Jilted: Promise Harbor, Book 1 (7 page)

A wave of sadness washed over her, as if the Atlantic had surged up over the ferry. She sighed. “Yeah, you’re just a big loser jerk,” she said.

He laughed. She loved the sound of that. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh since she’d been back in Promise Harbor. She wanted to make him laugh more.

They’d always laughed a lot, she and Josh. Until things had gotten messed up back in Promise Harbor and Josh had been tense and then she’d been tense and…well. It hadn’t ended well.

“Want to get a coffee?” he asked.

“Yeah. Sure.”

They spent the rest of the ferry ride buying coffees, then sitting on a bench at the back of the ferry, drinking them, watching as the sun lowered toward the mainland. The low light shone into her eyes and warmed her, seeping into her bones even though the ocean breeze cooled her cheeks. Josh’s phone kept buzzing, and he kept looking at it with a scowl, but he didn’t answer it.

Greenbush Island was a popular tourist spot in the summer, not as well known as the Vineyard or Nantucket, but becoming a fashionable destination for well-to-do tourists. Like William Mudge and his family. The beaches were pristine and serene, with some protected local plant species. There were a couple of small towns on the island, and a number of luxury hotels and inns had recently been built to take advantage of the growing tourism.

They found Josh’s vehicle and waited their turn to drive off the ferry. They drove through the tiny town of Silverport. “It’s not far,” Josh said. “Just the other side of town. It’s right on the beach.”

Devon looked out the window as he drove, her stomach in a mass of knots. This was insane. But she was desperate.

Josh turned down the road to the inn, and as it came into view, she sat up straighter. So beautiful. The huge, typically gray-shingled structure had white shutters and a wide veranda stretching across the front of it. Three stories tall, it had several turrets and peaks. They drove past smooth, green lawns and carefully tended flowerbeds overflowing with lush shrubs and colorful flowers. White lampposts lined the driveway, topped with antique-looking lamps illuminating the dusk with golden light.

“Wow,” she said. “Nice.”

Josh just shrugged. His hands gripped the steering wheel, and she had a feeling he was just as freaked out about this as she was.

He parked at the side and they walked inside. The lobby was like an elegant living room with shiny, dark hardwood floors, white painted walls and woodwork, comfy, beige-upholstered chairs and antique tables grouped on beige rugs. Lamps glowed on the tables. A fire flickered in the big fireplace on one wall, and a dark wood railing with white spindles edged a wide staircase to a second level.

She trailed behind Josh as he approached the reception desk.

“I have a reservation,” he began. “Brewster. The—”

“Honeymoon suite,” said the clerk with a smile. “Your suite will be ready for you in a few minutes, Mr. Brewster. Why don’t you and your bride have a seat over there and we’ll come get you when it’s ready.”

Devon sank her teeth into her bottom lip. Holy shnikes. They thought she was the bride. Oops.

“So, uh, nobody else has checked in yet?” Josh asked.

The clerk’s forehead creased. “Um. No.” His mouth opened, then closed, and a red stain washed up into his cheeks.

Devon hid a grin as Josh turned to her and gripped her upper arm, hustling her over to the furniture arranged in front of the fireplace.

“They’re not here,” he muttered. “Shit.” Then, “What’s so funny?”

“I think he thought we were having a little
ménage à trois
. On our wedding night. The poor guy was embarrassed.”

Josh stared at her, and then his lips twitched. Well, he still had a sense of humor. That was good, because he was going to need it. Her heart beat a little faster, a rapid percussion against her ribs.

Josh sighed and tipped his head back. “Well. The last ferry’s gone. We’re stuck here for tonight.”

She hadn’t thought of that. Of course the last ferry had left. “Well. I’ll go…uh…” She had no idea where she was going to go. “Maybe they have another room.”

“Are you kidding? This is prime season and it’s a weekend. They’re booked solid, no doubt. Besides, I’ve got a suite. There’s lots of room for both of us.”

She nodded and sank onto one of the chairs facing the fireplace. Her heart was pounding so fast now she could barely breathe. “It’s lovely here,” she managed to say, just to make some kind of conversation.

“Yeah.”

Allie would have liked it
. But Devon didn’t say that. The silence grew a little uncomfortable as they waited. God. Mistake. Epic mistake! She nibbled her bottom lip until the man from the hotel approached them, ready to take them to their room.

“Do you need help with your luggage?” he asked.

They both shook their heads, and Josh reached for the key the man held, an old-fashioned, actual key, not a card. “We can find it,” he said.

“Second floor,” the man said with a smile, nodding toward the wide staircase. “Turn right at the top. It’s the room right at the end of the hallway. Call the desk if you need anything at all.” His smile widened. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you.”

They followed his directions, their steps muffled on the beige Berber runner that ran up the stairs and along the quiet hall. On the second floor, more white painted woodwork lined the walls, and sconces cast a warm glow.

Josh unlocked the door, and she followed him into the suite.

“Holy crap,” she couldn’t stop herself from saying.

Not only was the suite large and luxurious, votive candles flickered everywhere—on the tables in the living room, in the bedroom visible through open French doors, even on the counter in the bathroom. Pink and red rose petals had been scattered over the floor and the puffy white duvet on the bed, and a silver bucket of champagne sat on the console table behind the sofa in the living room.

Josh stopped and looked around, then shoved a hand into his hair. “Shit.”

Chapter Five

“I guess we should have told them this isn’t really a honeymoon,” Devon said, taking in the room.

Josh sighed. “I didn’t really want to get into it. I didn’t know they were going to do this.”

“Well. It’s lovely. So romantic.”

“Fuck.” He watched Devon cross the living room to peer into the bedroom. She turned and surveyed the living room.

“It’s a nice hotel,” she said finally. She met his eyes, and he caught the faint shadow of sadness on her face. He wasn’t sure what that was about. It didn’t matter. This was a screwed-up day.

After a short pause, Josh said, “Are you hungry? Everyone else is eating my wedding dinner, apparently, but we didn’t get to eat. There are a couple of restaurants in the inn, I think.”

“I’m…I suppose I’m a little hungry.”

He hauled her suitcase into the bedroom and set it on the luggage rack provided. “You take the bedroom,” he said. “I’ll sleep out there. I think the couch makes into a bed.”

“Are you sure? I can sleep out there.”

“No, that’s fine.”

“Um. Allie might not like us staying in the same room.”

He frowned. “Are you kidding? She’s the one who left. I could be here with the Kirkland twins and she wouldn’t care.”

Devon choked on a laugh at his mention of the two sisters in high school who’d allegedly slept with the entire football team, some of them at the same time. “I didn’t see them in the church,” she said.

He couldn’t stop the answering grin that tugged his mouth, and they shared a moment of amusement. He liked it.

“Do I need to change?” she asked. “This seems like a fancy place.”

“You’re fine.” He ran his gaze over her jeans and T-shirt. During the ferry ride she’d slipped on a form-fitting, black zippered jacket. “We’ll just go in the bar and have something quick, if that’s okay.”

“Fine with me. I guess we should blow out the candles.” Her wistful look around tugged at something inside him.

“Yeah. They’re a fire hazard.”

She gave a crooked smile. “Oh right. You would be concerned about that.”

With the lingering scent of smoke and melted wax on the air, they left the room and went downstairs to find the bar.

George’s Bar was tucked in behind the restaurant, tiny but full of people and chatter, lively on this Saturday evening. They managed to find two seats at the end of the bar. The smiling bartender took their orders for a beer for Josh and a glass of wine for Devon, and Josh picked up a menu. “Fancy stuff,” he murmured. He glanced at Devon. “The kind of place you like.”

When they’d lived in Boston she’d loved trying out new restaurants. He’d always been agreeable, but his preferences tended toward burgers and simple sandwiches.

She looked over the menu, nodding.

“Seriously,” he said. “Why would you ruin perfectly good macaroni and cheese with truffles and kale and caramelized squash?”

She grinned. “They have chicken wings. You like wings. Or you used to, anyway.”

“I still like wings. But what the hell, let’s be adventurous. How about mussels?”

She gave him a look over the menu. “You think eating mussels is being adventurous? A boy who grew up on the ocean?”

“It’s adventurous
here
,” he said. “Caramelized fennel, chablis and garlic-herb butter?”

Her lips twitched. “Okay. Let’s share those and some hand-cut fries.”

“Sure.”

A burst of laughter from the group behind them startled him, and he rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to enjoy other people having fun. He scowled at his beer.

His phone buzzed in his pocket again.

“Crap.” He pulled it out to check the call display, then shoved it back into his pocket. “My mom.”

“Aren’t you going to tell her you didn’t find Allie?”

“I’ll tell her. Tomorrow.” He took a big swallow of the fizzy, bitter liquid. Then guilt nudged him. His mom was probably worried sick about Allie. She’d been so invested in this wedding, so thrilled that he and Allie were getting married, that Allie would be another daughter for her and she would get to be the mom Allie had lost.

He also felt guilty about Allie. Should he have tried harder to stop her? Gavin Montgomery wasn’t a serial killer, but he’d been trouble back in the day, and he’d hurt Allie before. He should have tried a little harder to intervene.

Wait. He was the one who’d been left at the altar. Why was he feeling guilty? Jesus.

He slanted a glance at Devon. She leaned on the bar like he did, her long chestnut hair hanging down her back, her feet in flip-flops tucked around the rungs of the stool. Despite her casual clothes, she looked classy and elegant.

“What?” she said, turning her head to meet his eyes.

He shook his head. “I’m just confused, I guess.”

“Josh.” Her eyes softened. “Maybe things will still work out. Maybe Allie will realize she’s made a mistake and come back.”

He pursed his lips. “Maybe.”

Devon looked down at the paper cocktail napkin she held in her fingers. “Would you take her back? If she comes home and says she’s sorry, she screwed up…would you take her back?”

He tipped his head back and looked up at the tin-paneled ceiling in the bar. Would he?

There were a lot of good reasons for them to get married. They were good friends and they cared about each other. They shared common goals and values—family was important to both of them. Their families had been intertwined their whole lives, and this would just make it official. His mom loved Allie. His mom had been devastated by the death of Allie’s mom last year. She still hadn’t really recovered from that, but with the impending wedding, she’d been happier than Josh had seen her in ages. Judging from her repeated phone calls, she still wanted the marriage to take place.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. He drank his beer again and glanced at Devon. Once again, he caught a flicker of something in her eyes.

“So you might.”

He shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Really?” She tipped her head to one side.

“I don’t know,” he snapped, then rubbed his forehead.

“Why do you think Gavin did that?” she asked. “Coming all that way and interrupting the wedding…wow. That takes guts.”

“You sound like you admire him.”

“Well. You do have to admire someone who goes after what they want.”

“Not like that!” He stared at her. “And Allie… Christ.” He shook his head.

“You’re angry at her.”

“Of course I’m angry!”

She nodded but didn’t meet his eyes.

Their food arrived and they began to eat. He hadn’t really thought he was hungry, but the mussels were really good, perfectly cooked and full of flavor. The fries were freshly cut potatoes cooked to a golden crisp. Between the two of them, they devoured everything.

“Pretty good,” he admitted, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. “For a fancy place. You still like stuff like that? Trying out new restaurants?”

She looked down at her wine glass. “Sure.”