She’d been a tourist, on the island for a vacation and looking for a little no-strings hookup that wouldn’t follow her when she returned home. He’d been looking to lose himself. And he had, right up until the door to his office had opened and Mal had walked in to find him with his head up the other woman’s skirt.
He’d regretted it then, regretted it more now. If only he hadn’t let Mal walk away, hadn’t grabbed a bottle of whiskey and drunk until he could no longer taste, hadn’t let himself believe that he could forget about her by filling the space with someone else.
Travis took a swig from the bottle, letting the cool water wash away the layer of bitterness coating his tongue. What happened was in the past and he couldn’t go back and undo it, but he could try to make amends. Of course, that awkward conversation mere minutes ago probably wasn’t how best to go about it.
Crazy. He’d not only spent the flight from Aruba and ferry ride from Vancouver to Salt Spring Island considering and planning what he’d say when he saw Mal, he’d also thought about it for many months prior. Hand hovering over the phone or Send button on his email without doing anything. He’d had the conversation a million times in his head and heart. And still he’d choked when the moment arrived.
Travis took another sip of water and rolled his shoulders. He’d just have to try again.
But when she came out from the side of the house she was clearly on a mission that nothing and no one was going to interrupt. He knew that look, that strut. He enjoyed the sway of her hips as she moved across the patio and went through the back door, entering the house.
“Ahem.”
Travis blinked and looked straight into the eyes of his best friend, the recent groom. “Ahem yourself.” Then he clapped Owen on the back.
“You blew it,” Owen told him, but he was grinning. “Pissed her right off.”
“I didn’t mean to.” Travis’s eyes darted back toward the door. But Mal didn’t reappear. “How pissed was she?”
“Enough.” Owen exhaled with the easy breath of a man who knew that his night would be spent in the arms of a loving woman. Travis tried not to be jealous. It had already been a year. What was one more night?
“Where’s Grace?”
“She’s gone to check on Mal.” Owen nicked a skewer from a passing server and popped it into his mouth.
“They’re friends?”
Owen nodded and finished chewing. “Yes, but don’t ask her to get involved. You messed things up with Mal and you can fix them yourself.”
“And here I thought you’d be eager to stick your nose in your sister’s love life.”
“I am. I said you couldn’t ask Grace, but I am amenable to being convinced. So go ahead, ask me to get involved.”
Travis laughed. “Like I could keep you out of it.”
“Well, I am a bit of an expert. I got Donovan and his wife back together when my brother screwed everything up.” Owen sipped from his own bottle of water. His expression grew serious. “Listen, I love my little sister and I want her to be happy. She hasn’t been happy since you broke up, so...” He trailed off with a shrug.
“I’ll be honest, Owen. Things aren’t off to a good start.” Even rocky didn’t cover it.
“Yeah, I caught that much. But if she didn’t care, she wouldn’t be mad.”
Travis had picked up on that, too. Still it was good to hear from someone else. “I just need to get her to talk to me.” Of course, that was easier said than done when she was slippery as an eel. “Any advice?”
Owen tilted his head, seeming to think about it. Then he shrugged again. “Put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye?”
“Wow. You should charge for that insight. Brilliant.”
Owen laughed. “Good to have you back, buddy.”
Travis smiled, too. It was good to be back. Even if he was pretty sure Mal was going to do her best to avoid the conversation they clearly needed to have.
RIDICULOUS. COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS.
Mal shook off the warm, caramel-y feeling that tried to melt the icy guard she’d placed around her heart. Travis hadn’t missed her. Not really. No matter what he or Owen or anyone said.
She splashed some cold water on the back of her neck and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked tired. She was tired. But this was Owen and Grace’s wedding and there was no time for a pity party of any sort.
She splashed a little more water. Her eyes tracked her hands, noticed the bareness of her fingers and not just because she was the only Ford child currently without a ring of commitment, but because seeing Travis reminded her that, not so long ago, she’d been the only one to have that symbol of a relationship.
Her stomach jittered and she pressed a hand to it, trying to take some slow deep breaths as she’d learned in Pilates. But the bliss of Zen never came. Maybe because Zen was more of a yoga thing.
Mal’s eyes strayed to her bare finger again. She should have brought the ring with her. She’d known Travis would be in attendance. She should have placed it in her luggage, transported it here in her purse and then taken a quiet moment alone with Travis to return it to him.
The ring was his grandma’s. A pretty, square-cut sapphire surrounded by diamond chips. Mal had been so thrilled when he’d given it to her. It hadn’t been an engagement ring, not in the traditional sense, as they’d been too busy putting all their time and money, all their energy into the beachfront bistro in Aruba. But they’d talked about having a wedding once they were settled. Flying in their families and getting married with their toes in the sand and a starry moonlit night overhead, an ocean breeze blowing through the palm trees.
A ghost of a smile crossed Mal’s lips before disappearing, much the way her dreams had. She needed to return the ring. Not just to Travis but to Mildred. It had been wrong of her to keep it as long as she had, sitting in her jewelry box so she looked at it every morning when she chose her accoutrements for the day.
She dried the water from her neck, pressed cold fingers under her eyes and, after a few deep breaths and a good roll of the shoulders, decided to head back out. She couldn’t stay in the house forever. It might not be her wedding, but people would be looking for her. And it would be good to have something else to focus on, such as small talk and chatter about the family business—a string of wine bars, one fine dining restaurant and their recent expansion into the gastropub market with a single location. She would also be happy to talk about the charity event she was organizing to raise money for local food banks.
Mal made her way through the lovely farmhouse and out the door to the backyard. The party, though small, was still going strong. She glanced around for a group to join. She didn’t care which one, so long as it didn’t include Travis or her brother.
“Mallory.” Her mother, Evelyn, swooped in like some kind of
