“Thank you,” I say softly. “You doing this . . . it means a lot to me.”

  “I meant what I said. You deserve the break and so much more. Thank you for letting me show you that. For letting me spoil you. Now go enjoy your night. Soak in the tub. Dance naked because nobody’s watching. Fill your glass back up. And then I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Jesus. Someone needs to write that in one of my romance novels.

  No. Wait. I don’t want them to because this moment is mine.

  And I don’t want it to be taken away from me.

  “Good night, Fordham the University.”

  “Good night, Celery Ellery.”

  Ellery

  Seven Years Ago

  “I don’t understand.” I blink over and over as if each closure and opening of my eyes will change the scene before me.

  Will make me hear something different.

  “You don’t need to understand, Elle. All you need to know is this, us . . . it’s over.”

  He’s going to propose to you tonight, Ellery. Josh Fitzpatrick is going to ask you to marry him, and then you’ll live happily ever after and be ridiculously in love.

  Was it only hours ago that my best friend told me that in her singsong voice? How did I go from that to this? From elation to devastation? From getting a manicure so my nails looked perfect in pictures to show off my new ring to staring at the polish and wanting to vomit?

  “Josh. I—don’t—”

  “I met someone else.”

  “What do you mean you met someone else?” I shout, tears welling in my eyes and the hollowness of my voice echoing in my head.

  “Just like it sounds. I met another woman.”

  I scrub a hand over my face and try to process the last few minutes. “You cheated on me?”

  “A relationship shouldn’t be this much work. You either love me or you don’t, but I shouldn’t have to try and coax it out of you. I shouldn’t have to try this hard to make you love me.”

  “But I gave you everything I could. I gave you everything I’m capable of giving.” I take a step toward him, and he takes a step back.

  Fight for us.

  “Look, I know you’ve been handed a shit sandwich in life . . . but your abandonment issues aren’t my problem.”

  Fight for me.

  “I gave you everything I could.”

  I’m worth it—the fight, the effort, the trouble—I promise.

  “Look, I thought I loved you. I thought I could cope with you not saying it back to me. But then I met someone . . . and I realized that what you gave me just isn’t enough.” Josh hangs his head for a beat before looking back up to me. “Goodbye, Ellery.”

  I watch him leave when I want to beg him to stay. His broad shoulders. His tall frame. Then the closed door itself.

  I love you.

  I loved you.

  I forced myself to believe when the thought suffocated me. I allowed myself to think of possibility before the fear.

  I let you in, Josh.

  I let myself hope.

  I let myself believe.

  I let myself love.

  Even when I was terrified of loving because I know the pain that comes with it.

  I let myself love.

  I thought maybe this time would prove different. That I was worthy of the love everyone talks about. That everyone gets to experience.

  But clearly, I’m not.

  “I realized that what you gave me just isn’t enough.”

  I’m done. Broken. Sure, my mom was strong enough to try to love again, but I’m not her. She only lost my dad.

  I lost him.

  Then her.

  And now Josh.

  Love leads to loss, even when you try your hardest.

  And especially when you’re someone like me.

  “I thought I loved you. I thought I could cope with you not saying it back to me. But then I met someone . . .”

  He’s right. He deserves the love I can’t give him freely. The same love that is a double-edged sword for me. I can’t fault him for wanting more.

  For leaving me.

  I tried.

  I opened myself up and really tried.

  Lesson learned.

  Just like everything else in my life I’ve ever loved . . . it’s gone.

  Never again.

  Ford

  “So what’s the real reason you decided to fly out here and visit me today?” I ask, cutting straight to the point we’ve been tiptoeing around for the last few hours.

  I was shocked to hell to look up and see both Ledger and Callahan standing in the foyer of the inn, assessing the progress.

  We only tag-team when shit’s serious. Don’t they know I know that? And they’re tag-teaming me.

  What’s the fucking deal?

  Why are they here? Because they sure as fuck haven’t let on as to the why during the tour of the site. Nor during the lunch they pulled me away for. And definitely not during our catch-up session where Callahan bragged about his daughter and Ledger puffed his chest at his soon-to-be born son.

  Lord help us that soon there’ll be a miniature Ledger running around. One is more than enough.

  The two of them look at each other and then back out to the ocean beyond from where we stand on the balcony bar. Neither will look at me.

  They are so obvious it’s ridiculous. “Which one of you is the good cop, huh?” I ask.

  “Isn’t it enough that we just want to see our brother?” Callahan asks, his smile unconvincing.

  That tone. I know it, and I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.

  “You’re the one playing good cop?” I bark out a laugh and nudge Ledger. “Seriously? Callahan?” Callahan lifts a middle finger my way. I shake my head in return. “So what gives, since clearly the two of you are here for a reason?”

  “You’re not answering our calls,” Ledger says. Always all business. I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to get to the point.

  “I answer plenty of them.” Just not the ones I don’t want to deal with.

  “I’ll rephrase. You’re being selective in which calls, which texts, you respond to. Is that better?” Ledger asks.

  “You know you missed us,” Callahan says.

  “I did. I always do. Sometimes. Except for when you’re bullshitting me. Which is now.” So much for having each other’s backs. Sure, we went through some struggles a few years back, but once Callahan got his shit together and lost the chip on his shoulder, I was certain we were headed in the right direction again. That we were there for each other. But now . . . now there’s this. The biography. Their disregard for how it has affected me. And now we’re right back to the animosity, to the agitation, and fuck if I have a clue how to fix it. The last thing I want is for them to bring it all here. It’s about time they head back home. “Get to the point. I’ve got shit to do.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Callahan snorts.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “Testy. Testy,” Ledger says as he crosses his arms and studies me.

  “And off come the gloves,” Callahan mutters.

  “Let me guess. We need to show a unified front and do a press tour for the book. Heaping praise while having fake smiles plastered on our faces,” I say.

  “Well, on the whole, the book is good,” Ledger says. “Neither of you said otherwise when you received your advanced copies.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” I mutter. Has he not been listening to me? Has he not been hearing me when I speak?

  “No. I’m not. We don’t have to like every single sentence in there, but overall, it was a fair representation of who Dad was. The man he was. Why wouldn’t we want to praise it? To promote his legacy? It’s not like the author fabricated a bunch of bullshit. These are Dad’s words. It’s a living piece of history that’s allowed us to get to know more about him. It’s a way for our kids to see the man he was in his own words. Do you not see that?”

  I clench my fists and scrunch my nose.

  I see it.

  Of course, I see it and understand it and find truth in everything he just said.

  But doesn’t that make the sting even sharper? Ledger’s kids will know about his dedication to be just like their grandfather. Callahan’s will learn about his rebellious ways but how my father admired that streak in him.

  And mine? Mine will know their dad as Just Ford. The man who was so unremarkable his father didn’t have much to say about him. And because of Mom’s words from long ago, it’s Dad’s opinion of me—or lack thereof—that is tearing me down. And nothing I do can change that now. He’s gone. I don’t get a second chance.

  “I see it, all right. I see it and then some. The problem is you’re not seeing it either. Or rather, you’re not seeing what’s not there.” He holds my glare and gives a slow nod. “Discussion over. Call Miguel to fire up the chopper. I’ve got a shitload of work to do, and I’m sure you’re about ready to head home. You came all this way for nothing.”

  Callahan’s chuckle is low and taunting. “Not exactly for nothing. I mean, it’s good to know we were right about one thing.”

  “Let it rest, Callahan,” Ledger warns.

  If they wanted my attention, they sure as fuck have it now.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “C’mon, man. The sexual tension between you two is so fucking thick it’s muggy in here.”

  “There’s nothing there,” I groan. We were around Ellery for a whole twenty minutes. There’s no way they noticed anything. He’s bluffing. Plain and fucking simple. “Nice try, though.”

  “My God. You are so full of shit.” Ledger’s laugh grates on my nerves. “Do you think I don’t know you, Ford? Know your moods?”

  I step into his personal space, my voice cold. “If that’s the case, why can’t you understand why promoting the book is a slap in my face? Why being made to feel like I didn’t matter is reason to be pissed?”

  “Because it’s asinine, that’s why,” Ledger says. “We lived this life. We know Dad. We know how he felt about each one of us. That’s all that should matter. Isn’t that what Mom taught us?”

  “Yeah, but he sure had a helluva lot to say about you, didn’t he?”

  “Will you two stop acting like little old ladies? There are more important things to discuss, like how Ford here needs to get laid so he can chill the hell out.”

  “Fuck off,” Ledger and I say in unison and then look at each other and start laughing. And despite everything—their trip to gang up on me, the biography, their requests for press—it feels so damn good for the pretenses to be gone and to simply laugh with them.

  “Hallelujah!” Callahan glances at his watch. “We have a breakthrough. It only took five hours to get there, but we’ll fucking take it.” He grins like he’s the mastermind when he’s far from it. “So what’s the deal with Snaggletooth? Is it on? Is it off—”

  “Have you stuck it in?” Ledger asks and then chortles like a teenager, proud of his lame joke.

  It’s not lost on me that weeks ago I almost punched Diego for saying something similar. Now I’m laughing at my brother and flipping him off.

  “How about no?”

  “How about you’re a lying motherfucker,” Callahan says. And there’s the triplet telepathy. I don’t have to say a word, and they already know the goddamn answer.

  And maybe I don’t want them to know the answer.

  Maybe I want to figure this shit out on my own.

  Besides, the minute they know anything has happened, it’s open season for them. The last thing I need is for Ellery to get spooked when she’s already skittish enough.

  “I believe I only saw one bedroom. One bed. Tell me how exactly that’s working out for you,” Ledger says.

  “One bed on the first floor. One bed up here. That’s how it’s working for us,” I chide.

  “So you have variety. Beds. Tables. Floor. The sand. That’s always good for the sex life,” Callahan says and shrugs nonchalantly. “I mean, Sutton and I try to make sure we go somewhere new at least once a—”

  “TMI. I do not need to know about Sutton’s and your sex life,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. “Just like you don’t need to know about mine.”

  “So there is one then?” Ledger asks.

  “Go away, Ledge,” I groan.

  “If you’re not going to answer, then I’ll just go ask her. You know me. I’m not shy.” Callahan stands up.

  “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  “Huh. That would be a yes.” Callahan flashes a gloating grin. The smug fucker. I can’t believe I walked right into that one. “Good to know I was right.”

  “Look. She just came out of a relationship. We’re having fun. Can’t that be enough for now?” I ask but know it’s a bit more than just having fun.

  Like I want her in my bed every night. By my side every day.

  “He’s in deeper than he’s admitting,” Ledger says to Callahan like I’m not even in the room.

  “Definitely deeper. He’s on the defensive, in protection mode. Definitely deeper,” Callahan says to him.

  “Aren’t you guys the ones who said some shit like rebounds can be good? Great sex? No attachment? Did I miss something?” I ask.

  “Yeah. You missed a lot.” Callahan snorts. “Hey, Ledge? When’s the last time Fordy here lied about any woman he’s dated?”

  “That would be never, Callahan,” Ledger says in a mocking voice.

  “Your point?” I ask.

  “You’re already in over your head. Take it from a man who has been there.” Callahan raises his hand, and we all laugh.

  Ellery

  Maybe you, of all people, can make Ford come to his senses instead of doing something he’s going to regret.

  Ledger’s parting words as he strode out of the inn, clearly frustrated with Ford, are on repeat in my head.

  What exactly did he mean?

  And why would he think that I, of all people, could help?

  When I talked to the three of them, things seemed fine. They asked questions, they murmured approvals about how they really think this Sharpe Signature idea could lead to something, and they engaged in conversation with me as if I belonged as part of the four of them.

  To say I was a little envious of their sibling bond is an understatement. I’ve never had that. Only rivalry. Only disregard. Only competition.

  So that’s why Ledger’s comment when he left took me by surprise.

  Maybe I should ask Ford what his brother meant? Then again, it’s none of my business. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. Besides, asking him means getting involved in things outside of this little universe we’ve created here at the inn. And I’m not one hundred percent sure how I feel about letting the outside in just yet.

  “You were no help,” I say to the wooden stick in my hand, now devoid of the ice cream and chocolate that was on it moments ago.

  Regardless, maybe there’s something going on and he needs . . . comfort? Space? Me?

  Me.

  Why would a man like him need me when clearly, he has a handle on everything himself?

  Between S.I.N. business and the inn, the man works nonstop without complaint or fanfare. Some days he’ll take off in the chopper for the office in Manhattan at five in the morning, to return by noon, and then put in another eight or so hours here at the site.

  He typically knows the answer to every question a contractor asks—even on issues or details I’m in control of—and I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the man ask for help.

  He’s a one-man show, and it’s incredible to watch him from the sidelines and learn from him by standing at his side.

  So what is it that Ledger thinks Ford might regret? What is it that he isn’t telling me?

  Clearly he has the business side handled, so whatever it is, it must pertain to his personal life. Family, then. Because it doesn’t seem like anything else exists for Ford outside of work and family . . . and me.

  I sit on that thought for a bit and am more than reminded of all the kind things he has done for me.

  Of course, there was Millie’s salon and the condo. But there were also flowers left on the kitchen table after I mentioned how there was nothing alive in this inn. A meal delivered when I was sick of eating the same food we have stored in our makeshift pantry at the inn. A laundry service to come and take my dirty clothes. A walk down the boardwalk when Roddy pissed me off to no end and he knew I needed to cool off. Quiet nights when I read my book and he perused the Internet on his laptop where we found comfort in the silence.

  Simple things that at the end of the day, make me smile. Make my day a little better.

  It’s high time I do something nice for him. The question is what?

  I jump at the sound at my back. So lost in my own thoughts over the man who made the sound, that I didn’t notice him.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know you were in here. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says distractedly.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. Yeah. Sure.” He opens the refrigerator then closes it. Does the same to the freezer before sitting and then standing back up and going to the window to look into the darkness outside.

  “Can’t sleep?” I ask.

  “Kind of. I don’t know. I . . . I just don’t know.”

  Something’s wrong. Is it what Ledger was talking about? I wish I knew. Clearly Ford is distracted and unsettled.

  Just like that first night we met.

  It feels like a lifetime ago, but the expression on his face and the discord in his eyes are so much the same as back then.

  I want to help him, but I’m not sure how to.

  That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.

  “Ford?”

  “Hmm?” He keeps staring straight ahead as I rise from the seat, all thoughts of having a second ice cream gone. Without thinking, I move through the darkened room to him, slide my arms through his, and wrap them around his waist.

  The kiss I press to his shoulder blade is so unlike me and yet . . . strangely, it feels so right, like something he would do to help comfort me.

  “Tough day?” I whisper against his back. He shrugs in return. “When I was little and had a tough day, my mom would let me sneak into her bed. She’d tell me there’s nothing a good cuddle can’t fix.”