Holiday In the Hamptons (From Manhattan with Love 5)

It had been over for ten years, but he was still in her head. She’d never gotten him out of her head.

And now he knew who she really was, so there was no more pretending.

She’d have to face him soon, but it didn’t have to be now when she was at her lowest. If they were going to have the conversation he seemed to want, then she needed to be strong, and right now she didn’t feel strong.

She felt weak and vulnerable and she hated it.

Although part of her had been relieved to see him, another part of her wished he hadn’t shown up.

Why now? Why tonight? She could have handled things one at a time, but not altogether.

Her stomach churned. She felt physically sick.

She should have gone home, but she knew her grandmother would take one look at her and start asking questions, so instead she headed straight for the beach, Hero and Charlie at her heels.

Seth was right that she always ran from her emotions. Unfortunately right now it wasn’t working. Whether she walked or ran, moved left or right, her emotions came right along with her.

There was a hot ball of fire lodged in her throat, and she realized with a lurch of horror that she was going to cry.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried.

She never cried.

She had no experience in holding back tears because she’d never had to hold back tears.

She was afraid if she let them out, they’d choke her, but she couldn’t keep them in. She was going to drown, right here on the beach, not from being out of her depth in seawater but from being out of her depth in misery.

She brushed at her eyes, furious, telling herself it was sand that was making her eyes water. Sand.

She couldn’t go back to the cottage like this.

She needed to pull herself together.

But how?

She hadn’t expected to feel this way.

What was wrong with her?

If she’d been Harriet she would have been cooing over the baby, admiring tiny fingers and the unexpected shock of dark hair. But she wasn’t Harriet, and she couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle all the feelings that holding Matilda’s baby had unleashed. She’d looked down at that tiny bow mouth and those long lashes, at that shock of hair, and she’d felt as if someone had ripped her heart out.

She heard a strange sound and then realized it had come from her throat.

The sobs came without her permission, and she sank down on the sand, sheltered by the dunes, and cried so hard it felt as if her chest might split in two.

She sobbed for everything that might have been and hadn’t been, for the future she’d wanted so badly and lost.

Drowning in her own misery, she didn’t feel Hero nudging her, worried. But she did feel strong hands lifting her.

Seth.

He’d followed her. Well, of course, he’d followed her. He had never known when to stay away.

He lifted her as if she weighed nothing and pulled her onto his lap.

She heard the crash of the ocean and the deep, soothing murmur of his voice as he stroked her hair gently and let her cry.

She wanted to crawl away and hide, but his arms were tight bands of security. And they felt good. He felt warm and strong and comforting, so she stayed there until she’d cried herself out, her hand locked into a fist in the front of his shirt.