A Match Made at Christmas - Courtney Walsh Page 0,51

up to be a jerk, okay, Andrew?” Emily said absently.

Andrew’s mother frowned.

“Sorry,” Emily said. “Sometimes I say inappropriate things.”

“Kenton does that too. One time he spent the whole day talking about poo.” Andrew’s face was so serious Emily couldn’t help but laugh.

He smiled at her. “What’s your imaginary friend’s name?”

“I don’t see much of her anymore,” Emily said. “But her name was Kellen.”

“Kellen,” Andrew said. “Kellen and Kenton. I bet they’re friends.”

“You ask him the next time you see him, okay?” Emily smiled. She’d been having such a lovely time with Andrew she didn’t even notice the ferry had slowed and was now docking in Nantucket.

If she closed her eyes tightly enough, Emily could almost imagine she was just another Nantucket tourist. If she stopped her mind from wandering, she could almost believe it was her first time on the island, her first time seeing in real life what she’d only seen in photos—the cobblestone streets, the gray Shaker homes with big bushes of purplish-blue hydrangeas out front, the rows of brightly colored Vespas for rent, the lighthouses that beckoned weary travelers to come and rest here.

Nantucket made promises, but in her experience, the island didn’t make good on them.

What she wouldn’t give for this to be her first time.

But it wasn’t, was it?

She glanced into her big, floppy bag, the one where she’d stuffed all the necessities, including the haphazardly assembled book of letters, worn with years of handling. Sometimes just touching it was enough to make her mother feel close, almost like she had a magic lamp she could rub and see her wishes come true.

But as she placed her hand on the tattered, hand-decorated cover, even her mom felt far away.

It was as if her presence had been pulled out of the book the second the island came into view. As if even her mother’s memory wanted to forget.

All around her, other passengers were gathering their things, anxious to get the season started on the island. But Emily stayed in her seat, dazed and maybe kind of motion sick. Or perhaps the nausea had nothing to do with the boat ride at all.

If she were smart, she would’ve approached Nantucket the way she would a two-day-old Band-Aid.

One quick rip and it would all be over.

If only . . .

“You’re getting off, aren’t you?” Andrew stood in front of her now, his red-and-yellow tiny-person backpack wrapped around both of his shoulders, a red baseball cap doing its best to tame his unruly chocolate-colored hair.

“I’m thinking about it,” Emily said with a smile.

“You like it here, don’t you?”

Ooh. A trick question. What was she going to tell the kid? That this island had stolen everything from her and she was only back here because she had absolutely no other option? His mother would probably call the police.

“Yes, it’s very lovely,” she finally said. It wasn’t a lie, not really. Nantucket was lovely. At least it was for other people.

“I love this place,” Andrew said. “Here.” He held out his fist and gave it a shake.

She held her hand out underneath his and he dropped a smooth white rock into it.

“I found this on the beach last summer.” Andrew grinned and she could tell his front tooth was about to fall out. “You can have it.”

Before she could protest, Andrew’s mom gave his hand a tug.

He looked back at her and waved, and for the briefest second Emily’s heart ached.

His mom was, quite possibly, younger than Emily. And she had that beautiful little boy and probably a devoted husband waiting for her somewhere. That life had never appealed to Emily, but in that moment—and it was a fleeting one—something tugged at her insides.

But Emily didn’t have time for heartache when she was about to get off the ferry. She grabbed her suitcase, her purse, and the large bag she’d stuffed with toiletries, Kind bars (to keep from eating junk), dark chocolate–covered blueberries (because sometimes it was okay to eat junk), two books, and anything else that hadn’t fit in her suitcase.

She made her way to the door of the ferry and drew in a deep, deep breath.

I can do hard things.

She’d tossed the mantra around in her head for so many months, the words were meaningless by now. Well, they were pretty much already meaningless because once a phrase caught on and became popular, it lost its value. Every fitness expert in America probably shouted those words out as they reached the fourteenth rep of a particularly challenging exercise.

But she could do hard things. She’d been doing hard things since she was eleven years old.

Emily stood at the edge of the island and took another salt-tinged breath, the faint smell of fish reminding her that not everything near the ocean was lovely. Certainly not.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and willed herself to press onward. She hadn’t come this far to chicken out now, and besides, what other choice did she have?

Sometimes she wished Nantucket hadn’t been ruined for her. Just another complaint to add to the pile, she supposed. If she wasn’t careful, she’d rack up so many she’d become one of those cranky old women whose mouths were permanently frowning, like that cartoon character, Maxine, on the Hallmark cards.

Or her own grandmother.

But no, that would never be her. Not Emily Ackerman. Not the girl who looked for fun wherever she went (and usually found it). Not the free-spirited wanderer who’d worked acting jobs all over the world, had more friends than she could keep track of, and knew exactly how to turn every trip into an adventure.

This was just another trip, right? Never mind that this trip had a purpose other than fun. This trip was her second chance—and she could not screw it up.

That certainly put a damper on any plans for a good time.

She dragged her single suitcase behind her, aware how pathetic it was that at the age of thirty-one, she could fit nearly everything important to her in one suitcase—and it wasn’t even the largest one in the set her grandmother had sent when she graduated from college nine years ago.

She heaved a sigh and moved with the flow of foot traffic as tourists flooded off the ferry and onto the street. When she was a girl, this was the moment she looked forward to all year long—the moment her flip-flops hit the cobblestones, the moment she and her mom arrived in Nantucket.

So much had changed.

As she watched Andrew’s red-and-yellow backpack disappear into the crowd, she said a quick prayer that his days in Nantucket were filled with nothing but good things—lobster boils and fish fries, giant ice cream cones from the Juice Bar and long, sun-kissed days at Jetties Beach.

She wished for him all the things she would’ve held on to if Nantucket hadn’t been ruined for her all those years ago.

And suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she actually could do hard things.

But she was about to find out.

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