked Summer out earlier this evening.

Shit.

CHAPTER 8

Lizzie fought for breath. The run was supposed to help, and it did, for a while. The feel of the sand beneath her toes, the tang of the sea air, the openness of the sky.

Anything to wash away the feeling of helplessness and self-blame.

But in the end it was futile. She pushed her muscles to the breaking point, sprinting back along the beach to the cottage, running until they quivered and threatened to give out. Her calves burned with the added exertion of running in the sand and her breath came in harsh pants and still the hole of nothingness was open, right in the middle of her chest.

Her head told her the home was the right decision. Her mother needed round-the-clock care that Lizzie simply couldn’t provide. But her heart ached with the knowledge that she was completely alone. Her father was dead and her mother was a polite stranger most of the time and Lizzie had no brothers or sisters to share those early memories with. She fought to catch her breath, but her quadriceps gave out and she sank into the sand, pulled her knees to her chest, and let out the grief that had been threatening to overwhelm her for weeks.

She wanted her family back. She wanted everything the way it used to be, with the three of them together for holidays and talking about old times and plans for the future. She wanted to talk to her father about the mistakes she’d made and wanted to taste her mother’s apple pie and feel the warmth of her smile again.

She needed that. Someone, something, to keep her grounded. She’d pretended for a while, lost herself in her work, but it wasn’t the same. So she sat on the sand, still warm from the heat of the sun, and let the tears come. Hot, heartbreaking tears that she’d held inside for months.

The touch of a hand on her shoulder made her jump, and she lifted her head, scrambling to wipe her face. “Shhh,” she heard, and a quick glance told her it was Josh behind her, his face creased with concern.

“God, I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot,” she began, moving to get up. But his hand remained firm on her shoulder.

“Hush,” he murmured, the sound so soft it was almost part of the waves. He sat down on the sand, a little behind her, and pulled on her shoulder until she gave in and leaned back against him. He felt so good and she ignored the voice that said she was making a huge mistake. She needed to feel connected to someone rather than floating alone on an endless sea. His arm came around her and he tucked her head beneath his chin. “If you need to cry, cry,” he commanded. “Just let it out. You’ll feel better.”

Her eyes stung again, not just at the emotions she hadn’t yet released but because of his kindness. “You’re my boss,” she said, giving her head a little shake. “I can’t cry all over you.”

“I’m not your boss tonight,” he said quietly yet definitively. “I know that sort of crying, Lizzie. I’ve been there, and holding it in isn’t doing you any favors.”

She hiccupped. “I was okay until I … I went to see my mother.”

That was all she needed to say for the waterworks to start again, and to her surprise Josh said nothing. Just looped his arms around her and gave her a safe place to fall. She was just weak enough to take advantage of it—this once.

His chin rested on top of her head and his hand rubbed along her arm, a rhythmic, soothing motion. After several minutes she was spent, emotionally and physically. What the run hadn’t accomplished the crying had. She didn’t even have the energy to pull away from his embrace like she knew she should. She was tired, so very tired. And he felt just a little like a port in a storm.