First Time in Forever (Puffin Island 1)

“If you’ve avoided all ties, why are you back home on the island where you grew up?”

Because he’d stared death in the face and crawled back home to heal.

“I’m here through choice, not obligation. And that choice was driven by lobster and the three-and-a-half-thousand miles of coastline. I can leave anytime it suits me.”

“I promise not to repeat that to your sister.”

“Good. Because if there is one thing scarier than an ex-wife, it’s having a sister who teaches first grade. What is it about teachers? They perfect a look that can freeze bad behavior at a thousand paces.” Ryan picked a table that looked over the water. Even though it was dark, he liked knowing it was close by. He reached for a menu and raised his brows as Tom, the barman, walked past with two large cocktails complete with sparklers. “Do you want one of those?”

“No, thanks. I prefer my drinks unadorned. Fireworks remind me of my marriage, and umbrellas remind me of the weather in London.” Alec braced himself as a young woman bounced across the bar, blond hair flying, but this time it was Ryan who was the focus of attention.

She kissed him soundly on both cheeks. “Good to see you. Today was amazing. We saw seals. Will you be at the lobster bake?”

They exchanged light banter until her friends at the bar called her over, and she vanished in a cloud of fresh, lemony-scented perfume.

Alec stirred. “Who was that?”

“Her name is Anna Gibson. When she isn’t helping out as a deckhand on the Alice Rose, she’s working as an intern for the puffin conservation project. Why? Are you interested?” Ryan gestured to Tom behind the bar.

“I haven’t finished paying off the last woman yet, and anyway, I’m not the one she was smiling at. From the way she was looking at you, I’d say she’s setting her sat nav for the end of the rainbow. Never forget that the end of the rainbow leads to marriage, and marriage is the first step to divorce.”

“We’ve established that I’m the last person who needs that lecture.” Ryan slung his jacket over the back of the chair.

“So, what’s a girl like that doing so far from civilization?”

“Apart from the fact that the Alice Rose is one of the most beautiful schooners in the whole of Maine? She probably heard the rumor that only real men can survive here.” Ryan stretched out his legs. “And do I need to remind you that my marina has full hookups including phone, electricity, water, cable and Wi-Fi? I’m introducing civilization to Puffin Island.”

“Most people come to a place like this to avoid those things. Including me.”

“You’re wrong. They like the illusion of escaping, but not the reality. The commercial world being what it is, they need to be able to stay in touch. If they can’t, they’ll go elsewhere, and this island can’t afford to let them go elsewhere. That’s my business model. We get them here, we charm them, we give them Wi-Fi.”

“There’s more to life than Wi-Fi, and there’s a lot to be said for not being able to receive emails.”

“Just because you receive them doesn’t mean you have to reply. That’s why spam filters were invented.” Ryan glanced up as Tom delivered a couple of beers. He pushed one across the table to Alec. “Unless this is too civilized for you?”

“There are written records of beer being used by the Ancient Egyptians.”

“Which proves man has always had his priorities right.”

“And talking of priorities, this place is busy.” Alec reached for the beer. “So you don’t miss your old life? You’re not bored, living in one place?”

Ryan’s old life was something he tried not to think about.

The ache in his shoulder had faded to a dull throb, but other wounds, darker and deeper, would never heal. And perhaps that was a good thing. It reminded him to drag the most from every moment. “I’m here to stay. It’s my civic duty to drag Puffin Island into the twenty-first century.”

*

“MOMMY, MOMMY.”

The next morning, devoured by the dream, Emily rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. The scent was unfamiliar, and through her half-open eyes she saw a strange pattern of tiny roses woven into white linen. This wasn’t her bed. Her bed linen was crisp, contemporary and plain. This was like falling asleep with her face in a garden.

Through the fog of slumber she could hear a child’s voice calling, but she knew it wasn’t calling her, because she wasn’t anyone’s mommy. She would never be anyone’s mommy. She’d made that decision a long time ago when her heart had been ripped from her chest.

“Aunt Emily?” The voice was closer this time. In the same room. And it was real. “There’s a man at the door.”

Not a dream.

It was like being woken by a shower of icy water.