face you?” She hated how her face contorted with the words.
His scowl changed. Had there been a hint of empathy in the expression? Or was it disbelief, and justified betrayal that torqued his brows? On a mission, she blinked away the blurry vision, dug into her smock pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “I swear I’d just found out the day before my scheduled flight home. I was in shock, couldn’t think straight. I was falling apart, my life had suddenly changed completely. There was no way I could come home.” She brought up a picture, took a deep breath and, with her hand shaking, turned the phone his way so he could see the screen. “This is my son, Benjamin. He’s two years old.”
Conor studied the picture of her pudgy blond-headed toddler, then slowly stared at her.
Speechless.
Two years, seven months and three weeks ago, on the beach at sunset by the second lifeguard station, Conor had waited for Shelby. And waited. He’d honored the special date he and Shelby had promised to meet on, and felt like a fool as the last rays of light dimmed and the threads of hope unraveled.
She’d forgotten.
Twenty minutes later, Shelby called him, her voice quivery. She’d explained she’d had every intention of coming, swore she had, even had the plane ticket to prove it.
“So why aren’t you here?” he asked, mystified by her absence, and furious. So, so furious.
She broke into tears, soon crying hysterically.
His anger quickly turned to concern. “Are you all right? Shelby, what’s wrong?”
She worked to recover, sniffing, gasping air, and finally, on a ragged breath, pushed out the words. “I can’t talk about it. It’s too hard.”
“Just tell me that you’re okay. Are you in danger?”
“I’m not in danger, but I’m not okay.” She started crying again. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t come. I hope you can forgive me.” Then she hung up.
Worried sick, he’d sat staring at the ocean, then the phone, then the engagement ring in his hand he’d been ready to give her. She’d bought a plane ticket. Hurt to the marrow, as deep as the love he had for her, he would hold off on passing judgment until he’d gotten the facts.
Conor had planned to ask Shelby to be his wife. He tried to brush off the pain, but her not showing up stung like a demon wasp. His stomach tightened to the point of backfiring. He doubled over, heaved and threw up onto the sand, grateful that it was dark and no one could see him. After what seemed like forever, brokenhearted and thoroughly confused, he’d stood and walked home. Vowing to never let anyone make him feel that way again.
But concern wouldn’t let up and, ready to interrogate Shelby, he’d called her the next day. She was at work and said she couldn’t talk to him. He’d heard the racket in the background, the voices shouting out food orders. She wasn’t lying—nevertheless, her avoiding him cut deeper still.
The next day, when he dialed before he figured she’d be at work, the call went straight to voice mail. I can’t take your call right now.
He finally got the point. She’d dumped him and didn’t want anything more to do with him. But why? And why buy a plane ticket if she hadn’t planned to come?
What had changed?
After all the years they’d known each other, he’d thought he’d meant something to her. He’d given her the Claddagh ring, a promise ring, in high school. She’d worn it when she’d left for New York the first time. They may have slipped out of touch in the interim but the promise had always been in the back of his mind. Then six years ago, they’d had the most amazing July together in Sandpiper Beach, falling in love. For real.
Sure they hadn’t kept in touch as much as they should have since that summer, but life was busy and complicated for both of them. And he’d never made it back east for a visit. But they’d made a promise to meet again. Didn’t a guy deserve to know why he’d been forgotten?
Since that day, he’d thrown himself into his job, dated lots of women to help him forget her, and moved on. Or so he kept telling himself.
Now here he was in a dark parking lot, looking at a digital picture of a toddler, while Shelby expectantly waited for him to say something. As if this situation was normal. In any way, shape or form.
“Cute kid.”
That was the best he could offer under the circumstances. An avalanche of pain, confusion and forgotten love crashed over him. And burned. Anguish and aching had been so deep he’d lost himself for a time back then. It’d taken months to feel semi-normal again.
Back in that hotel kitchen, she’d successfully reopened his wounds simply by showing up. Over two years late.
Finally, as painful as it was, he looked at her. The girl he’d known since fourth grade, with the same brown eyes—the eyes he used to get lost in—and light brown hair—though it was shorter and big city stylish now—the same girl, yet so different. She was a career woman now. A mother.
Tonight, face-to-face in a parking lot, thousands of miles still stretched between them. He was a deputy sheriff, he knew how to add things up. She’d said she’d bought her plane ticket, then didn’t meet him, and by the picture of her son, the timing seemed about right.
“Thanks.” Her reply was nearly inaudible.
His wasn’t the response she’d expected from the reaction on her face, a mix between fading hope, agony and facing cold hard facts—there was no fixing what’d gone down between them. Surely she understood that.
Looking resigned, she took back the phone, her fingers cold and trembling. No doubt it’d been hard for her to run after him and show him the reason she’d stood him up. She’d been with someone else and had forgotten to clue him in.
Yet she’d bought a plane ticket. And she wasn’t a liar. He had no reason to doubt that at some point she’d intended to meet him.
“I’m sorry, I really am.” The mouth he used to dream of kissing again quivered as she spoke.
He could only imagine what’d been going on in her world for the last two years. What had happened couldn’t be changed, a little pudgy boy proved it. She’d moved on, hadn’t honored their promise like he had. That was the risk of encouraging someone you loved to follow their dreams. Those aspirations had led her away for good. Maybe his father was wiser than he’d thought when it’d come to interfering with his mother’s dreams.
He couldn’t make his throat work. Didn’t try to speak. So he nodded a silent truce, and she nodded back, then he headed for his room, leaving the new chef like a statue in the parking lot watching him go.
Great new menu or not, he’d be eating elsewhere from here on out.
* * *
A week later, Shelby was still getting familiar with her routine as the new
