Where Your Heart Is (Lilac Bay Book 1) (2 page)

But the heater did pump out a nice and steady wave of warmth. And I was grateful not to have to see the water.

My gratitude lasted long enough for the ferry to pull away from the dock. Only a dozen or so other passengers had joined us, most of them crowding around the windows to watch the mainland grow smaller. There was a great shudder as we started to move, and I winced, clutching the edge of my bench seat with white knuckles.

“How long does this usually take?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“Only twenty minutes,” he said. “Nice and quick.”

Twenty minutes was quick? Maybe my first assessment of him had been correct. Maybe he was crazy.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I mumbled as the ferry made its way out into the bay. I wondered how on earth the other passengers were sitting so calmly in their seats. Couldn’t they feel how much we were rocking and rolling on the waves?

“Best put your head between your legs,” he advised calmly. “Only cure for seasickness until we reach land.”

I wasn’t seasick. Sea-terrified, maybe.

There was another beep of my phone, and I grabbed it in desperation. My phone! How had I forgotten that I had a fully functional mini computer right there in my purse? That would provide some distraction for the horrible journey at the very least.

The beep had been a notification of a new email. I hit the mail icon and gulped as my eyes fell on my father’s name, a new kind of nervousness slowly trickling through me. Despite my earlier fantasy that he might unexpectedly come home to fix everything, I wasn’t entirely sure I was actually ready for his return.

I scanned the email quickly and breathed out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know.

Oh, it wouldn’t take long for word to reach him, I was sure, even with the Atlantic Ocean between us. Was it the Atlantic? The last we had spoken, he was in Paris, but that had been a week ago and a lot could change in a week. His crazy schedule of work and travel might slow down the flow of gossip in his direction, but we worked in the same industry, with many of the same colleagues. He would find out about my mistakes sooner or later. Probably sooner.

Assured that he was still safely in the dark, I went back and read the email more carefully, wincing when I realized he was wishing me luck on
the
deal. I could have used that luck a few days ago. Before the world had tipped upside down. Before I single-handedly ruined the biggest deal of my career, losing my clients millions—and myself a dream job.

All because I was upset about a fight with my boyfriend
, I thought bitterly. Even worse than losing the job was knowing
why
I had lost it. I hadn’t been outperformed by a competitor. I hadn’t been screwed over by uncontrollable market forces. I had lost the deal all on my own because I had been too forelorn and upset about my personal life to think clearly. I had missed the fact that there was another offer on the property and advised my client to lowball the seller. I had missed it because I was sad? Seriously? What kind of a professional was I? That was the worst part. I had been too weak to keep my emotions from getting in the way of my work. One little fight—okay, not little, we were breaking up, and I suppose that was a big deal, but
still
—and I go and do the one thing I had promised myself I would never do. I allowed an emotional attachment to get in the way of my success. I had let a silly relationship become more important than my goals.

To say I was disgusted with myself would be an understatement.

“See?” Jerry said beside me, pulling me from my self-recriminations. “Nearly there already. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I peered out the rain-splattered windows. Sure enough, the ferry had slowed and was pulling into the harbor. Through the rain, I could make out the green of distant evergreen forests, the rockiness of dramatic cliffs stretching off to the far side of the island, and closer to the dock, the cobblestone street that would lead into town.

Lilac Bay Island. An insubstantial little rock in the middle of Lilac Bay. On the other side of the island, Lake Michigan stretched on and on for miles, an expanse of steely grey disappearing into the horizon. This was my new home for God knew how long. We had arrived.

Getting off the ferry wasn’t quite as bad as boarding it had been. The rain had begun to let up, and the gangway was quite a bit wider than the one back on the mainland. Jerry again grasped my arm as he led me across to safety. This guy was definitely growing on me. I was feeling pretty silly for ever having thought he was scary.

I watched as he helped the ferry crew unload our things onto the dock. There were my suitcases, my trunk, and Jerry’s crates, which I assumed were the reason for his trip to the mainland. Actually, hadn’t he said something about picking someone else up? Now that the terror had seeped away a little, the memory came back to me. Jerry had definitely said something back in the lot about picking up his own girl.

“Jerry,” I called. “Aren’t we missing someone?”

He turned to me, one of the crates in his arms, confusion on his face. “Are we?”

“You said something about picking up your granddaughter.”

He frowned. “Don’t have a granddaughter, dear. Two grandsons, but they live in New York with my son and his wife.”

I frowned. I knew I hadn’t imagined it. “But you…you said you were picking up your girl?”

His face brightened. “Ah, yes.” He held the crate aloft. “And here she is. Beautiful, ain’t she?”

I peered through the slates of the crate. There was a sudden flapping of wings, a screech, and before I knew it, I was falling backward, having instinctively jumped away from the thing in the crate.

“Iris!” Jerry gasped. One of my three-inch heels had planted into the dock, and I was windmilling my arms, struggling for balance. And I might have found it, too, if the wood hadn’t been so slippery from the rain. My other foot slipped forward and the sky was tilting crazily above me. I had just enough time to glance behind me at the dark water of the bay, rushing toward me.

In panic, I clutched madly at the empty air. This couldn’t be happening. Less than a minute on shore, and the island was already about to kill me. I squeezed my eyes shut in desperation, sure the icy cold waves would claim me any second.

Then strong arms were gripping me around the waist, and I felt myself jerked roughly in the opposite direction, back toward the dock.

“Careful now,” a deep voice said, very close to my ear. I realized, belatedly, that my grasping hands had found purchase on thick, muscular forearms, and my feet were once again on firm, if slippery, ground. Maybe I wasn’t going to die in the bay after all.

My eyelids fluttered open to greet the man who had saved me. His face was close enough to touch if I wanted to. Well-defined jaw, tan skin, cheeks ruddy from the weather. Tousled blond hair brushed over his forehead, dark eyelashes framed dark grey eyes—which were suddenly narrowing in an expression I could only define as disgust.

A shot of recognition rushed through me, my eyes snapping fully open to take in the scowling face of David Jenkins, the first boy I had ever kissed. The first boy to break my heart.

“Hello, Iris,” David muttered. “Welcome back to Lilac Bay.”

“
O
h my God
,” a shrill voice cried from the other end of the dock. I was still locked in the cage of David’s muscular arms. And he was still scowling at me like I had kicked his puppy rather than nearly fallen into the bay. I knew I needed to pull away, to put distance between myself and that scowl—and God, those lips, somehow sexy even when pursed into a tight straight line—but my heart was still pounding too hard, my breath coming in shaky little gasps.

“Iris!” the voice called again, closer now. “Are you okay? I was sure you were going over!”

Posey
, I thought dazedly, still staring into David’s eyes. It was hard to concentrate on anything when standing this close to him, my heart still hammering away from the panic of my near escape. But even so, I could tell—that voice was definitely my cousin.

I managed to wrench myself away from the man holding my waist, nearly depositing myself in the water all over again. David grabbed my shoulders this time, his scowl growing. He held on for only a second before he removed his hands, taking a step back so my cousin could squeeze by. “Thank you, David!” she cried, throwing her arms around me. “You saved her!” He mumbled some reply, but I was too distracted by the cloud of reddish-blonde curls and the strong smell of chocolate as my cousin enveloped me in a tight hug. I knew if I breathed in a little deeper I would detect the hint of coffee under the chocolate. Coffee and chocolate, a touch of cinnamon. It was a familiar smell, one I associated with the island, with my grandparents.

Posey pulled back, peering at my face, her eyes wide and worried. “Are you okay? You
scared
me!”

“I’m fine,” I managed. “I was just startled. And the dock is so slippery.”

She looked down at my feet, and I got the feeling she was trying her hardest not to roll her eyes. “We’re going to need to get you some different shoes,” she said. “There are about a million ways heels like that can cause you trouble on this island.”

Before I could snap back my response, Jerry stepped toward us. “I’m so sorry, Iris,” he said, looking worried. Over his shoulder, I could make out the shape of David’s broad back as he stalked down the dock.
Thanks for the welcome
, I thought, annoyed. Posey’s eyes followed mine, but if she thought it odd that David didn’t say goodbye, she didn’t mention it.

“I was just showing her my new chicken,” Jerry explained to Posey. “She’s a beautiful thing, you should really see her.” His eyes darted over to mine. “I had no idea she would scare you so much, Iris.”

Awesome impression I was making already. Now Jerry thought I was afraid of ferries, rain, and chickens.

Not that he was wrong, necessarily.

“I was just startled,” I explained. “I’m sure she’s, uh, a very nice chicken.”

He beamed and Posey slipped her arm though mine. “We should get you home. Everyone is so excited to see you.”

“Don’t you worry about your things, Iris,” Jerry said, patting my shoulder with his bear-paw-sized hand. “I’ll get Mac from the tackle shop to help me bring them by the house.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that—”

“It’s no problem,” he said. “Least I can do for nearly spooking you into the bay.” He grinned. “Besides, if I know your grandmother, she’s been waiting all day to spoil you with something delicious out of her oven. I never turn down the chance to visit Rose’s kitchen.”

I pushed away the remnants of my fear and any lingering thoughts of the interaction with my high school boyfriend, feeling, for the first time in days, something like excitement at Jerry’s words. It was good to see Posey, of course, she being the main reason I had chosen this place to seek my refuge. But my cousin had visited me in Chicago only a few months ago on a shopping trip with her fiancé, Paul. My grandmother, on the other hand… It had been too long.

“Let’s go,” Posey said, her eyes soft as they searched my face. I got the feeling that she knew exactly what I had been thinking as she steered me down the dock. Posey had always been good at reading my moods.

Despite the fact that we grew up hundreds of miles a part, my cousin had been my best friend since our mothers first plopped us down in the same playpen. Born within two weeks of each other, our similarities pretty much ended there, vastly outnumbered by our differences. Posey was energetic, enthusiastic, and more than a little scattered, while I prided myself on efficiency and organization. I had also been told by more than one disgruntled boyfriend that I needed to work on being less detached, a trait Posey could never claim.

My cousin played softball and soccer all through our school years. I was basically allergic to sports of any kind. She could spend hours curled up with a book—I started getting anxious if I had to sit still with anything longer than a magazine. And while I loved to shop, considering clothes one of the singular necessities of life, my cousin generally pulled on whatever was clean. Today was no exception—dressed in cut off jean shorts, an old Dr. Pepper T-shirt, and a pair of black chucks, her hair piled up in a messy knot on top of her head, Posey looked comfortingly familiar.

I felt a rush of affection for her and slipped my arm through hers—walking arm in arm was our thing.

“Thanks, Jerry,” she called over her shoulder. “See you at the fish fry tomorrow?”

“You better, since I’m bringing the fish.”

Posey snorted, turning to walk backward. “I’d like to see the day when Jerry Brooks brings in enough fish for the whole town.”

His gruff laughter chased us down the dock. When we stepped onto the cement walkway, I let out a relieved breath. “Fish fry?” I asked, not bothering to keep the derision from my voice. “Sounds like an exciting way to spend a Saturday night, Pose.”

“Oh, hush,” she said, bumping my hip with her own. “It’s fun!”

“Uh huh.”

She laughed, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “I thought you were going to have an open mind this time.”

“I never said that.”

As we left the dock area, Posey turned right, heading into town. “Aren’t we going to the house?” I asked. My grandparents lived in Lilac Ridge, a towering Victorian up in the hills. Not that it was far from town—there wasn’t much on the island that could be called far from anything else.

Posey shook her head. “Need to stop at the café first,” she said. “I ran out when I saw the ferry coming in and left a huge mess in the office.”

“What are you doing at the café in the middle of the day anyhow?” I asked. “Don’t you have work?”

“School got out at three,” she said, shooting me an odd glance. Posey was a teacher over at the minuscule Island school. First grade… At least I thought it was first grade. No, I was pretty sure. Or…maybe third? I had a bad habit of tuning out when she got to talking about her days spent running around after hyperactive children. I couldn’t imagine a worse job.

“Three, huh? Sounds pretty cushy.” It was a lie. Three o’clock dismissal time or not, there was nothing about teaching that sounded cushy to me. Only last week, she had told me that her class was working on dissecting worms. It sounded mind-numbingly boring and, frankly, a little gross.

“Just because
you
work until all hours,” she said, “doesn’t mean we all do.”

I ducked my head, a wave of nausea running through me. “Not so much anymore,” I said.

Posey slapped a hand over her mouth. “
Applesauce
! I can’t believe I said that!”

Her choice of curse word was nearly enough to make me feel better. Because she couldn’t quite get away with dropping four-letter words in front of her students, my cousin had long ago adopted a much more unique way of swearing. “One of these days I’m going to get you to say actually say damn it, Posey.”

She ignored my jab. “I’m so sorry, Iris. That was really insensitive.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know you didn’t mean anything.”

We were quiet for a moment as we neared Main Street, the town stretched out in front of us. It looked pretty much the same as the last time I was here. A large green space spanned the center of the business district, from the marina up to Lilac Street—Town Square. A few people were out walking and biking the pathways, others relaxing on benches under leafy maples. There was even a gazebo. Total Norman Rockwell stuff here. The primary businesses of the island—those that attracted the tourists—were on the three streets that surrounded Town Square—Maple, Lilac, and Main. A diner, a pub, a salon, some touristy boutiques, an overabundance of fudge shops, all of it pretty much the way I remembered it.

“I think it’s a good thing,” Posey said, pulling me from my reminiscing, her voice very determined and bright. “That you’re here, I mean. Taking a break. Everyone needs a break sometimes!”

Not me
, a little voice in the back of my head argued. It sounded suspiciously like my father’s.

Before I could decide if I wanted to argue or agree in order to placate her, a middle-aged woman stepped in front of us. She was dressed in turquoise capris pants and a lime-green sweater set, the colors bright enough to hurt the eyes. Shopping bags hung from both arms, and her face lit up at the sight of my cousin. “Posey!” she cried, throwing her weighed-down arms around my cousin, the shopping bags smacking against my shoulder. “How are you?”

“I’m great, Mae,” Posey said, hugging her back. “I didn’t know you were in town already!”

“Just back this morning,” Mae said. She lifted her arms. “As you can see, I didn’t waste any time seeing what was new in the shops.”

Posey laughed. “Anything good?”

“Oh, yes! New hand towels over at Chrissy’s and the cutest little earrings from Jenny at Libby’s place. You should see her new stuff, dear, she really outdid herself—” Mae abruptly stopped talking, her eyes widening as she realized Posey was not alone. “Iris!” she cried. “Iris Holder! It’s so good to see you.”

“Um…” I racked my brain, trying to find a spark of recognition from my previous visits and those few horrible months when I had called this place home as a teenager. Nothing came. In fact, I was pretty sure I had never seen this woman in my life.

“Iris, this is Mae Biggins,” Posey said. “She lives downstate most of the year but spends her summers on Lilac Bay.”

“I’m so happy to meet you!” Mae said. “Your grandmother has told me so much about you!” Her eyes flicked across my hair appreciatively, and I raised a self-conscious hand to smooth it. When I had left the hotel in Chicago that morning, my long, perfectly black hair had been straight and sleek, but I had a feeling the weather, not to mention the seven-hour drive, had left it a frizzy mess. “And I could never mistake that hair of yours, could I?” She tsked. “I would kill for color like that.”

“Mimi Rose likes to show off pictures of you to all her friends,” Posey muttered in my ear.

“That’s, uh, I mean… Nice to meet you, too.”

Mae beamed before turning back to my cousin. “Will I see you at Libby’s on Wednesday?”

“Of course.” Posey tilted her head toward me. “I’m going to try to convince Iris to come along.”

“Oh, do!” Mae cried, her shopping bags nearly flying free as she threw up her arms in excitement. “We have so much fun!”

I had no idea who Libby was or why I would want to spend time at her place, so I merely smiled. Fortunately, it was enough for Mae, who shook her bags one last time as she informed us that her Walter was waiting and she would see us soon. “We’ll be at the fish fry!” she called over her shoulder as she bustled down the street.

“Sorry,” Posey said, shooting me a sideways glance. “She’s a little much. But she’s nice.”

“It’s fine.” I rolled my eyes. “It wouldn’t feel right if you weren’t the little social butterfly of the island.”

Posey laughed. “It’s just called being neighborly.”

I grinned, thinking back to our four years away at college together. It had nothing to do with the island or neighbors that she had known for years—Posey was social and friendly no matter where she was.

“How’s everything going?” I asked as we made our way up Main Street. “Every time we’ve talked lately, it’s been about my drama.”

“I haven’t minded. At least you have some drama in your life.” She used her free hand to make a sweeping gesture down the mostly empty street. “Lilac Bay is pretty drama-free, unless you get all excited about new horse and carriage regulations for the season.”

“New horse and carriage regulations?” I gasped, hand to my heart. “What a scandal!”

She snorted. “You have no idea.”

And speaking of horses… “Hello there, Posey!” a man called from the front bench of a passing carriage. He pulled back on his reins lightly, causing the horse in front to slow down. “Be at the fish fry tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you there, Hank!” she called back as he continued to make his slow way down Main Street.

“Oh God,” I groaned, earning me an elbow to the side from my cousin.

“Don’t start.”

“I just don’t get it!”

“We have our ways, Iris. It’s not a big—”

“You do realize that it’s the twenty-first century, right?” I asked, unable to contain myself. “The internal combustion engine was invented like, a hundred and fifty years ago. It’s not going away anytime soon.”

“We’re not opposed to cars, Iris. We just don’t want them on the island.”

“You’d rather have horses,” I said. “Smelly, messy horses.”

“And bikes,” she said brightly.

“You’re all crazy.”

She merely laughed. “The tourists like it. And you have to admit it keeps the place cleaner.” Her point was rather disproven by the pile of horse dung to our left in the street, and she hurried on. “Besides, it’s kind of nice. I never have to worry about leg day when I’m working out, what with all the walking I do—girl you should
see
my calves.” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “And there’s no rushing around up here, you know? No traffic to fight, no gas stations, no cars breaking down or—”

“Shelter when you need to go somewhere in the rain.”

She shrugged. “I just bring an umbrella.”

I gazed down Main Street, trying to see it from her perspective. The no-automobile rule had been in place since the invention of the Model T —somewhat impressive, actually, when you considered the fact that it was the auto barons downstate that had first made this a travel destination for the nation’s rich and famous. To this day, the people here held to the rule like it defined them. And I supposed, in a way, it did. If Lilac Bay Island was famous for anything, it was the absence of cars on the roads. That or the fudge sold in nearly every shop in town. Either way, people flocked to this island throughout the spring, summer, and early fall months for the ambience. For the experience of getting away from it all, from the stressful, busy lives they lived at home. I supposed I could see why that would be a draw for a relaxing vacation.