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 chef at The Drumcliffe Hotel. Though she’d never get used to that haunted and angry flare in Conor’s eyes when he’d appeared in the kitchen her first night. And later in the parking lot, when he’d given her that icy cold stare. She hadn’t seen a hint of him since then. He’d been her friend since fourth grade, she’d never get used to the fact that he hated her.
At least she had a job.
Hitting the farmers’ market early, in the park just off Main Street, pushing the umbrella stroller with Benjamin happily jabbering to himself, Shelby walked the booths, purchasing fresh herbs and vegetables, putting the items in tote bags hanging over the stroller handles. She wanted The Drumcliffe to serve free-range, local and sustainable meat and fowl products, too, and had to rush back to the kitchen for the latest delivery.
A sheriff’s car drove by, prompting a memory of a certain sweet and sexy deputy sheriff—Conor.
“This was the best summer of my life,” Conor said, cupping Shelby’s face.
“I wish it didn’t have to end.”
She wanted to cry at the thought of walking away from him again. The last time she’d only been seventeen and she’d had a dream of going to culinary school in New York. He’d given her a Claddagh ring, and foolish as she was, wearing that promise ring, she knew they’d be together one day. Now she was twenty-three, with a new job lined up back east, still on her quest to work her way up to running her own kitchen in a big city. Catching a break in the Big Apple was far harder than she’d imagined, and she was just starting out. She couldn’t stay in Sandpiper Beach. No matter how tempting Conor Delaney was.
“Don’t let anything keep you from your dreams.” His penetrating blue eyes seemed so sincere at the airport. He was sending her away again. Why didn’t he want her to stay?
“I’ll call every week,” she said.
And she had for the first few months.
“Sure, and once I find a job and get a vacation, I’ll fly back to see you.”
I’ll stay if you ask me. Just say the word.
She stared at her feet, hopeful he might say something. Instead of asking her to stay, he lifted her chin, gazed deeply at her, with something sparking in his baby blues. “Remember our promise. Even if we fall out of touch. Let’s meet at sunset in four years.” The second lifeguard station on Sandpiper Beach. He’d even verified the day and date on his cell phone again.
They’d spent much of the summer—in between making love every chance they had—pretending to be well-adjusted adults with plans and responsibilities. Look how we’ve grown up, they’d silently bragged through their actions and carefree days. Though love simmered just below the surface, the way Conor vehemently insisted she go back to New York, Shelby had been confused. He’d said he loved her, but didn’t ask her to stay. At least he’d asked her to meet him in four years.
If she believed in dreams, and she did with all her heart, then their love affair would survive, and they’d have a fairy tale meeting in four years.
She’d promised to meet him, then they’d shared the most romantic kiss of her life.
Too bad he hated her now. She could never hate him, they’d been friends since elementary school. But she’d have one heck of a job if she wanted to win back his trust. Was it even possible?
Benjamin squealed. He’d seen a parrot in a cage. “Birdie.” She pushed the stroller closer so he could see the bird, then checked her watch to see how long before they needed to get back to the kitchen, wishing she had more time to play with him.
At the end of her super busy days caring for Benjamin and since taking on her role as head chef of the small kitchen at The Drumcliffe, she barely had energy left over for anything beyond brushing her teeth and crawling into bed.
Finished with her shopping, she put Benjamin in his car seat and drove through her hometown, struck with how quiet it seemed. There was no traffic noise, no honking or verbal abuse on the streets. So different from New York City. Here, she could hear her own thoughts, and memories of good times in the friendly beach community and the cozy, quiet little town she’d always taken for granted kept returning. Now she longed to fit back in and have a routine, something she’d never achieved back east. I used to run along the beach every morning. Maybe if she got up early enough, before her mother left for school, Mom could watch Benjamin and she could take a run? Like the old days. She was too young to think in terms of old days and new days, but being a single mom had straightened her out about her prior carefree life. It didn’t exist anymore.
Neither did dreams. She’d lost one too many jobs in New York, and was back home in small-town Sandpiper Beach to regroup. Not exactly the path to culinary greatness.
Reality was a real snotwad. She sighed and turned her thoughts determinedly to the next chore on her agenda, meeting the chicken delivery man for tonight’s menu.
When she parked in the hotel lot, she saw Conor’s car. The guy who’d taken her to the airport and kissed her goodbye, reminding her about their promise before he’d sent her away. The promise she’d broken. The hair stood on her arms. What if it was his day off and she saw him today? Would it be as horrible as last Saturday night? Nothing could top that out-of-control reaction. She’d nearly set the kitchen on fire!
Whatever pain or sadness she’d caused him, not to mention herself, was history. She was all grown up now with her boy on her hip to prove it. Using her keys, she opened the hotel kitchen—her kitchen—and forced a smile. She was head chef somewhere. Then Benjamin kicked his sturdy legs to get down, but no way would she let him run around her kitchen grabbing anything at his eye level. Soon he quit squirming and pointed through the glass door.
“Truck, I know,” she said.
He had a funny way of pronouncing f’s instead of t’s and she didn’t want to encourage him to say fruck in public.
The delivery man had arrived with chicken breasts, thighs and legs for today’s special, fresh from a local farm.
As she signed off on the delivery from the back steps of the kitchen, Conor left his hotel room, looking dressed for the
