Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk #3) - Samantha Young Page 0,8

the face. His wealthy family had vacationed in Hartwell for years when he was young, and when Bailey was nineteen, he told her he loved her and she fell in love right back. But at the end of the summer, he broke her heart and told her she wasn’t good enough for his family. Bastard. If I’d been friends with Bailey back then, I would have found a way to take sweet revenge on the uppity asshole. Like filling his luxury sports car with piles and piles of cheese—so much cheese, he’d be clearing that stuff out for days, and he’d never get the smell out of the leather.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t in Hartwell back then to execute such sophisticated revenge plans for my best friend.

“He might assume things about Vaughn, and I need to work out how I feel about Tremaine before I take into consideration anybody else’s feelings about him.”

I called bullshit. “Oh, please, you know how you feel about Vaughn.”

“I’m going to smack you.”

I grinned and turned my left cheek to her, tapping my finger against the dimple there. “Go ahead. Make my day.”

Bailey’s green eyes danced with amusement. “Ach, you’re too damn cute for your own good.”

I pretended to preen. “I know.” The girls laughed.

“Miss,” a guy’s voice cut through our laughter. We all turned as a man walked up the stairs. There was something familiar about the way he moved as he led a short, pretty blond up the steps with him. His gaze zeroed in on Emery. “We’d like to purchase a couple of books if that’s okay,” he said in a thick Boston accent.

That’s when the familiarity made sense.

The shock that slammed through me I likened to how it must feel to step out onto the street, not see the car, and suddenly find yourself flying through the air with the unexpected impact.

No.

Jesus Christ, no.

What was he doing here?

My heart raced sickeningly in my chest. A flush of heat swept over my body so fast I could feel sweat gathering under my arms. The shock rendered my limbs useless, and I could only stare.

Michael Sullivan.

He was here.

In Hartwell.

In Emery’s bookstore.

He had a short, scruffy beard and there were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before, but it was him. I’d know him anywhere.

Tears welled in my throat as longing so painful gripped my chest. I hadn’t seen him in years and all at once, it was like breathing for the first time in a decade, only for that breath to painfully slip away, its momentary relief over all too soon.

He smiled at Bailey and then me.

As our eyes locked and surprise slackened his features, a weight pressed down on my chest. “Dahlia?”

How was he here?

Why was he here?

Go away, go away, go away!

“Michael,” his name fell from my lips.

Michael. I loved his name. I loved … I loved … I …

I was going to lose it.

Right there in front of him and the blond whose hand he was holding.

I didn’t want to see that.

I didn’t want to see any of this.

But we couldn’t stop staring at each other, drinking each other in. Michael’s eyes were the same beautiful dark brown. The kind of eyes a girl could drown in. His blond hair was cut shorter than it had been when we were younger, so it appeared darker, and those broad shoulders of his seemed even wider. The T-shirt he wore clung to his body suggesting he worked out more than he used to. Not that he wasn’t fit back then. There was just more muscle now. I realized it gave the illusion of him being taller than he was. He was five eleven, shorter than the men in my family, but he’d always had such a masculine, commanding presence.

He still had that presence.

Michael, what are you doing here? Please go away.

The blond holding his hand (I refused to really look at her) tugged on it, and he looked away, freeing me from his stare. I sagged, the breath rushing back into my body. But as quickly as he’d looked away, his attention returned to me and demanded, “What are you doing here?”

What was I doing here?

Seriously?

Every part of me trembled, and I tucked my hands underneath the table so he couldn’t see them shake. “What are you doing here?” I rejoined.

Seriously, what are you doing here? Leave, Michael. Leave, now!

I hoped he’d developed telepathic abilities over the last nine years.

“We’re on vacation,” the blond spoke and pressed into his side like she