Chapter 1

 

SADIE

 

I wish my mom was here to see me now.

As I walk past the emerald green palm trees, my heels clicking against the newly-laid paving slabs, I can’t help but think of her. And for the first time in six years, that thought doesn’t make me sad. It makes me proud. 

I’ve worked hard for this. Harder than I’ve ever worked in my life. And maybe somewhere, on the bouncy top of a cloud – or more likely in the Pearly Gates Cocktail Bar – she’s watching and smiling.

Because I did it. I turned my life around. Left behind the mess I created after she died.

I take a deep breath and smooth down my dress. It’s not too fancy, not today. The invitation specifically said to wear ‘Resort Casual’ which means I’m wearing a maxi dress, the dark navy and white geometric pattern contrasting perfectly with my wild red hair. I’ve left it down because I won’t be rummaging in dusty bookshelves or carrying canvases across the store for the next few hours.

Because today is all about celebrating.

“Look at you,” my friend Eden says, rushing toward me, and throwing her arms around my shoulders. She’s dressed in silver, her dark hair pinned up, her makeup barely there. And there’s the biggest grin on her face.

Probably because standing behind her is her husband – West Abbott, the owner of this brand new resort. He looks dangerously handsome in dark tailored pants and a white shirt, no jacket or tie. Because apparently this is as casual as he gets.

He and Eden are responsible for building this resort. It was West’s plan initially, but Eden got involved and the two of them have built a beautifully eco-friendly family vacation spot on the northern tip of Liberty Island, complete with a gray water system for the pools, a whole lot of jobs for the locals, and most importantly, they’re trying to get island business owners like me involved too.

“Did you see them?” Eden asks, grabbing my hand. She’s so giddy it makes me smile. The youngest of the six Fitzgerald siblings – the family who owns most of Liberty Island – she’s always so full of energy and zest for life.

“No. Where are they?” I ask, excitement rising in me. It’s stupid how proud I felt when she asked me to provide the artwork for the resort. It made me feel like I was finally accepted on the island. And of course she wanted to pay way above what I could get on the open market.

Because that’s how the Fitzgeralds treat the people here. With kindness and support.

“I’ll show you.” She takes my hand, blowing a kiss at her husband. Then she pulls me across the palm-lined courtyard toward the main resort building. I breathe in the lilacs and mock orange blossoms that form clusters beneath the trees, their scent lacing the late spring evening air.

The resort itself is self contained, taking up around ninety acres of what used to be wasteland at the north of the island. It has its own port and helipad, but it doesn’t have any on resort shopping. Eden and West are determined not to take any business away from Main Street at the south east of Liberty Island, where I, and so many of my friends, run our own businesses.

I bite down a smile, thinking of Books by the Sea and Arts by the Sea, the latest edition to the street full of pastel painted buildings and pretty striped canopies. Those are my babies. I opened the bookshop first. Almost two years ago now, when I was scared and lonely and knew nobody on the island.

Back then, it felt like a leap in the dark to buy the lease and fill the shelves with special edition books and literary gifts that I hoped would appeal to locals and tourists alike.

Much to my delight, it thrived. Enough for me to be able to open its sister shop, Art by the Sea, this year. 

Like the bookshop, the art gallery is aimed at tourists and the locals. There’s nothing too wild in there. A lot of seascapes and pretty colors that appeal to the casual buyer. Affordable pieces that visitors to the island can take home to remind them of their stay here in Liberty. It’s still new and I’m working to find my way with it, but I’m pleased with how it’s working out.

I’m not trying to be the Guggenheim, just trying to make people happy. 

Which is why, when Eden asked me to supply artwork for the lobby, I was completely flattered. The Fitzgeralds are rich, have great taste. And more importantly, art is in their blood. Their mother was an artist, and one of Eden’s brothers is an art dealer.

Being asked to be part of this made me feel like I might finally belong somewhere. That maybe I’m not the mess I was when I came to the island. That my slew of bad decisions might finally be over.

“Here they are,” she says, squeezing my hand. I look at them – the five paintings I chose, for their impact and color and the way they immediately made me feel warm inside.

They’re all sea scapes, painted by a locally based artist who lives on the mainland, but travels to Liberty Island for inspiration on a regular basis.

“Oh,” I say softly, touching my palm to my heart. “They look perfect.”

“Right?” Eden says, grinning. “I told you they would. And look what else we have here.” She nods over at the bookshelf in the corner of the lobby, next to the casual tables and sofas that have been laid out for guests to lounge on during their stay.

On the shelves are the books she asked me to curate. For a price, of course, because she’s all about giving money back to local businesses. The plan is to keep the little resort library fully stocked and rotated. But if guests want a particular book I can have it delivered the same day.

“I love it,” I say, hugging her. “You’ve done such an amazing job.”

She shrugs, her cheeks pinking up. “It was mostly West. I just got to do the good things. Like choose the champagne. You really should go and get some. I swear, with my family around it’s bound to run out soon.”

She hugs me again, then turns to talk to one of the resort staff, as I head back out into the sultry night, where the band has already started to play. There’s a crowd here, mostly investors in the resort along with locals, but some friends and family members have joined in support of West. By the bar I see Autumn, Eden’s older sister, laughing with Francie, the local writer whose romantasy books are best sellers in my shop. 

They wave at me and I head toward them, not noticing the man striding past me until it’s too late.

His arm bangs hard against mine. It makes me wince.

And then I turn to look at him. 

Dear God. My breath catches as I take him in. He towers above me, and I’m a healthy five-foot-seven. In his expensive linen pants and dark shirt, he has the confidence of a man who turns heads wherever he goes.

The weird thing, though, is that he’s wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses. And the sun has almost completely set. Maybe that’s why he didn’t see me. Probably too busy looking cool to be looking at where he’s going.

And that brings me back down to earth. Because I learned a long, long time ago, that men as handsome as this one only bring trouble.

For a second he just stares at me. Or at least, I think that’s what he’s doing, because the only thing I can see in his sunglasses is my own reflection. And apparently I’m scowling.

Then he slowly pulls the glasses down. Enough for me to see the bright piercing blue of his eyes. He blinks, like he’s finding it hard to focus, as our gazes connect and every cell in my body feels like it’s on fire.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, turning away, so I can see the sharp line of his dark hair as it meets his neck. He walks into the resort, and I turn and walk away, feeling weirdly like I know this man, even though I don’t.

“Want a glass?” Autumn asks, as I walk over to the bar. She holds out a champagne flute, the liquid fizzing against the glass as I take it. 

“Thanks,” I murmur, lifting it to my lips.

“No problem,” she says smiling. “I just saw you get barged by my brother.”

I turn around, but he’s gone, the resort door closed behind him.

“Is that who he was?” I ask. Maybe that’s why I reacted the way I did. Something inside of me recognized him as a Fitzgerald. “Which brother?”

Because there are only two Fitzgeralds I haven’t met. Her brothers – Wyatt and Zach. Both have been in and out of town faster than you could blink, causing us to never meet. The rest of the family I know very well. Hudson, the eldest, who owns most of the land on the island along with the quaint Grand Liberty Hotel that’s been standing for over a hundred years. Then there’s Asher, the second eldest, who runs a security business in New York, but spends most of his time here since he fell in love with his wife, Francie.

And of course, there’s Eden and Autumn who are two of my closest friends since moving here. Eden runs the resort and Autumn has an interior design business, though since she had her baby, she’s been a little distracted from that.

Although I can tell by the sparkle in her eye that she’s not letting her gorgeous baby Milo hold her back. 

“It’s Zach,” Autumn says. “He’s here to surprise Eden.” 

I think I remember her mentioning him before. The third of the four Fitzgerald brothers; he’s an art dealer. He travels the world, working for rich clients with millions to spend on their art collections.

And then he takes a generous cut. Which explains the expensive clothes and suave exterior.

I send myself a mental reminder that I’m not interested in men, especially men like that. Even if I can still remember how he made my skin tingle.

“You should go talk to him. You’ll have a lot in common with your art gallery and his job,” she says. Then her eyes light up in a way that I don’t like at all. Nobody on this island schemes better than Autumn Fitzgerald. “Actually…”

“Actually, I need to find Eden,” I say quickly. Another thing I’ve learned about Autumn, she’s easily distracted. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Because I might have a lot in common with Zach Fitzgerald, but I’ve just got my life back on track, and I don’t need any complications. Especially not of the male kind.

Even if thinking about the impact of his body against mine is making me feel breathless.

Nope, I’m a strong independent woman. I have my own business, my own home, hell I even have an accountant. There’s no space for making bad decisions anymore. I’m moving forward, all on my own.

“I hope you’re proud of me, Mom,” I whisper, hoping she’s still looking down on me. “I think I’ve finally grown up.”

 

* * *

 

ZACH

 

 

I try to ignore the floaters in my eyes as I walk through the door into the main lobby of the resort, taking in what I can see of the white walls, the blue and white striped furniture, and the wooden accents that all come together to create a nautical theme that I imagine has a lot to do with both of my sisters’ influence.

It’s annoying that I didn’t see that woman until I pretty much knocked her to the ground. It’s been a bad eye day. The doctor warned I would get them. Especially when I’m tired from traveling or if I’ve been overdoing things, both of which are true right now.

It’s only the second time I’ve been affected enough for me not to see what’s next to me, though. The first time was in Rome, when I was almost run over by a cab I had no clue was in the road.

At least this one was less life threatening. Even if the feel of her warm, soft skin is still seared into mine.

Along with the memory of her red hair, tumbling over her shoulders, a contrast to her pale skin and the deep blue of her dress.

Fuck, she’s pretty. Even with the breaks in my vision I could see that. I could smell her, too, all high notes and pretty flowers.

When your sight starts to go, your other senses will heighten.

I blink that thought away, because I’m so not ready for that yet.

I’m not ready to be here, truth be told. On the island I grew up on, with nearly all of my family surrounding me. Not for the reasons I’m here, anyway.

Because if the harbinger of fucking doom wore linen trousers and white shirts, he’d look remarkably like me right now.

“Oh my God, I thought you said you couldn’t make it.”

I hear Eden’s squeal come from the right of me. She runs over to where I’m standing, in front of a seascape I barely noticed, which really isn’t like me at all.

I turn just in time for my youngest sister to crash into me, arms around my waist. The champagne I just picked up sloshes dangerously close to my shirt.

I smile down at Eden, taking her in. She’s beaming widely, her hair pulled back to reveal the sculpted cheekbones that we both inherited from our mom. And when she reaches up to touch my face, I see the glint of the huge diamond engagement ring and wedding ring that West gave her.

“Yeah well, I thought I’d drop by,” I tell her. “I finished up some work and have some free time.”

She leans back, studying my face. Her brows pulled tight. “You look exhausted,” she tells me.

I don’t tell her that weeks of tests and a possible prognosis that could ruin everybody’s lives has that effect.

But this is her night. Hers and West’s. There’s no way I’m spoiling it. 

“Thanks,” I say, deadpan. “Honestly, I was hoping for handsome. Or at least not shit.”

She snorts. “Shut up, you could never look like shit.” Her gaze flicks over me. “How long are you here for?” There’s a hopeful tone in her voice. The same one that I got from Autumn on my way in.

“I don’t know.” I shrug, because it is easier than admitting the truth. And I don’t want to commit to a timeframe I can’t see through. “Thought I might stick around for a bit.”

Long enough for me to decide how to break the news to them.

Her eyes widen. “Seriously? I thought you hated this place.” But her grin widens. God, I hate the look of hope on her face.

“I do.” I lift my glass and take a sip. “But you’re here. And Hudson and Autumn keep producing babies at an alarming rate.”

She laughs, then hugs me again, tighter this time. I know that hug. It says more than she could with words. Family growing. Time passing. Me watching it all from a distance.

While I can see it.

“That’s amazing,” she says. “How long do you think you’ll actually stay?”

“I’ve got something scheduled in September,” I tell her. It’s a lie but she doesn’t need to know that. “So until then, maybe.”

She nods, accepting the answer for what it is. “Oh! You have to meet Sadie,” she says, turning slightly and gesturing to the artwork behind me. “She runs the new gallery on the island. She helped source the paintings for the resort. Isn’t this one nice?”

I take a breath. Choose my words. Fail. “Very nice.” The truth is I can barely see it. It’s darker in here, and that makes it more difficult. But from one glance I can tell it’s run of the mill. I’m assuming it’s Autumn’s choice. As an interior designer she tends to pick art to complement her designs. Which is completely the wrong way. You choose the art then design the rooms around it. That’s my opinion anyway. 

And another reason why Autumn and I sometimes clash.

“Zachary.” She rolls her eyes at me. “What’s wrong with it? It’s pretty.”

I sigh, because I don’t want to have this conversation now. And I certainly don’t want to make my sister furious about a damn painting. “It’s mediocre. Perfectly fine for what you’re using it for, but it’s not exactly going to haunt anyone.”

I soften it with a smile, but I can already tell it landed badly. This is why I should have stuck with nice, damn it.

“Mediocre?” The voice is sharp, controlled. Distinctly feminine.

And it definitely doesn’t belong to Eden.

I turn to see the redhead I barged into earlier walking up behind us, and something deep inside of me tightens. She’s staring right at me, her shoulders held high, revealing her smooth, pale skin, dotted with freckles. Her pink lips are parted like she’s readying herself to say more. 

And that dress, the way it hugs her like it’s tailored with intent. It makes me wonder what it’s hiding underneath.

Eden groans, like I’m ruining her life. “He didn’t mean it like that. He just…”

“I know exactly what he meant.” Her tone is short. Her eyes don’t leave mine. Her chin lifts and I clock it immediately.

This woman does not back down.

Christ, I like that way too much. In another time, in another life…

I blink that thought away. “I take it you’re responsible for this piece?” I murmur, trying to look unfazed by her. Even if I can’t pull my gaze away.

“Responsible, yes,” she says coolly. “Apologetic, no.”

I take a sip of champagne, slow, deliberate, my gaze drifting over her face, her posture, the fire in her eyes. “Then you must run a very lucrative business. Selling safe, pretty things to people who don’t know any better.”

I don’t even know why I say it. Just to rile her, I think. Because I like the way her auburn brows look like fire on her pretty face. 

And also, because deep down, I’m apparently a bit of an asshole.

Her eyes flash and the redhead steps closer. Close enough that I can smell the floral notes of her skin again. “And you must be the kind of man who confuses expensive with meaningful. I’d rather sell art people love than lock it away in some billionaire’s vault to rot.”

So this is Sadie. The owner of Books by the Sea, the shop that my sisters keep raving about. I guess I’d imagined her looking a little more librarian-like. And a lot less like she’s got a body made for sin. 

A low laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. Rough. Honest. “I’m pretty sure you don’t care what I think.”

She tilts her head, red hair brushing her shoulder. “I don’t,” she says, her eyes challenging mine.

The air between us tightens. I feel it settle in my chest, that familiar spark of challenge and need. I’ve always been attracted to feisty women.

Then my sister steps back abruptly. Fuck, I’d forgotten she was even here. “Right. I’m going to check on the dessert table. Or the string quartet. Or anything that doesn’t involve me standing in the middle of whatever this is.”

Eden shoots me a sharp look that tells me to behave myself before she disappears, leaving me alone with the redhead and a piece of art neither of us is thinking about anymore.

“Sadie, I take it,” I murmur.

She lifts a brow. “Zach Fitzgerald,” she says back. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you but…” She trails off, her head tipping to the side, the curve in her neck is as pleasurable to look at as a piece of exquisite art.

I open my mouth to apologize to her. To tell her that I was just trying to rile up my sister. The way I always did growing up. But before I can say a word she’s turning away from me.

Again.

And for some reason that makes my blood heat up.

She walks away, her head held high, her hips swaying softly beneath that blue-and-white dress that in another life I’d scheme to get on my bedroom floor.

I squeeze the bridge of my nose between my fingers. Focus, Fitzgerald.

I’m not here to think about pretty redheads who can give as good as they get. I’m here to tell my family the truth. And possibly ruin their lives. 

And I can’t afford to be distracted. 

​

2

 

SADIE

 

I wake the next morning feeling a little annoyed about yesterday’s encounter and a lot hungover from too many glasses of the most perfect champagne I’ve ever tasted. It's clearly going to take two shots of Mylene’s strongest espresso, a lot of deep breaths, and a full hour before my people-pleasing side kicks in. Which isn’t great, because I have two shops to run and it’s a springtime weekend so I can’t afford to run on less than a full tank of fuel.

My bank balance depends on it, after all.

So I climb out of bed with a groan, shower as fast as humanly possible and pull my red hair into a messy bun. As I hurriedly slick some gloss onto my lips, I hear a voice floating up the stairs from the shop down below.

The voice sounds sweet and innocent. Or at least it does until Romy says the kind of words you don’t expect to hear early on a Sunday morning.

“So today we’re talking primal kinks.”

I blink. Make that three shots. Good lord, I’m not ready for this.

She must have come in early to record a vlog. She does that sometimes. I love her, but damn, she’s a one-woman hurricane. 

She breezed into the shop the first weekend we were open, told me I should hire her, and then proceeded to run my romance section – and quite frankly my entire shop – with the kind of ruthless efficiency that leaves me breathless.

Romy’s only twenty-two, but with the life she’s had so far, she acts far older than her age. She’s also one of the main reasons I can pay the bills on time every month. Romance readers come from miles around for her latest recommendations. Thanks to her, Books by the Sea is a small-town shop with a big-time social media presence.

“Okay, so picture this,” she says into the camera she’s set up on a tripod, a ring of lights surrounding it as I pad down the stairs. She has no idea I’m watching her from the doorway, not that she’d care. One of the main reasons she works here on weekends is because it has the best backdrop for her social media posts.

 “You’re a kid,” she continues, sounding almost breathless. “Messing around during recess on the playground. Your friends yell chase, and you run until your chest burns. Your heart is pounding, your breath is short, you’re squealing and laughing, and having the best time. And then you glance back to see who’s behind you. And when you see them getting close, too close…” her voice dips to a whisper, “you get the most delicious thrill of being caught.”

She laughs softly. “Now, leave the childhood part out, but keep the thrill. And that, my friends, is why Primal Play is such a popular subgenre. And I promise you, it only gets better when he catches you.” Her voice dips, sounding sultry at the end, to let everybody know exactly what she’s intimating.

I stroll into the bookshop, taking a deep breath, and Romy hits pause.

“Well you look like hell,” she says, wrinkling her nose at my appearance. “Good party?”

I grimace at her. “I think so. But if anybody chases me before I drink a vat of caffeine, they’re probably going to regret it.”

She laughs, looking every inch the goddess that only a twenty-two year old can. God only knows what time she got up this morning. She lives on the mainland with her huge messy family, and catches the first ferry over on the days she works. Yet somehow she always looks like she’s just stepped off the catwalk. 

“If you’d let me set you up with somebody, you wouldn’t be so freaked out by my sex talks,” she says, her voice teasing. She’s desperate for me to find my happily ever after. Can’t understand why I won’t let her set me up on a dating app.

“I have plenty of men around me, thank you very much.” I tell her, lifting an eye at the display of beach romances we put together last week. “They just happen to be fictional.”

Romy snorts. “I’m not sure they count.”

“They do when they pay the bills.” And when they don’t let you down. I glance at my watch. “Want a coffee?” I ask her, grabbing my phone from my pocket. One of the best things about having a bookshop on the main street overlooking the ocean is that two doors down is Brewed Awakenings, the coffee shop run by Mylene, a sixty-something powerhouse who’s lived here all her life.

“Absolutely,” she says, rolling her neck and stretching out her arms. “I was up till two editing a video about monster romance.”

I laugh, reaching for the door. “I don’t even want to know.”

When I step outside the salty air hits me, warm already, despite the early hour. Main Street is waking up, the clatter of lifting shutters mixing with the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore.

Down by the jetty, gulls perch on lampposts like they own the place. And I take a deep breath in, centering myself. God, I love this island. I love the peace it gives me. The escape.

Not to mention the fresh start.

I pass the locked door of Art by the Sea, which is where I’ll be working for most of today while Romy holds down the fort in the bookshop. They’re interconnected – and we can run between them to help each other easily – but it’s more efficient to have them both manned on busy days.

Taped to the front of the gallery window is the large, brightly colored poster I let Autumn stick up there a few weeks ago. She comes into the shop to hang out sometimes, especially when new pieces arrive. With her newborn son, I think she gets bored at home. 

Liberty Island Art Trail and Charity Gala.

Scheduled only a month after the resort opening, the trail is Autumn’s way of bringing the island together. She wants to have art in all the shop windows along Main Street, as well as in the hotel, resort, and any other place she can think of. She’s planning to have island guides on the ferry pier as well as all the stops to encourage art lovers to visit the island throughout the summer, both as day visitors and as longer term guests.

And to start it all off, she’s throwing a charity gala. A huge event at the Grand Liberty Hotel. And of course, I’ve volunteered to help, not only because I can help with acquiring enough art pieces for the show, but because I know I’ll benefit from it, too.

The more tourists we get, the more money in my cash register, after all.

I’m smiling as I back up from the gallery window, my mouth watering at the thought of Mylene’s coffee. And that’s when I hit something solid. 

It takes me a moment to realize it’s a chest, hard as steel against my back. A strong hand cups my hip to steady me, as I turn to see two familiar blue eyes. And I swallow hard as I recognize them.

Just like I recognize their owner.

“We must stop meeting like this,” Zach Fitzgerald murmurs, his hand still warm against my hip. In the other hand he’s holding a cup of coffee with Mylene’s branding on it. My heart starts to slam in my chest even though it shouldn’t. 

Unlike me, he doesn’t look hungover, or in desperate need of a caffeine injection. Instead, he looks annoyingly good, in a pair of fitted jeans and a black t-shirt that seems to mold to his body.

“What are you, made of titanium?” I mutter, stepping back from him, because he’s too close and way too overwhelming.

“This one definitely wasn’t my fault.” There’s amusement in his voice. Damn, I hate the way my body responds to him.

Like it wants to climb him like he’s a tree and cling on forever.

I shake my head. This is what happens when you swear off men but forget to exercise out your energy for two years. I really need to start running again.

“I didn’t say it was. Maybe you need a siren on your head or something,” I suggest sweetly. “That way I can avoid you completely.”

He smirks, like he knows I’m still salty about yesterday’s comment. Then he nods his head at the display in the window. “Nice paintings,” he says.

“I’m sure they’re a little too mediocre for you,” I say before I think it through. 

He shakes his head. “You were never supposed to hear that. And for what it’s worth—”

“It’s fine.” I don’t want him to apologize. I like it better when I have a reason not to like him. That jawline combined with a good personality would be too much to bear. “Have a good day. I need some coffee.” I lift my hand up in goodbye. Then I stride toward the coffee shop, not looking back.

Because, yes, from a purely academic point of view, Zach has the kind of face that makes my heart race. But an injection of adrenaline could have exactly the same result.

Or an injection of poison. 

And right now, the only injection I need is behind the door that jingles as I push it open. The smell of coffee and sugar envelops me like mercy itself.

I push the thought of Zach Fitzgerald far from my mind and step up to the counter, giving Mylene a plaintive smile.

“Uhoh, two shots?” she asks, knowing my aversion to any time before midday.

“Make it three,” I tell her. “And a black Americano for Romy.”

“Bad morning?” she asks, sounding sympathetic.

“Something like that,” I admit. Funny how a hangover, a monologue about Primal Play, and an encounter with a man I really don’t like will do that to you.

“Well I can’t give you three shots. You’ll end up murdering somebody.”

I lift a brow and she sighs, like only a woman who deals coffee for a living can. “Okay then,” she says, ringing it up. “But on your own head be it. If you commit any homicides today, I’m gonna plead the fifth.”

 

* * *

 

ZACH

 

There are kids everywhere. Most of them – I think – are related in some way or form to me. There are dogs, as well. Two of them are chasing each other in ever-widening circles, their tongues lolling out like they’re living their best lives.

I swear there’s even a squirrel, sitting on the side wall, scowling at me as I decide whether to get out of my car or turn around.

My brother, Hudson, has gone full Snow White since he and Ayda met Skyler and he fell in love with her. He has it all now, the big house, the huge family, and apparently, the mandate that Sunday mornings are open house for family breakfast.

He sent me a text this morning. And to be fair, I have nothing else to do. Apart from annoying the pretty bookshop and art gallery owner who looks at me like I’m the devil in dark jeans.

About a millisecond after I open the car door and climb out, I’m surrounded. Ayda – my eldest niece, who I’m pretty sure is nine now, possibly ten – is first, running up to me and throwing her arms around my waist. Her brother toddles behind, a thumb firmly stuck in his mouth as he tries to figure out who I am.

And then there are the dogs. Distracted from their zoomies, they make a beeline for me. 

Christ, this place is different from how it was when we were all kids. The Captain’s House was built in the last century, and it’s the house my siblings and I were all born in. Six of us, running around these rooms, shouting and playing with each other like we were the luckiest kids in the world.

Until we weren’t.

It was also completely neglected. Benignly by our mother, who was too busy painting to notice that the kitchen needed remodeling, and deliberately by our father, who spent every dime he could on gambling and alcohol instead of on the kitchen or the holes in the roof.

But now it belongs to Hudson and Skyler, and it’s immaculate. The exterior has been completely refinished, a new roof put on, the widow’s walk at the top repaved, and the round cupola painted into an inch of its life. The interior is just as updated, thanks to Autumn and her designs.

“Uncle Zach, you came! Dad said you would be here,” Ayda says, still holding onto me like she’s scared I might disappear.

I ruffle her hair. “Who said you were allowed to grow up?” I ask her. “I swear you’ve grown another six inches since I last saw you.”

She grins up at me. “I can’t help it. It just keeps happening.”

Over her dark hair, I see Hudson appear in the doorway. Ayda’s brother, Milo, toddles back over to him, and Hudson scoops him up in his arms, balancing him on one hip all while holding a coffee mug.

I lift a brow, because his ability to multitask is impressive.

With Ayda’s arms still wrapped around me, I walk toward him, just as Skyler appears next to him.

“Look at the prodigal brother returning,” she says, her eyes dancing with delight at my appearance. 

I’ve always liked Skyler. She makes my brother happy, and that’s no mean feat. Hudson has been a grumpy ass since our dad gambled away everything we had, including this house and all the land he owned on the island.

Hudson was determined to get it back. It took him years, along with help from friends and family, but he did it. Not that I doubted him for a moment.

“Who dat?” Milo asks, pointing his chubby finger at me.

Skyler laughs softly. “That’s your Uncle Zach. You’ve met him before.”

“But clearly not enough,” Hudson says pointedly, and I have the good grace to grimace. “Coffee?” he asks.

“Sounds good.”

I follow them inside to find more of my family huddled in the kitchen. My other brother, Asher and his wife Francie are leaning over a crossword, bickering about the answers. Autumn and her husband Parker are cooing at their new baby, Elijah, who looks exactly like his dad.

And then Eden and West are looking out of the window toward the ocean, Eden murmuring in his ear, probably about creating a sustainable electricity station on the land, because my baby sister is all about saving the world, one ecological project at a time.

They all greet me as I walk in, so damn happy to see me that it makes my chest tighten.

Because they don’t know. And when I tell them, the shit will hit the fan so fast the whole island’s gonna stink.

Hudson pours me a coffee and offers me a pastry. I grab it and eat, because I swear I’ll need the energy to deal with my family.

“Don’t tell me,” I say, when I’ve swallowed down the mouthful. “Wyatt’s hiding in the laundry room.” Because he’s the only one of my siblings who isn’t here. 

Autumn laughs. “Sadly not. We did invite him but…”

“He gave you the old thumbs down emoji?” I say sympathetically. We have a family group chat that Wyatt isn’t a fan of. Mostly because it’s usually Autumn trying to bully us all into submission.

“How did you know?” Autumn asks.

“Pure male intuition.” I wink at her, taking a seat by the table.

“So…” she says. “How long are you staying. Exactly?”

Long enough to make a mess of things. “I’m not sure,” I say, repeating what I said to Eden yesterday. “For a month or two maybe.”

She claps her hands together. “That’s great.”

God, I wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting her to beg me to move home forever and never leave again. Which is her usual modus operandi. “Is it?”

“Yes! You can help me with the Art Trail and Gala. I need another volunteer.” The excitement in her voice is palpable.

And I fucking hate volunteering. “No can do,” I tell her. “I’m busy.”

Her smile flickers. “Doing what?”

Think fast, dammit. “I have work to do. I’m training Larry remotely.” Larry is my assistant. He lives above my art gallery in Chicago. And never, ever leaves the place.

“Oh come on, it’s only a few meetings,” Autumn says, ignoring me completely. “You’re the art expert, it would be insane not to have your help. Plus you can invite all your rich friends to the gala. We’re having an auction for charity.” She gives me a beseeching look. “Please?”

I wrinkle my nose. I really don’t want to do this.

“Seriously,” Autumn continues, sounding fiercer now. “Sadie needs help with planning the art and you’re the only one who can do it.”

I blink. Sadie. Her image comes into my mind. The way she looked so pissed at me yesterday. And this morning.

God, she’d hate if I helped.

“Okay,” I say, because apparently I really am an asshole at heart.

“And also…” Autumn pauses, her brows scrunched tight. “Wait, did you just say yes?”

“I believe so.” I shrug. 

“Oh. My. God.” She looks around the room. “You all heard that, right?”

“We did,” Eden agrees, grinning. 

“No take backs.” Autumn tips her head to the side, like she’s assessing me. “And while we’re at it, why don’t you come stay with Parker and me? Those apartments at the hotel are so soulless.”

Well that’s an easy one. “No.”

Her lips twitch. But seriously, why the hell would I want to stay with her and Parker? Not to mention their infant son, who’s currently nuzzling against Parker’s chest, but likely wakes up screaming throughout the night. 

“I’m good,” I say, more softly. “But thank you. I like the apartment. And the view.”

Back when Hudson remodeled the Grand Liberty Hotel as part of his acquisition of the island, he also built two ‘owners’ apartments on the ground floor. They were originally meant to house his best friends and investors, West and Parker.

But since they’ve both married our sisters and moved into their forever homes, they’re conveniently free for me.

“Well, at least I got you on the Art Committee,” Autumn says, looking almost proud of herself.

And fuck it, I’ll let her. I’ll do whatever they need from me. Because I owe them that much.

I’ll help organize her art event, and then when that’s over, and I’ve had every damn test and appointment known to man, I’ll tell them what I know I’ll have to.

But in the meantime, I’ll keep on pretending that everything is fine.

 

 

​

3

 

ZACH

 

Have you told them yet? – Wyatt

 

I stare at his message the next morning, picturing him on his boat off the coast of North Carolina, waiting for my reply. Of all my family, Wyatt and I were always the closest. It’s not surprising, since we’re the closest in age, with him only a year younger than me.

He’s also the only person – other than medical staff – that I told about my near-accident in Rome. The way the tires screeched as I stepped into the road, not seeing anything to the right of me. The way I fell to the ground and scraped the side of my face.

The way my heart slammed against my chest for hours as I realized there was something wrong.

 

Not yet. Autumn’s organizing an art trail and gala. Wants me to help. I’ll tell them after that. – Zach

 

Pussy. – Wyatt

 

I laugh out loud, because that’s so Wyatt. He’s short and to the point. He doesn’t suffer fools, and he hates conflict. The man is just in love with boats and the ocean and there’s nothing wrong with that.

As I go to put my phone down, it starts to ring. It’s not Wyatt – he hates talking on the phone even more than he hates group chats – but Larry’s name that lights up on the screen.

“Hey,” I say, swiping my thumb to answer it. “What’s up?”

Larry’s worked for me for six years. He runs my gallery in Chicago single handedly, while I spend most of my time traveling, sourcing art for rich clients or for us to sell through the gallery itself.

He’s a good guy. In his early-thirties. But he’s also severely agoraphobic. He so rarely leaves the building, which is great for security but not so great for him.

Still, for as long as he needs it, he has a job and a home at the gallery. 

Or at least, for as long as I can give it to him.

“We got an email from Sunset Alliance,” he says, because he also runs our comms. “They have a painting they want you to find. Disappeared after a residential break in.”

Insurance companies are also one of my biggest clients. They employ me to find missing pieces, using my contacts, my knowledge of dealers, and my ability to jump on a plane at a moment’s notice.

It’s lucrative work. We get a cut of any recovered artwork. And most of the pieces are worth millions.

I wrinkle my nose. “I can’t. I’m not available to travel for a while.” Or possibly forever.

There’s a pause. Then Larry clears his throat. “I was wondering,” he says. “Maybe I could do it. Or at least start it.”

“You want to do some investigating?” I question. Because this is new. Larry’s never been interested in the ground work.

But fuck, it could be a good thing. I’ve spent the last few weeks worrying about him. How he’s gonna keep a job when I’m not able to keep the gallery full.

“Yeah, I just… I don’t know. My therapist says I should start pushing at some boundaries.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” I tell him softly. “Why don’t you get started? If you come to a dead end, let me know and we’ll talk it through.”

“You think I could do it?”

Fuck, I hope so. “Yes, I do,” I say firmly. “Start like I do. With the basics. Where and when it was taken. When it was originally bought. You can do that from the gallery, for sure.”

“Okay. So I’ll tell them we’ll do it.” He sounds excited. 

“Great.” I nod. “Talk later.”

When we hang up, I stand and walk over to the huge windows that overlook the grassy cliffs that lead down to the Atlantic Ocean.

It’s beautiful. Like looking at a painting. It fills my heart the way art does. The way beauty does.

And it kills me.

Taking a deep breath, I shake my head at myself. Enough of this. It’s fine, I’m fine. Even Larry’s fucking fine.

Maybe it’s time to stop worrying and start living. For as long as I can.

 

* * *

 

SADIE

 

I’m pulling back the covers on my bed when my phone pings with a message from Romy, who should be fast asleep by now, after the long shift we both pulled. But she’s younger than me – albeit by a few years – and seems to have endless energy. My eyes scan the words and a smile pulls at my lips.

 

New YouTube video is up. Expect lots of online orders. Oh, and don’t forget it’s Bro’s Book Club on Tuesday. You’ll need to close the shop early. - Romy xx

 

I drop my phone onto the bed and smile to myself. No wonder I’m exhausted. Saturdays in spring are always hectic, but today had been something else. Between the tourists, the locals, and Romy’s army of online followers, the shop was buzzing all day. The stack of mail orders by the register was so tall the poor mailman grumbled that I was single-handedly funding his physical therapy bill.

But it pays my bills. And I’m supremely grateful for that.

As soon as I’m nestled beneath the sheets, I click on the link Romy sent. The screen lights up, competing with the soft glow of the lamplight on the table beside my bed, then Romy’s smiling face comes into focus.

“Hello book friends, I’m Romy and I’m coming to you straight from Books by the Sea, where the romance is hot, the tropes are messy, and the caffeine never stops flowing.” She lifts her mug – emblazoned with our logo – to prove it.

God, I love her. 

I can see the soft pink walls of the shop behind her, twinkle lights glowing over the romance display. She’s turned some books around so the covers are showing – that always increases sales. 

“This is episode two in our series about romance kinks, and why they float our boats. Tonight we’re talking about primal play,” she says, lowering her voice a little. “Now, this one’s not about pain, or punishment, or even dominance. It’s about instinct. It’s about choosing to give control to someone you trust, and letting yourself be wanted.”

She carries on, and I realize this is the bit I overheard her recording. When she’s talking about games of chase, of capture. She describes it in her low, warm voice, and I find my face heating.

Jesus, am I getting turned on by game of tag now? I really need to get a life.

She recommends a couple of books. Ones I know we have stocked – because of course she made me put in extra orders before she recorded this video. 

She describes the first one, leaning closer to the camera. “He hunts her,” she whispers. “And she likes it. She wants it. Imagine having a man so desperate to catch you, he’ll do whatever it takes. Break laws, break people, protect you to the ends of the earth. You’re the only thing driving him.” She fans her face with the book, like she needs some cool air. “Seriously, who wouldn’t want to be somebody’s obsession? In a book at least? I know I would.”

I’m taking that bit with a pinch of salt. Last week she wanted to ride dragons. But still, it’s hard not to be captivated by the way she leans in, her face so completely animated. 

“And if you think this is all theory, go check out the latest trend on TikTok. Husbands chasing their wives through their houses, down driveways, across lawns. It’s like fully-clothed foreplay. And when they catch them, hoo boy. It’s super hot.”

Curiosity gets the better of me. I reach for my phone and swipe over to the app. I type in 'couple chase’ and the results immediately fill my screen.

The first one is on a beach. The couple are beautiful – he’s handsome with a big smile, wearing a white shirt half-unbuttoned and a pair of rolled up jeans. She’s in a white dress. They’re both barefoot.

He shouts ‘go’ and she runs – like really runs. She’s not half-assing it in any way. He counts down from ten, giving her a head start, then he turns on his heels, his body a powerful predator as he runs after her, closing the distance between them despite her best efforts.

And when he’s a breath away from her, he grabs her waist, pulling her against him, both of them falling down onto the sand. There’s a split second before he kisses her hard and fast, when you can see it in her face, the heady mix of surrender and thrill.

My heart thumps a little harder. I keep scrolling.

In the next video the man looks older and broad-shouldered, in a dark gray shirt rolled to the elbows and a tailored pair of navy pants that cling to his thick thighs. And when he catches his wife, something about the movement – the grip, the heat – makes my breath hitch.

My lips part and I exhale softly. Trying to imagine being so wanted, so desired that a man would do whatever it took to take me. Not ignored, cast away. Or used as a human ATM.

I swallow hard. Because I’ve never been wanted like that.

There’s a pulse between my thighs as I watch another video. This time he’s dressed as a cop, and his wife is pretending to be a perpetrator. God, he looks mean and perfectly honed. His biceps are so huge I have no doubt they could throw anybody around.

Why does that make me feel so flustered?

Because you haven’t had sex in over three years.

I ignore the voice in my head that sounds like suspiciously like Romy. Instead, I turn off my phone as the heat curls low in my stomach. 

Closing my eyes for a moment, I imagine being in that situation. Except the man isn’t some faceless TikTok husband.

He looks worryingly like Zach Fitzgerald, in a dark shirt, his sleeves rolled up, those piercing blue eyes assessing me.

A scowl pulls at his lips as he tells me I have a ten second head start.

And then he’s going to catch me. And make me regret it.

I shake my head, toss the phone onto the nightstand, and close my eyes. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I mutter, turning on my side, and trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding. “You’re losing it.”

The last thing I need is to crush on a man who makes me want to throw something every time I see him. Who thinks he’s superior and I’m mediocre.

God knows, I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.