Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

My heart plummeted for Dahlia. Seriously just took a dive off a cliff. I remembered the night I’d saved her from drowning and all that she’d told me. It was hard to hear then, but even harder to remember it now that I loved Dahlia McGuire like she was my blood.

I narrowed my eyes on Mr. Michael Sullivan and his pretty wife. “So when does your vacation in Hartwell end?”

“That’s none of your concern,” he returned, clearly annoyed with my interference. “Now are you going to get out of my way?”

I considered how long it would take Dahlia to get to her car. I knew there was no way in hell she was going back to the gift store for fear she’d bump into the past there, too. “Not yet.” I smiled prettily. “How about some coffee?”

The hardass in front of me seemed to deflate. Worry softened his eyes. “I just want to know how she is. It’s been a long time.”

“I know,” I told him pointedly.

“Ah.” He got me. “I see.”

I flicked a look at his wife, who appeared ten seconds away from blowing a gasket. “She’s doing really well.”

“Are you on vacation with her?”

“Something like that.”

“And she’s really okay?”

“She’s terrific,” I lied. “Couldn’t be happier.”

“Good,” he said.

I glanced over at Emery, who was watching all of this with concern and confusion. “Coffee to go?”

She started to walk by us when Michael shook his head. “We’re okay. Really.”

Considering the timing and the fact that Dahlia probably ran to her car, I stepped aside. “You are free to go then.”

“Usually that’s my line,” he muttered, reaching back for his wife’s hand.

“Huh?”

“I’m a cop. A detective.”

I did not know that. “In Boston?”

“Yeah.” He looked back at his wife, who was staring at his hand like it was a slug. “Kierston?”

Reluctantly she took it.

Michael turned back to me. “Give her my regards.”

“I’ll do that.”

Emery and I watched as they left and I grimaced for Michael when I heard his wife hiss, “What the fuck aren’t you telling me, Michael Sullivan?”

I never heard his reply because the door slammed shut behind them.

“I’m guessing you know something I don’t,” Emery said.

“Yes.” I gave her a regretful smile. “Dahlia told me a story a long time ago, a story she has not repeated since, a story no one else knows. Maybe one day she’ll tell it.”

“He isn’t over her.”

Surprise shot through me at her supposition. “Why do you say that? How do you know they were even . . . a thing?”