Summer on Lovers' Island (Jewell Cove 3)

“You were a wicked terror when we were little. God has a way of repaying the favor.”

Tom laughed. “Then just wait until it’s your turn. He’s going to have a riot with your kids.”

The tension eased, and Lizzie picked up her bag and said a blanket good-bye to everyone.

Josh’s pickup was parked out front, and it took only seconds for him to pull a U-turn and head to the edge of town and the road leading to Fiddler’s Rock. The stars had come out, and Lizzie leaned back against the vinyl seat and relaxed her shoulders. Josh slowed once to let a raccoon scoot across the road, then kept on until they got to the cottage, the dark shape of the house silhouetted in front of the trees.

She turned on the seat, put her hand on her purse. “You want to come in and talk about it?”

His hands stayed on the steering wheel. “Talk about what?”

But his jaw had a stubborn set to it, and he stared straight ahead instead of at her.

“About why Abby and Tom’s news isn’t a cause for rejoicing. Because they seem pretty happy to me.”

“They are. And I’m happy for them.”

“You could have fooled me.”

He looked at her then, but the wall shutting her out was still firmly in place.

“Come inside,” she suggested gently. “I’ll make some tea. Or pour you a whiskey.”

“I should get back.”

“To what? Your empty house? You’re a stubborn cuss, I’ll give you that. Must have served you well in the Army.”

He lifted a solitary eyebrow. “At least in the Army people didn’t nag.”

She started laughing. “Fine. Suit yourself. I get it. I’ve wallowed in my bubble of misery lots of times. Have fun.”

She clenched the leather strap of her bag, opened the door, and hopped down. Her steps crunched on the rock of the driveway as she made her way to the cottage door. The light wasn’t on, so she reached into her purse, rummaging around for her keys. Josh’s door opened and then closed again.

She’d found the keys and slipped the proper one into the lock when Josh’s voice came across the clearing. “Whiskey, you say?”

Lizzie smiled to herself, opened the door, and waited for him.

CHAPTER 13

Josh que

stioned the wisdom in following her inside. All week he’d done a great job of keeping things platonic, because that was what he thought she wanted. And if he was truthful, part of him wanted that, too. Inside, she turned on a lamp, casting a soft, warm glow on the living room. “Make yourself comfortable,” she suggested. “I’ll get glasses. On the rocks, or do you want a mix?”

“Rocks works for me.”

The cottage looked exactly the same as it had when Tom had lived here. Same rugged plaid-upholstered furniture, sturdy tables and shelves Tom had constructed himself in his workshop. Until today, Josh had been certain that he’d put his resentment toward Tom away for good. Josh didn’t blame Tom anymore. He wasn’t sure he ever had, though it had been easier than blaming himself or Erin. But tonight’s announcement had brought certain memories rushing back and it had him on edge.

So whiskey. And Lizzie. Between the two, maybe he could forget. Or at least let it go.

He settled himself on one side of the sofa, crossed his right ankle over his knee. In no time Lizzie was back, two glasses in her hands. She handed him one and put the other on the coffee table. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ve been in work clothes all day.”

“Sure,” he responded, his mind following her to the bedroom, imagining her changing. He should probably stop fooling himself. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since that Sunday on the island. A man couldn’t just forget something that memorable.

He sipped the whiskey, felt the welcome burn down the back of his throat, the flicker of it as it hit his stomach.

“There, that’s better.”

She’d barely been gone two minutes, but Josh’s mouth went dry at the sight of her. It wasn’t even remotely sexy, but a pair of plain black yoga pants and a snug V-neck T-shirt hugged her curves like a dream. Running—or whatever else she did for exercise—had made her butt high and tight, her waist spare, and the V-neck emphasized the delicious curve of her breasts. She held her own highball glass, the ice cubes clinking softly as she took the far end of the sofa, folding herself up in the corner with her legs crossed.