Meet Me at Sunset (Evening Island) - Olivia Miles Page 0,47

would still go forward, as planned.

Only it wouldn’t. She knew that now. And the dress just served as a hurtful reminder of everything that might have been and wouldn’t be.

She had no idea if it fit or not anymore. She had let the shop know when she went to pick it up—when she tried to return it and was told that she couldn’t, since it was custom made. But she hadn’t deleted the appointment from her phone. And now…now she knew that she wouldn’t get any more work done today.

She closed out of her document and went to the bathroom to run a brush through her hair. It was after lunch already, late afternoon really, and she hadn’t been outside all day. She’d take a walk, and if that walk happened to lead to a chat with Leo, then so be it. She should probably thank him for raking out that vegetable garden, after all. She’d watered it as he’d instructed, letting Rose and Victoria assist, and she thought there might just be a chance to save some of the summer crop after all, if she worked hard at it.

What was she saying? She was selling this house! What did it matter if she saved some squash?

Because it mattered to Gran, she realized. And therefore, it mattered to her.

And even though she knew it was impractical to hold onto this property, she wanted to be sure that it was shiny and polished, taken care of, and loved.

They wouldn’t just sell to anyone. They’d sell to another family, a family who would have the time to come here every summer, just as they all once had.

And then… Then she hadn’t gotten much further.

Deciding she couldn’t think about this anymore right now, especially when Ellie was still avoiding any mention of the subject—and her, at all costs, it would seem from her continued absence—Gemma went downstairs and stepped out onto the front porch, deciding she would take a walk along the beachfront if Leo didn’t happen to catch her eye first.

Admittedly, she was darting her gaze in that direction.

Catching her stare, he held up an arm in a wave, and damn it if her stomach didn’t flip over a little at that. Honestly, how ridiculous was this? She’d been holed up in her apartment for so long that she now got all weak in the knees over the slightest kindness from a random man?

Only he didn’t feel random. He felt…well, like a friend.

“Nice day out!” she said.

He set down his toolbox and took the steps down to the grass. She swallowed hard as he crossed the lawn toward Sunset Cottage. “I don’t see you out much.”

She grinned, wondering if he had been looking for her and then telling herself that this was ridiculous. It was an observation, and a fairly obvious one.

“Work keeps me busy. I’m under a tight deadline.”

“What do you do?” he asked, tipping his head.

“Oh…” She dreaded this part, when she had to state her profession. Once, she had said it with pride. Made the announcement with no hesitation. But lately, she felt like a fraud, like people could see through to her struggle. “I’m a writer.”

“Anything I’ve heard of?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not unless you read romance novels.”

His jaw seemed to harden. “Can’t say that I do.” He studied her for a moment. “So you believe in all that stuff?”

“Stuff?”

“Happy endings and all that,” he said, narrowing his gaze.

Even if she hadn’t found it for herself, she knew that it existed for some. Hope was proof of that. She shrugged. “Doesn’t everybody?”

“Not everyone,” he said briskly, and she had the distinct impression that she had hit a nerve.

She gave a little smile, feeling a kinship that bordered on a connection with this man. “That’s why I’m here for the summer,” she explained. “I’m finishing up my next book.” Finishing up. She nearly snorted on that exaggeration. “There’s a room upstairs that I like, with a view of the lake, and well, it’s working out better than my place in Chicago.” That much was true. She was at least producing words, which she hadn’t done since Sean left her.

Leo stood on the grass looking up at her, thrusting his hands into his pockets, little beads of sweat dotting his forehead, and Gemma took this as a reason to invite him in.

“Can I offer you a glass of cold lemonade? I owe you at least that much for helping out with Gran’s vegetable garden.” She was stalling, she told herself,