If for Any Reason (Nantucket Love Story #1) - Courtney Walsh Page 0,38

looked away. “My family comes every summer.”

“Yeah, but you don’t.”

His jaw twitched. He didn’t like her prodding him, she could tell. Too bad that only made her want to keep going.

“You play baseball and do baseball things in the summer,” she said.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Emily, I don’t anymore.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“I googled you,” she said.

“Great.” His expression took a miserable turn.

“I read that you were offered two different jobs commentating this summer—you could’ve been the voice of Major League Baseball.”

“I don’t want to be the voice,” he said. “I wanna play.” The words seemed to surprise him, as if they’d escaped without his permission.

She held his gaze for several seconds, and then he finally looked away. “Forget it.”

In her head, she counted to three as if it were enough time for him to relax. “You seem lost, Hollis.”

“You can’t come back here after twenty years and act like you know anything about me.”

“No, you’re right,” she said.

But oh, how she wanted to know everything about him.

His shoulders relaxed, but only slightly.

“But I can see you’re hiding out here with a daughter you hardly seem to know.” She wished she could just shut up, but she realized in that moment a wall of questions had been forming at the back of her mind, and she couldn’t not ask them.

“I’m not hiding out—” He shook his head.

Her bluntness sometimes upset people. Why couldn’t she mind her own business?

“I’ll talk to you later.” He started off in the opposite direction from where her bike was parked, leaving her standing on the sidewalk, wishing she’d never run into Hollis at all.

It was true: she didn’t know Hollis McGuire anymore. Didn’t know the pain he’d suffered from his accident or how hard it had been coming back from that. They called him “Miracle Man McGuire”—but even after the comeback of the decade, it was all over four years later.

She’d been so focused on her own pain, she hadn’t even stopped to think for a single second that maybe she wasn’t the only one suffering, but the chances of him talking about it with her after that conversation were slim.

Me and my big mouth.

After a brief, unproductive conversation with Gladys, who seemed intent on stalling, Emily went back to the cottage, fretting over her conversation with Hollis. She should go find him and apologize. It’s what a good friend would do. But smoothing things over with Hollis would mean making him feel like she didn’t have questions—and that wasn’t honest.

She had lots of questions.

Mostly—What happened to you?

She parked her mother’s bike near the old shed just as a mail truck pulled to the end of the driveway. The small truck honked and the driver waved as she stopped at Emily’s mailbox.

That was odd. Nobody besides her grandma knew she was here, and while Grandma was a fan of old-school traditions, she was the least sentimental person Emily knew. The odds of her sending anything to Nantucket were slim.

She traipsed down the driveway to the box, waving as the carrier pulled away.

Inside the mailbox, she found one envelope, addressed to her. Her eyes darted to the return address: Blakely and Shore, Attorneys-at-Law.

She tore open the envelope and found two sheets of paper inside. On top, a typed letter from Solomon Blakely, one of GrandPop’s lawyers.

Dear Ms. Ackerman,

I had the pleasure of serving as your grandfather’s attorney for the past thirty years. The man was as brilliant as he was generous, and we were grieved to hear of his passing. Eliza tells me you’ve received the keys to the Nantucket cottage and that you’ll be spending the summer there. That would’ve made your grandfather very happy.

I was honored to handle his will for him, and one of his requests was that I send you this letter after his passing.

You meant the world to him, Emily, and I know he loved you very much.

If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to give me a call.

Sincerely,

Solomon Blakely

Attorney-at-Law

Emily flipped the paper back to reveal a handwritten letter on a plain sheet of cream-colored stationery. She stared at the page as the sight of her grandfather’s familiar scrawl clouded her eyes.

She thought she’d heard the last of his advice. She thought he was out of her reach now that he was gone, but here he was, giving her one last bit of wisdom, after his death.

Emily moved toward the front porch of the cottage and sat down on the top step. The sound of the