If for Any Reason (Nantucket Love Story #1) - Courtney Walsh Page 0,124
step closer to her. He used his thumbs to catch her tears, wiping her cheeks dry; then gently, he kissed her forehead, then one cheek, then the other. “I never stopped.”
She brought her eyes to his, searching for a reason to run.
She found none, only that same genuine love she’d always found when she looked at him.
“I’ll do anything I can to prove myself to you,” he said. “And if I’m not too late, I wondered if maybe we could start over?”
She covered his hands, still holding her face, with hers and closed her eyes.
“I promise I won’t make the same mistake twice, Isabelle. If you let me, I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”
She opened her eyes, locked on to his, and nodded.
“Yeah?” His mouth spread into a slow grin.
She nodded again as he brought his lips to hers and kissed her with a pent-up passion that hadn’t been unlocked in twelve years.
“I want you to meet her,” she said, pulling away. “I want her to meet you.”
“That would make me the happiest person on the planet.”
Another kiss—then another—and she felt his arms around her in a way she sometimes dreamed of late at night.
Was this really happening?
“I’ll go home and get her, but I want to talk to my parents first.”
He let his forehead rest on hers. “I can come with you.”
“No,” she said. “I’ve got to do this on my own. But after I do, we can be together, and this time, nobody else is going to get in the middle of it.”
He smiled as she removed herself from his embrace.
“Where will you be?”
“My aunt’s cottage,” he said. “Cliff Road.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Our cottage?”
His eyes found hers again. “Our cottage.”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again, this time slowly, deliberately, and without the rush of the past. “I love you, JD Walker,” she whispered.
“I love you too.”
And as she got in the cab to take her back to her parents’ house, back to Emily, her heart leapt at the idea that finally—finally—she might get her happily ever after.
CHAPTER 45
EMILY TRUDGED BACK UP TO THE HOUSE, so angry with Hollis she wondered for a fleeting moment how it would feel to punch him. It was a ridiculous notion considering he likely had rock-hard abs that would do more damage to her fist than to him, but still, she wondered. She’d expected him to be on her side, but then that would’ve made him feel bad about his own mistakes, wouldn’t it?
Of course he’d side with Jack. He was Jack.
The thought sent her stomach roiling. Coming back to Nantucket had been the worst mistake she’d ever made, and she’d made a lot.
She plowed through the yard and into the house through the sliding-glass door. She closed the door behind her and walked into the kitchen, where she found her grandmother standing, stick straight like a beauty queen.
She’d never made sense of her grandmother. They were from two different worlds—she’d spent so much of her life trying to reconcile the person she thought her mother wanted her to be with the person her grandmother was actively trying to turn her into.
Emily froze, and her grandmother gave her a long, pointed look. Sure, she’d borrowed the car without asking, but Grandma had fired Jack without asking. Grandma had refused to fill in any of the blank spaces in Emily’s story. Grandma had answers where Emily only had questions.
Emily hung on to the older woman’s gaze, mustered every ounce of courage she could find, and jutted out her chin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her grandma’s already-straight shoulders stiffened. “Tell you what?”
“About Jack.”
Grandma pressed her thin lips together until they disappeared. “I’m sorry, Emily. I know you wanted to handle this remodel all on your own, but I had to intervene when I saw some of the mistakes you were making.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Eliza quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly.
“Don’t you think you owe me an explanation? Don’t I at least deserve that?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” Grandma said.
Emily moved to one side of the large island Jack had built for the center of the kitchen. He’d installed a beautiful granite countertop on the white base, which was filled with drawers and cabinets and meant to store dish towels, mixing bowls, and serving dishes. He’d done a beautiful job—even Grandma had to admit that.
“Why didn’t you tell me he’s my father?”
Grandma’s eyes darted to Emily’s. “What did you just say?”