Bailey was referring to George Beckwith’s old tourist gift store. He used to sell the traditional Hartwell tourist stuff I secretly considered junk. However, tourists wanted the mugs and rock candy, keyrings, postcards, and all that jazz. So when he sold his store to a fancy French chef who used to work in New York, I’d incorporated the traditional gifts into my store.
Iris and Ira were worried when they learned George’s boardwalk property was being converted into a restaurant. Although I hadn’t glimpsed the enigmatic owner and chef, Bailey had. She begrudgingly admitted he was a good-looking son of a bitch. His name was Sebastian Mercier. The sign had just gone up for the restaurant, and it was called The Boardwalk, which was decidedly unpretentious. We all thought it would be some fancy-ass place that wouldn’t fit in, but apparently, Mercier was smarter than that.
“You said it will be a seafood restaurant, Lobster and all that stuff. That won’t cut into Antonio’s.” Iris and Ira weren’t Italian, but they did good Italian food in their pizzeria.
“It will.” Bailey shrugged. “Any other restaurant opening on the boardwalk will cut into their profits no matter what style of food it is. People who don’t want to wander off the boardwalk or want a meal with a view will have options now.”
“I still don’t think it’ll impact them as badly as they think. Not everyone likes seafood. Almost everyone loves Italian.”
“Hmm. Well, that may be true, but they’re still worried. They’re still stressed about it on top of worrying about Ivy. The last thing they need is Devlin harassing them.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I only wished there was more we could do to stop Ian Devlin from being such a pain in this town’s backside.
Bailey groaned. “God, I’m such a bad friend. I’ve been so distracted for weeks I haven’t even asked how you’re doing?”
Bailey had been anxious about my return to Boston for Christmas considering the way I’d left things with my mom and Michael. Thankfully, the trip home had been uneventful. I spent all my time with my family. We had a great Christmas together. I never heard from Mom or Michael. The former was a good thing. And I knew the latter was too. It was just harder to convince myself of that. I’d told him to let me go. He’d done it.
It was the right thing.
“I’m fine.” I did not divulge that I still dreamed about Michael. Hot, sweaty dreams that were driving me crazy with frustration and longing.
“Jess and Emery said you’re avoiding talking about it. You know I haven’t said anything about all the stuff that’s gone down with your family. I will, however, reiterate to you that if you don’t want to tell Emery, please consider talking to Jess. I think you two will find you have a lot in common.”
“Bailey, I’m moving on.” I didn’t intend to sound so short. I gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m moving on, and I’m happy. I don’t want to keep emotionally and mentally going back to that place. I’m good. I promise.”
If she wasn’t convinced, that wasn’t my issue and I was ignoring it.
After she’d fed me and given me coffee to start my day, I still had time before I opened the store. I kept different hours during the off-season because of the shorter days, which meant I had more time to myself. Bidding Bailey goodbye, I made her promise to call me if she needed me. These days she didn’t need me so much. She had Vaughn, and I was happy for her. I was. Yet I couldn’t help thinking maybe I should keep my promise to my dad and actively try to move on and find someone I could lean on too. Perhaps then I’d stop dreaming about the man I’d left behind.
Needing basics from the grocery store, I made the short walk to Main Street, bundled in my winter coat against the harsh wind off the ocean, and stopped in at Lanson’s.
I was lost in my own musings as I walked the aisles with a basket in hand when I overheard someone mention the sheriff. Sheriff-related news made my ears prick up, alert to any mention of Jeff, so I turned my head slightly and saw Ellen Luther talking to Liv, the receptionist at the doctor’s surgery where Jess worked.
“A detective?” Liv gawked. “You’re sure?”
Ellen nodded, her eyes alight with the joy of spreading news someone else hadn’t yet heard. “That’s right. You know Bridget, the station receptionist, well, she and I do knit night once a week, and she was telling me last night that Sheriff King has hired some fancy police detective from Boston to run the county’s Criminal Investigation Division.”
“Is this about those rumors that there’s something funny going on at the department?”
Ellen nodded eagerly. “No one’s saying it, but it’s got to be why they’ve hired this guy. Bridget says he is very handsome. Very. His name is Matthew or Michael something. Oh gosh, she told me his name. I’m getting so forgetful. I think it was Irish.”
My ears buzzed with a rush of blood as I turned away from the biggest gossip in Hartwell and her eager audience of one. I shook my head, feeling my knees tremble.
No.
I dropped my basket, feeling my stomach roil. He wouldn’t. It was merely a coincidence. He wouldn’t.
He let me go.
Hurrying out of the grocery store, I sucked in a lungful of cold sea air.
It wasn’t enough.
I needed to know.
Rummaging through my purse, I yanked my phone out with shaking fingers and scrolled through my contacts to Michael. Dermot had texted me his number not long after I left Boston at Thanksgiving, and even though I told my brother I was deleting it, I never did. Hitting the call button, I felt nauseated waiting for Michael to pick up. I heard the click, and my breath caught.
“Hello?”