Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

Holding in a shudder of longing, I felt him pull away, and my eyes automatically opened to track his movements, hungry for the sight of him. He gave me a soft, knowing smile and retreated. “I’ve got to get to work. Can’t be late for my first day on the job.”

And then he was gone.

I listened to the sound of his footsteps moving across my floorboards, to the ring of the bell above my door as he opened it, and the soft click of it closing behind him.

Holy shit.

Oh, holy shit was I in big trouble.

Scrambling for my purse, I pulled out my cell and hit Bailey’s number.

“What’s up?” she answered after a few rings.

“Michael’s here.” I was breathless. “He took a job here. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck … Fuck!”

“I’ll be right over.” She hung up.

I was still standing, heaving in shallow breaths when I heard the front door to my shop open a few minutes later.

And then Bailey was there, standing in my doorway, her green eyes big with concern.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

That Dahlia hadn’t jumped into his arms as soon as she realized he’d moved to Hartwell for them didn’t surprise Michael. Would it have been nice? Hell, yeah. Realistic? Not so much. Michael knew he needed to give Dahlia some time to adjust to the idea of him being in Hartwell before he determinedly pursued a relationship with her. Not a lot of time. But some.

And judging by the enigmatic comments his new boss, Sheriff Jeff King, had made when he’d accepted the job heading up the department’s Criminal Investigations Division, Michael would have enough to distract him from his impatience.

Michael walked down Main Street from Dahlia’s gift shop. He’d arrived in town on Friday, took a short meeting with the sheriff, and then gotten settled into his small apartment. He’d looked for a place before Jeff had even offered him the job and had been frustrated by the higher amount of short-term rentals versus long-term. It made sense with it being a popular beach resort, but no less concerning.

After he’d accepted the job with Hartwell SD, Michael was considering taking on a short-term rental until he could find something permanent, even though it would eat into his savings. However, thankfully, Jeff found him a condo in a private community called Atlantic Village on the outskirts of town. The lawns and trees around the three sets of buildings that housed the condos were immaculately cared for. Each unit had its own parking space, and there was a private gym, indoor swimming pool, a day care center, a convenience store, health food deli, and coffee shop. Apparently, there was a list of people waiting to rent there, but Jeff pulled some strings, and the co-op board was happy to have an experienced police detective living in the village.

So he got bumped up the list. The condo was a one-bedroom, and Michael begrudged paying the extortionate rental costs for it. He’d have to look elsewhere for a long-term solution, but for now it would have to do.

Yesterday he’d driven into town for some supplies. Having visited Hartwell with his ex-wife last summer, he’d seen most of the town center, so there was no reason to explore. But he’d wanted to familiarize himself with the town as quickly as possible. Despite it being off-season, the place was busy with tourists coming in for the weekend.

Michael had found a parking space at the top of Main Street and had gotten out at the boardwalk. He knew where Dahlia’s shop was. It was highlighted on Google Maps, so he strolled along the familiar wooden planks. The building with its slightly weathered white-painted shingles and the porch was typical New England design. Hart’s Inn sat next to it, a larger version of Dahlia’s building, and Michael wondered about its owner. Bailey. He wanted to get to know the woman who had saved Dahlia’s life in more ways than one. He wanted to thank her for being there when he wasn’t.

That thought made his gut churn with self-reproach. He stared back at Dahlia’s store. It was open. And she was inside.

The urge to go to her was overwhelming, but it wasn’t the time. He’d find the right time. Instead, he drank in the sight of her place, wondering what it was like on the inside. A mammoth sign above the door of the building proclaimed Hart’s Gift Shop in a feminine script. He’d wondered if Dahlia made the sign herself. Probably.

From where he’d been standing, he could see items in the window sparkling in the low February sun. Jewelry. Probably Dahlia’s jewelry. Forcing his curiosity aside, Michael had turned back down the boardwalk. The ocean had been calm, and there had been plenty of people walking along the soft sand. Having found Dahlia, knowing she was within reach, Michael had relaxed enough to take in the rest of the boardwalk.

It hadn’t changed much, except now he was really taking it in. When he’d been there with Kiersten, he’d been so uptight and stuck in his own head over their failing marriage, he hadn’t opened his eyes to his surroundings.

Beside Dahlia’s shop were a candy store and arcade, and from there the boards ran along the main thoroughfare. A large bandstand sat at the top of Main Street. Michael had remembered the bandstand—next to it was a plaque that told of a town legend about one of its descendants of the founding family.

> Michael had stopped to peer at the plaque. 1909. Eliza Hartwell. He’d realized then that Eliza Hartwell must have been Bailey’s ancestor. The story went that she fell in love with a steelworker called Jonas Kellerman. He was considered beneath Eliza in social station, and they were forbidden to marry. Instead, Eliza was betrothed to the son of a wealthy businessman. On the eve of her wedding, a devastated Eliza walked into the ocean. By chance, Jonas was up on the boardwalk with friends, saw Eliza, and went after her. Legend said he reached her, but the waves took them under, and they were never seen again.

Michael thought it was a pretty fuckin’ depressing tale, but Kiersten had gotten all moon-eyed over it. The plaque further said Jonas’s sacrifice for his love created magic. For generations since the deaths of Eliza and Jonas, people born in Hartwell who met their husbands or wives on the boards stayed in love their whole lives. It told tourists that if they walked the boardwalk together and they were truly in love, it would last forever, no matter the odds.

Kiersten made them walk the boards hand in hand after that.

Of course, minutes later she’d discover Dahlia’s existence and realized Michael had already met the one years before her.

Wincing at the memory, Michael had headed toward the boards. Main Street was wide enough for cars to park in the middle, which was where Michael had parked his Honda, and along either side were commercial buildings. Trees lined the street, where restaurants, gift shops, clothing stores, fast-food joints, spas, coffeehouses, pubs, and markets were neighbors in the kind of well-groomed tourist environment you’d expect from a popular vacation destination like Hartwell.

Michael had decided to get his supplies at the grocery store later and kept heading along the boards. He’d passed the small ice cream shack as well as a building beside it he didn’t remember that seemed to be under refurbishment and had large classical signage along its roof that read The Boardwalk. A banner across the blacked-out windows told everyone COMING SOON. If Michael could guess, it was probably a restaurant.