Sunset in Central Park (From Manhattan with Love #2) - Sarah Morgan Page 0,64

She was the one who had crossed the road because she’d been too ashamed to face anyone. “I assumed I knew what they were thinking. What they were going to say to me.”

“You’re not the only person who goes around imagining that they know what people are thinking.”

“You don’t do that.”

He shrugged. “I’m human. I do it sometimes, but generally I find it more reliable to wait until a person tells me what they think, rather than making a guess. Not only does that make sense to me, but also I’m a guy. I don’t have female intuition.”

“Neither do I, it seems.” Frankie leaned her head back against the seat and let the memories flow over her. “I was so scared of her.”

“Hilda? She’s virtually an island elder. Growing up, we were all a little scared of her. But she has a wicked sense of humor and she’ll do anything for the people of this island. Look on the positive side. You went into Harbor Stores and came out alive. In fact, you did better than that. You were hugged by Hilda. That’s a ticket to island approval right there.”

That much was true.

Frankie felt some of the tension leave her. She had built it up in her head. Her own embarrassment had led her to avoid people and she’d confused who was avoiding whom.

Once an islander, always an islander.

Maybe she didn’t feel as if this place was home exactly, but she had to admit that it had charm. A charm she’d forgotten. Or maybe it wasn’t that she’d forgotten, more that the beauty of the place had been blackened by the events surrounding her parents’ divorce.

Matt paused to allow traffic to pass and then took the road that led toward Camp Puffin on the eastern side of the island.

Frankie gazed out the window across the rolling fields to the sea. It glistened and sparkled in the sunshine, a perfect day for sailing. The bay bobbed with boats, and in the far distance she could see the mainland. “It’s pretty here. I never spent much time on this side of the island.”

“You never spent a summer at Camp Puffin?”

“No. Paige didn’t do it because she wasn’t well enough. But you know that, of course.” And she’d been relieved to have an excuse not to spend the summer alongside the other kids. Some of them had been fine, but there had been a group of older boys who had made her life a misery. It had been hard enough to cope with the teasing at school, without extending the torture through the long days of summer. It was a relief to escape from it for a few months. “Eva and I used to make our own camp in the cave on the bay just beyond South Beach. Do you know it?”

“I know it well.” The smile on his mouth made her wonder how well.

At night the cave had been a favorite hangout for teenagers seeking privacy.

“We buried a box in the cave. Each of us put something personal in it.”

“I hope you buried it deep or that box is probably floating somewhere close to Greenland now. The wedding is on South Beach, so we can look for it.” Matt slowed as the road turned to a dirt track. It skirted the forest and headed directly to the camp. “There’s a path from here that leads over the cliffs to Castaway Cottage.”

“I walked it a couple of times.” She’d been fourteen years old and isolated, with a secret she couldn’t even tell her closest friends. “I often walked as far as the cottage, but I never went inside apart from that one time. I used to sit on the rocks and stare at it for hours.” Until the welcoming glow of the lights and the curl of smoke from the chimney had increased her feeling of isolation and she’d returned over the cliffs to the shards of her own shattered family. “I remember it being cozy. Kathleen had framed photos of seabirds on the walls and in the kitchen there were huge jars filled with sea glass she’d picked up herself from the beach. Everything about the place made you think of the ocean. I remember wishing I could stay there forever, wrapped in that blanket, listening to the waves crashing onto the rocks. And Kathleen was so kind.” So kind that she’d almost told her everything.

Almost.

And that was the reason she’d never knocked on the door again. She hadn’t trusted herself not